Posted: 5 October, 201322 September, 2013Fifth Avenue Mile: New YorkEvent: 1 mileTime: 3.58.7 – 16th
Posted: 5 October, 201324 August, 2013Brighton Hove Parkrun: BrightonEvent: 5kmTime: 14.28 – 1st
Posted: 5 October, 20132 February, 2013New Balance Indoor Grand Prix: BostonEvent: 3000mTime: 8.02.70 – 8th
Posted: 5 October, 201311 August, 2012Bushy Parkrun: Bushy Park, LondonEvent: 5kmTime: 13.48 – 1st (World Record!)
Posted: 5 October, 201326 August, 2012Birmingham Diamond League: BirminghamEvent: 1500mTime: 3.38.87 – 9th
Posted: 5 October, 20135 August, 2012Olympic Games (semi-final): LondonEvent: 1500mTime: 3.36.03 – 8th
Posted: 5 October, 20133 August, 2012Olympic Games (heat): LondonEvent: 1500mTime: 3.40.34 – 6th (Q)
Posted: 5 October, 201323 June, 2012Olympic Trials & UK Championships: BirminghamEvent: 1500mTime: 3.47.99 – 1st
Posted: 14 October, 2012
Despite the fifty shades of red, white and blue on display, the screams inside the Olympic Stadium were simply the outpourings of support from 80,000 people who had come out to watch Our Greatest Team. In the process they showed me personally, Team GB and most importantly the rest of the world, that Britain really does have the best supporters in the world.
I felt incredibly proud to be a part of Team GB for a home Games. Whilst all of the athlete interviews from all the sports may have lent the “crowd were incredible” sentiment an air of cliché, that is simply because there is no way to describe how it felt. It was and still is, impossible to describe the wall of noise, the electric atmosphere of anticipation, or the feeling of pulling on the British vest. But suffice it to say, as a country we showed everything that is Great about Britain.
After the tribulations I mentioned in the previous blog, I arrived in the village ready to go, and to soak up the atmosphere. I moved into our apartment with Chris Tomlinson, Robbie Grabarz, Andrew Osagie and Ross Murray, where I was sharing a room with Chris Thompson.
Day one of athletics arrived, and it was finally time to don the vest in anger. It was a usual race day of nervous waiting, coupled with an air of “is this real” and “s***, this is the Olympics!”. Time slipped by and suddenly I was at the warm up track, where I can only really describe the atmosphere as the calm before the storm. By this point we all knew this wasn’t a normal major championships – watching a full stadium roar Jess on to a world heptathlon best in the hurdles in the morning session made sure of that! I had a walk around the warm up track with my coach, and then lay down for a quick read to clear my head. Stretching, then a very early jog as we had to contend with an unusually long 50 minute call time. I did a few easy strides, grabbed my spike bag and headed into final call.
For once, all the officials were speaking English, which was strangely comforting. For anyone wondering what goes on in there – our bags are checked to make sure spikes are the right length and that no one has an iPod or phone, or any branding that’s not allowed. The call room is basically a big room with dividing walls separating it into pens so that each heat is segregated from the others. Plain walls, and eerily quiet as each athlete goes through their routine. There is the occasional bit of banter to break the tension, and the officials try to stop any jogging around. Then it was time for the long walk through the tunnel to the main stadium – 8 minutes of walking in silence feels like a long way. We were given our front name bibs with transponders attached (which provide 100m splits for all the distance athletes), leg numbers and it was time for spikes and a few strides on the short straight under the stands.
Then it was time for one of the most incredible moments of my life. We came out from underneath the stands in single file, and there was a surge of deafening noise spreading outwards as the crowd spotted the Team GB colours. If I thought that was loud, I was in for a rude awakening as my name was announced on the start line. If I had clapped my hands in front of my face I wouldn’t have been able to hear it. The sound had such a physical positivity, that I felt taller, I felt lighter. Then we were off, and despite tripping with 120m to go, I felt great and qualified in an automatic spot.
After crossing the line, in a mixture of excitement and relief, there was a brief chance to soak up the atmosphere and to acknowledge the crowd before hiking back to the warm up track via the longest ever mixed zone! A quick warm down and the chance to talk to my coach whilst getting a massage, then I hopped on the bus back to the village. I went straight into the (6000 seater) dining hall before heading back to Team GB medical HQ for an ice bath.
Fast forward less than 24 hours, and I’m sitting with the guys in our apartment in the village with no idea of what’s about to happen. Super Saturday. Need I say more. We watched three of our friends and teammates win the biggest prize in world sport, it was incredible. So incredible that I had to take myself out for a walk around the village to calm down and relax before trying to get some sleep before my own Olympic semi-final.
So then it was my turn again, it was Sunday, with much the same routine as Friday. I was drawn in the second semi-final, which was made up of 13 athletes after the reinstatement of Nixon Chepseba who had stumbled in his heat. First 5 athletes from each semi would qualify automatically, with the next 2 fastest overall also progressing. I felt good in the warm up, nervous but ready to go. Then we got out on the track and the noise hit me again, I’ve run out of superlatives for the way that it made me feel.
The gun went, and the rest is a blur. The pace felt incredibly fast, but what was not necessarily obvious was that it was fluctuating – always the toughest way to run. Not only was the pressure applied at the front inconsistent (by an obviously keen-to-stay-out-of-trouble Chepseba), but the rest of us were scrapping for position and doing our best to avoid stumbles and fallers. I felt like I was going as hard as I could go right from the gun, and when I knew that I really needed to move up through the field I was already at my red-line and just couldn’t make it happen. I ran hard to the line but finished in an agonising 8th place – 7th place 0.4s ahead of me qualified for the final.
How I felt back at the warm up track is perhaps the most difficult thing to explain. The event that I had been training for over the last four years was over, and I was one place away from a second consecutive Olympic final. Obviously I was disappointed, but it wasn’t quite as simple as that. The closest word I can think of is empty. It was a case of “ok, well what now?”. There’s no urgency to recover, to get an early night or to think about training again. Perhaps lost is also appropriate.
Another reason for such complicated emotions was my own constantly shifting goal posts. Four years ago I was confident of competing for a medal in London. A smattering of small injuries over the next few years meant that it wasn’t quite so straightforward, and as I mentioned in the previous blog, at the end of 2011 I wasn’t even sure I would make the team. But so consistent was my training from September 2011, by the time I ran a PB over 3000m in May 2012, I knew that I was back at my best – stronger and faster than in 2008. But, also as per the previous blog, my four week lead in to the games was far from perfect, and even if only subconsciously, the goal posts moved again.
Yes, I was disappointed not to have a chance to compete for a medal, but I was also (and perhaps more importantly) proud to have fought my own demons and won, and to have represented Team GB on the biggest stage of all.
Posted: 16 September, 2012
Two-time Olympian has a nice ring to it. Especially when it is something that four years ago seemed like a foregone conclusion, yet only 10 months ago was a goal barely glimpsed behind several jutting mountains to be climbed. At that point I didn’t have the necessary qualifying time, I had a persistent injury that had been bothering me for over a year, and both belief and enjoyment were sorely lacking.
Fast forward to June 23rd 2012, 3 days after my 30th birthday (celebrated by packing for the Olympic trials), and that epithet rang true. I had booked my place for Team GB at the London Olympics by winning a very slow tactical race, taking my tally of national 1500m championships to four. The overwhelming feeling was relief, mingled with excitement about the opportunity ahead. The relief was profound because of the simple fact that I had been desperate not to miss out on competing in front of a home crowd and being a part of what was dubbed #OurGreatestTeam.
It was also a great way to wrap up the British Miler project, which had charted the ups and downs of seven of Britain’s best milers attempting to book a place on Team GB. I know that being a part of the project, and of Team New Balance, has given me some fantastic memories, and been a great way of capturing a year of training and racing (and pub quizzes). Thank you Kimbia and especially Jeremy and Alex.
After the trials it was back into the routine of training, whilst making final plans for the Games themselves. Unfortunately with 4 weeks to go until the big one, I somehow managed to slightly tear a quad muscle. Whilst it wasn’t too serious, it really affected a nerve in my knee which meant that even once I was back into training, my calf would spasm and cramp. Thanks to James Moore (who has seen me through a lot this year), I avoided missing too much training. I had however, missed racing in Crystal Palace which would have formed a key part of my run-in to the Olympics.
So I found myself 2 weeks away from the biggest stage on Earth, without having raced for 4 weeks. Not ideal. So I made a tough decision – knowing that I needed to race, but also unsure about my calf, I decided to run the BMC grand prix in Solihull. Suffice it to say, it didn’t go well (I finished 3rd in 3.41), but it did bring me on, and the next day I flew to the holding camp in Portugal with the rest of the team. Here’s my opportunity to give a big shout out to Mark Draper and Tom Bedford who came out to Portugal to run with me and to help me get my head in exactly the right place before stepping out in front of 80,000 people. A heartfelt thank you to them both. And let’s be honest, they had a holiday in the sun surrounded by bikini clad ladies. Tough life.