Daydreaming

If you don't like sport, you'll probably be finding it difficult to divorce yourself entirely from the Olympics. Even in our distant part of the world, where the time difference means that most events are on overnight, there are repeats, the internet, and of course recording the bits you do want to see.

I wasn't particularly gifted at sports as a child. I've always been tall, and the sports teacher spent most of my school life telling me I should be good at high jump/long jump, running and whatever else we were doing, because I was tall. Telling me didn't make it so, but I did love watching those athletes stand on the podium clutching their medals

I only started running a few years ago, tricked into it by a friend and the guy doing the training. Much to my surprise I found I liked it, though I'm not sure 'like' is the right word. I don't leap out of bed thinking, oh goody time for a run. It never gets any easier, and while I'm running my brain keeps asking me what the hell I'm doing. I've not yet come up with an answer. What I do know is that I keep running, and as I've given up other sporting activities I don't enjoy, I guess that somewhere, well hidden, I enjoy running.

I'm not a fast runner, and I would hazard a guess that I'm not one of those elegant, athletic people that appear born to run, but I keep on dreaming that maybe I am.

I’ll be watching the marathon, though my longest distance so far is around 8km, with the dreams of childhood still in my head. Well, that's what writer's do; we think up the impossible and make it happen.