The Hits: The race is on to beat myself

The Hits DJ Adam Green

Practice makes perfect. We've all heard it, uttered from the mouths of parents and coaches, uncles and aunties and even our peers.

And it's true, no one ever became an expert at something without a bit of practice. But as I've aged, I've also noticed something else - practice makes pain.

You see, I let myself get a little festively plump. Again. Like I said I wouldn't. Again. And now I'm on what a fitness blogger would call a journey.

My fitness journey (which consists of just starting to exercise again instead of being a lazy log full of Christmas ham and cold beverages) led me to look back upon times I have been perhaps a little more svelte and definitely speedy.

I've been running. Well, jogging ... lumbering and trying to go faster than a walk.

Discussing my attempts with my co-host Megan, I exclaimed "I used to be good, interschool cross-county and everything, set good times in the fitness test".

"What fitness test?" she asked, with a sense of doubt in her tone.

Back in high school, our PE teacher was ex-military. Twenty years in the army and then boom, PE teacher to a bunch of stinky teenagers.

He ran his classes with the precision of a drill sergeant, and every month there was a timed test, sit-ups, 2k run, push-ups.

"What sort of time did you run?" Megan asked, and due to the fact I hoarded my old school books for the memories, I was able to find out!

Mid-year I ran 11 minutes and 14 seconds, for 2km. A 5min 37sec-per-km speed.

Not outrageously fast, but certainly a lot quicker than the 6min 30sec of my last outdoor run.

"Do you think you could do that now?" she asked me, a wry smile on her dial.

It was a challenge more than a question, a moment to consider going into battle. Myself versus my younger and faster self. A 2km battle with my past.

"No." I answered.

"My knees are tight and my calves burn when I try to go fast."

But the seed was planted, and I wondered if there was a possibility that I could turn back the tides of time, and beat 16-year-old me, in the battle-scarred, 41-year-old shell I now owned.

So I now find myself staring at the start line of a race against myself, can I beat me? In two weeks we'll see. If my knees last that long.

Listen in on the Hits Hawkes Bay to come along for the ride.
- Adam Green