But I don't think of you

So I'm back training for the 800m, finally. It would be easier if I didn't also weigh 800kg, but I'm working on that and should with dedication get down to a respectable 79ish kgs in the next few weeks.

One thing that I feel demonstrates how completely miserable and hard the 800m is, is that I can beat my dog. My dog is pretty fit, dogs on the whole are pretty fit. My dog could probably beat Usain Bolt in the 100m, I don't know I never timed her. But she has low wind resistance, four legs and is built for chasing down rabbits and shit.

But my dog sucks at the 800m and infact cheats a lot. I run the outside of the oval at 80% (which is still incredibly hard, particularly in my current shape) and she runs about 30m inside of that track and still comes up about 50m behind me to finish.

Sure she doesn't know the competitive nature of the race, but to me it highlights the sheer unnaturalness of the distance. Nothing, ever, in history, has been naturally selected by an ability to cover 800m quickly.

You have cheetah's, springbok, deer, wolves etc that have survived thanks to the ability to run short distances at up to 120km/h. Then you have a bunch of birds that have survived by being able to migrate vast distances to safe breeding grounds where lizards don't eat their young. fucking lizards. But nowhere do you have an animal that has survived by the ability to run the knife edge between anerobic and aerobic exercise.

So while I'm not taking Holdaway lightly, particularly given my current heavysetness, I worry that the fool may have never actually tried to run 800m and doesn't understand the crucial differences between being able to run say 400m fast and being able to run 10km pretty fast that even if you can do both, you may find yourself physically unable to actually run 800m.

Yes, paradoxical I know. And just in case this is John's experience, it is not enough that I beat him by default. I must demolish him.

'Beneath contempt' I believe is the saying, and even if I lap the guy, if I turn around at the finish line (which if by some miracle someone ever lapped anyone in the 800m would probably be pretty near the only place a lapping could occur) and feel even the slightest piece of contempt for him, I know I will have failed.

It must be like crushing an ant underfoot, such that I was not even aware the ant and I were competing against eachother.