The last time I updated this blog, there existed the clear waters of an entire week between the end of my Gap Year and the start of my university life. I write today with no such breathing space; a long weekend is all that separates myself and Oxford University. This has resulted in a torrent of tumultuously fluctuating emotions – yes, this is in one respect rather mundane and nothing that I haven’t been feeling before; what has changed, however, is the rapidity in which my feelings change right now. In the space of the forty minute train journey home from Waterloo, I probably moved from utterly terrified to uncontrollably ecstatic five or six times, moving through the entire spectrum of intermediate emotions in between. As such, I have no idea what kind of state I’ll be in come Monday. Whether I’ll be coherent enough to blog will be doubtful – or, if so, my blog will probably read something like ‘ZOMG OXFORD GUYS!’ (Well, I’ll do my utmost to avoid such an eventuality, though without making any promises).
The feelings of excitement, terror and nervousness prior to starting university are hardly new, compelling or interesting, so I’ll move swiftly on to a recap of the past week. For those who don’t know, I’ve been at a training camp in Wellingborough with the Oxford University Athletics Club since Monday, and I have to say that it was truly excellent. We stayed in a secluded location in Wellingborough which afforded me (us) some stupendous views of not only the shimmering lakes (when we were afforded some sun, that is) at the bottom of the hills, but also the surrounding rural area. It was very Hardy-esque (or, rather, would have been if we were in Wessex as opposed to Northamptonshire). It transpired that only eight people – including myself – were on the camp, well below the original estimate of twenty or so. In one respect, this was extremely nice. As an inconsequential Fresher, I could see myself becoming rather isolated in a crowd that large, especially given that I can’t pretend I’m the most naturally vivacious person in any circumstances. On the other hand, all of the five other males were far superior runners to me, which was of course a rather chastening experience. It was a rather odd situation for me; since the age of twelve or thirteen, I’ve been at the front or middle of most running fields; to know that if I were racing these people I would come comfortably last is a substantial change. Of course, this is what life at Oxford was always going to entail: accepting that there is always going to be someone better than me, both at my subject and at my sport. Such a realization is hardly shocking, but it will no doubt be a departure from what life was like at my secondary school. Incidentally, I hope all readers excuse my unseemly lack of modesty in the above paragraph.
The training was also a level above anything I have heretofore been used to. Over the summer, I have run approximately fifteen to twenty miles a week, reaching a high of twenty-five two weeks ago. This week, I have run thirty-five miles and the week is not yet over. It proved to be a gruelling training schedule, but then again this is why these people are so good. I also did a couple of core stability and strength exercises, which were extremely useful and hopefully will provide those minimal gains that can make so much of a difference in competition. The one downside – and it is no small one – over the week is that I have managed to sustain plantar fascitis of my left foot. For those who may be unacquainted with the affliction, it comprises a pain on the sole of one’s foot, where the plantar fascia resides and is commonly sustained when a person is one their feet – that is to say, running – more than they have previously done, which is precisely what I have done this week. It essentially means that it is extremely painful to walk on, let alone to run on, and unfortunately it is not the type of injury that can be trained on, because every single time one takes a step or stride their entire body weight is supported, however briefly, by the plantar fascia (in collusion with other muscles and bones, of course). It seems unlikely that I’ll complete the two races this weekend in anything approaching my desired times. C’est la vie, I suppose.
Regards,
Jack
jacknmoran 