Don't go speed training on a full stomach

Miles I was supposed to run: 12 x 400m sprints

Miles I actually ran: 10 x 400m sprints

It was a lovely evening this evening for a run, not too hot, not too cold, sunny with a gentle cool breeze. Plus I had enjoyed a rather tasty pre-run dinner of lamb meatballs in a pasta bake. Carb loading!

My enthusiasm started to wane after I parked my car at the rugby club, where a large dog was supposed to be getting in to the car next to me. However, awkwardly, he seemed more interested in sniffing me. Probably a sign that my running top really does need to be washed after each run I realised. So I was feeling rather flustered and embarrassed by the time I met up with my fellow runners. 

It was explained that todays training session would be 400m sprints. While I had been eating my dinner earlier, I had been catching up on the mens 100m Olympic race on iPlayer. Inspired by this, I channeled my inner Usain Bolt, and literally bolted off, racing the fastest members of the club down the field. 

By the 3rd 400m sprint I realised this was a mistake. My legs were starting to feel like lead, and protest at my request for them to move so quickly. 

By the 5th sprint my dinner was starting to gurgle in my stomach, threatening to make a reappearance on the field. 

I had flashes of higher biology going through my head. Something to do with lactic acid, pain and vomiting.

Uh oh.

I walked the 6th sprint.

And gently jogged the following 4, finally giving up and admitting defeat along with acknowledging my own stupidity after 10. 

I'm off for a long soak in the bath now. Probably won't be able to walk tomorrow. May never walk again. Wish I was Usain Bolt, bet these things never happened to him!