Superstars is almost upon us again. Unfortunately, due my shoulder dislocation in March, this years training regime has been somewhat restricted, which has meant a period of excessive exercise in the last few weeks trying to make up for lost time. This is, I am led to believe, how all the top professionals do it.

One night last week I was running along Windsor’s scenic ‘Long Walk’, at what appeared to me to be a perfectly reasonable pace, when an attractive blond girl ran past me.

This was very disappointing. I have always prided myself on being reasonably fit, so being overtaken by a woman is not something I am used to. Of course, I have lots of perfectly valid, injury based excuses, and she almost certainly takes steroids, but still.

So, like any red-blooded male, I upped my pace to keep up with her, and after a few minutes decided to go past her. After all, as with all other things, what would people think if I let the lady finish first?

I do not think I have ever run so consistently fast in my entire life. My lungs began to burn and my legs began turning to jelly, but it was too late. I could not let her overtake me again, as that would be like those childish boy-racers on the motorway challenging other drivers to race. And if the paragraphs above have taught you anything, it is that I am anything but juvenile.

So I did what any self respecting competitive athlete would do. I faked an injury.

I am not proud, but I am still a lot prouder than if I had been legitimately overtaken – twice – by the same woman. As it is, the record books will show that the result was one a-piece with me ‘Retiring Hurt’.

This is what my life is like.

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