Personal Best (Part 1)

Fun Run - 3 Chillies - HOT!

Back in the day I used to be a runner. I’ll stop short of calling myself an ‘athlete’ as I’m not that pretentious. I was a member of the local Harriers, a road-running club. This was at a time when such clubs were looked down upon by traditional athletic clubs. I’d say I was an average club runner.

At my peak in my early thirties I was capable of running six-minute-miles up to ten miles, and sub seven-minute miles at up to Marathon distances. Although most of the events I took part in were road races, I was more competitive at cross-country. I am fairly short in the leg, with a low centre-of-gravity. In road races I was usually outpaced by tall, long-legged competitors. In cross-country events, particularly on tight meandering, up-and-down courses, my shorter stride evened things up.

 

Most of my Personal Best (PB) times were set in my early thirties. As I approached forty I found myself training harder, and putting in more effort, yet running slower. I found it increasingly frustrating being beaten by runners half my age. I was even finishing races behind women! Running is good in respect that within races it is possible to compete against your own age group, but for some reason this didn’t appeal to me. Having reached veteran status I gave up.

 

Although I kept myself fairly fit and active by going to the gym and doing non-competitive exercise, I soon put on weight. All the time I’d been running competitively I’d eaten healthily and only consumed alcohol responsibly. Now that I wasn’t competing I was less worried about my diet, and also started going to the pub more frequently.

 

It was during a social night drinking at the local pub that I was approached by an acquaintance - Jim - who remembered that I used to ‘do a bit’ of running. After I admitted that I had ‘run a bit’ in the past we got into conversation. It transpired that his daughter, Samantha, had been coerced by colleagues at her workplace to enter a forthcoming ‘fun run’ – a charity ten-kilometer road race. His daughter was not a runner, but was competitive by nature, and he wondered if I might give her some advice and help with her training. The upshot was that I agreed and it was settled that I should meet Samantha in the local park on Thursday evening the following week.

 

Prior to the evening that I was due to meet Samantha I found my old running shoes and dusted them off; I must admit they were a bit tatty. I’d kept them ‘just in case’ I ever took up running again. When I was training seriously I had three pairs of trainers on the go at any one time: an old pair that were well-worn in, they were comfortable but had started to lose their cushioning effect, these were used for day-to-day training; a ‘good’ pair that were just worn-in and had plenty of cushioning left, these were used for racing; and a new pair that I had just started to wear. When the old pair wore out the other pairs would move along the line. In addition, I had a pair of cross-country shoes with studded-soles, and a pair of track spikes for the rare occasions that I got to run on a proper athletics track.

 

I met Jim's daughter Samantha at six in the evening at a near-by public park. The first thing I noticed were her trainers. No, I lie! The first thing I noticed was that Samantha had gorgeous, long, flowing golden-blond hair, was extremely attractive with an engaging smile, and had a slender, aesthetically pleasing body. Then I noticed her trainers.

 

She was wearing a well-known branded pair of fashionable trainers that probably cost a small fortune, and would be fine on the dance-floor but lacked the support and impact absorption required for running any distance, especially on the road. As well as the trainers, she was wearing a tight pair of pastel blue Lycra leggings that clung to her shapely legs like a second skin, and a trendy grey hoodie. She looked like a catwalk model’s version of what a runner should look like. My initial impression was that she would be overly ‘girly’ and too modish to be a serious runner. That said, I must admit she looked stunning!

 

After introducing ourselves, during which I learnt that Samantha preferred to be called ‘Sam’, and appeared less feminine than I’d been anticipating, I suggested we did some basic stretching to warm up, then go for a slow jog around the park so that I could assess Sam’s fitness.

 

As we stretched I learnt that Sam was twenty-two years old, single and was employed at a local veterinary practice where she was training to be a small-animal nurse. The work consisted of lots of standing up and moving about so this kept her fairly fit and agile. She had been quite sporty at school and college, where she had played hockey. She went to the gym once a week, also did aerobics every so often, and now and again rode horses. However, apart from occasionally using a treadmill at the gym, she hadn’t done any running. She admitted to me that she had hated cross-country when she was at school because it was always cold, wet and muddy. Sam confessed that she considered the very notion of ‘fun run’ to be an oxymoron! Sam confirmed she was in good health, had never smoked or vaped, and only drank in moderation when socialising. She did concede that she enjoyed a night out dancing with the girls. Rather than the tinselly, pretentious princess that I was anticipating, Sam came across as charming, sensible, down-to-earth and likeable.

As I watched Sam stretch I could tell she was already quite fit and supple. She was about five-foot-four tall, slim with wide hips. Her tight-fitting leggings accentuated her shapely legs, muscular thighs and cute, rounded bottom. Her leggings were particularly snug around her crotch area; although she didn’t have a prominent pubic mound, the stretchy material of her leggings had lodged in the crevice of her vulva, giving her a noticeable camel toe. Because of this, plus the fact that there was no visible panty line, I wondered if she was wearing anything underneath her leggings. She must have known that I could discern the outline of her pussy, but she didn’t seem at all concerned. Indeed, she seemed to delight in stretching right in front of me. Did I mention she was stunning?

 

I had no doubt that fitness-wise, Sam would be more than capable of running ten kilometres with a bit of training. In fact, she could probably do it now. My task would be to get her more competitive.

 

As with most sports, running is as much about mental attitude as it is about physical prowess. As we chatted I began to gain an impression of Sam’s character. Despite her relatively young age, she came across as confident, self-assured, outgoing, determined and enthusiastic. She also presented as cheeky, fun-loving and a bit saucy. Although these were all positive characteristics, I wondered if she may also be stubborn and strong-willed – not taken to following instructions.

 

Once I was satisfied that we had warmed-up enough I suggested we headed off for a slow jog around the park. I instructed Sam to run no faster than a speed she could comfortably talk at. I explained that I wanted to take the opportunity to find out about the race she had entered, and what she hoped to achieve.

 

Before we set off, Sam pulled her grey hoodie over her head to reveal she was wearing a white, cotton tee-shirt underneath. It also revealed that she’d got a tight abdomen and small breasts. I could see through the shirt that she was wearing a blue bra of conventional design rather than a sports bra. Disappointingly, she tied her hoodie around her waist so that I could no longer see her perky bum cheeks. Have I mentioned that she was stunning?

 

As we jogged alongside each other through the park at a very sedate pace I asked Sam about the forthcoming race. I discovered that it was a long-established ten-kilometer charity road race that I had taken part in many times when I was competing; so I knew the course well. It was a generally circular course, starting and finishing on the local school playing field. Apart from the starting and finishing straights which were on grass, the route was on rural tarmac roads. The first two kilometers on the road was a fairly steep downhill section, the middle part was undulating, then the last kilometer on the road was steep uphill back to the playing field. The last half a kilometer was on grass to the finish line. I knew it to be a tough course; certainly not one for setting a PB. The secret was to save enough energy for the final hill and hopefully still have enough left for a sprint to the finish. It was a course that suited my style of running, and although I’d never achieved a particularly good time, I’d always finished well up the field, beating runners that would normally finish in front of me on flatter courses.

 

As to why Sam had entered this particular fun run, she explained that this year’s chosen charities were all to do with animal welfare, and the local vet practices had been encouraged to enter a team of four runners. Each team had to contain at least one female and one runner aged over forty. As Sam was the youngest and fittest girl at their surgery she had been persuaded to join the team even though she wasn’t a runner. There was to be a special award for the best performing practice, and prizes for the top runners representing vets surgeries. I established that Sam didn’t just want to finish the race, but she wanted to be competitive – for her team and herself. The race was to be held on Sunday June 10th; just nine weeks from now.

 

Sam then asked me about my experience as a runner. It felt very much like a job interview. Her main concern was my age and that I was no longer running; she thought I’d struggle to keep up with her, which, to be fair, I was at the moment even though we were only going at a sedate pace. I explained that I’d only been asked to give her advice, not to be her training partner. I looked across at her jogging alongside me and watched her little breasts bobbing up and down with each stride, and her golden hair flowing out behind her. In that moment I was convinced that being her trainer wouldn’t be so bad; assuming she’d have me.

 

I suggested we stopped jogging and did a few stretches to finish. As we went through our warm-down routine I told Sam I thought she’d have no problem with finishing the race and that, if she followed my advice and instructions, I could help her achieve a respectable time. I recommended that she bought some proper running trainers and that I was happy to help her pick some out that were suitable. Sam seemed delighted with this. We parted on the understanding that I would collect her on Saturday morning and take her to the shoe shop. It seemed I’d got the job as Sam’s coach.

 

On the Friday I went out for a jog. I thought that if I was to get Sam ready for her race then I should get a bit fitter myself. Sam could be just the motivation I needed to get running again. To be truthful, after our little jog on the Thursday I could feel my legs had tightened. I thought I better not tell Sam that!

 

Later that day I prepared a schedule for Sam’s first week of training. At this stage it was more about getting time in her legs rather than achieving a specific distance or speed. I thought there was a real danger that Sam would try to do too much too soon; if she did this she could risk getting injured. So for Week One I specified she should jog for fifteen minutes on Monday; twenty minutes on Tuesday; twenty minutes on Wednesday; Thursday she should do her regular gym session; Friday was to be a rest day; fifteen minutes jog on Saturday and thirty minutes jog on Sunday. As the race was to be on a Sunday morning I recommended that Sam got used to doing her longest run of the week on this day; ideally in the morning at the same time as the race would take place. Sam’s work schedule meant that most of her running would need to take place in the evening. Fortunately at this time of year there was plenty of daylight.

Continued......