Picture him. For 200 metres he strides ahead, his pale legs pumping like pistons; to the other runners, he is a dot, hitting the second bend as they finish the first. And then, suddenly, mid-stride, he stops. He bends, gripping his right side, wincing. He runs a little. He stops again. And starts.
The pack, dispassionate hunters now, run him down – quickly leaving his unstable legs in their wake. He walks the last 400 metres, and only once attempts to break into a run. Thankfully, he does manage to finish. Last.
I was that kid on sports day.
And, to be honest, I still am.
Pacing ourselves across an academic year is a hard thing. Our mental and emotional resources are finite and each year many of us overestimate what we can realistically achieve in such a short space of time. So much competes for our attention and…
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