Acceptable in the 80s Lyrics: It was acceptable in the 80s / It was acceptable at the time / It was acceptable in the 80s / It was acceptable at the time / I got love for .
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Distance runners from the North-East brought back two bronzes from the Olympic games in Los Angeles, with Mike McLeod claiming his in a five-way sprint for the line in the 10,m. Thirty years later, the grainy VHS footage of that race still never fails to send me out of the door for a run. Charlie barrels through a leafy twilight, his long shadow doing battle with that of John Treacy of Ireland. The crowd lining the roadside is four deep, waving American flags and balloons. The helicopter shot of the course reveals the geometry of suburbia — clipped lawns and swimming pools.
An incongruous setting, I always thought, for such a heroic run. Years of hard work are condensed in that look: The next fifteen minutes will define his career. In spite of his fatigue, he has a straight-backed, still-shouldered poise. He is shorter than I expected but has a compact, chesty power.
I have arrived so early that I have already finished a black coffee when he strides in, on time. Thirty years on, Charlie is still the last British man to have won an Olympic medal in the marathon. While I wait I calculate that his fastest time for the distance works out at the same 4. I feel faintly embarrassed to have asked him to meet me. I knew that he still lived in Durham, that he used to train on the same disused railway lines and riverbanks that I now run on.
It portrays a man with an exceptional ability to harness his physical talent with an incredible mental strength. For a decade, then, Charlie has influenced my running. But this is the first time we have met. I want to talk to him about cultivating a positive attitude towards racing, a subject to which he dedicates large sections of his book. Marathon runners, they say, need to be as strong mentally as they are physically. His answers to my questions are considered and direct, his advice concerned mainly with the importance of self belief.
The longer the race, he says, the more the mind comes into play. I used to tell myself that half of the guys I was racing would already be out of the race before the gun had even fired. They would have been ill or injured in the weeks before, or else they would already have defeated themselves inside their own heads. If I could tell myself that, I realised, I only had to beat half of them and I thought I was capable of doing that! I feel like this is the big lesson. That you decided, sitting here in this cafe, that you could run this pace.
That you can run this pace. Seeking to Experience a Different Life a. The language through which the marathon is evoked intimidates as much as it inspires. I remember watching one of the big city marathons as a young runner. Steve Cram was commentating on a group of Kenyans barreling along at a pace of four minutes fifty seconds per mile.
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One of them was vomiting copiously without breaking stride. The marathon has an epic romance unparalleled in any other event. If you want to experience a different life, run a marathon. Following a frustrating few months of applying for jobs and even unpaid internships and getting nowhere I have a degree in English and French literature and a masters in International Development if anyone wants to offer me a job starting on the 14th of April!
For the first time, my coach has typed out and colour-coded a fairly intimidating-looking training schedule. I will try to update the blog more often once I start marathon training. Some faces familiar because of their fame, others, reassuringly, because I know them from the local scene. Nervous chatter of the kind you hear before any race, any where. And then Haile walks in, back arched slightly, chest out. His straight-legged walk is proud, heron-like. The Emperor is here. Everyone else stretches, some using long elastic bands to loosen early-morning hamstrings, or paces around, or fiddles with safety pins.
Haile goes to sleep. He carefully places a chair just the right distance from the wall, raises his legs on it, and has the twenty minute snooze of a man pleased with his morning of gardening: After twenty years at the top of his sport, he can afford to relax. The room remains respectfully quiet until he gets up, gives everyone a smile, and heads out to warm up.
This is the cue for everyone else to head out for a jog, too. Haile warms up on his own, stretching out on a loop around the hotel, his pace gradually increasing. He bounces, yellow-clad in Adidas, past morning shoppers and people arriving for the race. Few people recognise him, those that do double-take as he streaks past.
Acceptable in the 80s
Back in the hotel some light stretching and we are led down to the start. The nerves that accumulated in the stuffy hotel room are dissipated by most with a few too many strides. More nervy chatter, but mostly the other top runners are looking inward now, focusing on the thirteen miles of Glaswegian road to come.
The start is up St.
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Vincent street, a gradually rising hill which tapers to a blind summit. We peer up the hill, trying to size it up. A barrier forty metres from the start creates a pen. The elite athletes form a jumpy herd, moving now for the sake of movement, their warm-ups complete. Haile, meanwhile, arrives at the start line last. He gives a regal wave, does a casual stride. He obliges, first, all those who want to take his photo on the way to the start. Like a politician, his smile never wavers. Unlike a politician, his smile is genuine, infectious.
We are told that the race is to be delayed by fifteen minutes due to problems on the course. Much muttering, much worrying about putting tracksuit tops back on and jogging to stay warm. He shrugs, then gets up onto the start podium to do an interview to pass the time. He is completely unconcerned by the delay. Rather than wasting energy jogging he chats for a while then dances.
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Just over an hour and six minutes later I learn that Haile finished roughly a mile ahead of me, running the fastest half-marathon ever on Scottish soil. Clearly his relaxed approach did him no harm at all. I did manage to scrape onto the results page on the BBC for the first time though, and took a minute and twenty seconds off my best for the half marathon, running 1. The advice my coach gave me going into the race was simple. You want to think in terms of three five-mile segments. This is almost as likely to happen after three miles as after nine, and you have to be ready for it psychologically, assured that you will come out of the other side running strongly.
Bearing this in mind, I set off to run at five minutes five seconds per mile, reasoning that I was in shape to run around At around five miles I realised I was having to work pretty hard to stay with Anthony Ford and Ross Houston, so I let a bit of a gap develop and tried to stay relaxed. Backing off a bit and running my own pace paid off, as I realised at eight miles that Ross was coming back to me.
I focused on running tall, fixing my eyes on the back of his vest to prevent my head from dropping and willing the gap between us to contract. At ten miles I finally caught him and put in a bit of an effort to go straight past. I managed to build a bit of a gap on him by eleven miles before I started to really feel like I was working. I had a coffee with Charlie Spedding last week, and he said that when it starts to get hard in longer races there is a temptation to disassociate, to try to take your mind off the effort of running hard.
He said that he always felt it was better to do the opposite, to really focus on the mechanics of your running, to concentrate on running upright, on maintaining your form and on telling yourself that you are running well and strongly. By the last mile, I was very aware of blood pounding in my temples, which seemed to be in time with the rhythm banged out by the spectators on the barriers lining the course.
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I was relieved to see the line, relieved to break 67 minutes. I came down with a bit of a cold last week. By the time the Great North Run came along I was a phlegmy, sniffling mess, forced to watch from the sofa. He hammered it down the hill, got the gap he needed, and it was all over. The hay, as they say, was in the barn for this one. Hopefully, the cold was just bad timing.
One of the advantages of going away and training hard is that all of your familiar runs feel shorter when you get home! Acceptable in the Eighties About. In the meantime, though, thanks for reading. Australian Recording Industry Association Retrieved 13 December — via Pandora Archive. Retrieved 18 June — via Pandora Archive. Australian Recording Industry Association. Retrieved 17 September Select singles in the Format field. Select Silver in the Certification field. Enter Acceptable in the 80s in the search field and then press Enter.
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