Jessica Ennis: Unbelievable - From My Childhood Dreams to Winning Olympic Gold by Jessica Ennis Page A

looked at me and thought, ‘This girl can’t throw.’ If he did he never said it, though, and his boundless enthusiasm rubbed off.
    I was gaining something of a reputation for being sweet and nice, and the press guys on the infield mentioned that Chell had said I could be angry and was even known to swear. ‘We have arguments but so does every athlete and coach,’ I told them. ‘I get frustrated and angry and, yes, I swear. My boyfriend and I have decided we use foul language too much so we’re going to curb it. When I get frustrated I usually just cry, though. Sometimes, if I’ve had a bad session, I go home and cry. Other times I count to ten and try to get myself back together.’
    There was also mention of Kelly christening me ‘Tadpole’. I ducked the question, but the truth is I was hurt by it and did not like it. Chell always finds it harder to bury his feelings and so he let rip. ‘The comment was inappropriate and slightly insulting, but it’s part of Kelly’s make-up and I think that’s a bit sad,’ he said. ‘That’s how she competes, by using things like that. It’s potentially gamesmanship.’
    I wasn’t worried about that. I was already aware that the press was trying to build up a rivalry between the two of us. Sometimes this would get amusing, not least when I would read stories about the tadpole developing into a big fish. I am not a zoological expert, but even I knew tadpoles actually became frogs.
    But, sitting there on the grass, with Kelly absent through injury and the sun warming my neck, I felt relaxed and ready. I had added three strides to my javelin run-up since Osaka and was increasingly confident. I had had a slight niggle in my right foot but thought it was just down to the bulk of training and none of us were worried about it. I soon realized that it is dangerous to get ahead of yourself in this sport. You live in the moment. It is the only way to get the best out of your performance and the only way to stop fretting about how fate might kick you in the teeth at the cruellest moments.
    We had decided not to do much of an indoor season. The focus was all on the summer and China. In Olympic year the hype is cranked up until it is easy to forget that it is just another competition, the same rivals and the same track. The 2008 Hypo-Meeting at Götzis would tell me a lot about where I was and whether I was ready.
    I felt good. I had worked like a slave during the winter. It had started at the back end of 2007 with the dreaded hill runs. We go through to Christmas, trekking up and down the big, gradual hill in Chelsea Park in Nether Edge. It was around 150 metres long and we would run up and walk back down for our recovery. If we were walking down too slowly then Chell would bark at us from the bottom and let us know.
    ‘Pick it up! Too slow! Faster!’
    The boys might go on ahead, but we were all co-sufferers, caked in mud, breath steaming the freezing air, new aches and pains emerging with each run. We did three sets of five runs up that horrible hill. Then we would do two sets of four on the shorter one. A lot of athletes go warm-weather training in the winter, but I never saw the need. I figured that braving the elements of South Yorkshire was more likely to get me battle-hardened for Beijing.
    We would shiver in the car as we were driven back to the EIS for a cup of hot chocolate and then a weights session in the gym. That was our Sunday. I would look at the people getting up late and buying the papers for a long, leisurely read and get jealous.
    The sessions inside the EIS were just as bad. The lactic acid filled the muscles and made my legs feel leaden. It was not just my legs either. The acid got into my arms, my bum, my hamstrings. It spread like a black stain until it was constant and then I would feel this crushing pain behind my eyes.
    ‘I’ve got lactic in my brain,’ I told Chell. He shook his head and walked past me as I died quietly on the floor.
    As usual I had