played Sunday League, turning out at right-back for Bedfont Town in the Surrey Counties Intermediate League against the likes of Cranleigh, Chiddingfold and Farnborough North End. I could sprint up and down that pitch all day. My thing was to reach the by-line, put in a bad cross that some creaking old centre-back would inevitably head clear. Then I’d have to thunder all the way back up the field towards my goal before the opposition could launch a counter-attack. When I wasn’t playing football, I was watching it or thinking about it. Honestly, I never gave a career in athletics a moment’s thought. And if it came down to a choice between playing Sunday League or competing for Borough of Hounslow, there was going to be only one winner.
The following Tuesday Alan asked me the same question: did I want to go along to the athletics club? This time I hesitated to reply. I was due to play football with some mates on the same night. Instead of telling him the truth, I made up an excuse and muttered something about my family not wanting me to train at the club. ‘My aunt needs me to help out around the house, I can’t get out of it,’ something along those lines. I felt bad about lying to Alan, but my heart was in football.
Next week, Alan asked me the same question: ‘How about a run at the club, then, Mo?’ I came up with the same excuse about family pressures and went off to play football. For sure, there were times when I went along to train at Feltham Arena, mostly when I wasn’t playing football and didn’t have anything better to do. But my attendance was sporadic at best. Sometimes I went, other times I didn’t. Still, Alan kept on at me. Did I mention that he can be persistent? For weeks on end he tried to convince me that it was worth my time giving athletics a proper chance, that I should commit to regular sessions at the club.
Everything changed one Tuesday afternoon when I showed up at Alan’s office an hour before training was due to begin at the club. On the days that I trained with Hounslow, I’d leave school at 3.30 p.m., hurry home, grab some food, change into my running gear and head back to the school grounds for around 5–5.15 p.m. and wait to get a lift from Alan to the track. Alan was busy with paperwork and I was kicking my heels sitting on the bench outside his office, looking for something to do – when Alan suddenly chucked me a football and nodded at the hall.
‘I’ve got some more work to finish before we can leave,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you have a kick-around in the gym until I’m done, and then I’ll drive you to the club?’
Brilliant! I took the ball and raced into the gym. For the next thirty minutes I practised keep-uppys, one-twos against the wall, dribbling up and down the flanks. When the half-hour was up, Alan drove me to the club. And, hey, I did a good session on the track.
‘Here’s the deal,’ Alan told me on the drive home. ‘How about you show up early at my office before training each week at the club? While you’re waiting, you can play football. You can turn up half an hour early, or even an hour if you like. I’ll be doing work, so it’s no problem for me. Bring Mahad along too. What d’you say, Mo?’
I nodded. It sounded like a good idea. Winter was drawing near and the weather was turning cold and wet. It was getting dark earlier and earlier, we were running out of places to play football in the evenings, and there was nowhere around where I lived. Playing in a nice, warm gym was just the ticket.
‘But,’ Alan warned, ‘I’ll only let you and your mates play on one condition: when your time is up, you’ll promise to come with me to the athletics club for a running session. No ifs or buts.’
Of all the decisions I’ve had to make in my life, this was an easy one. I’d get to play football
and
go running at the club. It took me about a second to make up my mind.
‘Deal!’ I said.
Thanks to Alan, I settled into a good routine after
The following Tuesday Alan asked me the same question: did I want to go along to the athletics club? This time I hesitated to reply. I was due to play football with some mates on the same night. Instead of telling him the truth, I made up an excuse and muttered something about my family not wanting me to train at the club. ‘My aunt needs me to help out around the house, I can’t get out of it,’ something along those lines. I felt bad about lying to Alan, but my heart was in football.
Next week, Alan asked me the same question: ‘How about a run at the club, then, Mo?’ I came up with the same excuse about family pressures and went off to play football. For sure, there were times when I went along to train at Feltham Arena, mostly when I wasn’t playing football and didn’t have anything better to do. But my attendance was sporadic at best. Sometimes I went, other times I didn’t. Still, Alan kept on at me. Did I mention that he can be persistent? For weeks on end he tried to convince me that it was worth my time giving athletics a proper chance, that I should commit to regular sessions at the club.
Everything changed one Tuesday afternoon when I showed up at Alan’s office an hour before training was due to begin at the club. On the days that I trained with Hounslow, I’d leave school at 3.30 p.m., hurry home, grab some food, change into my running gear and head back to the school grounds for around 5–5.15 p.m. and wait to get a lift from Alan to the track. Alan was busy with paperwork and I was kicking my heels sitting on the bench outside his office, looking for something to do – when Alan suddenly chucked me a football and nodded at the hall.
‘I’ve got some more work to finish before we can leave,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you have a kick-around in the gym until I’m done, and then I’ll drive you to the club?’
Brilliant! I took the ball and raced into the gym. For the next thirty minutes I practised keep-uppys, one-twos against the wall, dribbling up and down the flanks. When the half-hour was up, Alan drove me to the club. And, hey, I did a good session on the track.
‘Here’s the deal,’ Alan told me on the drive home. ‘How about you show up early at my office before training each week at the club? While you’re waiting, you can play football. You can turn up half an hour early, or even an hour if you like. I’ll be doing work, so it’s no problem for me. Bring Mahad along too. What d’you say, Mo?’
I nodded. It sounded like a good idea. Winter was drawing near and the weather was turning cold and wet. It was getting dark earlier and earlier, we were running out of places to play football in the evenings, and there was nowhere around where I lived. Playing in a nice, warm gym was just the ticket.
‘But,’ Alan warned, ‘I’ll only let you and your mates play on one condition: when your time is up, you’ll promise to come with me to the athletics club for a running session. No ifs or buts.’
Of all the decisions I’ve had to make in my life, this was an easy one. I’d get to play football
and
go running at the club. It took me about a second to make up my mind.
‘Deal!’ I said.
Thanks to Alan, I settled into a good routine after
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