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Confession: until yesterday I had only done one track session and that was more than two years ago. It left me with such bad DOMS that I’ve been put off ever since. That’s not to say that my training has been devoid of intervals. I just haven’t done them at the running track.

But I now live near Parliament Hill running track. Positioned on the edge of Hampstead Heath you can see the London skyline as you head down the home straight. It’s an inviting prospect. One that almost makes me forget how much I’m scared of the track.

Other than the £3 pricetag, there’s the seriousness of the track, the other runners and the things that could go wrong. What if there are super speedy runners there and I’m passed out across two lanes after my latest rep and getting in their way? What if I throw up on lane one and everyone has to add an extra few meters to their laps swerving to avoid it? Their lap slips will be all over the place and it will be my fault.

I went to the track last night and none of these things happened. It was much worse.

I jogged the mile to the track as a warm up wearing a bright pink running jacket, a pair of patterned black, silver and white tights, and a fresh-out-the-box pair of turquoise trainers. It was what I call my “I’m nervous about going to the track and don’t want to draw attention to myself” outfit.

There was a group of around 50 school children using the track. I jogged up to the gate and asked the caretaker if it was closed for a private session, hopeful he’d tell me to come back another time. No such luck.

“Oh no, don’t mind them. You stay on the inside and they’ll keep out your way.”

I handed over my £3 and headed nervously for the oval as another runner arrived and flashed his season pass to the caretaker.

School PE classes bring back bad memories for me. I wasn’t sporty and had no interest in taking part, and yet I was forced out in all weathers having to run around with people that laughed at the slightest sign of weakness. And here I was again, 15 years on in the middle of another bloody PE class.

I was nervous about running in front of these teenagers. They’d surely take great pleasure in lapping me and laughing at my patterned running tights, but I headed towards lane one all the same. Some of them looked over as I went through my warm up and stretching, but I continued.

I started running. I ran 400m, a full lap of the track, and kept going. I ran a second lap hard. 800m and my first rep was done. I had seven more to do. One the second rep I thought back to the year that I had to run the 800m at school sports day. I was about the same age as the kids around me right now. That year I didn’t make it 400m before I had to stop and walk, clasping my hand to my side to ease a stitch. I finished my second 800m rep in 3 minutes 16 seconds.

Rep three started and after I’d run 20 meters I heard one of the PE teachers behind me instructing 15 of the class to run a lap. I braced myself for a heard of teenagers to go speeding past me, but it didn’t come. I ran the second 400m of the interval and watched as some of the kids finished their 400 while other dragged along behind, some walking grabbing their sides.

Somewhere around rep four or five I stopped noticing the kids around me. I focused only on the white lines in front of me and trying not to vomit. By the time I’d finished my eighth and final 800m they were gone, and so had my fear of the track or of what anyone else thinks.