A sprint is different from running faster. It’s a short intensive burst of speed that you reserve for special moments like racing 100 or 200 metres on a track; the last minute of a race as you dash to the finish line; or you realise that you are in the wrong court and you have documents which must be lodged that day and the right court closes at 5pm and the time is 4:58pm.

That last example may just have been me.

After a mix up as a trainee solicitor, where I was told to go to the Court of Session, in Edinburgh, to lodge a document, when the document was in fact due in the Sheriff Court, I have an unverified claim to have broken the land speed record during my sprint between the two courts. More impressive, I didn’t need Adidas’s cheat boots, I had black leather dress shoes. 

When I’m not sprinting between courtrooms, I normally reserve my sprints for the end of a race and my favourite finish line was at the Escape from Alcatraz triathlon in San Francisco – a race that starts with a 1.5 mile open water swim from Alcatraz Island to the shore, before a hilly bike leg and an 8km run along the coast to finish. 

As a triathlon, it also had that quirk of triathlon known as triathlon tattoos, where every competitor is given a temporary tattoo with their race number. This is so that if you drown during the swim they will know who you are. Which is fair enough. Who doesn’t want the reassurance of knowing that someone has thought, when they drown, at least they have a solid logistical identification system in place for the coroner? However, the Escape from Alcatraz triathlon didn’t stop there. It went one step further. They also stamped me with my age group. Why they didn’t also require the name of my next of kin and last will and testament, I don’t know. 

The good thing about the age group stamp was that it was on the back of my calf. And, as I ran round, I could see who was ahead of me by reading their calves: 18 – 24; 45 – 50 etc, and build up an extra picture of them in my mind as I beat them to the finish line. Which was a good idea, until 65 – 75 overtook me at the end. I swear he didn’t look a day over 45. 

Find a sprint. It doesn’t need a track or a starting pistol. You just need someone ahead of you, a finish line, and the sudden decision that you are not going to let them beat you. Pick your target. Check their age group stamp. Go.