I had my second badminton session last week, and again very much enjoyed it. It made me realise something about my enjoyment of sport though, and it was quite surprising. Apart from a brief period at primary school where we did cross-country running (well, out of the school and round the block down a few alleys really – and I was always third behind Paul Miller and David Wright), I’ve always been drawn to game-based sports rather than sheer physical challenges – faster, higher, stronger and all that. So anything competitive was in – cricket (of course), football, tennis, badminton, table tennis and so on – whilst all the rest was out: swimming, running, cycling, rowing. I think I was drawn to the tension created by testing your skill against someone else in a solo sport, or working as part of a team in group sports. There seemed to be a purpose here – trying to work within a set of rules to achieve a particular end – as opposed to just doing the activity to the best of your ability. Over the past few months since beginning this challenge my view has completely switched. Now I can think of nothing better sporting-wise than running on my own, or swimming, riding my bike (with my son). This was brought home to me by two things over the past couple of weeks. Firstly the badminton experience, where playing doubles with a very wide range of partners made me aware of other people’s expectations. Some players were very accommodating and forgiving of my ineffectual drop shops and poorly judged leaves, while others could barely contain their contempt, waiting for the game to finish before moving on to a better challenge. Both people’s approaches are fine of course: it’s lovely that people can be so generous with their time and support, and equally it’s motivating to feel inadequate, so the pressure created by some of the better players is good too. But I think, like those moments in my cricket where I can’t get the ball in the right place, or it won’t turn, or a batsmen has taken a liking to my bowling, it’s ultimately frustrating. Other sports too – poor skills in tennis, or topping everything in golf – create the same sinking feeling, and although I enjoy the effort, ultimately I become resigned to being fairly average. The other thing was the book I’m reading at the moment by one of my favourite authors, Haruki Murakami. It’s a short non-fiction book which collects a series of essays documenting his experience and views as a long distance runner, with the title What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. There’s so much in here, and I’ll add something about it later, but he notes the importance of running as a personal challenge, even when running with others. This was a revelation, despite the fact it was gradually dawning on me of its own accord. When running, or learning to swim better, or cycling, it’s about me bettering myself. These sports don’t need anything else, any sense of external competition, and rules outside of the very basic techniques of the individual disciplines. It’s up to me to check my performance against my records: getting out there, stats, and self-improvement – all you need. Probably something to do with being an only child too.

Looking ahead, I now feel more motivated by those sports I can do independently of others. I might need some equipment and help, or training and some facilities, but they aren’t dependent on finding an opponent as the role is fulfilled by my own history and expectations. Roll on weightlifting, kayaking, long distance walking, javelin and archery: this is where my sport will be.