Free Twin Ambitions - My Autobiography by Mo Farah Page A

making our way round the various loops of the track, the thought suddenly hit me: ‘I’m faster than most of these guys.’ Slowly but surely, I began overtaking kids in the chasing pack. After 1 kilometre I was somewhere in the top fifty. After 2 kilometres I’d made it into the top thirty. By the time we clocked up 3 kilometres, with 1.5 left, I had managed to catch up with the lead group of nine runners, with the top eight automatically selected to represent England in the Nationals. The chance to represent my country was in my grasp.
    As we scudded round the final bend I nudged ahead of the eighth-placed runner. Now I was top eight. I sprinted towards the finish line with a couple of hundred metres to go. But as I closed in, the kid immediately behind me, the one I’d overtaken, kicked on and caught up with me. We were neck and neck. I was so close to that England top. I kicked again, pushing fiercely, giving it everything as I fought to cling on to eighth place and the England spot. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the strength in my legs. With less than 50 metres to go, my rival surged ahead of me. I crossed the finish line in ninth place.
    I was bitterly disappointed. I remembered what Alan had said about top fifty being a great result, but to come so close to a qualification place only to lose it at the very last moment was gut-wrenching. Alan was waiting for me at the finish line. He came over, put an arm round my shoulder and said, ‘You did really well, Mo. Don’t forget that. Ninth place is a fantastic result, you know.’
    I forced a smile. Alan was right. I had no right to expect to be anywhere near the front of the pack, considering my disadvantage in age and size. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the end of the race. I’d given it everything and come up short.
    ‘Run like that again and I reckon you’ll come back next year and win it,’ Alan added. ‘Tell you what. If you win the next English Schools Cross Country, I’ll buy you a football kit. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
    My eyes went wide. ‘For real?’
    Alan nodded. ‘Any kit you want.’
    ‘Arsenal,’ I replied instantly.
    Arsenal were my team. As a young kid, I sort of followed Manchester United. When I first moved to Britain, lots of the kids at school supported the Gunners, and after a while I started looking out for their results. They had top-class players like Tony Adams, Ray Parlour, Ian Wright, Dennis Bergkamp, and they had just appointed Arsène Wenger as manager. He was in the process of revolutionizing football in England. Suddenly, they were my team. Now I had the chance to wear their shirt. That was all the motivation I needed to win.
    I trained all-out for the next English Schools Cross Country Championships. The 1997 championships were going to be held in Newark and I had my eye on that Arsenal kit. First up, though, I had the English Schools Track & Field Championships, due to take place in Sheffield in July (the Cross Country Championships take place early in the year, with the Track & Field Championships held in the summer). In order to qualify for the finals, I had to post a top-eight finish for Feltham in the Middlesex Schools Athletics Championship. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Then, one week before the regionals, disaster struck. I was playing football in the field with Mahad before athletics training. It was a warm afternoon, the sun was out and we thought we’d kick the ball around outside rather than play inside the stuffy sports hall. I booted the ball really hard. It soared through the air and landed on top of the sports hall roof.
    I’d kicked the ball over, so it was my job to fetch it. Grabbing hold of the gutter, I boosted myself onto the roof, scooped up the ball and threw it back down to Mahad. As I lowered myself from the roof, however, I slipped and felt this intense burning pain as something sharp scraped against my right leg. I stacked it, hit the ground and