I managed to get a free press pass in to the London Diamond League in Crystal Palace last night. It was the first time I've been accredited at a sports event and I didn't really know where to sit or where I was allowed to go. None of the stewards seemed to know either, so I sat myself down on an empty seat on the press benches next to an old lady eating homemade sandwiches.
She was the wife of an ex-editor of Athletics Weekly, who was sitting in front of her at one of the long desks taking notes. He was with a colleague who complained throughout about the pop music being incessantly blasted out between the continuous stream of announcements and interviews. I had to admit, it was quite annoying. By the end I felt as though I'd been watching everything from inside a washing machine. The lady's husband, she told me, said it was because the people who put on the event didn't think the athletics was exciting enough on its own.
Earlier, on the way to Crystal Palace, my train stopped at Clapham Junction. The platform was heaving with athletics fans. As they squeezed on to the already packed train, I realised one of them was Vivian Cheruiyot, the world 5,000m champion I'd spent the day with in Teddington a few weeks ago. She was going there to race.
"Hey," I said. She looked confused. "Remember me?" She smiled and said she did, but then looked the other way.
"Did you see the article?" I asked her a few stops further on. She said she hadn't. I wished her good luck in the race, and left her in peace.
It seemed funny that such a great athlete had to make her own way to the race on the train. Wouldn't a taxi have been more comfortable? All that standing up and being squashed couldn't be ideal preparation for a race.
And why hadn't she seen the article? I had imagined them all crowding around the kitchen table in Teddington that Sunday looking at it, laughing at bits, looking puzzled at others. But I guess that hadn't happened.
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