Gyms are weird places. Given their nature, they should probably be a lot more competitive than they are. Faster, higher, stronger. But they're not. They've been sanitised and civilised to within an inch of their life, and everyone adheres to an unspoken code that you never check how fast someone is going or how much someone is lifting. It's just bad form.

Or at least I thought it was until I went down to my local gym tonight.

Now I'm not a regular at the gym but when I do go, I like to hit the treadmills and run a couple of kilometres at quite a quick pace.

The place was fairly empty so I jumped on the nearest machine and was just about to ramp it up when a young woman sauntered over, wearing all the latest gym gear and looking for all the world like someone who wouldn't be uncomfortable spending five or six hours on a cross-trainer, and got on the machine directly next to mine.

I thought that a tad unusual.

However, just as I was preparing to zone her out so I could get on with my thing, I became aware that she was looking at my console. She was looking at my console and, on her own machine, copying my speed.

I couldn't believe it. It was as clear a challenge as you can get.

So I set it at a significantly higher pace than I would've and set off like a thing possessed. However, I was aware that this young lady was matching me stride for stride, and barely breaking sweat.

By 1k, I was gasping for air and wishing I hadn't gone out at the weekend. I wasn't going to make it. She was going to beat me. But.. must... not... stop... Malark... must... win...

So I continued to race on, the pressure intensifying. With waves of nausea sweeping over me, my vision began to blur as the blood vessels in my eyes began to burst and I sensed it was only a matter of time before a comical trickle of blood escaped from a nostril. My lungs burned and my breathing rasped. I became acutely aware that I was probably closer to death than I was victory.

At 1.5k, I had given up any hope of ever reaching 2k again. I was just about done. However, for the first time, I also became aware that my competitor was showing signs of distress. It gave me the little boost I so desperately needed...

She began to fail badly and, although she tried to soldier on, her diminishment was as abrupt as it was unexpected. By 1.7k she had completely broken down and was beginning to slow her belt to a walking pace.

Inexplicably, miraculously, I had won.

A little part of me likes to think she was in thrall to the heaving, slobbering wreck racing alongside her. The man who achieved what no one thought possible. And I imagine she would've been too, if I hadn't quit immediately thereafter and stumbled off after her, bandying straight into a wall.