The sin of pride
ASTUTE READERS of this column — as if there is any other kind — will have noticed an uncharacteristic note of vainglory in my last piece. Having described the hell that was my first cross-country race across the rain-soaked, mud-choked playing fields of Merchant Taylors’ School, Herts, I concluded with the brag: “My time over 8k was 42m and 14s. At Merchant Taylors’ next race, I will be much faster.”
Now 42m and 14s is not fast by the
