My father, though, could run very much faster. It was impossible to compete with him on the grass. But it was astonishing how slow old people were. Some of them could not run up a hill and called it trying to climb stairs.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
My dad was a big runner. Growing up, I watched him do half marathons, and he was always running six or seven miles.
When I was young, I was too slow. I thought I must learn to run fast by practicing to run fast, so I ran 100 meters fast 20 times. Then I came back, slow, slow, slow.
In 2008, Pistorius was the only guy who could run under 22 seconds at 200 m. So I said I would run as fast as that in London. I practised; I trained.
In my younger days, I loved to run. Although it may be hard for you to believe it, I did. And I did win a few races.
I realised I could run after finding out that my dad used to run and it gave me the morale that if he did it then maybe I could also run.
I can remember running around at the age of 3, wanting to play golf, cricket and football. I was always active, one way or another, driving my parents mad.
Our grandfathers had to run, run, run. My generation's out of breath. We ain't running no more.
My father was slower, but he was severer than my mother, who was quick but light and irregular in discipline.
He was not a runner, my father, but he was quick. I always remember it was very difficult to escape from him when he was angry. If he wanted to beat us he would always catch us. Even me, he could always catch me.
I could run, but I was throwing 93 mph coming out of high school.