"Representing Great Britain, in lane three, Toooom Fordyce!" booms the PA. There is a smattering applause from colleagues, which I greet with an embarrassed wave.

I'd always hoped I'd be Michael Johnson-cool in this scenario, eyes focused in a distant point, maybe fingering a good luck charm round my neck.

No such chance. I'm shaking so much I nearly false-start "On your marks," barks the starter. "Set" I wobble. "CRACK!"

My dreams of glory, inflated beyond belief by the build-up, last precisely 50 metres.

That's the time it takes for my rival from the Bulgarian media to hare off at a crazy pace, establishing an unbreakable lead before some of us have passed the starter.

Kipketer's record safe

I set out in pursuit of his cloud of dust, only slightly put off by the sight of myself labouring on the giant screens.

The bell goes with me in second place, that magical ting-a-ling that always draws a roar from the crowd and puts speed in the stride of every runner.

The Bulgarian is somewhere up ahead. Coe at his peak would struggle to catch him, I think, gasping. I'm wrong, but when the lungs are screaming you need every encouragement you can get.

I put my foot on the gas with 150m to go and am rewarded with a burst of acceleration that would shame a Citroen 2CV.

Completely unnecessarily, I dip on the line.

Second place, in a time of 2mins 16secs. Looking on the bright side, it's a personal best. Perhaps more accurately, it's a personal only.

Still, it's a mere 35 seconds off Wilson Kipketer's world record, and makes me the fastest of the Brits on display.

The boys from BBC Five Live come in 15 seconds back, which only proves the adage that the internet is moving faster than radio or TV.

Haile Gebrselassie poses for photographs afterwards with the media, who have abandoned their usual cynicism in favour of unadulterated fawning in front of the greatest distance runner of all time.

I brown-nose furiously, say hello and ask him to sign my race number.