I can't believe it's not AI
I tried to get ChatGPT to write my column this week. It failed. And so I had to write it myself. So much for progress
I thought I’d be clever and ask ChatGPT to write my column this week. I guess I should be glad that it came up with a pile of woolly sounding garbage. At least I’m still needed.
I asked it: “Write a column in the style of Adharanand Finn looking back at the past seven days in the sport of running.”
Amazingly, without a moment’s hesitation, it started pouring forth, reams of text. Impressive. I started reading it …
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting its golden hues over the rolling hills, another week in the world of running comes to a close. From the bustling streets of urban marathons to the tranquil trails of remote mountains, the past seven days have been a whirlwind of triumphs, challenges, and moments that remind us why we lace up our shoes and hit the pavement.
Maybe you’re thinking it sounds OK, and as an opening I guess it isn’t too bad, and perhaps it does sound a little like me? But it never gets down into the detail, but just goes on and on like this with these vague, pretty, slightly meaningless descriptions of running. Trust me, it gets boring very quickly.
So I guess I’ll have to write the column myself.
Last Monday - following the death of Kelvin Kiptum - it was quite a whirlwind, and I ended up giving interviews on the BBC World Service, BBC Radio 4, BBC Radio 5 Live, the BBC News Channel and Sky News. In some ways I felt uncomfortable being the spokesperson for Kiptum, since I’d never met him and really, I’d only spent six months in Kenya, plus a few extra weeks here and there. Surely there were Kenyans, or others living closer to the athletes, who could express a view?
Of course, others were commenting, and I was on at various times alongside people like Emile Cairess and Amos Kipruto, two top athletes who had raced against Kiptum. Yet, somehow, it also needed the journalist’s view, the writer, the person with the overview, who sees it from the outside and the inside at the same time. I was also keen to let people know just how special Kiptum was. From the outside, he was the world record holder, so he must be good, right? But he was no ordinary world record holder. I wanted to get that across to the outside world.
Going on TV is particularly nerve-wracking, and slightly discombobulating to do it from your sitting room in a cottage in Devon. Here I was with my wacky half-cut mantlepiece in the background, all the lights on but still tinged yellow, my laptop teetering unsteadily on a pile of boxes and books, while I’m sitting there trying to look like an author. Suddenly a voice from a TV studio in London: “Thanks for coming on the show. We’ll be with you in about 90 seconds.” OK, I think, sitting there. Adverts are playing on the screen. I’m just watching, like a regular viewer. The sound is a bit out of synch. Will that be a problem?
“Are you OK with that background?” a different voice asks. I’ve got family photos and some toy figures on the shelf. “You mean the family pictures?” I ask. “Is that a bad idea?”
“It’s up to you,” the voice says. But we must have mere seconds now until I’m on. I contemplate pulling the pictures down, but decide to focus on composing myself.
The newsreader Mark Austin is on the screen. I used to work with him at ITN, though I doubt he remembers me. But I know he has read my book because he once emailed me to say how much he enjoyed it. His daughter was a serious junior athlete, I seem to remember. She later went on to have an eating disorder. All this was going through my mind, when suddenly he was saying my name and asking me to … “try to explain how good Kiptum was”.
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