My finest Sporting moment was a combination of speed, agility and determination when I was 15. We'd gone on a caravan holiday in the Cotswolds with my brother, his wife and their 'orrid little 3 year old (as most 3 year olds are) to a place with five fishing lakes, as apparently my brother being absent all day and most of the night carp catching in the pissing rain made a great holiday for all concerned.
The 3 year old had been less than pleasant all week and I was up early giving him breakfast, taking out the rubbish, that sort of thing when he decided he wanted to go out - with one of those lakes exactly 10 foot away, I said no, wait for Mummy and I'll be back in a second. His response was to sink his teeth into my knee, at which point my mother emerged to bollock me for telling him what to do and to stop bullying him. So I left him to her and took the bin bag to the disposal point, feeling a bit hard done by, but it was normal with the Golden Child of the Golden Son and it was quite pleasant as it had stopped raining for the first time since we arrived.
As I came back, I heard loads of hissing and flapping. My mother had let him go out alone and he had been cornered by two very angry swans and their equally pissed off giant grey youngsters right by the edge of a fishing platform.
I sprinted over, dodging angry hissing bastards, dived through the middle of the two adult swans, tucked the ungrateful little git under one arm, got up, jumped over an angler's unattended entire tackle setup, around two cars and got back to the caravan to deposit the kid back at the caravan with the swan family still in hot pursuit, thinking I was brilliant and I'd saved him from getting drowned from being so strong and fast.
I got bollocked for stopping him playing and deliberately making him cry.