It's the Shifnal Half Marathon today. Good luck to all running. It's going to be a scorcher. Far too hot for me. Even had I trained for the race I'd have pulled out this morning. Which reminds me of this from The Northern Line to Shropshire about the 2010 running of the race.
A year ago we were at dinner and talking of the group's attempt at the Long Mynd 50 – a 50 mile traipse over the Shropshire hills - when someone asked me whether I would ever think of getting off my fat arse and doing something energetic and challenging and life-affirming (they may have phrased it differently).
When I'd finished laughing, I said that the Shifnal Steeplechase half marathon actually goes directly past my door and so I guess if there was anything that would be it. When everyone else had finished laughing they decided we'd best all do it, and so that was that.
Which is why, yesterday, two half marathon virgins actually made it to the start line, and indeed over the finish line. So here's two fingers up to the doubters, the sniggerers, the doom-sayers, and the cynics. The medals hang proudly on the mantelpiece, alongside a congratulatory telegram from Eddie Izzard. A good job, well done.
And as for the slackers; those who pretended never to have been at the dinner; those whose dog ate their homework; and those who typed "fat + running + injury" into google and came up with a handy dose of plantars fasciitis, I say shame on you, shame on you all...
Well done, Jill and Ian.
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