grumpyf1

Imagine you’ve just run 13 miles. What are you feeling as you cross the line? I think I’m closer to understanding than I’ve ever been. Last Sunday was a very busy one if you work for Brathay Trust, the Ambleside-based charity that works to inspire children and young people to make positive choices that will last a lifetime. Their biggest fundraising event of the year took place – The Brathay Windermere Marathon. This year was the first event to also feature a Half Marathon and, relieved of my usual duties of wandering around with a camera and trying to look busy on social media, I got to hand medals to the finishers of the 13.1mile race. Poised with an arm-full of medals, I got to place the prize over the heads of the runners who wanted it, or hand it over to those who didn’t fancy me getting too up close and personal. I’m sure it would have been easy to lapse into a conveyor-belt routine of: Say “well done”; place medal; point to water; Next! But I couldn’t do that. All t...

Right now, 15 people are having a little run round a pond. Well, maybe not a pond – Windermere. And not so little – a marathon distance. 10 times in 10 days. I’m pretty impressed with my motivational levels if I manage to resist eating a whole packet of chocolate HobNobs in one sitting. In the very distant past, I ran a half marathon (although ‘run’ probably isn’t the correct terminology if you walk some of it). I was so shattered, I was barely able to drink three pints in the pub afterwards, and had to turn down the offer of celebratory pork scratchings too. I’m not convinced I could even walk 26.2 miles, let alone run that distance. And yet, by the time you read this, 15 people of varying ages and abilities will have completed their 8th marathon in as many days, with the prospect of 2 more still to go. Their final ‘lap’ around England’s largest lake will be celebratory in a great variety of ways, and they will have the support of a huge number of people, as their last c...

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (well, Oxfordshire, actually) I ran a half marathon. I say “run”. I walked a bit. Oh, OK a lot. Nearly all of it, yes. It was hideous. Within the last 2 miles you had to pass a pub, where all the people who were actually quite good at running, and had therefore already finished, had assembled to drink to their extreme nippiness, and cheer on the slow-coaches. Smashing. Advancing years, and a pathological fear of exercise, mean my running days are limited to a dash for a train. Even then I need oxygen and a muscle rub. The ticket inspectors say that isn’t their job, but they need to consider their customer’s needs, before calling the police. I am therefore flabbergasted that anyone can run a whole marathon, especially since they got renamed to “Snickers”. (Actually, now I come to think of it, that may have something to do with those athletes that had already completed the half-marathon back in the mists of time, watching me wheeze my...

9 hours in a minibus. This was my view. Still, at least I didn't have to try and run 26 miles! Well done to everyone taking part and all those organising the race. Top job all round. A special hello to the young couple from Manchester who were last over the line after some assistance from the Sweep Minibus - some plasters, chocolate eclairs a fleece and a helping shoulder to lean on and they made the last couple of miles to a fantastic reception from all those still on site at nearly 6pm. Bless you all. Hello too to the previous back markers: Penguin Man, Two fat ladies (you were great!), and old fella. You were all stars. I'm sure my chauffeur for the day didn't mind the pooey shoe really... Sierra Mobile out. (A great-big 4CD Complete Introduction To Motown is playing some Jimmy Ruffin. Smooooth.)