It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a number of broken fingers , must be in want of something to do on a Sunday - given that cricket or taking one's SPA assessment is out of the question. How could one fail to answer the call from a comrade telling one, forty-eight hours before the event, that the Sheffield Wildlife Trust had a half-marathon place going spare? All I had to do was meet up with Barney at secret location and collect my race-pack and badger suit. This part of the mission was a success, with the added treat of a train journey back from Sheffield with a group of very refreshed Wednesday fans singing their jolly folk songs and letting everyone know how much they were looking forward to their night out in Chapel-en-le Frith. Pausing briefly at John Watson's 40th, I repaired to bed in anticipation of the big day.
Race day dawned. The team assembled; fit, lean with the set expression of men about to meet their destiny...or at least the set expression of men wondering if they had been to the bathroom enough and what the queue for the men's would be like at the stadium. The journey was enlivened by a brisk discussion on the atomic clock at Rugby and its relationship to Wallington Standard Time, recent political events and whether we should actually be aiming for Hillsborough on the Don Valley Stadium....fate may have had their hand on our shoulders, but fate certainly hadn't bothered to read the race day instructions.
Arriving, unusually, in good time for the event, the team went through their intensive pre-run preparations; mostly, this was just wandering about looking for a toilet, but Julian McIntosh was seen to be covertly doing some stretches! It stood him in great stead as, as soon as the gun fired, he was off like a rabbit - actually, as soon as the gun fired, everyone shuffled about a bit for three minutes waiting to cross the start line. It takes a while for nearly five-thousand runners to get going.
The course itself was as sly as ever; it is a fairly flat course with the only real climb coming after the rather depressing facade of Bramall Lane is passed - although the collective booing from the blue and white runners rather cheered things up. The climb goes up Cemetery Road, drops down to Eccleshall Road and then climbs again almost to Hunter's Bar. This is the most crowded section of the race, with spectators on both sides of the road and the faster runners heading downhill having turned for home at the top. It's also the place to check how one's comrades are doing. After this section, it's back to the city centre and then the long slog back to the stadium.
The sun cam out for a bit, much to the chagrin of those dressed as the Pink Panther, there was a decent tail-wind on the way back and I managed to keep going despite the lack of training. I also managed to beat most people dressed as animals - a personal triumph. Julian led the team home in an impressive 1:47:15; I beat Wallington and Mount home - although Mark did say how much he enjoyed seeing "Fitzcarraldo" again at the Showroom - with David taking an impressive twelve minutes off his time from last year. Julian was rewarded for his great effort with a medal, a t-shirt and conscription into the Elderly Brothers; I'm sure he had a pleasant evening watching the Happy Mondays on Youtube, picking up some Bez like moves.As is customary on these occasions, the evening ended with future plans being made; it would appear that the Elderly Brothers are going to be spending 2012 on a canoeing marathon in Romania, stopping on the way to subject the inhabitants of the Danube delta to their unique brand of entertainment. It certainly works that Timothy Taylor's Landlord.....
And now, dear reader, I must work on how to knock seven minutes off my time.
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