An early start this morning took me to the start line of the just ten miles. Parking space found, a short walk to the event village, toilet queue negotiated; I saw the marathon runners on their way. Elites, serious runners and fancy dressed fun runners set off at a pace down the hill. Down the hill. The hill that would be climbed 26 miles later. Mr A was there, and back in just 3 hours 43. He’s a fast runner. I may have the stamina to keep on running, but I’m not fast.
Then it was the turn of the just ten milers. It’s cold hanging about at the start of a run. There’s the opportunity to leave old clothes for charity. A trailer full of items abandoned by the marathon runners had already been collected. I said goodbye to the redundant cardigan that had witnessed life from the back of my office chair.
Our turn came to run down the hill and into the city. Over the cobbles, less treacherous than in last year’s rain. Under the city walls, past the minster, through the country villages. Encouraged all the way by spectators and fellow runners, my lack of serious training was not a big issue. Lots of banter made me pleased to have given my Trump t-shirt another airing. Less than 2 hours later, it was my turn to climb the hill to the home strait. Marathon runners were already sprinting towards the finish, pulling the ten milers in their wake.
So that’s one of the ten mile runs done. Just two short weeks to go to the next one. The undulating Lake District run. The distance may not be an issue, but this granny will be challenged by the hills.