I've only missed one mob match for Ranelagh in the last 35 years (there are four each winter). It's a silly record and one that just gradually evolved (obviously!); now it seems to be the only thing people talk to me about when I travel up to Richmond (memories of Monty Python: "all they ever want to talk about is my two sheds."). So the decision had to be made last Saturday with the onset of a new season: should I do the sensible thing, stay at home and watch the darts on tv or should I at least show my face and make a vain attempt to hobble 7½ miles over two laps of Richmond Park? Although, as my old mate Norman Archer used to lament on a regular basis about anything, it was pointless, somehow I felt that if I didn't show up I would be cutting a tie that has given me so much pleasure over the years, namely my membership of Ranelagh Harriers. I know fewer & fewer runners there each time I go up but the magic of the club, as conveyed to me by one of its many Australian members a few years ago, is that you can disappear for a year or two but always know that when you return there will be a familiar face to buy you a pint. So I ran ...
Of course it was a ridiculous run, I jogged at the back, momentum down Queen's Ride (beautifully pictured here one early morning by David Rowe) taking me past a few stragglers, then walked every time there was the slightest climb (Richmond Park is far from mountainous). A concerned Claudie asked whether I would continue after the first lap but by then there was no choice. My breathing by this stage was very heavy but the regular walks sorted that. My aches and pains all seemed numbed by the experience; it was the utter lack of fitness that was so horrendous. Forward momentum in the last couple of miles, even on the flat bits, was marginal but I crawled home and collapsed over the line. My time? Well my best on the course from a long way back is 40:32 and, in more recent times, 47.04. I ran 59:10. Clive's words came back to me: if I ever fail to break the hour my time is up, a bit worrying given that I've got to go through the whole proceses again in a couple of weeks and last Saturday conditions were perfect.The most frightening statistic however is that I finished 61st out of 116, there were 55 behind me!
I did my various injuries no good at all. My Achilles still aches like hell all day despite regular eccentric heel raises carrying close to 20kg on my back (hernia next methinks); my Abdomen is a sleeping pain, stinging when I make any sudden movement (getting out a chair / car etc) and my Adductor hurts when I put my foot on the clutch when driving. I've at last received confirmation that I will get my pamidronate IV infusion next Monday so live in hope that this might help things. Otherwise it looks like the AAA will terminate my running career, which is somewhat ironic don't you think?!
