The Al Pease Memorial Half-Marathon
Posted: 28 Feb 2015, 13:53
I am going to do something quite, quite mad.
A while back (mid-January) I heard of a charity run in aid of the Miscarriage Association, called the Angel Run. Now, I loathe and detest running even more than our new Scotalian overlord hates Rubentus - in fact, there's far more chance of seeing him wearing a black and white football strip from Turin than there is of me ever volunteering for any kind of run. But I saw the Angel Run was a "virtual race" - you can run at your own pace, on any route, even on a treadmill. And this somehow drew me in. What if I were to enter, but refuse to run, and walk it instead? The idea was further reinforced a couple of weeks ago when I missed the last bus home and decided to walk from Derby to Nottingham - 14 miles, I'm told that is - and got as far as the A52 sliproad to Spondon, still within the locale of Derby, before the police objected and picked me up for a ride home.
But I'm a stubborn old goat and I refuse to be defeated on this one. I was determined to get my way, and so I've signed up for the Angel Run. And I will not be running a single yard. I will follow all their rules, I should have my time posted on their official board, and I will not be beating the current fastest time (1h34m47s) - nor will I be beating the slowest time (3h17m01s). In fact, Google Maps tells me my route for 13.1 miles will take 4 hours and 23 minutes.
Even though this is all about miscarriages, I have decided to dedicate my efforts to the late Al Pease, reject hero of the 1967 Canadian Grand Prix. I will be finishing even further off the pace than he did that day.
I set off at 8:00 on the dot tomorrow morning. My not-a-run starts at my front door, heads down the A52, snakes through Wilford and West Bridgford for a bit, rejoins the A52, then heads down the A606 through Tollerton, Stanton-on-the-Wolds, Hickling Pastures and Upper Broughton, crosses the border into Leicestershire and finishes at the Anchor in Nether Broughton. There I will find a couple of fine ales and a Sunday roast, rather than a plastic bottle of Lucozade Sport and a couple of lettuce leaves. That's the way I like to live.
I am the wrong side of 35, I am packing 15 stone of pure lard and I despise any form of vigorous exercise. But this is something I can get behind, and I can celebrate the world of (as we now have to call it) Grand Prix Rejectdom at the same time.
A while back (mid-January) I heard of a charity run in aid of the Miscarriage Association, called the Angel Run. Now, I loathe and detest running even more than our new Scotalian overlord hates Rubentus - in fact, there's far more chance of seeing him wearing a black and white football strip from Turin than there is of me ever volunteering for any kind of run. But I saw the Angel Run was a "virtual race" - you can run at your own pace, on any route, even on a treadmill. And this somehow drew me in. What if I were to enter, but refuse to run, and walk it instead? The idea was further reinforced a couple of weeks ago when I missed the last bus home and decided to walk from Derby to Nottingham - 14 miles, I'm told that is - and got as far as the A52 sliproad to Spondon, still within the locale of Derby, before the police objected and picked me up for a ride home.
But I'm a stubborn old goat and I refuse to be defeated on this one. I was determined to get my way, and so I've signed up for the Angel Run. And I will not be running a single yard. I will follow all their rules, I should have my time posted on their official board, and I will not be beating the current fastest time (1h34m47s) - nor will I be beating the slowest time (3h17m01s). In fact, Google Maps tells me my route for 13.1 miles will take 4 hours and 23 minutes.
Even though this is all about miscarriages, I have decided to dedicate my efforts to the late Al Pease, reject hero of the 1967 Canadian Grand Prix. I will be finishing even further off the pace than he did that day.
I set off at 8:00 on the dot tomorrow morning. My not-a-run starts at my front door, heads down the A52, snakes through Wilford and West Bridgford for a bit, rejoins the A52, then heads down the A606 through Tollerton, Stanton-on-the-Wolds, Hickling Pastures and Upper Broughton, crosses the border into Leicestershire and finishes at the Anchor in Nether Broughton. There I will find a couple of fine ales and a Sunday roast, rather than a plastic bottle of Lucozade Sport and a couple of lettuce leaves. That's the way I like to live.
I am the wrong side of 35, I am packing 15 stone of pure lard and I despise any form of vigorous exercise. But this is something I can get behind, and I can celebrate the world of (as we now have to call it) Grand Prix Rejectdom at the same time.
