The Cheering Gang

Given the fact that Nottingham is overzealous with it’s road closures for the Marathon/Half Marathon and the tram isn’t very convenient for the Embankment, I employ Shank's Pony to get to the start line. In truth, the walk probably served as a pretty good warm up.

The course is more or less the same as last year's with one dead turn thankfully taken out. So just one more to remove please but this is certainly one of the better courses they’ve had.

L and Daughter both support this year and in multiple places but the cheering gang (the dogs) are left at home.

Just ahead of seven miles I get chance for a sweaty snog with one of the crowd, which was L of course but then everyone else backed away in terror when they saw me coming.

I have a good run and finish in 1:44:50 and pass Richard Whitehead en route, in the end beating him by a couple of minutes. 

It's again an excellent event and with a t-shirt for all finishers this year for the first time. It's a cotton one too, which I prefer. I have so many technical ones already.

My only real grip is that Nottingham still persist with the notorious water pouches. Oddly some people do seem to like them but I assume these are the folk who possess the black magic required to get something substantial out of them. Personally I probably consumed only half the amount of water I wanted to and I really don't see how they get these things through their H&S Risk Assessment. I run races up and down the country and have never come across these dreadful things anywhere else.

These are a blot on what is otherwise, fantastic race. Although I still maintain that they should be taking this race into the city centre like the big cites do - Sheffield, Leeds, Birmingham, Manchester etc etc. Which perversely would contain the race more central and therefore probably even reduce the number of road closures.

Then I hobble to the train station from where I get the tram home.

(Sunday 24^th September)

A Delicate Balancing Act

It was bit chilly on the bike this morning. I wish I hadn’t toughed it out and had put proper gloves on rather than my fingerless ones.

A wounded L battles her way around the morning assault course of dog walking. It’s a delicate balancing act I believe. MD on the bad knee side, Doggo on the bad arm side. Then again she has so many injuries to brag about, I’m almost jealous.

For an encore she has to get Daughter up and despatched on the train back to Sheffield, along with a suitcase and a bin liner of bedding. Neither very therapeutic for a bad arm. All achieved though and Daughter texts from the bike storage area on the train, where she rather proudly seems to have set up home.

Well, we’re still waiting for Nottingham’s first gold postbox and second Paralympic winner, Oliver Hynd, is from Kirkby in Ashfield, which we can’t really count.

Our other, for Richard Whitehead, is in Lowdham.

L admits defeat on the bad arm front and cancels her pump class, oddly deciding to walk the dogs again instead. Hope that doesn't cause a relapse.

I’m playing tennis, which is the last game of the season... but he also said that last week. At least I get some dark ale in the Johnson’s afterwards.

Then home to an oddly empty house. With Son and now Daughter both back at Uni, we console ourselves with red wine in bed and toasted spam sandwiches at midnight.

(Thursday 6th September)