At Least I'm Alive

City Link left us a card on Tuesday because we were all out when they tried to deliver Son's new computer monitor to us. The card said they would reattempt delivery the next day. Which of course they didn't. When I ring up, no apology was offered. Apparently they had no intention of reattempting delivery and we were supposed to come and collect it. Ok but how are we supposed to know that. They agree to reattempt delivery tomorrow.

The results are up for Tuesday. I'm confirmed as 33rd in a time of 25.11. Which is about 6 minute 20 seconds pace for a mile. Not bad. I was 29th in the Men’s, so only four women beat me. 143 of them were behind me, so that's not a bad ratio. I'm gradually chipping them all off. Ten in front of me in the first race, five in the second, now only four and two of them were within sight but they bloody long legged stick insect type women and they were just too damn quick.

My squash opponent is again miffed because there's no game this week due to my little jaunt. I invite him along but he says he's busy with his own training, 3k on his treadmill and in any case he's washing his Squash Racket tonight. He does offer to pace me for the last 400m, although I’ve seen his 400m sprint, it's not terribly impressive. So I decline. In any case I wouldn't want to detract a finely tuned athlete such as him from his own training schedule.

L's is much more helpful. She been having a fraught day at work and says she's off out to buy a whole carrot cake at lunchtime to go with the Leffe she has planned for later. She says she'll be standing at the finish topless with a Leffe in one hand and carrot cake in the other. That would certainly get a sprint finish out of me.

We drive to the Flowerpot for lunch but the kitchen is still not open, the chef is still on holiday. That's three weeks now. Must have cost them a lot of trade. So it's the Dolphin again. Mince beef hot pot with mash. I thought this might be the healthy option but the sliced potato on top of the hot pot turned out to be deep fried chips. How novel. How unhealthy. Not good race prep. If I vomit tonight it’s got nothing to do with the run. I have a pint of 3.9% ale to wash the taste away. Good race prep.

L's a treasure. She emails to say she's got the carrot cake, a huge one, and Cycling Weekly for me, but I don't get cake if I vomit up my lunch. She'll have to feed me something to boost my post-race energy levels or else I won’t be able to do my aerobics later.

Drive home and then onto Colwick Park, where it's absolutely pissing it down. I'm not looking forward to this one at all. Lunch is making me feel like throwing up even before I start which doesn't bode well for carrot cake later.

L says she can't cope with Doggo's 'enthusiasm' and threatens to stash him in the car boot for the entire duration, with the parcel shelf on. I don't think Tuesday's false starts helped. As she was attached to a wound-up collie at the time, it probably wasn't amusing. I think she almost lost an arm.

I venture out into the rain but keep my coat on. I give Doggo a run before he is incarcerated. I try and do a warm up with him but he's as skittish as usual. He ends up back in the car while I start.

Off we go and it's not the rain that's the problem, so much as the conditions on the ground. Very muddy and some huge puddles. It's difficult to tell what's path and what's lake. I start next to Ponytail Girl but soon get ahead of her. Despite trying to hold back at the start, I am once again up near the front. I had decided to just jog round at the back or my equivalent of it. Which L reckons means somewhere in the top 20. I don't think I'm up to that sort of performance tonight.

I try and back off a touch and Butch goes past me. I tag on to her and she drags me round the first lap. Two guys in yellow go past me. One of them, the guy who shook my hand on Tuesday, says a hello as he passes. So we're best chums now are we? The other chap is the guy who usually paces Ponytail Girl. Can’t see her, so it looks likes she's been dumped again.

As I run past L at the conclusion of the first lap she is stood there with Doggo, who isn't confined to the car after all. She loves him really.

I feel better than I expected but I still wouldn't describe it as good. I start to lose touch with Butch. I hear some heavy breathing behind me, which is definitely feminine in nature. It would be sexy if the location was different. I daren't look behind me to see who it is but I suspect that I won't be able to hold my current pace and they will inevitably overtake me.

Again at around three and half miles, I feel that I'm going to chuck but this time I've got further to survive. It passes but my pace slows and suddenly the heavy breather, the Girl With The Unnecessary Ponytail, is past me. I'd obviously had her at the start but now she's well and truly had me. I try and tag on to her, and she has the nerve to give me a dirty look over her shoulder for following her. Excuse me; you're the one who's been heavy breathing down my neck for the last two miles. I'm certainly not dropping back just because she thinks I'm a pervert.

From being in a group of around six, I am suddenly alone as they all disappear up the road. GWTUP, who is actually sporting twin pigtails tonight (equally unnecessary), even has time to stop and stretch her calm muscles, to get rid of some cramp. I still don't get past her. I'm sure it wasn't really cramp; she's just trying to wind me up.

I'm sure that having no one to pace me slows me down further but even so it's a while before anyone else catches me from behind. When they go past me, I manage to get them to tow me round for a bit.

Then with around half a mile to go my legs really won't cooperate and I lose more places. Then I see a flash of yellow and I know before it happens that it's going to be Ponytail Girl. It is and she eyeballs me as she comes past. Oooh getting competitive are we dear; you need to chill out a bit, like me. Then she's gone. L will be pleased she's not running in her knickers tonight, looks like she's got shorts on. Probably still in the wash from Tuesdays mud bath.

Then, thank god, I see the line; it's nearly over but there's still time for the young whippersnapper in his premier league drongo shorts to overtake me. I look around for my topless girl but regrettably she's still got her coat on. Damn the rain. It would have been nice to have just tumbled on top of her when I collapsed across the line. Her chest would have been a great place to come around. It seems she's also forgotten the Leffe and the carrot cake.

I cross the line in 32 minutes something. Which is ok in the circumstances but nothing to shout about. At least I'm alive.

I get changed out of my wet clothes in the car and then L drives me up to the Racecourse where they're handing out the t-shirts. I'm the only one who appears to be having such trouble walking. Just think how quick some of them could run if they flogged themselves to death like I have.

Get home, quick hot bath and then we stagger off to the pub. L staggering because she's attached to a dog who can't walk in a straight line, I'm staggering because it's all I'm capable of.

One Supreme 5.2%, one Legend 4.0%.

Stagger home. Cheese. Bed. Still alive.