Something I didn't mention from the race on Sunday, partly because I don't want to worry my mum (who you know is over-protective of me and also looks like a young Bobby Robson, so has enough troubles to bear), was that around the seven mile mark I passed a guy lying senseless in the road, with his head on the verge. He was being attended to by a couple of people, who were calling him by his name (one had a walkie talkie and so I assume that someone had race HQ had cross referenced his race number and found out what he was called) and telling him that everything would be all right. Like the bad people in the Good Samaritan story I carried on on my journey on the over side of the road, but you know maybe the bad people in the Good Samaritan story were taking part in a Half Marathon and were trying to keep to a 9 minute mile plan so they could complete it in under two hours. Jesus doesn't say and to deliberatly omit that detail is unfair of him. To stop and help anyone would seriously bugger up their chances of success.
Furthermore I figured that he was in expert hands and there was little that I would have to contribute. In any case, in the last two times someone has collapsed near me I have chosen to ignore it and this course of action has led either directly or indirectly or entirely coincidentally to their recovery. So I was doing my bit, OK?
He was a young-ish looking bloke (all right, he was probably about my age) and it certainly gave me pause for thought as I rounded the corner. There are certainly risks in exercise and I am certainly pushing my body to its limits and beyond at the moment. One has to consider that collapse and indeed death are a possible consequence of my struggles. On balance I think that the exercise I am doing will help prolong my life, but there are always risks and I've heard a few stories of people dropping dead whilst running (and a frighteningly high proportion of these people were comedy writers).
Even as I ran on from that worrying scene, hoping that the bloke was OK whilst at the same time trying to put the incident out of my mind so it wouldn't put me off, I concluded that it was worth the risks: that ultimately we have to take chances if we are going to enjoy our lives. I only have to look at the cloud of depression that hung over me for the last half of last year with the positive feelings that I have got from the individual challenge of running and the team spirit of the rowing and I know that any risk is worth it.
If I collapse on the road or am whacked in the head with a broken oar I will go out with a smile on my face. And I know it's doing me more good than harm physically as well. I feel as young and frisky as I did when I was 35.
I partly didn't mention this story before in case the fallen runner didn't make it through (we knew that it had been bad enough to warrant the calling out of an ambulance), but I read today on the Watford Half Marathon site that the guy was OK and just spent a few hours recovering in hospital. He's not been deterred either and still intends to take up his place in the Marathon in April. You've got to admire that.
This afternoon I was on the ergo trying to beat my best at a 2K test (previous best 8 minutes 13). I was heading comfortably for a sub 8 minute time and it hurt like Hell and I kind of wished that I could die so the pain would go away. Then the sweat shirt I was wearing got caught under my seat and I struggled in the last twenty seconds to release it. I wondered if it was possible to get dragged into the machinery and strangled by your clothing. That would be an embarrassing way to go. I am sure that when the Good Lord takes me he will think of an amusing and humiliating exit for me.
Despite this mishap I impressed myself with a 7 minute 58 second time.
Exercise is taking up so much of my time that I fear it will be mostly what I talk about for the next few weeks. I apologise in advance for being so dull!
