I did it again - and one minute faster than last year. My Londonist opponent and his wife were running against me, representing south of the Thames (the bad side of town) and managed to cross the line two minutes before I dragged myself, whining and wheezing over the finish. I was faster this year but I was in more pain: I should have stretched more often in the weeks before the run and I really should have tried to do more than half an hour of huffing and puffing around Pimlico each time I attempted some training. However, I do not feel responsible for north London losing out in the race: we can't help being a little slower than the south... because we can get black cabs to take us home on our side of the Thames.
In fact, once I was finally done with the run, I located Mr Hypatia Avenue who had been draining the coffee tent of their beverages while we athletes pounded our way around the park and he took one look at my red face, weak knees and sore feet and hailed us a cab. I sat with my face covered as we sped along Park Lane past all the other exhausted runners, all queueing for buses or limping home on foot. Oh, the shame of being a spoilt brat.
Full Flickr set of photos to be found here.
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