There was a moment, twenty five miles into the Edinburgh Marathon on Sunday, when I passed a group of spectators and one of them shouted, “come on Peter, you’re looking good”.
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On Sunday morning, at about 9:59, I’ll take a moment to remember JFK. It’s not his birthday or the anniversary of his assassination or anything like that; it’s the start of the Edinburgh Marathon.
Well, I thought, eyeing the other patients in accident and emergency, that escalated quickly. One day I’d been entering my first relays with the club and relieved to find I’ve not lost all my pace, the next I’d noticed a mild discolouration on my calf, and then the next I somehow end up sat in A&E wondering how I got there.
I love London Marathon weekend, it’s probably the only time of the year when the nation turns its eyes to a sport I love.
It seems strange to think that just three years ago I’d never taken part in a race. I was in training for the London Marathon, in a distinctly inadequate manner, and a friend asked me if I’d be interested in running in a trail race in the Lake District a couple of weeks afterwards.