It was a soggy and muddy morning for our half marathon. From about 2 miles in, we knew we weren’t on for a good time – Mr Beet could already feel that his legs were cramping up and he needed to stop and stretch every couple of miles or so. So we decided to treat this as a training run and not push ourselves too hard and end up injured. He was going to call it a day after the first lap, but pushed on for the full distance. We ran round together for the first 11 miles, and then I ran off ahead (chatting to another runner to distract myself – turned out she was doing the Brighton marathon too) and finished in 2 hrs 18. I then watched the finishers to cheer on Mr Beet. 2.25 passed, 2.30…I had visions of Mr Beet keeled over at the side of the road. But then I spotted him, he’d finished only a couple of minutes after me and I’d missed it.
Mr Beet is off to the osteopath this week to see if his knees can be made marathon-proof. I might have to go as well for the twinge in my thigh. We’re feeling our age.
The minor celebrity spot, oh yeah, the prizes were handed out by the BBC sports journalist, not the tiny annoying one, this one.