Yesterday was the 50th consequetive running of this event, so congratulations to the organisers and their predecessors for some real dedication over the generations. I have to say that they were all very nice and friendly, even if the medal that they gave me looks like it would be more at home fixed to a car than around my neck. This was my first and probably last go at this course; my third and least enjoyable marathon so far.
I entered when the London ballot failed me with the predicatability of my performance on the National Lottery ( I have more 'losers' merchanidise from London than I do 'finishers' from anywhere else) and the mate who was supposed to accompany me to Madrid double booked himself and I didn't fancy the trip alone. Whilst going down in the glamour stakes, I seemed to have climbed a kind of headbanger index. The course is very hilly, the day brought enough rain to make Noah nostalgic and a headwind to really sap your strength. I ended in the top third which is par for my previous attempts but at 3:52 was far slower than plan. Some blood down my shirt from a nasty nipple was diluted and spread by the rain to make me look nice and tough at the finish but I felt like a wet dishcloth. Still, no injuries and some peace for a while. Until we start training again for an Autumn run.
Incidentally, the Isle of Wight is horrid. The eldest little darling went there on a school trip and had a lovely time, some people have told me that it's like Dorset but the bits I saw are more like Surbiton – unbroken miles of nasty houses.