Click link for race results table:
http://www.parkrun.org.uk/swindon/results/latestresults/
In truth, I find run reports to be tiresome, so in keeping with my feelings on the matter I’ll keep this one short, and hopefully not too suburban nice and fluffy in it’s composition.
I run the Swindon 5k Parkrun on most Saturday mornings. It’s a routine I use to judge my current level of fitness. This Saturday I had a seasonal head/nose cold. I was okay, a bit weaker than usual, sneezing and sniffing a bit, but I wasn’t going to miss the run. Why? A few reasons, partly because I’m stubborn, but mostly because my fast brother was down for the weekend (he lives in the friendly north) and as he was doing the run I wanted to join him for the morning. Also coming along was our fast dad, recently retired from the ideological home of ISIS/Al Qaeda, the western backed evil dictatorship Hellhole known as Saudi Arabia.
We went to the park early. It was unusually dark, wet and not too cold, but with little wind. There were plenty of muddy puddles, but that’s okay. I find that it’s the wind that slows you down, cold and rain are no big deal. I didn’t notice that there was a big crowd, but there was. Almost 400 runners in all, that’s a lot. How did I fail to notice them?
My race started with a testing first lap. I was feeling rough, so coasted into an easy rhythm, not chasing the skipping gazelles as they sprang past me, head down and straight through the muddles (a name accidentally coined by the race organiser shortly before the run).
I actually enjoyed that first lap (it’s a two-lap course), and that’s rare. I usually feel terrible, but taking it easy due to my cold meant that I actually enjoyed a part of the race for a change. On the second lap I put my head down a bit and engaged in the usual one on one battle that we all engage in on a weekly basis. I passed a guy; he tracked me around, then near the end he fell off a bit as a speedy couple passed me. One hundred yards to the end I put on my usual annoying (for other runners) desperate sprint, and passed the aforementioned couple at the finish line. My time: 23:05. Slower than usual, but that’s what happens when you run a cautious first lap, and also probably what should happen when you run with a bit of a cold.
My fast brother (Gareth Pritchard) won the race in a ridiculous time of 18:13. Yes, he came first. Told you he was fast, didn’t I? Congratulations to the speedy bugger, and congratulations to my dad (Keith Pritchard) who is still acclimatising to the wet and cold running climate of the UK after spending over a decade running in a crazy desert country ran by a Mafia family of western backed gangsters. His time, an impressive 26:08, but he ensures me he’ll get a lot faster in the next few months, and I know that he will. My dad’s a very strong willed bloke, just like me, just like my fast brother. It’s a family thing.
So that’s it, end of race report. Crap, it looks too long. Hope I didn’t bore you too much. Hope you all had a fantastic Christmas and New Year, now get back to work you bloody slaves. Bombs don’t pay for themselves you know, and our political masters have a lot of dictators to support, terrorists to fund and women to subjugate, so they need you early at work tomorrow morning.
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