The Ely Biathalon (or What Springtime Does To Boys)
So at 9:30am on Saturday, I get a phonecall from Ed. He opens with "I haven't got any pants on, and I think we should go up to Jim's now". That kind of logic, it turns out, is surprisingly difficult to argue with, so fifteen minutes later, I find myself in the front seat of Ed's family sports-coupe doing 85MPH in a bus-lane whilst we discuss lunch plans. Fortunately, we arrive without dying, and I gratefully unclamp my fingers from the door-handle and kiss the Waterbeach tarmac in a Papal fashion.
The disorganisation for the run to Ely in the preceding few days had been awesome to behold. If all the emails and texts were to be believed, there was every chance that we'd all end up running to Kings Lynn, very probably in different directions. Departing from Jim's, the three of us ran via Bottisham lock back into Cambridge, meeting up with Chris, Russ, Winston and a visiting American runner just before Bate's Bite, before turning around to join them in an Ely-wards direction. Behind us all somewhere were Tony R. and Liz. Ahead of us a baker's dozen more miles of shiggy, and (more importantly) a pub lunch. Plus a few unforseen adventures...
It was shaping up to be a beautiful sunny spring day as we passed Bottisham Lock for the second time that morning. Tony and Liz caught us up (top running, chaps) just as we reached a decision-point, leading to all but Jim, Ed, Winston and myself deciding to "do the dogs backwards and finish in the green-dragon", as Chris had so suggestively put it the night before, and head back to Cambridge. Or so we thought... The four of us pressed on on the distaff bank through Upware, reasoning that it hadn't really rained in a while, so surely it couldn't be that muddy? Oh, couldn't it? The rutted but more-or less dry riverbank, and the lovely brideway north of Upware lulled Jim into a false sense of security... as we approached the road, he scorned the thin layer of shiggy at the bridleway entrance, running over it to reach the the verge. The first and second steps suggested it was less than a centimetre deep, making his third step into a full nine inches of evil-looking shoe-sucking black shite all the more comical. Ed picked up the cue just in time, dancing pixie-like over the drier-looking lumps to safety.
And now, it begins... we'd decided to increase the pace to maximum for the remaining seven miles into Ely, so Ed, Jim and I dutifully pushed the effort up, hitting about 7min/mile. Winston decided to ignore the macho competitive urge, and maintained a much more sensible pace that didn't turn him purple. Following the high-speed footbridge scramble a few miles later, Ed announces that he's winding it down a bit and stops for a breather, leaving Jeremy and Jim still in greyhound mode. Half a mile later, Jim and Jeremy encounter a notice saying the riverbank is closed and we must follow a torturous diversion, which (like all good hashers) we take absolutely no notice of whatsoever and carry on. Ed, a few moments later, makes the same decision.
Still in race-mode, the three of us (now seperated by a few hundred metres or so each) approach the cutback towards the railway that the riverbank path makes towards the railway before the final run into Ely. Jim, as ever, is in the lead. And Jeremy, in second place but accelerating, is thinking... "hey, that's not bad - 350m ahead of Ed... might not be able to catch Jim in the last mile, but it's worth a try..." And Ed, in third, is thinking ..."I bet Jeremy is feeling really pleased with himself about being second. Wonder what can I do to stuff that up for him?". I round the cutback and head back towards the river, seeing Jim just approaching the corner and Ed approaching the turning on the other side, and I think "hmm... Ed's going a bit quick to make the corner, isn't he? He's going to have to.. he's not... surely not.. NO! NO!!! THAT'S..." (as Ed runs down he bank at full speed and makes a flying dive into the freezing muddy water to cross the inlet mouth and scramble out of the water ahead of Jim to take the lead) "...CHEATING!!!".
Boys.
It took me most of the remaining 2km to overtake the now damp and somewhat chilly Ed, but I think he'd definitely won on points by then.
After about 20 minutes of waiting for Winston, we decided that he must have got lost, so after a quick backtrack to check for bodies, we positioned ourselves on the strategically-located terrace of the Cutter Inn by the river to look out for him, taking the opportunity to refuel with Woodford's Wherry and steak-and-ale pie. Fortunately the sun was relatively warm, so Ed managed to stand the outdoors.
A good half-an-hour later, Winston arrives. Not knowing which way we had taken at the diversion, he had dutifully followed the posted path all the way to the exact centre of a muddy field, where all the signage promptly vanished. Navigating by the seat of his pants, he eventually found the A10 and had tried to hitch to Ely, but these days he's not as pretty as he used to be, so he ended up running into the city via the ring-road, adding a few unwelcome km to his total. Seconds later, we were all surprised by Tony, who had decided to run to Ely after all, and solo'd the entire river-path, also making the hasher's decision at the diversion. Top banana!
Sausage-and-mash ensued in celebration.
Ed was by this time in the early stages of hypothermia, so we returned to Waterbeach on the train, to be greeted by Phillippa.
After the traditional Jubilee Close beer-barrel worship and one-legged Hokey-Cokey ceremony, we all made an attempt to return to normality. Until Monday, that is...
Well done everybody! Can I have my knees back now?
posted by Jeremy @ 9:21 PM
