Aside from some furious iPod tapping, the run itself was really rather nice. As in Angkor, there was an enormous sense of wellbeing and camaraderie about experiencing voluntary suffering with 307 other people for A Good Cause but this time, instead of tearing up because of wheelchair racers powering into the sunrise, I became rather inspired by the buggy runners who started after me and overtook me before the 1k marker. Maybe my biological clock and experience of enforced solidarity with expat wives has taught me to appreciate new mothers more but it really is something to see a woman with a six month old in a buggy choosing to go off-road, confident of her buggy suspension on the bumpy grass, in order to overtake you because you're taking too long on your un-buggied 10k. At least six of these women beat me to the finish line and considering they started 5-10 minutes after me, this must have meant that they were running sub-60 10ks whilst pushing a fairly weighty load and having only given birth less than a year ago in some cases. Wow. What borders on frightening is that these women are such supermums that they have raised babies and toddlers that happily nap through the whole 10k; I heard not one baby crying nor saw one conscious child so either they were very good tempered tots or they were drugged.
I was also quite inspired by the three more mature ladies who stayed in front of me all the way to about 6k where I got a bit competitive and overtook them because I didn't like the idea of being beaten by a set of old biddies - out of my way, grandmas! But before the unreasonable and obnoxious competitor in me - also responsible for thoughts like 'move, fatty' and 'if you're going to start walking at 5k then don't enter the 10k race' and 'honestly, invest in a sports bra, woman!' - reared its ugly head, I was overcome by the hope that I will still be running respectable distances for charity when I'm 50+, having a good old gossip with my friends all the way round whilst highly strung 20 something year olds with boom boxes plugged into their ears rush through life and yell bad spirited obscenities at me as they struggle past.
My favourite part of all was a personal triumph for me: I have been afraid of sport my entire life because of the sweat and the redness and the unacceptable possibility of losing and the sex noises you make if you really put your back in to it. In Angkor I was traumatised by these noises when my poor little unreliable iPod gave up at 12k to leave me with a soundtrack of war crimes. This time, though, not only did I have a Race Plan (turtle roll for 7k, What Would Tiffany Do?at 8k, feel sick by 9, sprint on the 10th) I had absolutely zero shame in executing it which, in the last 500m meant the Face of Pain that worries people into cheering really loudly for you, full on pornographic breathing that could even be heard over my very loud music and thus by anyone in a 20m radius and a good old retching finale by the portaloos. There we go. Practically Mo Farah.
Zoom in for the Face of Pain.
I'd like to finish by taking a short moment to thank all the fans of breasts - Tai, Kenny, Frenchie, Parentals, Grandparentals, Meera and Kunal, Bridget, Ben, Ciara, Lizzie and Holmes and Lindsay for your generous sponsorship. Together we raised £180, which might not buy a whole pair of breasts, but might stretch to a nipple or a cleavage or protect some low risk breasts so this is wonderful. If you are sad not to be associated with breasts on this occasion, you can still give me a 'well done' present in the form of sponsorship at https://www.justgiving.com/emshep/. The magic blog technology means I can go back and edit the list to give you your moment of breast fame.
I saw some fantastic breasts this morning bouncing around or (like mine) cemented to rib cages by impressively engineered sports bras and am very proud to have done my bit to help safeguard these lovely, juicy bosoms from the nasty cancer cells. Yes! Breasts! Go nuzzle in some now, or have a gentle and appreciative squeeze of your own. And then donate some money.
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