September. Last of the summer wine.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Seem to spend more time talking about it than doing it these days. Know the feeling? I’m talking about running of course.

The folks came to visit last week and I did a bit of walking with my dad and whilst we strolled the mountain trails of the Montes Aquilianos the conversation naturally turned to running and to marathons and fell running and to Black Country running legend Jack Holden. This gave me the opportunity to quiz me old dad on something that happened just before I was born which might just explain a few things.

Why do we run? This is just the sort of existential question that I generally never ask myself. I am, therefore I run….simple. I’ve never done it for any health reasons. I’ve only partially done it for enjoyment (road running is a nasty business, yet I still do it) and I don’t really do it for the races (some years I don’t do any but I run all the same). For relaxation? Maybe, but if asked my instinctive answer would be, well, because I’ve always done it! Running has always been there in the background, from watching dad take part and from school cross country to just “going out for a run” 2 or 3 times a week (or a month !) like now. No real reason, I just do it. But why?

Maybe it started in the womb.

So while we were on the subject I asked dad about a marathon that he’d run in the days before “normal people” started running them. This was a marathon recorded only in the memories of its 6 participants who devised, measured and then ran the course, pounding the Black Country streets one midsummer morning just before I was born. In fact, I was there, in the womb of my mother who was helping man the only drink station on the way.

It actually started out as a sponsored walk organized by a local Methodist church but which was somehow converted to a full marathon by 6 of the more eager participants, dad, his brother (Trevor) plus two future brother-in-laws (John and Derek) included. The training? Several Sunday morning runs on the nearby Clent hills. The gear? Football shirts, baggy shorts and what dad calls “running pumps”. The route? 26.2 miles starting at the church and finishing in the Tipton Tavern.

According to dad they all finished in under 4 hours except for 15-year old John who shot off like a whippet only to fade badly in the second half. John learnt from the experience though and in the 80s when marathon fever swept the country he would proudly run with the green and white vest of the Tipton Harriers and even finished amongst the first hundred in the London marathon a couple of times. Remember watching him on the telly one year finishing behind Greta Weitz (top lady athlete). My uncle Trev and Derek would also run under 3 hours in later years although as far as I know my dad is the only one who still incorporates a few runs into his weekly routine. The hares are all arthritic or fed up of running and the tortoise plods on happily into his 60s!

So, that’s my first running experience albeit from the womb. Who knows if this somehow encouraged my genes to adopt subliminal running inclinations? However, the story doesn’t end (nor begin) there. What indeed inspired 6 Tipton lads to cover a distance which at that time was only for serious club runners? Maybe old Jack Holden had something to do with it. But that’s another story....

Saw the folks off at Valladolid airport. Dad took my copy of “Feet in the Clouds” to read on the plane. I returned to Ponferrada determined to scour the internet for more about the extraordinary life of Jack Holden. (To be continued….)