Surfers

Last weekend, about 4000 people... myself included... stood scantily clad, staring down a road... which would soon prove to be too narrow, at the start of East London's favourite running race, the Surfers Challenge (Marathon).

Don't believe the lie that you can run the whole way, or that its a pleasant run because of the scenery.  If you intend on bagging a t-shirt (which lets be hoenst, is the only reason people participate), then its a tough slog across a variety of surfaces, few of them pleasant.  That is until Gonubie of course.  The main reason they included the Gonubie river is to get people to stop and prepare for the adulation.  Crowds of deck-chaired citizens line the streets, armed with hoses, beers and miscelaneous sprinkler systems - eager to spot someone they know.

I actually love the race.  Run.  It's unlike any of the conservative local club runs, where you have to care about your time, or who you beat.

I spent the first few kilometres running behind a blow up doll, cellotaped to a dude, who it turns out I know quite well.  Small world.  I saw my Aunt, work mates, met an old school friend and managed to beat my bosses.  Alas my sisters boss beat me.  But, I got a shirt, and was able to avoid the unenviable 'XXXL' fire sale just before the cut-off.