After saying our fifth and final goodbye I leave my Canadian Girlfriend and find the start line, reassuring her that even though my shoulders look all muscular, my pecs are bulging and I look drop dead gorgeous in my "Under Armour", there is very little chance of one of the female runners jumping me, pulling me into the bushes and molesting me. To calm her fears, we agree a compromise. She will look at the photographs that are taken of me running and employ her observational powers to see if any girls are following me around and then use "The Internet" to find them and kill them.

I am in the orange wave and will be starting first, a mere ten minutes after the elite women runners. It is important in this day and age that while women are treated equally in the workplace, we still give them a little head-start when it comes to running - it is a sort of athletic affirmative action. It also makes sure that they are home in plenty of time to get the kettle on for when their husband has finished.

Running is a very isolating, lonely and individual sport. I am stood amongst serious runners. There is nobody in a novelty chicken suit round here. They all stand, staring straight ahead, quietly contemplating, using positive visualisation, seeing themselves finishing and shaving seconds off their personal best. Most of the runners were even ignoring the very drunk group of "Hens" hanging out of the Novotel window above the start line. The guys next to me were discussing the "Hens" in a hushed tone. I can't see any of them as I don't have my lenses in * although I am reassured by one of the guys that mine is a "right stunner".

* - Please note: This is an age old traditional superstition and has nothing to do with me forgetting them.

The government says that we should do cardio-vascular exercise to a level where you can barely hold a conversation with someone. Since I am running with runners and not with people dressed as Batman - I do not expect to be able to hold another conversation until I cross the finish line.

Fred Flintoff fires the gun and I set off. After 2 km, there are an equal number of people passing me as I am passing and I settle into my stride. During the run I manage to see Billy, the old guy who stewards the cricket. I am surprised to see him. The stewards had to be there for 5 in the morning to guard the course and with the rain teeming down I would've thought he'd have stayed at home. Still I suppose everyone has a price, even pensioners. This will keep him in Butterscotch "pick and mix"s till his next pension.

I see and wave to Sign Guy and Mrs Sign Guy. He is holding a sign saying "Run Faster!" while partolling the end of our street making sure none of the runners decide to do a "Paula Ratcliffe" on our doorstep. I missed Matt's Gran, who goes to early mass and walks the half mile to the course to see us both every year. I missed Colin, which is a surprise because he's a very big guy. And I did see several runners who fit into the "Body from Baywatch, Face from Crimewatch" category.
I cruise across the finish line, arms aloft, taking a whole minute off my 10k personal best. I grab my goodie bag and make a mental note not to open the t-shirt and medal as I could make some money by selling it on eBay. I walk towards the Town Hall engulfed in a space blanket.

"So, did you see me?" I ask my Canadian Girlfriend after meeting her at our agreed post race meeting point.

"No I didn't. I had a really good spot too but people kept coming in and standing in front of me." She is short but you know what they say about small packages.

"Why didn't you use your pushy American, sorry North American, attitude?" (I really must stop making that mistake) "You could've mixed in some British-ness and whacked them with your umbrella."

"Yeah, but I had my coffee and my bags and was playing with my Nano. I didn't have any spare hands" The iPod nano further reinforces my opinion on small packages.

We retire back to her place for a fried brunch. I am exhausted. I do not expect to get out of bed until it is time to go home and sleep.