It’s rare for Gremlins to do the write-up, but I lost my bet so I have to do it. Mfam’s legs hurt until yesterday. It serves her right - gallivanting over 21 km around the vineyards in 23°C temperatures is not for old ladies like her, let alone bombing around for the rest of the day and the day after, AND drinking beer with her friends.
You may have all noticed that I did my best to convince her that she would fail, but she still insisted of getting on the plane to the Alsace. (I almost got her onto the wrong plane, but she noticed just in time that although the two first letters were the same, "Strasbourg" and "Stockholm" are different.) When she got there, she got all soppy and weepy and hysterical, and hugged and kissed her friends like they were a tube of salt and vinegar Pringles that she'd found under a bush on a desert island.
Anyway. The run. We got a bus jammed full of transvestites, bees, Roman centurions, fairies and ducks. Mfam’s always hanging out with weirdos. Her friend Starman was dressed up as a busty blonde. It was a fancy-dress marathon and HM, but Mfam was there for a purpose so she had her charity T-shirt on, and I could see that she was nervous but she’d tied me to my chair, which is a bad sign. When we got there, we met up with Alex, Mfam’s pal who looked just like GI Jo and definitely doesn’t wear the same underpants as me.
Mfam spent hours queuing for the loo and taking photos of Mrs Playmo to avoid wetting her lucky C25K running kecks before the race started. Then she scoffed a banana, went to the starting line, did some strange “pile of hands” ceremony with GI Jo and the busty blonde, and watched the marathon runners charge past.
Then we were off. All packed like sardines. I’d warned her it’d be a mess – 1600 runners on the HM and 800 on the marathon, all in fancy dress and trying to run through the streets of a small town lost in the vineyards. Humans are strange. We ran through the streets, with people in their PJ’s, clutching coffees and yelling encouragement. I realised that this was a run than involved not only runners, but the whole community along the route. My fears were confirmed along the way – I was cowed into silence by the huge number of people who were there just to encourage runners along the way. Children were outside with water pistols, spraying the runners. People had set up their garden hoses to cool us down. Old men sat in the shade of their cherry trees and applauded.
Mfam was beaming from ear to ear, and waving gormlessly at little old ladies in their windows. She settled into a steady pace behind two men in lederhosen. We were overtaken by a shark, then by an Indian with a tomahawk and full feather headdress. Just as we were both dreaming, we were rudely interrupted by tutting and hissing behind us. Mfam turned just in time to avoid being elbowed out of the way by an impatient Robin, whose athletic caped counterpart had already overtaken us. She glared at us, checked her Garmin and bounded onwards. I admit to sharing Mfam’s smirk of satisfaction when karma bit Robin on the bum and Mfam overtook her in trail conditions later on in the race.
Things were getting disastrous for me as we hit km 6 –Mfam was on a roll. Then I saw my opportunity – The Hill was looming. She’d been dreading it, and had even gone to check it out to allay her fears. 1.5 km of 4% gradient. She stepped up to the challenge and made it up the first section. Then I told her to look at the others, who were all walking. Success! Until an old lady spoiled it all by shaking her fist and yelling "Hey! Joanna! Don’t give up now! Get running, you can do this!” They’d only printed Mfam’s bloody name on her bib, and now complete strangers were on her side. I decided to take a break, crack open a beer and try not to spill it. I’d get my chance later on, when she hit 18 k and got tired.
The journey was gorgeous. Mfam stomped through villages and towns with live music and spectators, where stands offered food and wine. We spotted the shark jiving with a chicken and a 1970’s disco babe. I tried to get her to stop for booze and tarte flambées, choucroute, sausage and more, but she headed for the water and figs every time. A little stitch would have helped me out, and she knew it.
By the time we got to 16 km, Mfam was thrilled but starting to feel the heat. She threw another cup of water onto her head, then took five minutes to drink a tiny schlug of white wine and eat a piece of pork pie. She even chatted with a sweaty Roman soldier who had never run any further than 9 km. Then she saw what I was up to, bade him goodbye, and set off again.
The last 3km were where I stepped in. She was bushed, so I told her she should walk. She tried, but her calves started to seize up. I got so excited, I nearly dropped my Pringles. But then she started to run again. She’d thought of you lot, dusted off her Mojo and got going again, and that scuppered my plans.
As she came into town for the final few hundred meters, the busty blond appeared out of nowhere and jogged alongside us. We turned the corner, and Mfam saw the finishing line. As she ran along the red carpet, a teenager she first knew as a toddler appeared out of thin air, held her hand and ran over the line with her, and they had a huge hug. Then the other kids appeared with the busty blond and Mfam’s bestie, and they solemnly put a medal around her neck. There was no bling for the HM, so the children had filched an extra one from the kiddies’ race the day before so that I wouldn’t be disappointed.
So there we have it. Despite all my efforts, the former couch potato completed a half marathon in 2h 31 minutes, plus 20 minutes of water, refuelling and chatting up centurions. She managed to raise money for charity too - here's the link, if anyone has a few bob to spare: lepotcommun.fr/pot/q4k4i85u
I blame everyone here for her success - the support on this place is a permanent problem for me and all the other gremlins I know. She would have given up years ago if it wasn’t for you lot. Next stop: the London Big Half. I hope to meet you and your gremlins there.
Photo: at the starting line, and at the finish.
24 hours until my first HM.
10 miles (16.09km) - 1:32:44 - Almost HM Pace!
scary shoe shop report
I've just run a HM. Words never thought I would say! 
Race Report: Forfar 10k Road Race
