Edwin

Edwin, pictured, and I rendez-vous at Richmond to drive to the Wycombe Half Marathon and my first race since the London Marathon. The sky overcast and drizzly but the mood positive, if not festive - the men shout cheerfully awaiting the crapper which I avoid like the plague. Runners are a weird lot. None particularly attractive despite the billions of calories they burn for the sport. For some reason they come across as a bit dowdy. Or nerdy, like the engineers I remember from Brown. I suppose spending one's morning suffering through 13.2 miles eccentric and so attracts a certain type of dedicated heroism. Take Edwin. We met ten years ago and within days pounding away at each other at the Watson International Half Marathon. Of course we pumped each other up by down-playing our readiness and training which, we said, was woefully inadequate. I do recall we finished the course in 1:24 and neck-and-neck the whole way. I thought I was going to die the last several miles and sweet Jesus what a relief when it was over. So this is how great friendships are born and Edwin has been just that - from training runs to today, he has generally kept me on my toes and well informed about the latest best gear or running "niggles" which torment us both. He is also pretty God damn smart. Once, several years ago, we spent five-miles discussing Joseph Heller and "Catch-22" and I was tartly offended by his affrontal towards my views and suggested so. Well, it turns out that Heller was Edwin's tutor at Oxford. Doh! So today I run 1:35 without really pushing myself yet disappointed in the pace. Breaking three-hours in Berlin is going to be tough. Edwin knocks out a 1:24, no problemo.

"In a country where only men are encouraged, one must be one's own inspiration."
-- Tegla Loroupe, Kenya, 1994 New York City Marathon champion