Lockdown Larks: A Non-Running Update

[Sweder]

Life, indeed. 

What a long, strange trip it's been. 
Not much running, a bit of ParkRun marshalling, and, of course, the return of the Moyleman.
A highly successful 7th edition last month, a new course record, James Turner shaving a full minute off his own best time.
He was supposed to be chased by another local lad but wound up stuffing him by a full 12 minutes. I loped up to the high street to see him in.
He chased the lead biker for all he was worth, flying past with the biggest grin on his face. Wow.

CharlieCat was remarkable, as ever. We shared directorial duties, welcoming runners shuffling into the school in search of numbers. They looked dazed and confused, like the abductees emerging from the mothership at the end of Close Encounters. For many this was the first post-pandemic event of note.

I love this race, this day. Our fabulous volunteers, led by Time Team Tim, corralled by the Beast of Bevendean and Naomi. The bikers, Seafront Plodder and the bag-drop crew.
Claire and Sue, queens of the finisher's table. The families waiting, the kids tearing about, dogs all over the shop. It's the best form of bedlam.

The comments we get are all about our purple-clad marshals. The dancing marshals atop the last big climb at Caburn, especially.
Pizza. Beer. Music. The generosity of Harvey's, the soggy hugs, the massive grins, the sunshine, the abundant human spirit. 

Pure joy.