Yesterday I didn’t manage to do my long run as I was a bit busy meeting Father Christmas (worst/best namedrop ever?) so only managed to escape in the evening for a short run. Howling winds and driving rain in the dark beckoned. I did have a moment of wondering if the gym treadmill might be more sensible, before deciding no, it’s only water, and heading out.
I actually, peversely, thoroughly enjoyed it, whereas the dreadmill would have been nothing but a boring slog: I loathe those machines and avoid them as much as possible. So when I got home to an email saying that Max Wilcocks had, unofficially, broken the world record for the most miles run in 12 hours – on a treadmill – my jaw dropped. I take my hat, my gloves and my running shoes off to him: never mind the impressive physical feat, how he didn’t go stark raving bonkers out of sheer boredom I will never know. I suppose he was positioned in the Lululemon store on the Kings Road by the window, so he at least had passing folk to look at and to splur him on, but still … Sheer, wonderful madness.
It’s the kind of exploit that has non-runners (and plenty of runners) saying “but WHY” and the rest probably replying “because he could/ because it was there”. Oh, and of course he was also doing it for a ‘real’ cause – to raise awareness on male specific cancers. Well done Max. 93.47 miles. That’s one hell of a weekend run.
So, for the rest of us, the weekend was probably more windy, but rather less epic in mileage. Share your stories below the line as always.
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