Slogging it Out

Well, we marshalled the Sodbury Slog admirably. It was tough, but we survived the whole 3 hours.

Those top three photos are of the leaders in the race at the 7 mile point, where we were stationed- red, yellow and white shirts respectively. They were serious and didn't engage in any banter whatsoever.

Then came the rest - some 300 odd in all, strung out over a couple of hours.

For some reason they kept shouting; "Thank you Marshal," but I kept telling them my name was Phil, not Marshal.

I encouraged some of them by shouting; "Get your cigarettes, beer and performance-enhancing dumplings here," but was ignored.

Some were dressed as Vikings, others were in full suits and one was dressed as Spiderman. The Viking was in the top 25th percentile, despite having to lug an axe around the course.

The stragglers were encouraged by me shouting that they had 5 minutes before the Old Sodbury Hell Hounds would be let loose to pursue them.

One poor chap was violently sick just before our station and was administered to by Hay. Fit looking chap too and not at all the kind of physique you'd expect to have to give up, but he was obviously excessively stressed.

One thing I noticed was that all the male race leaders were quite well proportioned, not bulky nor too lean, whereas all the female leaders were built like racing whippets with hardly a scrap of fat on them.

Hay and I took it upon ourselves to train for next year's Slog. Hay may accomplish it, but I'm simply not built for running more than a mile or two and will probably have to intersperse the run with leisurely walks.