Putin made me late for parkrun

In January, I made a stupid decision. Later, I got another offer for the same weekend.

After a lot of mulling it over in the rain a few weeks ago, I made a decision by asking myself one question: which one would I enjoy more? The answer was easy; I pulled out of the ludicrously long walk. Nevertheless, I had to ferry Mr Pandammonium to and from the start and end at RAF Wyton, which complicated the logistics.

We got up at two in the morning to get to RAF Wyton by three thirty for registration in Tent City. But confusion reigned. It turned out that you had go to base to register, but you had to be escorted, and the easiest way was to be ferried to base in a minibus, then be ferried back for the start.

Mr Pandammonium gave me his poles to hold while he went off in the minibus. After a while, I noticed that the minibuses were returning but no one was getting out. It was like the beginning of a film.

Later, the marshals told us that the start was at the base, but they’d be walking past Tent City. I wanted to make sure Mr Pandammonium had his poles, so I jumped in the next minibus, despite the film-related wariness, and was taken to a hangar, where all the ferried people were hanging out.

Mr Pandammonium saw me, and he was reunited with his poles.

As four o’clock, when the march was supposed to start, approached, it was obvious not everyone had registered yet. There was an announcement that it would start at quarter past. During the briefing, they explained the confusion over the registration and start locations leading to the delayed start. It turned out that the Pathfinder March started nineteen minutes late thanks to its organiser being in Ukraine. Thanks, Putin.

I watched Mr Pandammonium set off with the others to walk 46 miles on what promised to be a toasty day. Later, another group of people would be setting off to run 46 miles on what promised to be a toasty day, but I wouldn’t be around for that. I had things to do, places to go.

I had to go back home, prepare and pack enough food for the day, get showered and dressed, then get to Madingley Road Park and Ride, from where I could walk to a Storeys Field parkrun, ideally in time to catch the first-timers’ briefing. I might not need a run-down on how parkrun works, but an idea of the route helps.

As it turned out, Google Maps was in cahoots with Putin, making it look like I was to turn right at this junction with interminably red traffic lights, when in fact it was at that junction with more interminably red traffic lights. Google also wasn’t clear on how to get to the parkrun site, but I got there largely by following other people, then happening to see the parkrun flag.

I got to parkrun in time to catch the tiniest snippet of the first timers’ briefing, which was the bit of the course I already knew: hard paths, three laps. Thanks, Putin and Google.

I had decided to walk the route because I didn’t want to get too sweaty because I wouldn’t have a chance to shower again. Yeah, it was too hot for that plan to work. Let’s just say it was fortunate that I’d brought a change of clothes (see extra).

This fellow was also walking, and we settled into easy conversation. A chatty parkrun passes pretty quickly, even if it does take 53 minutes and 31 seconds. If it hadn’t been for the tailwalkers, we would’ve been last.

Afterwards, I went back to the Park and Ride, and freshened up and got changed in the loo. Then I drove to Churchill College, only a bit late for the better offer I’d had: a two-day writing retreat. I’d wanted to stay overnight, but the logistics prevented it.

Mr Pandammonium texted me when he reached each checkpoint, and to tell me he’d probably finish during the retreat’s evening meal break, which meant I could go and see him finish and pick him up straightaway, rather than him having to loiter somewhere till after the retreat finished for the day, as we’d expected. Despite starting late, he finished earlier than last year (see extra).

Of course, I didn’t have time to take him home and come back, so I took him back with me and left him in a heap at a picnic table with a drink while I went back to the retreat.

We were having an hour of readings; I read out a 52-word memoir of one of my characters that I’d scribbled in the morning. The lady who runs the group loved it, and later asked me to send it to her, so she could send it for potential publication in the next issue of the college’s review. I was delighted.

When the retreat finished for the day, I rescued Mr Pandammonium from where he was being overrun by pirates, and drove us home, where we zonked out.

Going by the heat and how Mr Pandammonium was, I was assured I had definitely made the right decision about what I should do today.