(Article by Michael Holden)
Hotel bars are strange places-venues for people who should never have met. That said, the two men I found myself seated next to at a long bar in a place that raked back in alcohol prices what it saved you on a room, seemed well acquainted.
Man 1 (concerned) “You like running though?”
Man 2 (sadly, as though bereaved) “I love it’s just it’s…got a bit out of hand.”
Man 1 “You’ve injured yourself?”
Man 2 (confessional) No. I just think I’m taking it too seriously. I entered a race a few weeks ago, a 6K thing, for charity. I won.”
Man 1 “So?”
Man 2 “Well-it was like a fun run-but I sort of misread it, and went full tilt. I was out on my own from the beginning. Soon I was so far ahead I was passing stewards who were setting stuff up. And I started to have a go at them, saying they should get their act together.”
Man 1 “What, and you stop running to do this?”
Man 2 “No. Just look back and shout really.”
Man 1 “Right.”
Man 2 “I’m not proud of it. I can see now that I’d gone mental.”
Man 1 “Well that’s the main thing.”
Man 2 “I crossed the line and there was no one there, I felt very strange”
Man 1 “I imagine death to be like that.”
Man 2 “And there was a steel band playing the theme from Blake’s Seven.”
Man 1 “Jesus.”
Man 2 “Then a photographer from the local paper and asked me if I’d cross the line again so he could get a picture.”
Man 1 “What did you do?”
Man 2 “Well I refused.”
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