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Skip's Christmas Message - December 23, 2007
Five fantastic trophies
Hello Belgravians, welcome to a special guest edition of Skipper’s Corner which had a merry 3-year romp before its creator ran out of va-va-voom... Bit of a shame really because there would have been a whole lot to comment upon this season, in what has been comfortably the most fertile “half-season” in our history. The stats are simple to report: two laudable second-place finishes, and FIVE fantastic trophies! Magnificent stuff and huge congratulations and thanks to you all.
Can we do it? ... the squad is hungry and powerful
However, half a season doth not a season make! There are four long, fascinating months to go, and this will only qualify as the greatest winter season in our illustrious history if we reach the mark I spoke of in September ’05 as ‘Dreamland’, that of SEVEN trophies. Can we do it? Yes, but it’s gonna be tough. There are no easy pickings left. But here are the options, with the last time we won said trophy in parentheses: The Surrey county champs [1996], the Surrey League [2002], the Southerns [1952], the National [2004], the Southern 12-stage [2006], the National 12-stage [2005], and the London Marathon [1996]. We don’t therefore own a single one of these titles, so to suggest that we’re going to pick up two of them is perhaps a bit far-fetched. However, the squad is so hungry and powerful at the moment, with so many men in top form, that we should definitely be in there scrapping for several of the above silverware.
The Sharpman cometh
It has been a great honour to be the Belgrave club captain these last four winters. We have won 15 gongs in that time, and have had about as many podium finishes. My turn at the helm will end at the National 12-stage, when I shall hand over to one of the safest pair of hands in the business. He is already amongst the top-ten finest road and country servants our club has ever had, rubbing shoulders with club legends like Bert Footer, Arthur Penny, Bill Lucas, Tom Carter, Charlie Walker and Gerry North. He is of course the Sharpman, and has won a staggering haul of medals in a Belgrave vest. Happily for all of us, he ain’t slowing down, and the next five years could just be his most productive yet. We all hope so. A team which includes a fit Sharpy, is a team that’s difficult to beat.
Skip's been woeful ...
I have had a woeful time of it these past 6-weeks running-wise, after a pitiful DNF at the Istanbul Marathon. Week after week has passed when I’ve barely got my mileage over a dozen measly miles. I keep saying, right, it’s time to get out of slobbesville, and get back in training, and I keep postponing another few days. But I believe the corner may have been turned this past weekend in North Berwick, a seaside town in East Lothian. I needed something to happen to jolt be back into action and reignite my love for running, and something did.
Here’s what happened: There were about 10 of us on the beach divided into five teams for a paarlauf. Coming into the last leg of the race my partner handed over to me in the lead, in the gathering, haunting gloom. My final stage was about 1200 yards, and our lead around 12 seconds. That was the good news. The bad news was that the man chasing me was my arch nemesis of Thames, Nick Altmann, who was going pretty well. 12 seconds, quite simply, wasn’t going to be enough. I was 5% to win this. At least, though, I was a man with a plan. Hold him off for the first couple of minutes, on the twisty grassy trails, negotiate the steep slope on to the beach, and then it was at least a 500 yard burn-up on the hard sand, and who knows?
... but it aint over 'til it's over
I carried out my plan, but the moment the descent on to the beach was negotiated, Nick bolted past, and took 10 yards. At least now I was doing the chasing and I managed to hold the gap. Perhaps it even came down smidgen. But with a mere 30 yards to go though the gap remained at 8 or 9 yards. A valiant effort, but it was not to be, winning chances down to 1000-1 against now. But then – a miracle: with just 25 yards to go, Nick let out a yelp, like a spaniel whose tail has been trodden on, and clasped the back of his leg – he had cramped up! 15 yards to go, 5 yards the difference; 10 yards to go, 3 yards the difference. I could do this now! I made a desperate lunge for the finish line, and got the nod from the judges in the photo-finish. And there it was, suddenly I was a runner again – and boy did that feel good.
So I’ll be seeing you at the races guys: let’s go and create some history, as we strive to achieve seventh heaven.
My Seasons greetings to Belgravians all over the world.
