Regents Park run on behalf of wonderful charity.

Regents Park run on behalf of wonderful charity.


It happened to me with literally yards to go in this morning's Regents Park 5k run. I had one of those Mo Farah moments when the finishing line beckons and all of the muscles and joints in your ankles are screaming, protesting, disputing and shouting vehemently at you. It was one of those triumphant days in your life when it's only you against the rest of the world. You pinch yourself at the enormity of your achievement, congratulating the runners around you and the trees nod in silent acknowledgement.

For this morning my daughter and I completed a 5k run which if my deplorable maths serves me correctly is roughly 3.5 miles or something in the region of the figure. It was the kind of morning when you just wanted to fling open the blinds or windows, punch the air with delight and be thankful for a wonderful organisation known as the British Heart Foundation.

I think it only fair to point out that the comparison to Mo Farah may well be the most ridiculous exaggeration because although middle distance running may be the extent of my athletic capabilities Mo Farah is an astonishingly charismatic and Olympic champion which quite clearly I'll never be able to lay claim to.

So it may be advisable to stick to more modest and much humbler accomplishments. Today I set out with the only objective of finishing the course in a moderately respectable time although I have to tell you that even the time was both irrelevant and never my uppermost consideration. Now in my mid 50s three miles is not only difficult and hard going but at times painfully awkward. Then again it wasn't quite as bad as I thought it was going to be and although challenging, the beautiful parklands of London's West End more than adequately compensated for the inevitable aches and twinges that were slowly developing in my beleaguered feet.

But this was the day for giving generously to a splendidly and vitally important charity. I did feel as though I'd made a memorable contribution to an organisation that remains one of the most foremost of charitable concerns. Besides, where on earth would we be without our ticker, that essential bodily organ that pumps monumental gallons of blood around the rest of the body?

The whole subject of health in Britain is more or less a constant source of news in the daily media agenda. Not a single day seems to pass without a whole advertisement board of health warnings, faddish diets bombarding us from Tube trains in London, the national newspapers, bus stops and campaigning shops promising us that if we stop eating a million pizzas every day for the rest of our lives then no harm may come our way.

And yet for roughly over an hour or so amid the stunningly sylvan backdrop of Regents Park in early autumn, my daughter and I put our best foot forward and charged into the distance. After a series of moving speeches from one of the organisers and participants in the race our daughter gave me the most inspirational of smiles before leaving poor old dad to gasp, puff and pant his way to glory.

The route was a straightforward one of long and meandering paths and pavements, gentle slopes and twisting corners that wound their way around the park with an agreeable simplicity about them. There were no endless stretches of road or street where the thunder of traffic can never be drowned out completely and at frequent points you may found yourself stranded at traffic lights.

Here was the opportunity to take stock at some of the nation's finest and timeless trees standing commandingly above the West End's seething hive of activity and sometimes maddening maelstrom. There can never be any moment of our lives when we simply can't help but fall helplessly in love with nature because the symmetry and geometry of it all is just so right and accurate.

As we entered Regents Park my wife, daughter and I were taken aback by the eye catching sculptures and the entirely but surprisingly attractive water features that held us for a number of moments. Then we moved easily into a riot of colourful flowers, begonias perhaps, nasturtiums, magnolias of wildly pleasing colours and huge red leaves snoozing in the early morning calm.

Now for the beginning of run. Naturally our daughter, a far superior athlete, alert and hugely intelligent brain was here to show her dad the cleanest pair of heels. Off we went at our own respective paces, sharp, sprightly, full of overflowing vitality and va va voom. For the briefest period of time I had my daughter within clear view of me but then reality began to make its presence felt. After roughly 50 yards or so, we reluctantly agreed to go our leisurely way, the dawning realisation hitting me that a 37 year age gap couldn't be filled at any point.

For my part this was an interesting study of the human body language. Suddenly I'd encountered something that was strangely uplifting. For mile upon mile a red column of British Heart Foundation shirts with numbers tightly pinned on to said shirts snaked its way around Regents Park. During the race I began to find out that the human race is, quite definitely, a fascinating one. It wasn't long before a couple of people in front of me had come to a standstill, stopping for a while as if just glad to be associated with this most magnificent of human endeavours.

Then as the run progressed, I became aware of the typical sense of  British humour; giggly jokes and frivolous comments followed by masses of modesty and self deprecation. We're only here to run for charity so why don't we just have some fun by exchanging some of the most light hearted banter? So they chatted, trundled forward, stumbled forward happily, staggered for a while again, before breaking into that authoritative jog that implies that they do indeed mean business.

Before long I was into my imperious stride which meant that at roughly tea time I may have gathered up enough energy to actually finish the run. There was a rumour that the train staff at nearby Great Portland Street would conveniently be on hand to pick my sagging body off the ground. Thankfully though the assistance of the local paramedics would not be required and as morning became lunchtime I knew that the flags were flying and my lumbering carcass of a body had achieved much more than I could ever have imagined at the start.

At designated points of the run, sympathetic stewards and marshals were on hand to thrust bottles of water into the combined collective of Regents Park's most exemplary of athletes. After being overtaken by perhaps every participant in the run the thought occurred to me that Saturday mornings do not come as rewarding as this one. This was the spirit of taking part taken to its utmost extreme. Sprinting- I kid you not- to the finishing line I flung weary arms into the air in quiet celebration all the while conscious that I'd just become the most benevolent of humanitarians. It was time to party privately.

Slowly but surely I began to glow in the rose tinted glare of victory. My wife, daughter and I made our way back to Regents Park station, discussing times and marvelling at my flourishing state of health. I had to admit that I did feel reasonably confident of completing the 5k run. Around me hundreds of fit and healthy red shirts pottered around Regents Park, medals gleaming around the neck and pride oozing from every pore of their body.

Oh yes. How could I ever forget the medal at the end of the Regents Park? Shortly, after racing over the finishing line, I was presented with my very own medal, an unforgettable souvenir of the day that has to be remembered for quite some time.

There you have it ladies and gentlemen another Saturday and another day to be recalled with fond clarity. It isn't often that I find myself in a position where I can confidently declare that I made a noticeable difference to the day. But I do hope that I've made a positive contribution to the British Heart Foundation. Thankyou. This may be an opportune moment to pat myself on the back as long as the rest of my body co-operates gratefully tomorrow morning. Time for a Saturday afternoon nap.