I was last (man) and I loved it...
I'm overweight and over slow - work has been hell, and my buttocks are moulded into the shape required to sit in the cheap seats of a virgin pendalino... However, that doesn't matter cos this weekend I was racing the personification of Death himself (a him this time, not anything interesting from the fertile mind of Neil Gaiman). The Beat the Reaper is a run like few others, two laps of a mixed terrain course... muddy enough to demand some grip, tarmacy enough to demand some cushioning and with an array of death's little helpers popping out to scare the willies out of the unsuspecting runners... Mrs Jiminy and I dress for the occasion... The other feature is that the Reaper is real, a ringer in plain sight - he starts at the back and races the pack, chases down those who dare think they're fast enough - I don't I was happy only to be lapped by the front 15 or so. So, on to my race strategy - sounds odd, I was the last man how the hell could I have a...