It was an absolute pleasure to come back and run the Exmoor this year.

As we approached the start line, the moors did not disappoint and greeted us a with a wicked hail shower. Having just ditched most of my tracksuit, clad in my shortest of shorts I cowered behind a minibus. Attempting to conserve heat: waiting pensively.

My granddad won the annual cross-country run back in his day – I only managed a measly 8^th in my final year – so I still had the proverbial chip on my shoulder.

I was jittering with the trademark mixture of hypothermia and excitement. The race could not start soon enough. After the countdown I raced off the line to secure a lead.

Soon into the initial descent the weather eased off. Before long I was rapidly shedding off clothing to marshals. Heart rate moniter, jacket, gloves and arm warmers were all eschewed. I cruised the downhill and soon enough the hills began to bite.

I dug in and clawed my way up the cleave. Anyone who has completed the run will know the familiar searing agony. I had no one in front of me, but always spurred on by the brilliant marshalls.

Soon enough it was all over and I crossed the line. An experience worth reliving for any old boy (or girl). Although I’m still waiting for my arm warmers to come back.

John Hancock
(06-17F)