Müller Centre

Last weekend, I said I was thinking of running the next parkrun. Because I’d been out on Monday and would be out on Thursday, I thought I’d wuss out of running a third time this week, so on the Wednesday, I emailed the volunteer coordinator and offered my services for finish tokens.

Apparently, they had other people interested in that. Curses.

But if I did the first-timers’ briefing, I’d still be able to run. Yay.

I accepted; what could possibly go wrong?

At running group on Thursday, someone said they’d seen I was down for first-timers’ briefing. I started telling them the tale; it turned out they’d also asked to do finish tokens so they didn’t have to run, but had also been thwarted.

They were offered sorting the tokens so they could still run, too.

We commiserated.

This morning, I got to parkrun and donned a pink hi-vis vest, found the course map and the first-timers sign with what you have to say on the back. I read through it a couple of times, although lovely Luna preferred me to make a fuss of her.

The time came. ‘First-timers!’

A first-timer is someone who’s new to parkrun or new to that particular parkrun.

I gathered ten first timers, confessed it was my first time doing the first-timers’, and went through the stuff on the back of the sign – mainly about parkrun not being a race, and not even a run necessarily: you can run, jog, walk or do any combo thereof. No one will be last because the tail walkers will always be last. Blah, blah.

I went through the (winter) course map; essentially two laps of the big field and the top field, with an extra twiddle at the end.

Everyone seemed happy enough by the time I’d finished. I hope I was welcoming, friendly and informative; that’s what I was aiming for. I also hoped no one got lost :D

Responsibility over, I put the hi-vis vest and the sign back. It was time to hustle to the start line for the briefing by the run director (RD).

The course was proper clarty on the entrances to the fields, and the waterloggedness of the grass sapped energy with every squelch. Nevertheless, I plodded round in a respectable time.

In the afternoon, I went to Cambridge for my writing group, where I bemoaned my cat-related novel dilemma. I was recommended a book of poetry written by a cockroach about the lives and times of said cockroach and a cat. I’ll get it after future adventures.