Alone in the Mud: My Cross Country Catastrophe

I don’t have a great track record when it comes to races where I rely on someone else to grab my bib number – two Southern Athletic League meets, plus a handful of relay and XC races – so I really shouldn’t have been surprised that today ended in disaster.

I had signed up for the SEAA Cross Country Masters Championships. I made my way across London to a hilly, muddy field in Greenford, expecting to meet seven other hardy runners from Victoria Park Harriers. When I arrived… I was alone.

I wandered over to the officials’ tent and found the least helpful official imaginable. He just said, “Go find your team manager,” and turned away. Five minutes before the race started, I kept wandering around, scanning the crowd for anyone in a VPH vest.

So I didn’t get to race.

All the negative emotions hit me unison: anger, sadness, and disappointment. I stormed through the door of an off-licence, probably scaring the shit out of the guy behind the counter who thought he was getting robbed, all I want this time is a can of Tyskie to drown my sorrows.

Earlier, I had skipped Parkrun in the morning and the Maltese Culture Movement’s Christmas Fate, just a mile from my house, because they clashed with the race. I could have puffed my way around Mile End Parkrun and then devoured pastizzi while sipping Cisk beer instead of wandering Greenford like a lost, muddy idiot.

Maybe it is time that I learn my lesson and only enter races where my bib number is either sent to me or I can collect it from a registration tent on the day of the race. This is the 6th time in as many years that I’ve missed out because of this ridiculous and archaic system.

Image by Tibor Janosi Mozes from Pixabay