Fulham Palace Parkrun 14.1.23

 Pre

The journey was notable because we happened to pass Stamford Bridge. My impression was that from the brief glimpse I had, it was very much akin to the old Boleyn ground. Which seemed incongruent with the fact it had seen probably billions spent since being procured by an oligarch. Now I come to think and type of it, Chelsea FC always reminded me of Arif when they had that mammoth crest or whatever it was. Little did I know the mammoth undertaking that would soon be undertook. 

We arrived in good time as we so often do and continued to break the foreboding parking curses that every Parkrun page seems to wish upon you, by parking a stone's throw from the course. As the car was locked, the heinous Thames wind buffeted our faces and the rain lashed across us. We did our mile(ish) warm up and attended the briefing. It was quite unnecessary, as a bunch of prized pratts prattled on quite pretentiously, all but drowning out the race director. 


The Parkrun

Two laps, up through the park and back along the Thames. Where each time you would be greeted by a wall of wind. The conditions were dreary and within a lap I pondered, weak and weary, if of a finish I could ensure. I could, but this was not a day I could perform on. So within 2km, I had consigned myself to just crossing the imaginary line and used the last 3km as somewhat of a warm down. I finished in 28 something and Arif not long after. 


Post

Arif made his way to the cafe while I went to the bathroom in a separate building. As I returned, what I was greeted with made the trip terrifically memorable and unbeknownst to me at the time, earned us our first credits. Arif was sitting with his back to me, directly in front of the window facing the park, chatting vivaciously with an American man while sifting through Parkrun barcodes. I stood there for a moment studying the situation and being both bemused, amused, and perhaps slightly unsurprised given that this is my dear friend Arif, I sat down with them and began to quietly organise the barcodes. We left the shadow of a sodden Craven Cottage no longer just runners, we were volunteers. 





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