Bushy Parkrun 18.2.23

 Pre

The pilgrimage was decreed and so it would be done. On the way there we did have some apprehensions as to whether we would arrive on time to park, thus I had a brief scout around for some alternatives and made a list. A list that included Nonsuch and Bethlehem Royal Hospital based purely on the names alone. Our fears proved to be just thoughts, as most fears tend to be. 

Upon arrival the car park was swarming with tardy attendees. But Arif was not to be deterred and bullishly parked the war beast in a space of his own making. We departed the car and made the very short walk to the start area. The mass of people was quite amazing with close to over 4 times more runners than any event we had attended, particularly a far cry from our home run of Beckton. 

The Parkrun

I believe the start is what they call a grid, instead of the general conveyor belt in potential speed order, this was just a vast line of runners stretching horizontally across the field. A heaving mass of fitness centurions ready to sprint across the battlefield to impending death, or a bunch of unfit northerners preparing to chase a wheel of cheese down a hill.  

Once the race began, we had to awkwardly run at an angle across the field to join the path. With 1400 runners, there was only so much paved ground to share, and hundreds either braved the bumpy and grassy ground either to the left or the right of the herd in an attempt to join the masses further up upon firmer ground. It was quite the experience; probably akin to running the London Marathon. The air was hot and stifling with thousands of carbon dioxide exhalations and never were you not surrounded by sweaty shoulders and glistening elbows on all fronts. 

The course itself is just a simple loop. My legs were heavy and I did not feel fast. A glance at my watch at I believe kilometre 3 had me thoroughly disheartened. I read the average pace as being above 5:00m/km which considering the effort I had put forth, made me want to give up. But fears are just thoughts and thoughts are not things. I fought on and quickly realised I had merely seen the current pace and that my average was below the magic 5:00m/km. 

I made it to the finish and through a strange system akin to cows ambling into a slaughterhouse. My time was 24.50ish and with each split quickening in pace which I was pleased with.

Post

Once we had both scanned our barcodes, the customary coffee was in order from an extremely expensive park coffee hut sort of thing. It was loveless and no doubt existed solely to exploit runners. A cookie and caffeination later, we began to walk around the park and discuss our new passion of dendrology which we had begun to dabble with in Crystal Palace. The wind was cold and at times, lashing. Luckily, there was a spiritual shelter to be found in the crevasse of a great oak tree. Split straight down the middle as if struck by a giant's axe, so that it looked like a book that had been left open. Within the spine of this novel of yore, was pure silence and a gentle warmth. A grounding experience to stand within the heart of centuries of growth. 

Less spiritual in nature I suppose, were Nigel and Jarvis playing Stuart Little with their remote controlled ships in the pond, while dirty Doris complained of the weather. We did see a fine bit of parenting though. A child had clambered up a felled tree, and was probably 7 feet from the ground. But the elevation had spooked him and he cried for his father to get him down. But the dad simply told him that he had got up there alone, and so he could come down the same. The boy cried initially, but of course, eventually made his way down and will take that confidence with him forever. 

We did try our hand at Hampton Court Palace but the staff responded as if besieged by paupers and demanded payment so that we may further pay to eat of drink. So we tried our hand at a cafe off the Kingston high street. They told us to eat would be more than a half hour wait so we declined, drank our second coffee and ticked the mecca from our list.