COME TOGETHER, FEEL THE ENERGY, EAT THE FLAPJACKS
I’ve always been a bit sniffy about the commercial aspects of running. All that stuff: the expos, the mountains of gear, the whole drama. It’s always felt a bit unnecessary – slightly gaudy packaging around what is, at root, a very simple endeavour. But I think I get it now. I did a book signing at The National Running Show in Birmingham a few weeks back and it was the most fun I’ve had in ages. As I made my way to the NEC, I didn’t know what to expect. I’d mistimed my arrival, creating a scenario whereby I was late for my own signing, so it was all manic phone calls and problems with security, then a rush through a side entrance. But then I was in, the extravaganza opening out in front of me, an explosion of running stuff and enthusiasts as I made my way to stand 190.
I whipped off my coat, picked up my pen and settled into it. The signing was an absolute blast, to meet and chat with other runners is always a joy. To have everyone crammed in like this only intensified it. As I signed and chatted, and then wandered around afterwards, I became acutely aware of belonging to a real community, a church of sorts. There was something for everyone.
For the more serious runner, it was an opportunity to embrace your inner obsessive, get the latest cutting-edge advice on diet, gait analysis and trainer technology. The runner tourist could sign up for races all over the world. And if you just fancied a bit of retail therapy, you could buy a shiny new top.
The arena vibrated with an uncomplicated sense of fun. Food was a huge part of it all. At one point, I was chatting to a group of women from Birmingham who were laden down with shopping bags. ‘I can’t believe it,’ one of them said. ‘I’ve just spent 20 quid on fudge.’ One was rubbing her chest and seemed to be on the verge of gagging. ‘I’ve had three turmeric-and-ginger shots,’ she blurted, ‘They’re repeating on me.’ It was like a hen weekend. After recommending the flapjacks, they set off to buy some Comfyballs pants for their husbands.
That night, I did a gig, hosting the dinner for the sponsors and good folk who ran the stalls. Between you and me, these events can be a tad tedious. People don’t want to be there, but, smothered by a sense of corporate obligation, they’ll don a suit and spend an evening saying the right things and looking at their watch, waiting for an acceptable time to exit. But this one felt different. The dress code was looser and the atmosphere was more relaxed.
Normally, I’d be at the table chatting to Ian from accounts; let me assure you, I’ve no problem with Ian, I wish him all the best, but at this gig, the table and the room were peppered with some impressive people. Within 10 minutes I’d chatted to a woman who was planning an attempt on the world record for running across Australia, and I met a young man planning to run the length of Africa for charity. It all put my ‘Can I do the Manchester Marathon and then London two weeks later?’ conundrum into perspective.
It struck me how chilled out the ultrarunners were. I ended up having a short chat with ultra-legend Camille Herron – multiple world record holder and possibly the most relaxed person I’ve ever met. She was so chilled out I thought she was going to collapse in front of me. She was completely unpretentious and, like the Brummie women, obsessed with flapjacks.
That night, I returned to London a tad delirious; the whole event had left me spinning a bit, inspired. Because it’s growing. More and more people are taking up running every year, entering events, changing their lives. Thousands of people, all unutterably unique, but bonded by a very simple thing – love of running. They’d come to buy stuff, of course, but really it felt more like an excuse to just be together. Everyone there loved running and wanted to talk, laugh and be inspired by people who loved running, too.
This, I realised, was the real story of the event. All this…and cake!
Paul’s new book, 26.2 Miles To Happiness: a Comedian’s Tale of Running, Red Wine and Redemption (Bloomsbury), is out now – read an extract on page 36.