I haven't done it again, have barely run since. When I saw the runners come in on Sunday (this time on the TV), I wasn't gripped by middle-age existential angst that I wasn't doing enough in my life. In fact, by the end of Sunday, I felt that there were certain similarities with running a marathon and looking after three sub-five year old children
The mayonnaise was hurled in the same bag as the ibuprofen, crushing the weak and vulnerable brioche buns in the process. The bread was bullied in to the bottom of another bag, resulting in the loaf being squashed and killed in action by the carrots and cheaply priced duck breasts. And the milk was required to share a bag with mouthwash and garden bin-liners. Complete mayhem.