It rained, then it drizzled, then it just spat, and then it rained again. I’m slowly beginning to learn the pattern of a British summer.
Yet despite the weather there was no shortage of smiles … Well actually, I’m sure the 25,000 competitors were smiling either at the start and/or the finish, but to be honest where I was – at the 8k mark – there weren’t many smiles at all. Grimaces of pain. Gasps for air. Awkward waves to friends in the crowd. Not many smiles.
But 80% into any race no one is going to be looking a picture of ecstatic radiance. You’re too deep inside the tunnel of pain for any light to be making its way into forming facial expressions.
Never mind. It was fun for me jogging around, cheering people on, snapping some pics, in the rain and the drizzle. And great to see so many people out taking over London’s sodden streets.
Subtle musical motivations.
8k in to the race and one guy still manages a sly peak checking out another runner.
This many bottles on a cool, wet day. Imagine the rolled ankles on a hot day!
In running there’s this thing called being “chicked”. This guy’s about to be taken to school on that very lesson.