I've run two half marathons in England.
My first, the OFFICIAL London Marathon half-marathon at Silverstone, consisted of me freezing to death, being pelted by ice (twice) and climbing... beaten... back onto a bus with the smallest medal I've ever owned and a t-shirt three times larger than I am.
My second, the Sony Run to the Beat, got temperatures close to my homeland of Texas and got me a men's shaving set as a thank you gift.
Apparently, I need to be taller and male.
I actually have nothing against running in England. I have nothing against the odd swag (the Silverstone Half Marathon was the only time I saw men lining up in queues to go to the bathroom and women zooming in and out of the loos.) I can go a lot further when the temperature isn't close to boiling eggs. But for some odd, odd reason when it comes to the actual race day I've experienced the most extremes in climate.
Yes, yes, I know - I'm on an island. But this is an island that can't decide. It was cold but mild this morning, then suddenly, a snow blizzard, then suddenly ... sun. It's like riding some wild weather roller coaster that I never chose to be a part of.
Times like these I miss home with it's consistent HOT setting. But then again, I'd have nothing to blog about, now would I?
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