MAN FLU OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST
Last
week’s wintry weather laid me low with man-flu. Around half of you will be
familiar with the symptoms – temperature, sore throat, excessive mucous,
unaccountable moaning and unsympathetic responses from those that blithely
uttered the words “…in sickness and in health…” In any event, struck
down in my prime is what I has been, struck down in my prime!
The
other half of you (quite possibly mostly of the gentler sex) will believe that
man-flu is a figment of the imagination that afflicts only we
“hunter-gatherers” but no – the correct etymology is that it derives from the
verb to moan – that is “moan-flu”. And as my family and colleagues will attest
it is a very real phenomenon. Thus it was, fed up with constant grizzling, the
present Mrs T extracted a promise (on pain of… well, you can probably imagine)
that I would not participate in Saturday’s event at Burnley.
So I
am sorry that I was forced to watch from the sidelines at Towneley Park. It did
occur to me that I might secrete my spikes and other running gear into the car
and participate without her knowing but Mrs T is a fearsome woman when roused
so any such action was, of course, out of the question. Had I decided to run I
would probably not have had time to watch some of the earlier races in which
there was so much of interest.
Runners
like me tend to scan the results from the bottom up. Reviewing them last
evening I felt sorry not to have arrived in time to see some of our younger
members compete and in particular a couple of the younger lads. If their
finishing places are anything to go by, we have a good deal in common but they
are under 15 and I guess it takes a good deal more determination to keep going
when you are not among those getting the prizes at that age than at mine. So,
hats off to Greg and Mark!
The
senior women’s race provided much to enjoy – even in my weakened state. The pot
boils nicely on rivalry between the French and Saunders of BWFAC - Mesdames
Smith and Wright. I can’t resist noting it is now one-all in this season’s XC
meetings as we head for Sefton Park. Towards the Twiz-end of the field, Hilary
Goorney 
(pictured) ran with her usual good
humour and a cheery wave to her many well-wishers while Paula Washington
dazzled with her sunny smile as she battled through the mud. The club’s Siamese
Twins, Cath ‘n Gill, seemed at one stage ready to be separated but by the
finish were once more indistinguishable from each other.
Had I
been running in the men’s race I am sure that would have provided something to
enjoy, also. I would certainly have had the opportunity to admire the galloping
style of Michael Aspinall as he passed by. And, irritated though I may have
been as Messrs Wood, Gibson, Greenwood, et al disappeared into the distance, I
am sure I would have remained determined to get round – if only to prove that
man-flu mutates into “can-do” with the addition of a little grit and shouts of
encouragement from Mrs Delaney. But I wasn’t running and had to make do with
spectating.
Or at
least, that is what I hope you will tell my lady wife, should you see her!
David Twizell (finishing position
243rd)