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Charity Crewe never imagined she'd run the London Marathon, but it's amazing what a couple of glasses of wine can make you do...
My first experience of the London Marathon was as a spectator waiting on the finish line for my friend Tracy. For about 10 minutes I was amused by the assortment of costumes ranging from rhinos to gorillas and even a Charles II; amazed by a sprightly jogger in her 70s and a man with one leg breeze past able-bodied runners.
But after an hour of waiting in the freezing cold, watching the pained expressions on the runners' faces, and having clearly missed my friend, I couldn't be more sure this was something I would never do myself. A certainty that was further confirmed when Tracy told me that she'd been sick in a bag at the end of the 26 miles and couldn't walk for the next two days. Why, only two years later, I decided to take up the challenge of the Marathon is largely due to a drunken agreement at a party.
There is nothing like a good cause to get people doing things they wouldn't have previously considered; whether it be forking out hundreds for a submarine ride at a charity auction or agreeing to sit in stocks to be pelted with mouldy fruit at a summer fair.
I deputy chair the Q Trust, a fundraising venture set up in the name of my late father, Quentin Crewe, to raise money for Muscular Dystrophy, a muscle-wasting disease he suffered from all his life. So when, at a party, Malcolm, a family friend, said he was running the Marathon for the Q Trust and suggested I joined him, I couldn't really refuse. When I tried insisting I hadn't ever run - except to catch a bus - he pointed out that there were still several months to go before the race. So, with a belly full of wine, I slurred: 'Ssyesh, ok, schvery good idea.'
I didn't give it much thought until after the Christmas break, when I returned to a flurry of emails from Malcolm, saying the deadline for signing up was looming and I had to sign-up straightaway. By the time I'd signed my agreement form, it was well into January and the April 13 race day was breathing uncomfortably down my neck.
My first experience of the London Marathon was as a spectator waiting on the finish line for my friend Tracy. For about 10 minutes I was amused by the assortment of costumes ranging from rhinos to gorillas and even a Charles II; amazed by a sprightly jogger in her 70s and a man with one leg breeze past able-bodied runners.
But after an hour of waiting in the freezing cold, watching the pained expressions on the runners' faces, and having clearly missed my friend, I couldn't be more sure this was something I would never do myself. A certainty that was further confirmed when Tracy told me that she'd been sick in a bag at the end of the 26 miles and couldn't walk for the next two days. Why, only two years later, I decided to take up the challenge of the Marathon is largely due to a drunken agreement at a party.
There is nothing like a good cause to get people doing things they wouldn't have previously considered; whether it be forking out hundreds for a submarine ride at a charity auction or agreeing to sit in stocks to be pelted with mouldy fruit at a summer fair.
I deputy chair the Q Trust, a fundraising venture set up in the name of my late father, Quentin Crewe, to raise money for Muscular Dystrophy, a muscle-wasting disease he suffered from all his life. So when, at a party, Malcolm, a family friend, said he was running the Marathon for the Q Trust and suggested I joined him, I couldn't really refuse. When I tried insisting I hadn't ever run - except to catch a bus - he pointed out that there were still several months to go before the race. So, with a belly full of wine, I slurred: 'Ssyesh, ok, schvery good idea.'
I didn't give it much thought until after the Christmas break, when I returned to a flurry of emails from Malcolm, saying the deadline for signing up was looming and I had to sign-up straightaway. By the time I'd signed my agreement form, it was well into January and the April 13 race day was breathing uncomfortably down my neck.
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