Richmond Park, the centrepiece of the green space, interspersed with small fancy towns, that is southwest London. Every direction you go, there's an entrance for Richmond Park. There's no escaping it.
Of course, it's when I look back at how integral it was to my childhood that I realise how lucky I was. We'd run the dog there, we'd go with friends to climb trees there, we'd amble through the Isabella Plantation and gaze way across at the as yet relatively prominent St Paul's Cathedral. My mother's great friend lived just off it, as did school friends of mine. We'd drive past the Richmond Gate, the Star and Garter Home, on the way to my grandmother's, drive through the park sometimes too, spotting deer from afar.
I'm going to remember three sponsored walks I did there, when I was 9, 11 and 13. I was just a running boy. Always running. Really, until I was about 12, just always running, needing to run, sad if I wasn't, with a football, with a rugby ball, with a cricket bat, but always running.
I cannot tell you how much I looked forward to the sponsored walk. The prep school's version was every two years, so I'd already worked out, to my disappointment, that I'd only get to do two, in 2nd and 4th year.
It was in spring. I don't actually remember too much of the first one except that my mum provided me with a great picnic but the thing I was looking forward to the most, her cupcakes with chocolate icing and Cadburys mini eggs on top, weren't in my bag went I went looking for them at lunchtime. Then my friend Colin's mother was driving us back to Ealing and he said to her "thanks for lunch, I particularly loved those cupcakes with mini eggs on top."
I did 21 miles that time, which seemed solid. I didn't overextend myself.
I knew my big shot would come a couple of years later.
It was laps of 3 miles, not all of the park, just a lovely inner section, up a couple of hills, through a couple of woods. I still remember sections of it pretty well. I sometimes wondered if it was a full three miles or if it was a bit less, to increase the amount of sponsorship money. but I don't suppose that would have happened.
So, yeah, here comes two years later. A good tale about what an odd little fucker I was.
John W and me were the two top distance runners in the year, swapping first places in the school cross countries and 1500ms. With a couple of other boys, we even started a running club, and went round the reservoirs, towpaths and bridges with a teacher at lunchbreak.
Before the sponsored walk, I was told it was traditional for someone from Leonard Cheshire homes to sponsor, per mile, a boy who was going to walk/run a long way, and this year it would be me, which seemed a great honour. I was set for a pretty big amount if I went as far as I thought I could.
John and I agreed to run together. The walk was from 10 til 4 on a Sunday in the Easter holiday. Another Ealing mother agreed with mine that she'd give me and her son a lift, and my mum would pick up.
I was waiting by the door from 9. No sign. Nor at 9.10, 9.20 or 9.30. I'm getting nervous. I persuaded my mum to give her a ring at about 9.40. They were still at home, just ambling about, completely unaware how central to my whole life this was. I was picked up, inconsolable, at 9.55 and arrived at the park at about 25 past 10. John and the leading group were, of course, nowhere to be seen. Indeed, as I'd find out, they were already about a lap and a half ahead of me.
I set off full speed, which is not the best thing to do if you're planning to run for six hours, flying past assorted joggers and walkers. I remember my relief when I caught up with John and a couple of others towards the end of my first/their second lap. I ran that first lap in 17/18 minutes.
We settled in. It was a hot day, I remember John and a couple of others running with their tops off, and I remember a guy with a camera tried to get us to pose for him. Gross. We told a teacher.
Gradually, John and I dropped everyone else. We started fast and our pace slowed a fair bit, but we were, no lie, a pair of really good little runners. I'd got to 21 (meaning John had done 24) by 1.30ish. But then, of course, as it always does with me on a hot day, cramp set in. I laboured on but much more slowly and I felt bad because I thought I was slowing John down.
At 3ish, I had to call it a day, having done 27 miles. John pushed on for one more, meaning he managed a mighty 33 miles. I was super upset and disappointed. I also think I never ran quite so freely and joyfully ever again. I finished a miserable 3rd in the cross country the following year. Too many chocolate buns with mini eggs.
The weird part (if that wasn't weird enough) was, having collected all my sponsorship, including a really sizeable amount from both the Leonard Cheshire guy and my mother, I was given a cheque to hand in. But I lost it. Not sure where. I was messy and careless and always losing stuff. I didn't really understand how cheques worked, that you could simply replace them, and, I don't know, I told my mother I'd handed the cheque in, and I was caught in a lie I didn't go back on.
The class teacher began asking for all the sponsorship not yet received, and I was pretty much the last one. I kept on saying I'd forgotten the cheque, or was waiting for one more sponsorship, or something.
Eventually, to resolve the situation in the way only a moronic, embarrassed, proud 11 year old would, I went to the post office and withdrew all the money in my little account. which was about £30, which was a lot, lot less than I'd been sponsored, and I took that £30 in to school and gave it to my teacher, and he looked a bit puzzled, but accepted it.
I mean, I was really fucking weird for a few years then, there are lots of examples but that's a pretty good one.
Oh yeah, and the last sponsored walk I did in Richmond Park, first year of the big school - the lap was basically the whole park, so close to 7 miles. The whole event was not a big deal like it had been at the prep school, but I rolled up, I remember it was a nice day, bumped into some nice guys, did 20 miles, then went to the Sunday CU meeting.
But I guess what's important is that it didn't matter anymore. I was no longer an obsessed, desperate runner. It was just a Sunday stroll. I didn't think much of it. And yet, even there, I had an easy strolling 20 miles in 4 and a half hours in my legs. I wish I could take some of those miles back.
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