I got up and made coffee this morning, ate some fruit, dressed for running, and made my way to the Stratton Way bus stop to catch a bus to Oxford. I knew that since today is a bank holiday, there would be fewer buses; I did not know just how very few there would be. I had allowed an hour and a half for the wait and the ride combined, but when I arrived at the stop, a sign indicated that my usual bus (the X3) wouldn’t arrive for 37 minutes. That just seemed far too long to me, and with the duration of the trip in to Oxford would cut seriously into my time for registering and preparing for the run — and that’s assuming that the bus showed up at all (of which I was less confident than I’d liked to be). Thus, when a bus to Osney Island (a bit west of the rail station) arrived and was about to leave, I impulsively jumped aboard, reasoning that it was likely that my trip duration + walking time to Christ Church would still be less than waiting for the X3, and at least I knew that the 44 to Osney Island was actually there and moving. In this, I reasoned correctly; by the time I disembarked, the X3 was only just leaving Stratton Way. On my way to the registration booth, I passed a girl and her dad by the rail station, and the young ’un pointed up at me and said, ‘Dad, look! Santa Claus!’ which was gratifying to this old coot (though I think I make a more svelte Santa than most). Registration went smoothly, and I was ready to go with an hour to spare.

The Bannister Mile itself went smoothly, though I had foolishly signed up for the ‘Family Wave’, thinking that there would be fewer serious runners speeding past me at disheartening rates. I had not, however, reckoned with the number of six-to-eight year olds who would go fairly slowly, and with no sense whatever of their position in the running lane (since they were usually with parents, often with siblings, in phalanxes, they made it extremely difficult to find clear routes to move ahead). (I’m not sure I’ve ever used ‘phalanxes’ in discursive prose before, so that’s a win right there.) Once I moved past most of the slow family groups — the families that run regularly who breezed along (and ran back from the finish to the start just for fun) zipped past me — I kept to what was for me a moderately good pace, and I’m very confident that I shave fifteen seconds or so off last year’s time. [Later: seventeen seconds, to be exact.]
Now I’m just worn to a frazzle from all the walking and running, so I will sit here for a while, then shower, then tackle some task-demands. But the mile is in the books.