February 21: Run Baby Run

Now for something unusual: I ran the Sport Relief Mile today - and it was fantastic. The best mile I've ever run.
Ok, I'll come clean. I tried to run it. I accompanied my father (who signed me up on the off-chance I'd be mad enough to join him). I'm not mad enough. I don't want to run a mile. Bump certainly does not want to run a mile. He is feeling heavier just at the thought of it, which I am taking for baby-sulking. But - as all good, dutiful daughters do - I agreed as I felt guilty leaving him to do it on his own, especially as we (his dutiful daughters) give him such a hard time for being obese and refusing to do anything about it, except eat half a crunchy bar instead of a whole one.
We parked up - very late - me in my usual day-outfit of leggings, baggy jumper and big coat, plus trainers (my attempt at effort). Dad, on the other hand, for this marathon, has forked out on snazzy new Lycra joggers (£70), new trainers (£60) and a new hi-vis jacket (£50). I don't say anything. With our numbers pinned proudly to our chests, we strut - like peacocks - to the starting line...
But where is it? Surely it should be around here somewhere? Surely it should be here, right here, where we stand looking - dare I say it - a tad foolish in our raring-to-go, nothing-can-stop-us-now gear? But there's no one in sight, just relaxed weekenders, some chewing sandwiches, some walking leisurely hand in hand, some chasing kids on scooters...
'Hmmmm, I wonder.... have we got the right date?' dad muses.
I pull out the starting instructions from my coat pocket (clearly, I wasn't going for the stream-lined approach on this epic run).
And there, in big bold letters, under the starting instructions, it says March 21st. That won't be February then, will it.
Fantastic (bar the slightly foolish feeling but I can cope with that). Talk about being off the hook. Now we really get into the zone. We do a quick 'jog' to the nearby cafe, order two Americanos with milk, and four full-fat creamy raisin-filled welsh cakes coated in crunchy sugar. We take a seat by the window, watch sea-gulls swoop for discarded chips, watch the wind whip people's scarves, watch a disabled boy laughing in his wheelchair.
See much more this way. Who wants to run a mile?