‘Once upon a time long ago when purchasing a piece of terrain in France for a camper van, and the deal was done and dusted, we took several weeks before we found the said piece of land again. We knew it was near a field and some hens.
One gets the same déjà vu feeling about finding places on the visits to Dorset. Reaching the midst of darkest Dorset in one and half hours, it then takes half an hour scouring country lanes—even with a sat nav—desperately searching for the lost tribe. Ah there’s a tribe of runners, but they are wearing Roman costume. You know that feeling when you go to a party and everyone is dressed as a Roman, and you are not….
The organizer/race starter was kitted out in full Roman warrior armour. There was a ripple of concern amongst the waiting 250 runners, as to whether he might damage something precious as he slashed down with his chopper, or whatever Romans kept in their scabbards on their belts, and we were off.
It’s called a marathon, but it was 27.1 miles minimum, and there were dark mutinous comments such as ‘we’ll be lucky if it’s been measured out at less than 30’.
The promised rains came half way through the race, and the course turned into a quagmire. The rain was rather beautiful as it was a warm day.
The marathon medal is the standard of the 2nd Legion Augusto, and the eagle of the legion. The Capricorn is the emblem of the legion, and is a white flying goat on a red banner.
The half marathon takes place tomorrow, and their medal is a Scutum; that’s apparently a shield.’