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of a coach – running faster intervals, faster tempo pieces and more progressive runs.

      ‘I am also enjoying the chance to do shorter races. They are a different test; it’s nice to know you can finish a race without going anywhere near the wall.

      ‘Overall, I am leaving things open for a while as I want to go back to really enjoying running, with no pressure rather than it being a task I have to complete. I have no more marathons in the diary after this weekend but will probably end up doing a few more this year. I have got my eye on Helsinki, Bilbao and Frankfurt, and would like to do a couple in the US, maybe the Big Sur next year.’

      And what do her work colleagues think now that she’s completed the magic 100?

      At this she laughs heartily. ‘They were very impressed when they read on the intranet a published article about the 100. It went to the investment staff in the USA, too and I was swamped by congratulatory emails. It was lovely to have my efforts recognised, though I do feel slightly fraudulent. If I have done it, it can’t be that hard,’ she adds, modestly. ‘You just need to want to do it, have the time and a bit of cash, and some luck to avoid injuries.’

      She doesn’t mention dedication, commitment, self-motivation and a willingness to work bloody hard, I notice. Maybe that’s because these qualities are such an intrinsic part of her nature, she isn’t even aware of them.

      SUMMER SHORTS

      If you’re hungry before a race but can’t face sausage and chips, try eating a chocolate eclair! I did this once when I was waiting to run the last leg in a road relay race – the race was running late and I hadn’t eaten for three hours. I told my coach I was feeling dizzy and couldn’t run. She disappeared and five minutes later returned with a chocolate eclair. I ran the fastest leg I’d ever run on that course. I don’t know to this day where she came by a chocolate eclair when we were in the middle of nowhere, but boy, did it taste good! I guess, too that it was light, easy to digest and gave me the sugar boost I needed.

      Marshmallows would probably work just as well…

       MILE 6

       OUT OF AFRICA

      Chris Monsey discovered racing in Africa brought some unusual challenges.

      CHRIS MONSEY

      Born: 1962

      130 marathons:

      • 1st marathon: 1981 – Scarborough

      • 100th marathon: 2005 – Berlin

      When Chris Monsey set off from home one day in 2003 on a business trip bound for Africa, little did he know that he was about to participate in the strangest marathon race of his life.

      ‘I was on an Ethiopian Airlines flight when I had a chance encounter with the manager of a group of Ethiopian athletes,’ he explains. ‘He invited me to take part in a marathon that was being held that weekend in Addis Ababa and gave me the telephone number of the race organiser.

      ‘I should have known something wasn’t quite right because after I’d rung him and arranged to enter the race, the race organiser actually delivered my race number to my hotel in person!’

      For the uninitiated, it is normal practice for race entrants to have to go through the tedious process of collecting their own race numbers from an expo, involving lengthy queues in draughty buildings and single-minded salesmen trying to tempt you with the latest in designer sportswear and must-have, yet totally unnecessary techno gadgetry. In other words, Chris got lucky – or at least he thought he had.

      ‘The race was due to start at eight in the morning at the national stadium in the centre of Addis Ababa,’ he continues, ‘the third highest capital city in the World, but it was actually delayed two hours and started instead at nearby Meskel Square.’

      Uh-oh! Warning bells are beginning to chime.

      ‘Along with the majority of the field, I’d purchased the Ethiopian national kit from a local sports shop and lined up at the start in red shorts and green vest with “Ethiopia” emblazoned in white letters across the front, a thick layer of sun block and shades!’ he recalls. ‘There was a small field of under 300 entrants and a few fun runners, but I was the only foreigner.

      ‘The course contained scarcely any flat terrain and went through the outskirts of the city southwards towards Debre Zeyt. At the halfway point, we were to turn around and return the way we had come.

      ‘The race was not the best organised – there was only one set of drinks laid out on a table at about the 10K point and there were no marshals, clocks or mile/km markers to indicate the distance covered. It was simply a case of following the stragglers.’

      Hmm. Ding-dong (but not in a David Niven kind of way)! ‘I’d done some training runs in Ethiopia, but at a much lower altitude,’ he adds. ‘From the outset I felt as though the thin dry air was scorching my lungs and the traffic fumes were also very uncomfortable. There were no spectators as such, just passers-by on a Sunday stroll, who gave cries of “Haile” – a reference to [distance runner] Gebrselassie – and “eye-zoh”, meaning literally “be strong” – a refrain uttered to anyone facing adversity. The sight of a foreigner running in Africa seemed to excite at best mild bemusement and at worst, ridicule.’

      Oh dear. Not quite London, was it?

      ‘Then the stragglers began to accept lifts from passing vehicles.’

      Ding Dong merrily on high! But he’s kidding, right?

      ‘No, I’m not,’ Chris avers. ‘I was running along with a youth in cut-off jeans. He had a ridiculous loping stride and was barefoot with huge splayed leathery feet. He jumped into a pick-up truck and I saw him dropped off 500 metres up the road. As I caught up with him, he accepted another lift and that was the last I saw of him.’

      Ding Dong Merrily on High, with Tubular Bells!

      ‘At another point I found myself running beside an oldish-looking fellow in a yellow vest, who bore an astonishing resemblance to the late Emperor Haile Selassie. We encouraged one another with “eye-zoh”, but encountering a particularly steep hill at what I later estimated to be at around 21 miles, he too accepted a lift! This proved a devastating psychological blow to me and I began to walk.

      ‘By the time I re-entered the southern outskirts of the city, there were no other runners in sight for me to follow. Consequently, at each junction I had to ask passers-by which way to go. Fortunately, I knew the words in Amharic for left, right and straight ahead, but it would only have taken one wrong direction and I would have been hopelessly lost and unable to finish.’

      Now that is truly scary, especially for someone like me who can get hopelessly lost trying to find my way out of a paper bag – not that I’ve ever tried it, never having found a bag large enough to get into.

      ‘Aside from these difficulties,’ the intrepid Chris continues, ‘the broiling African sun was also taking its toll and in the absence of any proper provision of water, I took to stopping at roadside cafes to request “wuha” – water. A hush would normally fall upon the cafe as a sunburnt Englishman staggered across the threshold in vest and shorts, but they gave me what I asked for readily enough. I was even offered ice and a slice!

      ‘After one such stop and mildly refreshed, I made an attempt to jog again. As I did so, I passed a boy herding an ox.’

      Dehydration perhaps, or maybe a spiked lemon slice?

      ‘It’s true,’ Chris assures me. ‘To my surprise the boy began to jog beside me, spurring on his ox with a stick.

      ‘“Haile, Haile!” the boy shouted to me,’ says

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