Manchester is not the first place you'd necessarily think of when rambling on about running. It's known more for Oasis, Tony Wilson and rain but just the other week myself and my man Craggsy took a lengthy journey up the country to Mancunia to take part in the city's marathon. Why? The reasons are lost in the annals of time but may have been something to ease the guilt of the hefty Christmas binge drink. Most sensible folk would give up the beer for a bit but we chose to carry on drinking and start running three times a week instead. Whoop? Whoop indeed. Especially when you're doing 16 miles after eight pints.
Massive vibes to everyone who sponsored us in our endeavours. We limped over hand in hand after 3 hours 32 minutes of pure leg gruel. Never again we said. Now we're not so sure but those short shorts are staying in the cupboard for the foreseeable. Brappppp...
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