A long, long time ago, l used to play football a lot, and to keep fit for it, l also used to do a lot of running. I had always been pretty good at long distance running, so as a bit of a laugh, l used to enter some organised runs with mates. These included the two Richmond / Swaledale James Herriot runs above, one of which l couldn't be bothered finishing, as it went near my home at the end, and l was going to get a bad time as l had to stop a couple of times due to my shoelaces malfunctioning. Therefore l walked of to my flat, got changed, and went to The Hildyard Arms, not completing the run and missing out on my medal and t-shirt (not that l cared).
The Great North Run ones l did for at least 5 years, and have a mixture of medals and programmes from them lying around. Before one run, myself and a mate called Rocker went to a late night reggae disco in Newcastle, and were the only white people in there. We still had a great time, got back in the early hours to my ex girlfriends house in Newcastle, then cracked on with the run the next morning. I was fine, but Rocker felt like being sick all the way round it. Now it would kill both of us (especially me with my bad knee).