The email arrives earlier every year. Somewhere between readers kindly pointing out a typo in yesterday’s newsletter (I still wake up in cold sweats thinking about “guilt-edged”) and PRs breathlessly informing me that one-in-four British couples disagree over room temperature, it reads: “We have some spaces for the London Marathon. Would you like one? First come, first served.” Phew. It’s not a Vietnam War-style draft, then.
To be clear, I have no ideological aversion to other people running long distances for charity. I’ve made generous (got to be your own PR these days) donations to friends racing for a multitude of good causes on Sunday. And I’m happy to. Besides, I’d rather pay for people I like to be in gut-wrenching pain around mile 23 than be asked to contribute to a sponsored skydive or because someone is climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I’m not going to pay for you to do something fun.
