I would be intrested to know if the users of this Music Forum have ever competed in a fun run, marathon, charity event or any other kind of race. I haven't myself as it was always left to Mr Cottermole to participate as he was the athletic thoroughbred of the family

The late Mr Cottermole once took part in the Three Peaks Race in Yorkshire which traverses the summits of Pen-y-ghent, Whernside and Ingleborough and is 24 miles in distance.
On the day of the race we all gathered at Horton in Ribblesdale and I spent a good half hour greasing Mr Cottermole's legs with horse liniment - as I was all out of Vaseline. I fixed his gaiters in position and my heart swelled with pride as Mr Cottermole stood there looking all athletic in his singlet and shorts and brand new brown plimsolls. I gave him a good snort of Vick and handed him his compass and spam sandwiches and off he trotted in the direction of Pen-y-ghent with a group of new age occultists he'd become aquainted with that very morning and who were running for The Theistic Satanism in the Community Project.
I then rode the tandem back to the B&B in Horton to await Mr Cottermole's return. And two days later I was still waiting as there was neither sight nor sign of him. The new age occultists had returned and they told me that Mr Cottermole had only accompanied them a short distance as he was struggling with his wind. I was just about to alert the Mountain Rescue people when I caught sight of Mr Cottermole slowly jogging down the street, his singlet and shorts torn to shreds. He entered the door and collapsed in a heap on the floor. As no one was willing to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation, I had to wait until he regained consciousness before he could tell me what had happened.
Apparently Mr Cottermole had stopped for a pee by the railway bridge on the path to the ascent of Whernside. He lost his balance and slipped down the steep enbankment and landed on top of a carriage of a passing Settle to Carlisle train. Mr Cottermole said he'd managed to jump from the train as it slowed down to enter Carlisle station. He then headed back up the track in the direction from which he came.
Everyone said that it was just a myth. That the Beast of Shap fell didn't really exist and was just a ploy put out by farmers to stop strange men from molesting their sheep.
But Mr Cottermole can vouch that the Beast did indeed exist. He told me that he thought it was the horse liniment on his legs that first attracted the Beast to him. The Beast had got a whiff of it as Mr Cottermole trotted past its lair. It then had followed Mr Cottermole's scented legs.
According to Mr Cottermole he wrestled with the Beast and somehow managed to fight it off. He also thought the Beast had got a whiff of his spam sandwiches which he hadn't yet consumed. Anyway, he threw the spam sandwiches as far as he could - and the Beast went chasing after them. While the Beast was preoccupied gobbling up the sandwiches, Mr Cottermole made good his escape.
He jogged across the open fell and was further hampered by a swirling, incoming mist. Soon the fog was so thick Mr Cottermole couldn't see his hand in front of him. It was at this very moment that he heard the sound of a ringing bell. Mr Cottermole groped his way in the direction he thought the bell ringing was coming from and a few minutes later a figure appeared from out the mist. It was Julian the Hermit. Apparently Julian the Hermit made a practice of traipsing over the fell, ringing his bell, when an approching mist was imminent. He was on the look out for stranded wayfarers as he was always desperate for someone to talk with. Julian introduced himself and invited Mr Cottermole back to his bothy until the fog lifted.
Julian told Mr Cottermole that he had once been manager of the rock band Crock of Grit. He had been ostracized by the band for getting them a charity gig at Scunthorpe Women's Institute where one of the ladies in the audience had thrown a bottle at the lead singer. The bottle had lodged deep in the lead singer's throat causing severe laryngitis with the result of having to cancel their forthcoming American tour. Julian had subsequently been fired and Crock of Grit's fans held Julian responsible for the band's sharp decline and eventual break-up. Julian then became a pariah in the music business and was driven to become an outcast on the lonely fells. He played Mr Cottermole a Crock of Grit cd and Mr Cottermole thought that the laryngitis was the best thing that could have happened to the band - but he said nothing as Julian had suffered enough already.
Julian then added that his time on the moor wasn't being wasted as he was trying to invent a new style of oven ready chip but had temporarily put it on hold as he had run out of potatoes.
After a few hours of being a captive audience to Julian's incessant chat, Mr Cottermole said he was quickly losing the will to live. So as soon as the fog cleared Mr Cottermole did a few limbering up exercises and continued on his way.
Mr Cottermole never went running again - or indeed ever returned to Yorkshire; his experience there had put him right off. And when I think of it - who the heck could blame him.

It seems to me Mr Cottermole was indeed a man of many talents what with him being a skilled chiropodist as well as an athletic thoroughbred!

No, I hate them with a passion. Like a true renegade, I always run alone.

Edith, I am intrigued by your actual relationship to Mr Cottermole, which you seem to be somewhat coy about. (Though I must admit I have never managed to read any of your amazing stories right through to the end due to calls of nature, meal times, dental appointments, holidays etc. interfering, so I may have missed it). Would you care to elaborate on this point so that any fanciful fantasies I may have can either be confirmed or firmly scotched for once and for all.

Sparky, come on, get real.