The Memorial Mile

After the 2012 Olympics in London, I was involved in a number of local sporting initiatives. One was The Memorial Mile - a commemoration of the First World War Armistice, on the sad anniversary of the start of that war. The Memorial Mile is a run - a mile dash, along our local canal, in St Johns, from one bridge to the next. I conceived the idea when thinking about the mostly young people who lost their lives in that war, and wondering what they might have made of the world 100 years later. Much of what I have read about those people - and heard first-hand from some - portrayed a sense of fun, mild recklessness, and exuberance that I recognised as eternal associations with youth. Running along the canal it occurred to me that the distance between two bridges - the second being in the village - was about a mile: and I idly mused that you could run it as a mile 'dash'. I thought, those young people, if they came back to see the world 100 years later, would recognise a mile dash as something silly and fun and a bit reckless: the sort of thing that perhaps they might have done themselves; and to see that people still did such things, that a community would still come together for a silly fun thing, might show that the world they sacrificed themselves to save was not only worthwhile but still familiar. The first Memorial Mile was launched by our local vicar, who I successfully persuaded to avoid evangelical religion but focus on the solemnity and dignity of what we were commemorating, and the stupidity of how we were commemorating it: a duty that he carried out beautifully with a few brief words that moved us all to tears and laughter at the same time. The only way from the village to the start of The Memorial Mile is to walk - or, since we were all runners, to run - the mile out to the bridge from which we would start. It was remarked upon that this was the only race where you had to run the race to get to the start, but I counted that as a warm-up. Since the canal towpath is narrow in places we do the dash as a timed mile run, with each runner starting at timed intervals. TImes are derived by noting the start and finish times of each runner, set out at roughly ten second intervals, fastest first. Monitors with stop watches at each end time the runners, with the start times synchronised via the miracle of mobile phone technology. Each runner's name is noted at both start and finish, along with the times - the runner calls their name as they approach the finish so the monitor can correctly record their time. This sounds organised and simple, but it is not: if a runner is overtaken then the names get out of order, which shouldn't be a problem but is if you start - as we did - at ten second intervals so that the runners come in thick and fast at the end. Still, the point of the Memorial Mile is to be fun - a madcap venture - and so some chaos is only to be welcomed. Runners observe a minute's silence before they start: not only respectful but good practice for a runner to think about something other than themselves before a race. Rules include giving way to pedestrians and riders: and disqualification for knocking anyone into the canal. Looking back I see how a silly idea contained so many good practices. Leaving aside the commemorative aspect, just as a run there are some useful lessons to be drawn: to warm up before the race; to take time to settle yourself before starting; to think about something other than yourself before you race; to enjoy the challenge, and to have fun. And perhaps most important, to sometimes run for some other reason than to win. We see that spirit in running a lot now, perhaps without consciously realising it: most people run races now not to win but to do something worthwhile - to show yourself that you can, to mark a recovery from illnes or losing weight or regaining fitness, to raise money for charity, to remember a loved one, to draw attention to a cause. I recently found the original finish times sheet from the first Memorial Mile. I remember it was a bit of a mess, slightly chaotic, and we weren't entirely sure we hadn't mixed up some runners: but it didn't matter, in fact it just made it better, because probably those young people from the First World War would have laughed and joked just the same, and the point was to have fun, which we did. The distance between the bridges is actually a bit less than a mile, so you can hope for a good time: we call it a St Johns Mile, and I somehow think that too fits the intention.