And then there was Darren Daines. Darren has been a Royston Runner for nearly a year. A whole year. He runs. Regularly. On his own. Which is lovely. He just has one very firm personal policy: he doesn’t run in the evening. Not a Tuesday night. Not once. Nearly twelve months of flawless commitment to this position. A man of principle. A man of conviction. And yet, last night, there he was. Laced up. Ready. Present. Why? Not club spirit. Not camaraderie. Not the thrill of relay running. Someone. Mentioned. A BBQ. That’s it. That’s the full story. Darren, mate — we have been here every single Tuesday. All we ever needed to do was promise you a sausage. Consider this information stored.

And then, finally, blessedly, we were off. The Heath. Three kilometres. How hard can it be?

Let us be very clear: embarrassingly hard. Humiliatingly hard. Hard in a way that makes you question your relationship with the concept of “short distances.”

The Heath had apparently not been informed it was hosting a running event and had spent the intervening months evolving into a small jungle. The grass was not so much long as agricultural — runners weren’t racing, they were wading, legs doing the work of a combine harvester at race pace through vegetation that had absolutely no business being that height in June. The hills were present and entirely unapologetic about it, as hills tend to be. Lungs burned. Legs filed formal complaints with the Welfare Team. Eyes stung. Many considered just heading to McDondals as it was less hassle Many made the entirely correct decision to walk the hill, and we salute every single one of them without reservation. The official post-event feedback has been submitted and it consists of three words: cut. the. grass. A welfare report has also been raised with our welfare officer Pete. Pete, we are counting on you. Don’t let us down.

And yet — through the jungle conditions, the hills, the lung collapse, the leg rebellion, and whatever particular journey Darren was on during his BBQ-motivated debut — every single runner gave absolutely everything they had. The group 1 runners led the way in the best possible sense, proving that heart, grit and a heroic disregard for personal comfort matter every bit as much as anything else on a course like this. Every Royston Runner passed their baton, cheered their teammates in, and crossed the line to a reception that made every painful stride worth it. The two-leggers deserve a standing ovation, a sports massage, a sit-down, and someone to bring them a drink. You ran twice. On that course. In that grass. You are either legends or completely unwell. Possibly both.

And THEN came the real moment of the night. The awards. Glamorous. Emotional. Hotly contested. Occasionally tear-inducing. And frankly the only part of the evening the doodlebugs showed any restraint whatsoever.

Kicking things off in style, the Di’s Dasher award went to Beth Moorley — thoroughly deserved and a brilliant way to open the ceremony. Most Improved Female went to the brilliant Carla Kay, and Most Improved Male to Matt Hockley — two runners who have clearly been doing the work while some of the rest of us have been doing “strategic recovery” with impressive dedication. The Club Female award went to Shanelle Kohler — Nelly to literally everyone — and here is where I must be transparent with you. Watching Nelly receive that award may have produced a tear. In my eye. I am neither confirming nor denying this. I will say that between the grass pollen, the sausage smoke, the doodlebug attacks, and the general emotional intensity of the evening, there are multiple scientifically plausible explanations. We may never know the truth. What we do know is that Nelly absolutely deserved it and if you disagree you are wrong. 💚

The Club Male award went to Robin Wells. The Club Special Award went to The Green Family — because some people’s contributions to a club are simply too large to fit on a single trophy, and the Greens are absolutely that family. The Runners Runner — voted for by the members themselves, which makes it mean everything — went to the one and only Ella Burrows. And finally, the Chairman’s Award, given to someone who has given something genuinely special to this club, went to Lisa Heal. Richly, richly deserved. Well done Lisa. Enormous congratulations to every single winner, every nominee, and every person who managed to applaud whilst balancing a plate under insect attack. You are all heroes.

A huge thank you also to our Chairperson Eric Taylor, who quietly and tirelessly does an enormous amount of work to make evenings like last night actually happen. Eric is so involved with every aspect of this club that we genuinely would not be shocked if next year he turns up an hour early with a lawnmower, personally cuts the entire Heath to a professionally acceptable height, returns the lawnmower, changes into his club vest, organises the teams, hands out the paddles, runs two legs himself, and then presents the awards. At this point it would be completely on brand. Thank you Eric. We see you. We appreciate you enormously. And we are very sorry about the grass. That one’s on Pete.

But honestly? Strip away the chaos, the grass, the doodlebugs, the queue, the confused adults, the suspiciously well-organised dogs, and Darren’s BBQ-related epiphany — and what you had last night was exactly what Royston Runners is. Runners of every ability, many of whom had never met before, lining up together, passing a baton, cheering each other in, crying at Nelly’s award (doodlebugs), and then queuing together for a sausage like the brilliant, slightly ridiculous, genuinely wonderful community this club is.

This is Royston Runners. Every pace. Every Tuesday. Every questionable decision to run two legs. Every person who swore they came for the running and materialised suspiciously fast when the grill went on.

See you Tuesday. Darren — we run every week. Someone bring sausages. Just in case. 🖤❤️