Without The Aid Of Ice Axe And Crampons

The annual Boxing Day run at the Furnace is in doubt because of the icy weather. A serious worry for Doggo who is going for five in a row. At registration they are handing out little slips of paper telling you to run at your own risk, they’ve never done that before... I attempt a warm-up with both Doggo and MD, as I’m considering running attached to both of them, L sensibly doesn’t fancy hooking up to either of them.



After skidding along the ice a few times, I reassess my plans and decide to ‘boot’ (as in the car boot) the unpredictable MD, who seems incapable of maintaining a straight line. At least I think I know what Doggo is going to do, most of the time. I feel sorry for MD, he needs to do more of this running lark but the recent bad weather has prevented me practising with him.

In the end they change the course to avoid the worst patches of ice. Our run goes well, although we had to walk a few bits where it was treacherous. Other runners, the ones not tethered to dogs, managed to gracefully slide across, but I didn’t risk it. Then at the finish I ended up on the left hand side of the finish, with the finish line up an icy slope to my right. A slope that I just couldn’t scale without an ice axe and crampons, and Doggo was no help. I wanted him to pull me up it at an angle, but only his ‘forward’ gear was working.

Eventually we got there and as we cross the line, we are the first dog and handler home again. Someone hands us a bottle of wine. Finally, after five long years I get a spot prize. Ok so it’s only a bottle of Liebfraumilch but it’ll do.

We are 31st and it could have been a lot higher, perhaps 10 places or so, due to the walking we had to do.

In the afternoon, as is tradition, Derby lose their Boxing Day fixture. This year, with apparent ease, to Blackpool. It’s an awful performance but defeat perhaps has more to do with the fact that they are simply outclassed by a far superior Blackpool side.

I pop into work, just to see if Mr Branson has decided to deliver but no he hasn’t. He’s keeping his wine to himself. So we’ve still not got much in for my parents who come over this evening to help us devour the leg of lamb. We all have a good go at it, all the while under the disapproving gaze of the dogs, who are relieved that there is enough left to top up their own bowls with.