The Magnificent Seven.

Well, six plus a hare if you must split hairs. And splitting hares was very much the order of the day, as we had already been warned that one of the hare pair had been struck down with myxomatosis or some other ailment, and that we would be w*lking rather than r*nning the trail (can't bring myself to write either word in full, any activity other than sitting in front of the telly is just too horrible even to contemplate, let alone scare sensitive hashers with). Sure enough, on arrival at the Canal Turn we were greeted by Cyberseptic shuffling painfully into view, his every step a pain-wracked paroxysm of agony, clutching a sick note from matron in his hand. This was obviously a worrying moment - at his age, we're rapidly running out of spare parts, and no longer have the technology to rebuild him.

Not a large turn-out, but what does that matter when you consider that all of LVH3's finest athletes were there? Myself, of course, plus Baldbrick, Upperskirt, Major Twit, Minor Tw*t, and Highway - all the names you would associate with sporting excellence, a quality field it would be impossible to beat. In fact, we were all terrified that Highway would indeed prove to be unbeatable, as he started running even before we'd left the car park!

So, off we zoomed, triggering numerous speed cameras as we shot past them (good job we weren't carrying number plates!). So skilfully did we negotiate the myriad booby-trapped stiles erected with the sole purpose of retarding our stellar momentum, so rapidly did we eat up the miles in between, that when Antiseptic asked if we fancied doing the Rambo split, Baldbrick and Tw*t bellowed in unison "Too damn right, we wouldn't have it any other way!". Rambos it was, then.

Exhausted but happy, we finally made it back to the pub. We were out exactly two hours, and when Twit announced that we had covered exactly 4.6 miles, the magnitude of our feat was brought home to us - we had clocked up a sensational average speed of 2.3 mph (yes, you read it correctly - TWO POINT THREE!! Hardly seems possible, does it?) Good job that usual wimpy lot weren't there, they'd have slowed us down something awful.