The Great Gorilla Race: London, 24th September 2006

1 hour before the race:

I arrive at the assembly point and change into my gorilla costume. As I watch the other runners milling around, I feel strangely un-eccentric; there are Scottish gorillas in kilts, pink gorillas, guerrilla gorillas, even a ‘gorilla of the Caribbean’ wearing a cardboard pirate ship (surely ‘primate of the Caribbean’ would have worked better?). The only embellishment on my costume is a necktie. I make a mental note to try harder next time.

My two sons are in fancy dress as well. Harvey is wearing a Scooby Doo outfit and Hughie is dressed as a tiger. I thought that this would enhance their enjoyment of the race, but my idea has backfired – Hughie thinks that he will be running with me. Since this would mean 1/4 km of walking very slowly, followed by 6 3/4 km of running with him on my shoulders, I do everything in my power to change this perception.

10 minutes before:

Alan and Eva arrive with their children. George and Kristin don’t want to wear the fancy dress costumes I brought for them, so Harvey changes his mind and asks me to help him out of the Scooby Doo outfit. Then Hughie decides he’d rather wear that than the tiger costume. So, instead of preparing myself for the race as we’re called to the starting line, there’s a mad panic while I struggle to rearrange my children’s clothing – then a hasty goodbye.

Race start:

I line up beside Ted, my running partner and gorilla wife for the next hour. He’s looking very fetching in a skirt, and has a baby gorilla in a sling. We pin our JustGiving web addresses to our backs. This was my brainwave, which I felt sure was guaranteed to bring in a few anonymous sponsors along the race route. Unfortunately, it turns out that not a single person spotted these – or, if they did, they weren’t inspired to rush to our websites and make donations.

1 km later:

This costume feels like a cross between a hairy Turkish bath and a tunnel vision simulator. I enlarged the eyeholes before the race, but it’s still hard to see where I’m going. My fellow runners are clearly suffering the same - there’s a lot of unintentional bumping and barging going on. I pity the poor girl who’s being pushed around the course by her father in a buggy.

2 km in:

Ted spots his first victim – a little girl spectator. She’s sure to be amused by the baby gorilla – isn’t she? Unfortunately, she is looking the other way as he approaches and gets the fright of her life when she turns round to see 6’ 4” of gorilla bearing down on her.

After that, we’re much more careful and get a better response. When we see children that are looking our way, we descend on them together. I feed the baby gorilla with a water bottle cunningly disguised as a baby’s beaker. We even pose for a few photographs – a welcome chance for a quick breather.

2 km from the end:

I’m getting anxious about my children and the rucksack I left behind the marshal’s desk at the starting point. As a result, I keep zipping ahead, only to run back every time I look around and see Ted posing for another photo.

1 km from the end:

This hasn’t been such torture after all! I was expecting to feel more JustLiving than JustGiving by the end, but there was a pleasant breeze along the Thames that somehow managed to find its way into the three holes that separate me from the outside world.

Finish line:

Ted and I cross the finishing line – I dash off to find my rucksack, then Harvey and Hughie. Have I got my priorities right? Together we watch the other runners finish the race (our favourite has to be the gorilla pushing a shopping trolley full of bananas – how on earth did he cope with all the steps?).

The highest race number that the children have seen is 702. It’s sobering to think that the number of gorillas here today matches the number left in the wild.

Jonathan
www.justgiving.com/daddygorilla