Les coureurs: Vitality London 10,000 2016

neenaw and I stand with tens of thousands of runners outside Buckingham Palace on a Bank Holiday morning. The sky is grey but there is no prediction of rain. We are about to run 10K as part of Vitality’s London 10,000.

Suddenly, a man collapses a few feet ahead of us. I think of my recent CPR training and if I’ll have the guts to press through his ribs to get his heart beating again. I wonder if neenaw will recognise colleagues when the ambulance arrives.

But there are two people already above him. He kicks against them – security guards – as they lift him. They hold him tight and drag him to the kerb side, where the crowd parts. Two more guards arrive and the four of them pin him down. His flip-flops fall off his feet.

“What happened?” some women to our side ask. I look at the runners and people on the sidelines with their raised phones, photographing and filming the young man.

“Maybe he was trying to steal from the crowd and someone called security,” I say.

“I think he was molesting someone,” neenaw suggests.

I wish the women good luck and they smile. They wish us the same.

***

An hour later, I stand alone by Buckingham Palace’s gates, my sore knees barely holding up my body and the heavy medal dangling from my neck. I keep checking my phone to see if neenaw has already finished the run.

“Did you run the marathon?” a young man asks me. His hair is dark and curly, his eyes slightly too close together.

“Oh no, I just did the 10K.”

“That’s what I meant. Congrats!” He shakes my hand. “It’s my birthday today.”

“Happy birthday,” I wish him.

“Thank you. I want to gather as many people as possible from different countries for a picture with me. Then we are going to record a message against RACISM.”

I look around and try to find neenaw. Or my boyfriend. Or anyone I know.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

“From here, England.”

“I mean originally, from where?”

“Well, I’m half-brasilian and half-english.”

“Hmmm. If I came back here later, would you join us for the photo?”

I look at the thousands of runners streaming past us, holding their goody bags, posing for pictures with loved ones, their friends and family behind the barriers calling their names, the placards held in the air, the beautiful trees in Green Park that lead up to Piccadilly.

“I’m sorry but I can’t. I need to meet some friends.”

He looks at me as if I’ve just taken a gift away from him.

“Happy birthday again!” I call out as he walks away. He mouths a disappointed thanks.