The leading men would have had time for a brew by the time I completed the two laps to cross the finish line, roughly mid-way down the field. And there were many plodders more to come. Even after I had made myself look as respectable as it is possible to look when you have worn half of Hampstead Heath for the previous 54 minutes, they were still going. “There are still three out on the course,” one cold official shouted out to a colleague as we headed towards the pub.