Why running with Ross is to heavy a burden

SUNDAY saw the sad end of an era. Nothing momentous, nothing tragic, just the simple passing of a small landmark never to be returned to.

Because Sunday was the last time I will be able to run with my son Ross. For six years now, we've competed in a couple of dozen races together in his specially adapted pushchair, and been on numerous training runs together too.

The lightweight pushchair was specially made for me by a company in Fordingbridge in Hampshire. It's got three detachable wheels, brakes, a comfortable purple canvas seat and a useful carrier underneath to hold drinks, some clothing and Ross's medicine.

The portable pushchair has served me well over all sorts of rugged terrain, notably five years ago when I completed the 80 races around the British Isles and Ross joined me in a number of those events.

The hardest was the Great South Run when I dressed as Scooby Doo for the 10-mile trek around the streets of Portsmouth. The flat course was ideal, although the last two miles running into the wind from Eastney to the finish was tough. It was a rainy day, and Ross was wrapped up tightly in waterproofs.

The support was amazing from the tens of thousands of people lining the streets with children getting really enthusiastic about seeing Scooby Doo and a pushchair running together.

At one stage a Channel 5 camera crew pulled alongside on a motorbike to take some shots - we got 10 seconds on their post-midnight Great South Run coverage! I was a little dazed by then because the nose from my Scooby Doo costume was banging into my eyes and giving me one hell of a headache. We passed a pub and joked about trying to get a drink. A couple of guys looked at me and said: "we don't serve dogs, mate!"

It's also been fascinating to gauge the reactions of runners when I race with Ross and the pushchair. At first, runners are very jovial at the start; they will joke whether they can get a ride, or ask if I'm carrying any be food or drink to get them through the run. I always start at the back of the field for a clear run and to avoid getting in other runners way. But towards the end of a race, as I'm easing past quite a few people with the finish line in sight, you can sense their annoyance at being passed by a runner with a pushchair while they are struggling with their own form.

Well, no longer! Ross, who is now 15 and stands at around 5ft 7in tall, has had a growth spurt in recent months and the day of reckoning came on Sunday when I realised I could no longer push him in a race. We took part in a 5km Santa Run with around 300 suited Santas in Haywards Heath which consisted of six laps around Victoria Park in the centre of town. The course was very hilly, with two stiff climbs. Going downhill was great, but the uphill parts were killers.

After lap one I knew I was in trouble. I was walking up the hills because it was impossible to get any momentum. I was sweating profusely through my Santa outfit and physically the hills were hurting my lower back.

By the half way mark I knew this was not going to work and stepped off the course gracefully. It was the first time ever in more than 40 years of racing that I've had a DNF - did not finish. There was no medal at the end, no relief or satisfaction of a job well done. It felt quite humiliating, a sense of failure, and a very sad realisation that I'm not going to be able to share my running adventures with Ross.

During my 2007 round Britain adventure I met a couple of guys called Mick and Phil Curry. Phil, who is an adult, has Cerebral Palsy and Sodium Valproate Syndrome. Since 2002 his dad, Mick has been pushing around races all over the country in an NHS wheelchair.

I met them at a race in Stoke when Mick told me the story of how he wanted to run and the only way he could run was to take Phil with him. Now the two have run marathons all over the country together in a pushchair which doesn't have the nodern adaptations as mine. I've pushed Phil in the chair, and it's not easy. I've got adjustable handlebars on  mine, theirs is a very basic pushchair. Phil is an adult and much heavier than Ross and there was no way I could have pushed Phil for a marathon. So I feel a bit of a wimp at ducking out now.

I guess Ross and I may go for the occasional jog along the promenade in Eastbourne together, but our racing days together are sadly over.