Aside from buggered knees, there is absolutely no proof that I ran the Two Oceans half-marathon on Saturday. There were 15,999 witnesses all doing the same thing, but who of them would remember a woman running under the name of Gregory, when they were busy themselves trying not to drown. The ‘worlds most beautiful marathon’ became the worlds wettest when the heavens opened over the Cape peninsula. Roads became rivers, takkies like miniature titanics, doubled in water-logged weight and the plastic-shrouded photographers staked out towards the end to capture the triumph, caught only damp spirits and probably flu. Knee deep in mud, the finish line was treacherous – but was it fun or what! Thanks to Gregory Cooke 18, for the loan of his entry and race number.