This was the first event at DSA, and with cargo flights only resuming in 2027, it may well be the only one. The event was a sellout with nearly 3,000 runners, leading to traffic queues and number collection that felt more like going through airport security than a friendly run. Disappointingly, they called it “Race Registration” rather than the far more appropriate “Check-in.” This mean the start times for various waves were pushed back, Whilst other runners used the time for something called a “warm-up” (I’m told it’s important, though I mostly believe it’s an urban legend) or to queue for the loo. I, on the other hand, had the full VIP experience, being shown various parts of the airport by a very excited five-year-old co-pilot. Top tip: always bring your co-pilot, even if they’re under five.

It was brilliant also bumping into David Savage (insert your own Maverick and Goose reference here…), who hit the afterburners and set a blistering pace in his wave. I, however, was still figuring out how to engage mine. Let’s just say I spent more time “taxiing” than “taking off.” And yes, my ego was writing cheques my legs could barely cash. I’d love to tell you the course for the 3.5km race, but visibility was… let’s call it “low,” which in aviation circles is a polite way of saying we were running in a cloud of thick fog. For the big race, we ran along the taxiway to the runway’s end, then down the runway itself, and finally looped back along the taxiway to finish next to the iconic Vulcan bomber. As you’d expect from a runway, the route was flat as, well, a runway - perfect for anyone with the need… the need for speed.

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With the Wakefield 10k looming the next day, I knew an all-out effort would land me in the Danger Zone, so I eased off slightly after a jet-fuelled start. Top Gun soundtrack on my phone, arms out like an aeroplane, I cruised along - like about 99% of runners, embracing my inner fighter jet with my arms out like wings. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same.