I caught a bout of plague shortly after the year began, or at least that’s what it felt like.
I was forced to hang up my running shoes and take to my sofa instead, spluttering my way through most of January while feeling thoroughly sorry for myself.
Thankfully, despite me agreeing in wine-fuelled exuberance to a friend’s suggestion to run a half-marathon, she has decided to ease us into the year with a 10km run instead.
With that in mind, last week I hauled my still-phlegmy body around a two-mile course in Portsmouth one frosty night.
It was not a happy reintroduction to running – it appears being able to breathe is fairly essential to the whole process and jogging with a runny nose really isn’t classy.