Well, I’ve done it. I pulled on my trainers, pinged my Lycra trousers, gave myself a stern talking to, and entered a race. It wasn’t pretty. First was the Gosport Golden Mile where you run as fast as you can imagining you’re in the opening titles of Trainspotting and only speed separates you from freedom and being carted off to prison for nicking a load of stuff.
After finishing and not throwing up or passing out, it was on to the 5km race which, after that first mile, was almost a dream – if a dream includes coughing, wheezing and generally looking like someone who needs a sit-down and a large cuppa.
It was brilliant though. I’m just ashamed it has taken me so long to get my running mojo back. Just what the doctor ordered.