We run just as much with our minds as our bodies

The Great South Run
The Great South Run
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If you have ever been a runner, then you will know what it is to look, longingly, at those who are still runners.

Running is loathed by some and loved by others, and if you’ve done it and enjoyed it, then giving it up is tough.

I used to be a runner, but stopped after a hip injury.

Every so often I attempt to give it another go and am doing so – whilst taking it very easy – at the moment.

Although, what even constitutes ‘runner’?

It can’t be the mileage or the time; if you run, or have ever run, you are a runner.

Whether you do one mile or 10, or even 60, you’re a runner.

When we run, we do as much with our minds as our bodies.

Once you pass a certain level of fitness and can plod further than a few lampposts, adding mileage becomes almost addictive, and it’s your mental state as much as your legs that keep you going.

Some people run with a mantra, some with nothing but nature, and many of us with music.

Nothing compares to the exhilaration of your heart and mind pumping with the beat of your feet, and the sense of achievement that comes upon finishing a physical endeavour that you never thought you’d complete.

I have many friends who run and others who’ve tried it, but were never bitten by the bug.

The addictive itch that begins to twitch in your muscles and your mind after a day or so without a run simply never took a hold on them.

But, for others, there is that unbeatable high associated with running.

That first step out of the front door, or along the seafront, or on the trail, is the hardest.

You know that tough times may await – you can experience awful runs that terrify you for next time, or blissful runs where you are buzzing for hours after.

If you are a novice runner, don’t worry about your distance or your time too much.

Whatever they are, you’re already doing laps around the person sat on the sofa.


The BBC has a winning formula with Tom Hardy and the Bedtime Stories.

Not only did they provide a very happy New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s for one and all, but now the evening of Mother’s Day is looking considerably brighter.

A lovely little treat, one that shall not be blighted, even by the piles of washing-up that will simply be dumped for us by our partners and offspring as they beseech us to ‘rest mummy/my love’, despite not actually doing any of the umpteen households tasks themselves.

Having rather smugly predicted the Mother’s Day treat earlier in the year, my Hardy radar is now twitching towards Father’s Day.

Because it’s not just the ladies who fancy or admire lovely Tom.


There was a news article recently about Ikea truck drivers in Western Europe.

They are reportedly being paid less than £3 an hour and actually living and sleeping in their trucks.

We all experience bad days at work.

We have a moan sometimes before trotting off to work in the morning.

This is a harsh reality that starts with our school days and continues in our adult life.

But driving a truck and living in the back of it, for less than three quid an hour, is a bit of a wake-up call if you sit in your office reading about it online, with a coffee in hand and a radiator on the wall.

The poor minimum wage in the UK is forever an issue, but £3 it is not.