I am rubbish at running. I was always second to last at cross country at School, and the child I beat had severe asthma. And both legs tied together.
There’s only one place big enough for a half Marathon in Warrington, and that is IKEA. I would certainly get lost, and equally certainly buy 4000 napkins in a variety of colours en route.
The shopping opportunities for running are enormous. I’d definitely need custom-made, designer trainers for all sorts of terrain, some sort of device that told me how far and how fast I’d run at every training session, running tops, shorts (and I last wore shorts in about 1993), special socks, something to carry my keys in, a Nike water bottle and whatever else caught my eye on the Internet on a daily basis. Sports Direct are already rubbing their hands together at the mere thought of it. I’d be bankrupt well before September. I’m still paying for the shopping that Sam made me do in the outlet place at the Lowry.
I can’t lose any more weight. I have clothes in four different dress sizes in my wardrobe, and it’s costing me a fortune in bras as, well, things aren’t what they were. I saw the mother of one of the boys’ friends for the first time in ages recently, and she apparently told her daughter that I look ill. (Aren’t kids great for passing on the comments that you definitely thought would stay at home? Just wait ‘til she hears what I’ve now said about her. I'm not sure the boys had heard all those words before, secondary school or no secondary school.) Presumably she thinks I’m pining away without my ex partner.
It is such a cliché to hit 40 and start doing this stuff. Next I’ll be upping sticks and joining a commune, growing my own food and home educating the kids or something. (Actually, no, scratch that last bit. Half term is killing me.) At least when I was 30 I just went on a few training courses.
So I’m not doing it. I’ve not checked the website, I have no idea if I’m free on 18th September. Craziest idea I ever heard.