It was my husband who got me involved in running.
After years of saying ‘no’, ‘no’ and ‘no’ some more, especially as I didn’t relish the idea of getting up early to brave the wind and rain in winter, he returned from parkrun one Saturday morning and said they were desperate for volunteers. So desperate that the runs might be cancelled if no one came forward.
The next weekend I was standing on one of the course corners as a marshal, cheering and clapping everyone on with our last greyhound, Alfie, by my side.
‘But don’t get any ideas,’ I told my husband. ‘I’m never going to actually run.’