Running the gauntlet to lose weight

THIS time last year, Saturdays were a leisurely affair.

I’d drift out of bed at 9.30am, soak in a bath, then spend the morning perusing the papers over copious cups of coffee. These days, 9.30am sees me standing, shivering in running Lycra, with up to 500 other people, on the start line of the regular Marlay Parkrun.

Shortly after 10, I’ll be sprinting over the finish line having completed my 5km. And I’ll be buzzing. My friends, convinced that I’ve lost my marbles, tell me that they couldn’t possibly run. Last year, I said the same. And I believed it. I didn’t even mean to take it up.