A volunteer in a high-vis is my weak spot

It’s the time of year when a no-longer-young man’s heart turns to writing a column about trying to take up running again, writes Colm O’Regan.

It’s a hazard for any reader of columns in January, that you are going to be forced to endure yet another account of an unfit man aged 30-50, go through the familiar cycle of guilt (one last Chomp bar for breakfast), resolve (buying some runners), pain (running hurts), euphoria (I did it ) and then more pain (I couldn’t so much as hold a spoon for a week afterwards with the stiffness).

Since I’ve let you know in advance — and stretched at the beginning — I’ve fulfilled my duty of care you so let’s go.