I fear that I have lost my mind. Yesterday, during a spot of shopping with the other half, I fell in love with the most beautiful pair of trainers. I promised those beautiful little Nike duo that I would be back to release them from the noisy hell of Westfield and would shower them with love and affection until the next new love comes along. I needed to justify why I - a woman who spends her life in pumps - would possibly want or need a pair of trainers. So in a haze of pure delirium, I signed up for the Race for Life in my local park in June.
At the time, it didn't cross my mind that I never run for anything except last call in the pub. I happily signed up, set up my fundraising page (http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/amywhitear) and started dreaming of raising money, doing something for a Very Good Cause (TM) and owning that beautiful pair of trainers. And still buzzing from the adrenaline of actually doing something good, I managed to allow my aunt to talk me into doing a second Race for Life - this time in July - with her and a few cousins.
So here I am. Still no trainers, but £30 down. A total of 10K to run this summer, and I still haven't figured out how to walk up a flight of stairs without having to pause for breath and a drink (vodka, preferably). I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to manage this. Death may be next on the list.