I’ve loved sport ever since I can remember. Mum started me on tennis – her passion - at 5. Since then, my days have always seemed better and brighter for having some form of physical activity in them. I was in the netball team at junior school, loved hockey at senior school (until I got relegated from centre forward to right wing for allegedly breaking someone’s leg). Throughout my childhood and teen years, I played tennis winter and summer, after school, throughout the holidays, at weekends. But in the end, mum’s passion didn’t turn out to be mine...
I was 23 when I discovered running. I'd done the 100 and 200 metres at school in athletics. But I don't think I even knew half marathons and marathons existed except at Olympic level. At the time, I was Assistant Catering Manager at Farnham Hospital (a job that filled me with dread every morning as I drove to work). One day a distinctly unfit cook walked into the catering office and announced that he was running the Yateley Half Marathon. “If he can do it, I can do it”, I thought arrogantly. And signed up.
Running is a relatively simple sport, I thought. You don’t need a coach to teach you forehand and backhand grips or how to serve and lob. You don't need any special equipment or clothes. I had a few surprises in store on both fronts later on in my running life. But for now, my philosophy was this. You just have to keep turning up. And going a bit further. And a bit further. And a bit further still.
What I didn’t realise was, being fit for one sport doesn't give you the skills for another. Off I set on my very first long distance run, absolutely brimming with confidence. By the time I'd made it to the third lamppost along my street I was huffing and puffing. I walked to the next one then picked up the pace again. Twice round the block and I was finished. Whilst I had no comprehension of distances at the time, I knew it couldn’t have been half a mile even. How was I ever going to run half a marathon?
I did all the training on my own with the exception of one run. Along a canal in Germany with Bob Coveney, a friend of my cousin Jan's. Bob ran backwards reciting Monty Python sketches. I ran forwards gasping for air. It didn't bode well for my big race.
By half marathon day, some four months after I'd signed up, I felt anything but prepared. It was a lovely sunny day. Mum and her friend Pam arrived with a large picnic hamper, both very excited. My new friend, Tony Downes (who I'd met when he'd gatecrashed my party) also came along. Like Bob, he was an army officer and running was part of the training. Although he wasn't officially registered, Tony virtually ran the whole thing so that he could leap out and shout encouragement at various points along the course. It's him you see (also running backwards) in the photo. It felt like a miracle when I collected my medal.
Since that day, running has been a constant. The sport I've loved above all others. There have only been a few races - all half marathons and 10ks. But there have been hundreds and hundreds of miles. Nearly 40 years on from the Yateley Half, 13 miles is still the longest distance I've ever run. My May run will be a big challenge. But unlike when I trained for Yateley, I have a structured training programme, proper running shoes and expert advice.
And as for Tony Downes (the party gatecrasher), he became one of my closest friends. He married my schoolfriend, Emma. His eldest daughter, Laura, is my goddaughter. And he's still angling to "give me away" if I ever find the right man. Funny how life turns out.