So for the first time I put a race number on and joined in with others doing an official run thing.

OK, it was the sport relief mile.

Which I’d sort of assumed I would find to be a piece of piss. One mile. I run 4 with not too much bother now (chortle, lie) so it seemed like one would pose little problem.

Cor, it weren’t half hard though! The park, which hosted my local mile race, is on a hill you see. There were lots of hills in the race and I’m not very good at hills – what with being very fat and everything.

Anyway, I did it. 13 minutes – which might sound slow but actually represents me knocking 2 minutes off my normal time, and I was holding Odd Middle Child’s hand for most of it. Actually as the finish line came into sight she suddenly broke away and legged it and I struggled to keep up with the little swine.

So, what was it like? Well, I remember cursing it as I ran – but now I feel unreasonably proud of myself. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have done it at all 4 weeks ago. There was no one else my size running it so I guess I was doing OK. I liked the big fun warm up that everyone did before the race, I liked wearing the race number and feeling all part of it. I liked that we didn’t come last. I liked that Mr K (who regrettably, running with Little Madam Kinsella, came in slightly ahead of me and Odd Middle Child) was completely shagged out for the whole of the rest of the day, while I was energised.

The horribly hilly park is the same one I’ve got to run 3 miles round in May for the Race for Life (Saltwell Park, Gateshead, should anyone feel like turning up with a ‘Go Samantha!’ sign). If one mile of its merciless hills is so hard, imagine what three will feel like?

Oh, I nearly forgot. A woman tried to give me a flyer for the Great Women’s 10k Run and I was able to say ‘It’s OK, I’m already signed up for this thanks’.