To the start line - and beyond

In fact, after considerable reflection sitting on the sofa with a large cup of coffee, I've decided there's really very little chance that I'll ever be mistaken for an Olympic athlete or even someone running for the bus.

To the idle bystander with binoculars, this jogging journo looks a) fairly ungainly, b) bright pink in the face and c) just plain distressed.

Yet looks can be deceptive.

I do, actually, relish a trot around the back garden.

But not much further, as it makes my foundation go all smeary.

However, glamour is not the name of the game here, as there are much more important things at stake than concealing that irksome (yet persistent) pimple on my chin with a healthy cement-mixer full of slap.

Like raising money for Cancer Research UK.

In order to take part in the Race for Life, you don't have to be swifter on your feet than a stampeding group of men who've just heard the Cheeky Girls are performing in Shirley High Street.

Sheer velocity doesn't matter.

All you need is to be a female possessing the desire to spend a summer morning in the fresh air, raising money to fight the disease that claims so many of the lives of our loved ones.

Cancer Research UK's Race for Life started with just 600 women taking part in Battersea Park in 1994.

Now, as the run celebrates its tenth birthday, it has become the charity's biggest national event.

In the decade since its original conception, an estimated 590,000 women have donned their trainers to take part in 380 events across the country, raising a massive £35m.

Race for Life 2003 is being held at Southampton Common on Sunday, July 20 at 11am.

It's the seventh year the city has hosted the event and organisers are expecting thousands to complete the (mercifully) level course.

The last time I took part, I did four months' preparation for the race, most of which comprised trotting around the roads of Totton with a brace of male colleagues as pacemakers.

While the Cheeky Girls had yet to have any impact on the Southampton music scene, John and Glynn were still quick on their feet and it soon galvanised this girl's lungs into action.

That was the positive side.

The downside was that, by running with men, you cut down considerably on your options for borrowing shower gel (as I have absolutely no desire at all to smell of something so musky it makes you gag).

I was determined - I simply had to be fairly fit.

When one of my friends took part in the London marathon, I remember him being disappointed when he was overtaken by a fleet-footed Womble three miles from the finishing line.

Bill's running confidence never really rallied following the athletic trouncing at the hands of someone from Wimbledon Common who went underground, overground and was covered in fur.

This just wasn't going to happen to me.

So the outings with John and Glynn became longer and longer until we were storming around the water meadows, leaving herds of startled cows and water fowl in our wake.

By this stage we could run and gossip at the same time.

It felt fantastic to be fit and to have all that extra energy, safe in the knowledge that keeping your body in tip-top condition is one of the best ways of seeing off serious illness.

So when the morning of the Race for Life dawned, I was confident.

I was Southampton's answer to Paula Radcliffe and no one should get in my way if they knew what was good for them.

Which is why, in retrospect, it was all destined to tend in tears. You see, I got completely carried away and, erm, wasn't perhaps as fit as I thought.

In the final minutes before the race started, Daily Echo editor Ian Murray warmed up the crowd with a spot of aerobics.

"Just think of all those fitness gurus, the Green Goddess, Carol Vorderman, Julian Clarey. Use them as your inspiration," he urged, jumping up and down on the spot.

The race began and off we swept, running along, heads held high, legs powering away like pistons on a fast-moving steam train.

And that's the way it stayed for a good few minutes.

Before I ran out of puff.

Completely.

And utterly.

I'd set off far too fast and now, more pink in the face than that popstar called Pink, my knees had turned to jelly (pink grapefruit flavour, obviously).

Finishing took every ounce of my energy but after a total of 23 minutes of ever-increasing discomfort, the end was in sight.

As I finally surged (?) over the line, race commentator Ian Murray was there, greeting sweaty yet jubilant runners.

He was concerned at the way I was obviously experiencing some form of physical disintegration. "You're a bit pink in the face," he said.

Luckily this was where all that training kicked in and the recovery was actually remarkably fast.

By the time I got back to the office I was clutching my medallion like it was an Olympic gold and feeling like Paula Radcliffe again.

But putting all this aside, my lasting memory of the Race for Life will always be the sight of the messages pinned on the back of runners' T-shirts, explaining their motivation for taking part.

Phrases like "in memory of mum" and "For Dawn" bobbed along on the paths as their relatives ran their hearts out. It is inspirational that out of so much chronic pain and sadness can come an annual event which is so positive.

You can enter the Race for Life online at www.raceforlife.org or by calling 08705 134 314. Join now - you cannot enter on the day!