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A very peculiar thing: I have signed up to do a 10km run in July.

I'll pause here to allow you to collect yourselves. ...Have you quite recovered? Excellent.

Well, as I was saying, I appear to be committed to getting sweaty in public. I'm not sure exactly how this happened, but since the organiser is one of my Truckles buddies, there's a fair chance wine was involved. Also, I think she mentioned the magic words "brunch at the finish line".

So anyway, the training has commenced. On Friday, and again this morning (in the rain!), I ventured out onto the streets of Isleworth for a gentle jog. Redolent as that word is of 80s-style rayon shorts, I'm forced to use it; "running" would be a completely unfitting description of the activity I performed. I think I was actually overtaken by one of the old ladies from The Producers. But the general picking up of knees, kicking up of heels and bouncing of bosoms seemed to indicate that I was doing something more than walking.

I'm pleased to report that I made it to the end of my route (I'm no judge of distance but I reckon it must have been, ooh, 500m at least) without a walking break. Or, for that matter, a collapsing break. At this rate, the 10km will be a doddle; after two months of training, I'll just trot lightly through central London till I get to the pastries. No problem.

There's just one thing. Scarier by far than the training. Part of this whole race deal is getting sponsorship. I've never quite understood that; asking people to pay you to do something completely pointless. But there it is. Our team is running for Muscular Dystrophy; or rather, we're not actually for it, we're against it, even though I hear it kills little kiddies, and I'm kind of against little kiddies, so this is a bit confusing for me.* Still, if you think horrible muscle-wasting disease is a problem (I admit I wouldn't want it), or if you just like the idea of paying me to humiliate myself in public, please donate a few pennies.** It's easy, which is more than I can say for getting me out of bed to pound the pavement.

Edit: of course yesterday was also the London Marathon, which does rather put things in perspective. Look, there are people who will run for 26 miles in chicken suits, and the word for those people is "insane". And then there are people who will run for 10km in tasteful sportswear, and the word for them is "courageous and inspiring". Right? Right.

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* It's a good thing I have so few readers, or I might get into trouble for saying things like that.
** I'm not in that picture. If you give generously, you might eventually see a pic of this year's team, which will include me. Not sure that's an incentive...