2020 was going to be my epic year of running. I was going to start my year with Brighton marathon in April, moving on to London Landmarks half marathon and Liverpool in May, The Great North Run in September, Loch Ness marathon in October, and finishing the whole lot off with Oxford half, also in October.

I have a real love hate relationship with running. I wouldn’t call myself a ‘runner’. I wouldn’t even call myself a’ jogger’. ‘Occasional Plodder’ might be more apt.  I am someone who likes to set herself a bit of a ‘stretch goal’ every now and again. If I don’t have an event to train for, I won’t train. Even if I do have an event to train for, I still might not train. I am super slow. Moving at roughly the pace of a snail. My aspirations have never been any grander than finishing before the sweeper bus picks me up.

I completed Brighton Marathon in April 2017 and beat the sweeper by ten minutes. I was amazed that I even made it to the start line, let alone finished. I picked up an injury 3 weeks before and didn’t run one single mile in that 3 weeks before the race. Race day came, my hip flexor was still niggling, and the weather was freakishly hot, but I knew that if I got on that start line there was no way I was coming home without the T-shirt and the medal. I finished looking like a bacon frazzle due to a complete failure on the suntan lotion front.

So back to 2020. The aim was to do Brighton again. Train harder and finish better. My training was going really well. On March 8^th I ran 17 miles, without stopping for a single walk break - that was a massive achievement for me. I felt strong. Full of hope and optimism .I was on track. I thought I had it nailed. And then came Covid-19.  Brighton was cancelled. I was gutted. And then one by one all my other races cancelled too. So my mojo got up and left me, and my motivation descended to sub-zero levels. I stopped running and started making (and eating) banana bread.....frequently. The full fat, loaded with sugar version.  I did a couple of half-hearted short distance runs in April, and then gave up completely.

Skip forward a year and I find myself contemplating running again.  There must be something about the spring time.  Or maybe it's the faint glimmer of a life approaching something that looks like pre-Covid normality on the horizon.  Brighton is a no go. It conflicts with Great North Run, and I  committed to raising a few quid for an arthritis charity at that event. I have been busy telling myself that I don't t have a marathon in me this year (or maybe ever again) …and then bizarrely I found myself booking a flight to Inverness and a place to stay….so it’s time to laminate my training plan and stick it to the fridge again, put the banana bread down and see if I can coax my mojo out from her hiding place...