Anyone who’s known me for longer than five minutes might want to sit down for this post.
Today I ran a 10-kilometre race for the first time in my 49 years on this mortal coil.
I’m now collapsed on the couch having applied a full bag of peas to my right knee, imbibed an ibuprofen-paracetamol cocktail and cracked a packet of S&V chips, shortly to be washed down with a crisp ginger beer courtesy of Coop.
You may call this living the dream.
I call it a midlife crisis dressed up as a cry for help.
For reasons of modesty, I’ll leave it to your imagination to calculate my new personal-best time.
Feel free to AMA.