Trousers, beer bellies and unnecessarily difficult challenges

About a year ago I thought I needed a challenge. A visit to M&S to try on a pair of trousers seemed innocent enough. But mirrors on three sides of the changing room, and unforgiving flourescent light confirmed my worst fears. The overweight, middle-aged man looking back at me from several unflattering angles was, indeed, me.

Over twenty years of fine dining, not-so-fine dining, inactivity and pubs had taken a toll on what had been a relatively trim figure.

In my twenties, I had run the London Marathon twice. The fit, former version of myself, had managed this with little training and in pretty decent times for an amateur.

Why not a third medal then? I mused. Have them framed and mounted in the downstairs toilet at home. Impress the neighbours.

Having quickly (and easily with the assistance of red wine) convinced myself that marathon running is mostly a mental challenge, and I could additionally pretty quickly shed 3 or 4 stone and return my body to the toned beauty it once was, I enthusiastically launched myself into the web and applied to run it. I also backed up the official entry with a offer to a charity I have long-supported, NSPCC,to run it on their behalf in return for a place.

Then I forgot I had done both....
Leap forward a few weeks to hole 8 on a beautiful Surrey golf course, I decided to check my e-mails whilst waiting for my partner to find his lost ball. There it was - "NSPCC are delighted to offer you a place at the London Marathon 2012."

Success !

I was childishly excited that I had a place.

I played on with my mind racing.

And then began the slow realisation of what I had done.

I was over 40. I was overweight. I have high blood pressure and high cholesterol. I don't do any exercise to speak of (I am told golf doesn't count as exercise).

And 26 miles is a bloody long way on foot.