Did I ever tell you about the time I nearly froze to death on the remote Atlantic island of South Georgia? While running solo across the ice cap, I’d fallen into a swamp of frozen guano. My blood had attained the colour and consistency of blackcurrant jam before I struggled to te...

shoulder, “but for every brilliantly talented piss-artist in the annals of running, there are 10 true heroes who attain the pinnacle of fitness by dogged discipline and ascetic self-denial.”“True,” smirks the devil on my right, “but they’re always bloody

and disastrous. I started off imitating my favourite Ethiopian running heroes. Now, suddenly, I’ve switched to imitating Fats Domino. Then, to relieve my pain and depression, my OMO pictures me at the finish line: there I am, breasting the tape just millimetres

rationale – one that might satisfy their gaping spouses and incredulous colleagues. Wait! They have it! They’re doing it for Charity! So even if they explode at mile five in a cloud of atomised vomit, they’ll still be heroes. It’s a no-lose situation.If I

, hero) has done his back in again. And my Achilles is playing me up something rotten.”“I can just picture it,” mused Sandra, drily. “Like an episode of Last Of The Summer Wine.” The course encompassed the whole of Dartmoor in a wide, sweeping circle