, according to a recent survey of RUNNER’S WORLD readers, I’m slightly less popular than Glenn Hoddle.Last month my running had descended to an all-time low. While training in the Peak District I was overtaken by a large boulder. I was deeply shocked

with his legs in the air. He surveyed me through one, half-closed eye. I could swear he was smirking.Around him was scattered the usual litter of chewed-up mail. Only one letter remained untouched. It was from the organisers of the Trans 333 desert run

when I ran the Marathon des Sables.He surveyed us slowly, nodding and grinning evilly. He took us through the day’s section of the road book, our comprehensive (if indecipherable) guide to the route. He illuminated some of the more arcane convolutions