She has also watched me run, so she can look at my technique. A keen runner herself, Jenny has spent more than an hour quizzing me about how I eat (OK), how much I sleep (not nearly enough) and how much I drink (the less said, the better), as well as how much and how fast I run, how I warm up and what other exercise I take. There’s a plan to all this and it comes from Jenny Tomei, the personal trainer I’ve asked to get me out of my rut.

And it’s why, for the first time in my life, I buy a barbell and start watching weightlifting videos. It’s why, on another pre-dawn morning, I am in a deserted park, sprinting and resting, sprinting and resting until I think my lungs will burst. Which is why, one chilly October morning, I find myself on an appallingly steep hill, running up and down it as fast as I can before the sun is up. I’ve got in the habit of signing up for races and then not turning up since I know I’ll disappoint myself. Too many outings are just a little bit slower than the one before. One of the nicest things about doing a sport – for me, at least – is the knowledge that you’re getting better: that you’re running faster, or longer, or more elegantly. In a good week, I can notch up 40km without totally neglecting my wife, stepkids, cat and dog.īut lately I’ve been having doubts. Other days, I can squeeze six or seven kilometres into my lunchbreak. The city being what it is, I couldn’t get there much faster by public transport.

I live in London, about 14km (nine miles) from work, so when I’m feeling energetic I can run all the way there in about 1hr 20min. When you’re in your 50s, with a job that is mostly sitting on your arse, you have to do something. I started because I wanted to get fitter and I carried on because it worked.

The long dark sprinting