And the last shall be first

I have started being a bit more earnest about my training for the 20km in April. On Tuesday I felt earnest enough to attend my friend's running club for the first time.

I arrived chirpy and enthusiastic 10 minutes early for the 7.30pm start. My chirpy enthusiasm ebbed away as I saw the other runners arrive. A sea of Spandex, muscles very Madonna circa Blonde Ambition, and mining torches on their heads. 'Running in the dark - mining torches, why didn't I think of that?', I whispered, fingering my baggy tracksuit bottoms and old jumper. The pack was led by a silver-haired, kindly man of near pensionable age. 'Phew' I thought, 'I'll have an ally in the old boy.'

We 'warmed up'. What I mean is, everyone else galloped off, yet still managed to casually chat to each other, while I lagged 20 metres behind the last pack gasping and wheezing and gulping the air, on my own, in the pitch dark, no mining torch.

Because they were friendly bunch, occasionally someone would come and join me bringing up the rear. "Bonjour!" said one lady, cheerfully, before asking me all about my life. "Oui!.......oui!....j'habite...........*gasp*...ici....*wheeze*" I said, thinking please no more questions, unless you want me to expire right here, right now.

After the 'warm up', we did 1 km sprints, five times. The leaders rattled off a load of numbers which didn't mean anything to me, but I did catch was this: the slowest of you should manage 1km in less than 5 minutes. Excusez moi? Have you lost your mind?

Who was slowest again, by ages? Who got the sympathy cheer at the end? Who thought 'yeah, sweet, but I hate you, you bunch of bastards' about the sympathy cheerers? Who woke up the next day and couldn't move?

Who is going again next week?

It will be worth it.