running woman

I'm running 10km in July.
Ouch.
I did it last year at the Croosh Ond 10k, in lashings of rain and being pumelled by the running crazies that attend these sorts of events.
As I accepted the challenge (which came from the charity I currently work for) by enthusiastically pressing SEND on a chirpy upbeat - yeah, I can do it - sort of email, as the email disappeared into the ether and my computer made that noise of a distant airplane going somewhere even faster than usual, I suddenly thought shit why have I just done that? Is it because I've been sitting at my desk for longer than I can remember and my arse has melted into my grandmothers old leather chair and the 10 bars of cadburys keeping me alive have now run out?
Probably.
So. For the last few weeks I have been in "training".
I am actually a bit like the man in the film Run Fat Boy Run as I stagger over the pavements in a pair of grim shorts grim shoes and some sort of grim vest thing, panting heavily and hoping that I don't give the sweet lady who I always pass on Poo Passage a cardiac arrest because I always seem to run so close to her without her hearing my approach (she's old, presume deaf? - how can she not hear my puffing?) - that as I pass her she sort of waves her shopping bag in the air in vague self-defence/terror/surprise/horror (what is that red puffing creature that resembles a female human?)...
In the film Fat Boy (Simon Pegg) is a loser who leaves his pregnant wife jilted at the Alter and to win her back he decides to run a marathon. With 4 weeks to train in.
So I have a bit longer to train and not for a 26mile race and also I'm not trying to win anyones' hand back. Luckily. Watching the film gave me hope that I could at least get around the course and I've been reassured by my friends in the charity that 'you can walk it in just under 2 hours' (cheers for the support).
(I think Fat Boy gets his not-wife back in the end by the way, so any aspiring love-in-the-making, this could be a really top way to win the hand of your fair lady or man... yeah, like so romantic... you can show off your blisters and cracked nipples post-race, and your inner-thigh-chaffings. And for extra romance: get her nose under your pits. A real love-inducer.)
So, any local readers, watch out! I'm going all runner on yo' ass as of a couple of weeks ago! If you see a flash of discombobulated human limbs accompanied with strange sound effects: no its not a local Labour Councilor canvassing for the next election, its most likely me, chugging round Finsbury Park swearing a lot and wishing to god I wasn't doing it.
Get me the cadburys I'm having a panic attack.