On parkrun.com

There is a wonderful thing called parkrun.com and, once you've registered on their site, you can turn up and run one of their free, timed Saturday morning 5km runs all over the UK whenever you like. Its a wonderful idea, and, unlike communism, I'm pleased to report that it works even better in translation. I turned up at Richmond Gate this morning, locked my bike to a tree and joined the assorted group of runners strewn across the grass accompanied by dogs, kids, families, etc. At an indiscernible signal the group began to flow together and down the hill. The grimly cheerful smile of the organiser had no-nonsense creases of efficiency etched on either side of it, and once thoroughly briefed, we began to run. I started, as I always do, telling myself that I'll run easy and just aim to complete the race. This is my get-out clause, my way of dealing with the fear every runner secretly harbours that you may not be good enough; that you may not measure up to the field or, infinitely worse, your own expectations. But then a slim back up ahead in perky pink Nike shakes the alpha female within awake and I begin to pick up the pace. I start to feel the lactic acid from yesterday's run swirling through grumpy thighs, and then the lungs start to protest. I think I can't go on, and I go a little further. She must be passed, and then a hill appears under my feet and I tell myself I love hills as I ignore the protesting glutes. She is passed, but there is another lithe body slicing the air up ahead, and I must pass her too. Then I see the finish line and cross it with a burst, but my watch informs me that I've taken 28 minutes to run 5 km and I feel defeated. I stood in the queue to register the token, handed to me as I crossed the line, with the people on the laptops. The Labradors were frolicking and the chatter of the middle class Londoners talking about their jobs and their families and the bargain air tickets they'd found online brought me back to a sense of calm; the mundane, the unhurried, the reality of the lives around me. People were congratulating each other for showing up and running, and I remembered I needed to do that too. And then I took myself off down the path to Pembroke Lodge, that gorgeous piece of the past perched above the Thames, with its sweeping view of the river snaking its way into the city. This is where King Henry VIII stood to watch the smoke arise from the Tower, announcing the demise of Anne Boleyn. I sat on the sunny terrace, briefly alone but for the bold rooks, and ate delicious scones with jam and cream. But the real treat came in the mail; when parkrun emailed my actual result I was quite surprised to learn that my watch had lied; my time was 23 minutes, and I was the 10th fastest female of about 70. Which tasted rather sweet, for a little run around my favourite park.