Running, ah running, we have a bit of a love/hate relationship going on. I hate doing it but I love how it makes me feel afterwards. I get a buzz knowing that I’ve done some exercise. I first started running when I was living with my sister in London, about ten years ago. Around this time, I was eating really badly, gorging on wine and beer, pasta and cheese. And despite knowing that I had a serious muffin top, I was massively in denial. I weighed myself one day and nearly had a heart attack, as I saw I was tipping the scales at around 10 and a half stone. As a fairly small woman, at 5ft 3, this didn’t sit well with me, quite literally. I made the decision then and there to go for a run. Possibly not the best decision at the time, as it was a really hot day. I just about made it to the end of the road without my head exploding! From that day on, I tried to go running at least twice a week to get myself fit.
