Lycra envy, carb-loads and my life on the run

Not so long ago I was one of those people who laughed smugly at the phrase "fun run". "What kind of sickos view running as a fun activity?" I'd wonder.

But that was before I woke one morning, stood on the scales and decided enough was enough. two options lay before me: a muzzle or exercise. so out to the park I went.

Half of London has developed the same hobby. Congestion in Hyde Park on a sunny morning is almost worse than in Knightsbridge - you can hardly move for puffing figures. Even Boris does it, bowling about the pavements of Islington like a giant Pacman. And when I heard that 30,000 people had signed up for the Nike 10K run at Wembley this month, I felt compelled to join them.

Almost without noticing, I'd turned into a serious runner. I suppose the first indication was when I found myself in sweaty Betty trying on a pair of stylish shorts. I had developed Lycra-envy while jogging across Clapham Common. My frayed tracksuit bottoms screamed "amateur", and while I am scarcely a fourminutemiler, I sensed the other runners were sniggering at my lack of nous.

But it's a slippery slope. I'm like the Amy Winehouse of the track, gasping for my next fix. First it was the shorts, then the dri-fit shirt and expensive orthotic insoles to go in the pricey trainers. I lurk pervert-like on Runner's World website chatrooms to get the lastest on "carb-loading" Michael Phelpsstyle, and recently caught myself eyeing up protein shakes in a health shop. Last week I ordered a "gin and slim" in the pub. What have I become?

Most shaming was a recent foray into Waterstone's. I sidled redfaced up to the counter and whispered to the sales assistant: "Where would I find books on running?" Peering at my legs, her eyebrows jumped up in surprise: "As in marathon running, madam?" she asked, before directing me downstairs. I bought a book with "RUNNING" on the front cover in enormous letters. I took it to starbucks and read in a clandestine fashion, digesting how to avoid black toenails (clip them short) and armpit chafing (apply Vaseline liberally).

Running was agony to begin with. My legs ached and I woke in the night writhing with cramp. But now, my perfect start to the day is a quick trot around Brockwell Park, tina turner providing motivation from my iPod. Hardly Paula Radcliffe but there are still four years to go until 2012. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go and stock up on Vaseline.