Ruth Walker: ‘Mr B, shift your yellow behind while I shimmy past, there’s a good fruit’

I am, of course, talking about the Great Edinburgh Run. If you hadn't already picked up on that, where have you been? Have I not gone on ad infinitum about my dismal training record and my woeful attempts to give up alcohol for a fortnight?

The day began with a dramatic pounding of my heart. Nerves, probably. Then I realised I wasn't about to have a seizure (potentially the best excuse I could come up with for a no show); it was the rain on the roof.

Trooper that I am, I soldiered on. But if I was to do battle with the elements, I'd need a secret weapon. Or three. Mine was toasted bagel with banana. And super-hydrating rooibos tea. And my shiny new sports headphones – guaranteed sweat-proof and rain-proof. Genius. Because the day had plenty of both in store.

The mudbath at Holyrood Park made for a punk take on running gear. Bin bags were de rigueur. To be frank, they bear too much of a resemblance to body bags for me. A bit like tempting fate. But they're astonishingly practical. If a tad sweaty.

And then I was off. Zig-zagging around the slowcoaches on Arthur's Seat. Zipping up the pavement past the Commonwealth Pool, the 2km marker in my sights. And a couple of Smurfs. Dressed in blue Morph suits and white hats. Ladies, you're mine.

Everyone needs a motivational tool. For some, it's music pumping through their ear buds. For others it's the sense of achievement. Or knowing they're raising thousands of pounds for a noble cause. Me? I just want to get past the people in fancy dress. Moving targets. Running scalps.

So, after the Smurfs came Superman – his tights sadly saggy in the rain. Easy meat. Then the fireman. Complete with oxygen tank. And the soldier. Complete with backpack. Then my old nemesis, Bananaman, running in memory of his mum. Mr B, I respect your cause, but shift your slippery yellow behind while I shimmy past you, there's a good fruit. There's a finishing line with my name on it.

After I'd eaten up all the fancy dress, I turned my attention to the lardy bums. I'd spot one, jiggling away in front of me, and make it my aim to get past it. Maybe it was the breakfast bagel. Maybe it was the pasta party the night before. Maybe my training had been more worthwhile than I'd thought, but I was on fire.

Next day at the gym, Fit Guy congratulated me. "I ran 10K last night too," he said airily "Hang on, I'll get the details up on my app."

As he turned his phone to me, a smug grin spread across his face. Twenty nine minutes. Still, it's only a number, right? n