I did something a little strange on Saturday morning. Something a little unlike me. Something a teeny bit insane.
Saturday morning. I got up. I put my trainers and joggers on. I went to the City and gathered with hundreds of other runners. Then I got dressed up in a gorilla suit and did a 7k circuit of the City of London for the Great Gorilla Run.
I walked, I ambled, I limped, and then I finally ran in a suitably face-saving show-off manner for the last quarter of a mile. (But before you scoff, please bear in mind that over the past decade I have done nothing more taxing than run to the bus stop. I obviously had to keep my health at front of mind).
I learned a few things:
1. Furry gorilla suits are unbearably hot and itchy, and not designed for anything more than a slow amble (especially on an unusually hot day in late September)
2. I am shamefully unfit
3. In fact, everyone else is in better shape than I am (especially all my colleagues who pelted, excuse the pun, to the finish line, leaving me panting, gasping and unbecomingly red-faced - although let's not forget that they are practically teenagers and I am most certainly not)
4. It was really good fun, even if my thighs are still hurting and I seem to have pulled a muscle in my bum
5. That the world is populated by gormless idiots. And that comment is directed at YOU, the man who shouted "This is the Great Gorilla RUN, not the Great Gorilla WALK" at me as I was struggling manfully across Tower Bridge weighed down by sweaty acrylic fur. Ha bloody ha. Fool.
6. It is entirely possible that I will never do something so taxing again
I would post a post-race picture of myself, beetroot of face and sweaty, but frankly it is the stuff of nightmares. I will spare you all the trauma.