There's nothing a shiny medal can't fix

My dad has just reminded me of a scarring memory that I had obviously tried to block out...but I will bring back the emotional scars and tell it too you now.

When I was around 10 years old I entered our local Scouts annual fun run. They call it fun it most certainly was not for me! Runners run a course of around 6.5km around our village and I don't know what possessed me at the time to run but I signed up with my dad to give it a go.

I wasn't an overweight child, in fact I was as skinny as a twig, but I did have worse asthma then so I'm going to continue putting the blame on my lungs whilst I can.

I managed to run around one mile before having to stop (this all sounds eerily familiar to recent events doesn't it?) and that was it my body gave out. My dad tried to spur me on saying I could do it and finish the race. I was a stubborn child, 'I can't do it' must have moaned from my lips about 700 times. I'm surprised my dad had the tolerance to not throw me over his shoulder or leave me there at the side of the road so he could continue the race!

I walked the rest of the way running like a few metres at a time. It was awful. In fact I think i even cried at one point just for it to be over.

I felt like I was being tortured, I couldn't even use my mind over body to push myself. I gave up too easily.

Now comes the humiliating part...coming round to the last half a mile or so I got the daunting realisation that we were the last to finish. Usually around 150/200 people run this race and all my school friends were at the Gala where the race finished and I was there puffing and panting round a fairly simple course. How mortifying!

Once I found out I could be the last to finish, I begged my dad to run a bit behind me for the last couple of hundred metres just to hide my embarrassment. And bless his heart he did a fatherly thing and hung back letting me finish before him.

I don't know what was more humiliating - running past your friends and neighbours with them jeering and cheering for me - or knowing that I came second to last cross the finish line, my dignity saved by my dad.

At least I got a shiny medal for my effort and a well deserved hot dog.

Thank goodness my mum didn't film it. She spared my social embarrassment from developing any further into distinction.

The memory had faded but now it is unfortunately back with a vengeance in the forefront of my mind. Hopefully it will spur me on to do myself proud. There will be no hiding this time.

I have never ran a race since then though, 11 years later I hope I can fight my running demons and this traumatic memory and hopefully complete the race and not come last! With out getting too cocky, I'd like to think I can push myself further this time round and with there being around 4000 applicants in this race I'm hoping this gives me good stead of, I pray to God, not coming last!

I hope this re-stirred memory is not an omen of things to come.

Pray for me please.