Two miles into my run on Saturday, I had to stop and walk. I’d spent the morning hungover on the sofa trying to convince myself that if I could just get my kit on and out the door, I’d feel better.

I’d been looking forward to the run all week – it would be the furthest I’d run since being injured – but now it seemed like a chore. Eventually, after watching a few old episodes of the West Wing and eating the secret santa present I’d got the night before at my team lunch, I headed out planning to run 8 miles.

That annoying quote that you see on Instagram and Twitter against a soft focus backdrop “I regret that run – said no one, ever” bounced round my head. Sometimes you do. That run you do when you’re injured that sets you back – that one would go on the regrets list. That one you do when you’re hungover and you need to duck into a bush to relieve yourself – that would be chalked up as a regret too.

The first mile went by ok and I hit the trail in a good mood. There weren’t too many people out, just the other occasional runner overtaking me. No matter – I’m taking it easy. I slowly climbed up the trail towards Highgate and my legs began to ache, then everything began to ache. After two miles I stopped for a walking break “Good ultra practice” I though.

I started running again and my stomach wasn’t happy. I stopped to walk and it got no better. I ran/walked a bit and then running was out of the question. It was two miles back home or just under a mile up to the end of the trail and a friendly pub. So I headed onwards, eyeing the bushes and thankful that it was a quiet day on the trail.

I made it to the pub, used their facilities and then sat down on the bench outside for a while. I texted my friends, I felt sorry for myself and I thought about turning back home. But I’d left home with a Royal Mail parcel notice in my backpack. My route was planned to stop by the depot and pick up a pair of leggings, then loop back home.

I turned left, headed down the hill towards Archway and my leggings. Five miles later I was back home, showered and wearing those leggings on the sofa.

It hadn’t been a fun run. It wasn’t one for running selfies. I didn’t smash it. And that’s why I posted the pic above on Instagram when I got home. Because sometimes it feels like everyone else is having nothing but fun and games as they gamble along. But the truth is we all have rubbish runs sometimes.