As the countdown to to Manchester Marathon begins, I’ve roped in a couple of other runners who are doing the race to share the ups and downs of their training. First up is first-time marathoner Helen.

Personally, I blame Peter Duncan. Back in 1981, I watched the first ever London Marathon solely because Blue Peter presenter Peter Duncan was in it.  The idea lodged firmly in my nine year old brain that the marathon is the ultimate in human endeavor. There was no aspect of my school sporting performance which would suggest that at 40 I would be exercising at all, much less preparing for a marathon.

I’m doing it for an odd combination of stubbornness and charity. Last year I ran a half marathon for the British Heart Foundation (my father died of a heart attack at 41, when I was six). I injured myself in training for the half and promptly signed up to a marathon, to show myself and my defective sciatic nerve that I was not going to be beaten by a nerve ending.

My training started on Christmas Eve, and has been an anarchic business. I’m not at all sure I’ve been doing it right, for a start. Most people don’t run whilst watching Pointless on iPlayer or eating Snickers Bars, for example. My regime has been characterised by telling everyone I knew I was training for a marathon, knowing that the social embarrassment of failure was much more likely to keep me at it than will power.

Running turned out to have unexpected benefits: I’ve enjoyed the scenery, and the exertions have kept me thin. My longer runs have been like  picnics: I’ve found myself popping into shops to top up my calories. And it turns out all sorts of people are either runners themselves or dead impressed by runners so there’s always something to talk about with new people.

The training has had unexpected downsides too: I knew fitting running in alongside work would be a tricky business, but it never occurred to me my biggest problem with long distance running would be getting lost. One run round Wimbledon Common went seriously Blair Witch. I still don’t know how I ended up in New Malden with only 5% charge on my phone, but I can tell you that these days I just stick to routes I know well.

My aspirations for the marathon are manageably low. I just want to get round, end of. Getting to the venue on time, getting around without having to pull a Radcliffe, getting round without hitting  the wall, these are the things that play on my mind. A friend of mine, Andrew, a veteran marathon runner,  keeps chortling and saying, ‘It’ll hurt Helen, it’ll really hurt, but you’ll be ok.’ This is not the reassurance you might think. But I’m so grateful to him and my running friends for keeping me on the straight and narrow.

My friend Adam has dragged me out jogging when I absolutely haven’t felt like it on a weekday. Andrew has been there with advice on what can be fudged and what cannot. And Laura? Laura’s been ace. I read her book cover to cover because it told me more about the reality of marathon running than anything else I’ve read. She has been a ready source of advice, especially when something has gone wrong, as it frequently has. Honestly, I couldn’t have managed without her in my posse.  If I do get round, it’ll be down to them as much as me.

Recently, I was off sick, and watched the full Rocky Balboa box set. I fully envision the next few weeks will be like a Rocky fitness montage. Frankly, if I’m going to get round, they will have to be. But as I’ve pottered around the park, stately as a galleon, passed on every side by Lycra clad ‘proper’ runners, in my minds eye I see myself crossing the finishing line into the beloved’s arms. I suspect Peter Duncan was much the same.