My new found respect for Vaseline.

I must say first that I love holidays. I love the sun, the food, the fun, the foreign culture, the late nights, the not-being-at-work and the drinking everyday. Tis the last one that took its toll and a fortnight of beer, wine and vodka.

What I don't love is what holidays do to your body. They make it lazy and serious knocks its running prowess.

So with all this in mind, I kickstarted my return to TRAINING SCHEDULE with my first half marathon, which as you all know by now, is 13.1 miles (why the Greeks had to make a marathon 26.2 miles instead of just 26 remains lost in the mists of Olympus).

The Major Stone Half Marathon is out in the lovely countryside of East Riding, near Hull. And for those of you who don't know the area I am blissfully happy to tell you that there are no hills in East Yorkshire. It's like the Netherlands, without the clogs.

Now this being my longest run to date I came prepared with Vaseline. I had been told that it is a necessary part of all runners' kit. Indeed it appeared to be true: I saw several male runners greasing up their inner thighs assiduously with economy pots of petroleum jelly beside them. It's kind of like watching a cat clean its bum: you don't really want to watch but it's intriguing nonetheless. At any rate, I ensure my toes were vazzed up and then laced up my trainers.

Pre-race I did the usual things: warmed up, pinned my number on my shirt, checked out all the keen-o serious runners with go faster shorts/vest/socks, marvelled at the number of over 65s. And then we were off. I set my pace and got past the 3-mile mark uneventfully.

And then it started. The pain. Where? A place which had not been given due attention by my Vaseline application. I had just experienced my first ever 'Jogger's Nipple'. And it hurts. A lot.

If anyone was ever in any doubt that I was not suffering for my cause, then rest assured that this was the case no more. It's a similar pain to chilblains but with the added bonus of being on one of the most sensitive pasts of the body. Joy. And there's absolutely nothing that you can do except carry on running with slight adjustment to the sports bra in the vain hope that one part of the material is less abrasive than the other.

I soldiered on, and eventually the other aches and pains distracted me from the Jogger's Nipple. Mainly the stitches. That'll be the 2 weeks of boozing then.

11 miles in and with 2.1 miles left I started to feel less like dying: truly proof that half the battle is with the mind. I also was joined by 2 oldies who sidled up behind me chatting away and joined my pace. Chatting! The main noise coming from me was heaving breathing that would put most dirty phone callers to shame. So they got me through to the end - thanks Derrick and Jeanette.

And the result...... 13.1 miles in 1hour51 minutes.

Amazing.

And now with teetotalism til NY (special occasions excepted) I might even be able to do this marathon malarkey without dying.

But I am definitely getting an economy pot of vaseline.

anna xx