THE RACE (September 16)

Well here's something I never thought I'd write - I finished the half marathon.

And after all my anti-running comments in recent weeks, I have to confess it was a magical experience.

About three miles to go The key was running with my sister Kalea (a marathon veteran), who immediately noticed problems with my pacing.

The race started on time just after 10am on Sunday in perfect weather conditions.

After hearing the gun, we could only walk towards the official start line because of the crowd.

But as we crossed the line, the pack dispersed enough for us to finally stretch our legs.

It was then, as we approached Trent Bridge, that Kalea commented on my pace, saying: "You're running way too fast."

She told me to stay at her shoulder, and we started jogging at HER usual pace (which initially felt quite slow to me).

The first few miles passed and I was cruising, feeling none of my usual desire to walk.

As mile after mile passed, the race atmosphere meant I felt none of my usual "running boredom".

And a definite boost was the wristbands Kalea brought for us both.

They had target times for each mile.

If we met each target, we'd finish in 2 hours and 25 minutes - an optimistic goal, but these were the only wristbands Kalea had and at least we'd have a point of reference!

Just keep running But, as each mile passed, we found ourselves 2-3 minutes AHEAD of the targets.

This seemed unbelievable and I had little doubt the time would slip away as I ran out of steam.

But these targets had the psychological effect of breaking the 13-mile race into smaller 1-mile pieces.

As we reached the 10-mile mark, I still felt strong and was still two minutes ahead of schedule.

Kalea was tiring slightly, which was to be expected as she hadn't trained for the race.

She urged me to increase my pace and leave her behind.

"Do it," she said. "This is your first half marathon and you'll always regret not going faster."

So - feeling a little like Rose deserting Jack in Titanic - I pushed harder for the final miles.

Fatigue was not a problem - but pain started to hit.

My feet, ankles and even knees were throbbing with constant impact.

But walking wouldn't alleviated the agony, so in true Forest Gump style I just kept running.

Before I knew it, there was just a mile to go, and there was NO WAY I was going to walk the final mile.

And again, before I had time to think, I turned a sharp left and the finish line was 200 metres away.

At this point the hair on my neck stood up and I was overcome with emotion.

It sounds a bit corny, but training memories and pre-race fears were swimming around my head.

I could vividly remember my first day of preparation (gasping in this very field) and how the race had seemed a million years away - and now here I was... running to the finish line in front of a cheering crowd!

Funnily enough, the strange sensation meant this was the only time in the race I thought I might collapse.

Brother and sister However I didn't embarrass myself and crossed the line anonymously and alone.

It was odd to feel so elated, yet have no-one to immediately share it with - a bit like when you arrive at an airport and there's no-one to meet you.

(My girlfriend and brother-in-law had cheered us at another part of the course and didn't arrive at the finishing area for another 15 minutes or so).

Kalea finished a few minutes later (this really was more of training run for her), and I really have to thank her for getting me through.

Without her pacing at the start, I would've burned fast and bright for about 30 minutes, then probably slowed to a walk and maybe not finished.

But an even pace - combined with a bit of "rising to the occasion" - saw me complete a race I felt unprepared for.

My time? Well, it wasn't too impressive. I finished in two hours, 19 minutes and five seconds.

But before the race, I'd never run more than an hour in my life, so I was very pleased.

And I'll be back, aiming for a quicker time next year!