I don't know if you've heard, but Mo Farah has entered the Great North Run. Sadly predictable in my book.
As I understand it, the newly crowned world 10,000m champion had no previous interest in taking on the famous Newcastle to South Shields course. That was until one of his hangers on - probably Sir Richard Branson - advised him that I had thrown my hat into proverbial ring. And the double Olympic champion wanted my scalp.
But I'm nothing if not up for a challenge. So the gauntlet is picked up and the game is on.
After hurting my knee playing for the dads' touch rugby team two weeks ago, I got back into training on Friday and this morning ran just over eight miles. Very slowly.
Meanwhile, Mo Farah's triumph in Moscow yesterday was over a distance of little more than six miles. Pathetic. I'm thinking ahead, see. Eyes on the prize.
My much shrewder approach will be intensified even further tomorrow when the family and I fly to Northern Ireland for a week of intensive cold, wet and windy weather training. Meanwhile, Mo is off back to America to run in the sun. What an idiot. In my three years as a student on Tyneside, I never saw the sun once. I am so far ahead of Mo's game it's untrue.
I'm also planning several sessions with amateur sports psychologists - street philosophers, if you will - in a range of hostelries around the Causeway Coast.
Of course, the one area where my great rival currently has the edge is in relation to sponsorship. He has several multi-squillion dollar deals with the likes of Nike, Lucozade, Bupa and Virgin Media. Meanwhile, I have so far raised £151 in support of children with cancer and their families (thank you so much to everyone who has donated thus far).
If you'd like to even up this imbalance, please click here and give me - or rather Candlelighters - what you can.
I'll update you shortly from one of my designated training bases (most likely the Railway Arms).
