I crawled across the Bradford Half Marathon finish line in a time of 1 hour 56 minutes and 12 seconds shortly before 11 o'clock this morning.
And at times I felt like an uphill skier. Without skies. Or snow. But with lots of big hills in front of me. Come on, you get the idea.
Ever the glutton for punishment, I'm now about to leave for Manchester where I'm due to spend the next four days at the Conservative Party Conference.
Perhaps, on my return, I'll chop a leg off. And maybe an arm. And then burn all my clothes.
Self-loathing can be such a debilitating disease.
