Here is what I’ve learnt since taking up jogging: I do not run like a gazelle. Or a cheetah. Or any of those animals used as metaphors for people who can run fast and free. I run like Cliff Young. No-one will ever mistake me for an athlete.

Last week, as I pounded up the hill to the traffic lights, a young girl in hot pink lycra ducked out of an apartment building and bounded onto the footpath ahead of me.