Well, I’ve only gone and embarrassed myself in public – and not for the first time, my husband cries.

After proclaiming that I had signed up for the 10-mile Netherhall race in Maryport in just 20 days’ time, and making Sam sort me out a training schedule, I’m not doing it.

There. I’ve said it. I must also now apologise to everyone who has been really supportive after reading about it last week and those of you who were proud, I’ve let you down.

These are the issues of being a superstar runner.

Okay, I’m a superstar runner in my own head, but for the four of you who read this, I’m sorry.

Week one of training went to plan okay, thanks in part to the Carlisle Resolution 10k.

Sam had said I had to run six miles as part of the first week.

To digress, the 10km was fab, made all the better by travelling there by minibus with the posse so it was like a girls’ night out, except with Lycra and fear instead of high heels and champagne.

Michelle got me round, although I misjudged the last 200 yards, got a spurt on, and peaked too early, nearly passing out before I reached the finish line.

I got round a 10km course in my fastest time ever, however, and the medal is nice and shiny.

I was due to go to BodyFit class on the Monday but to be honest, after a full day of work and packing my lunchbox with more salad than protein, I felt a bit ropey so gave that a miss.

On Tuesday, I was supposed to get on the treadmill, but we’ve got a boxset of the original Mission Impossible TV series, so that plan fell by the wayside as Martin Landau was more appealing.

Wednesday is a rest day – I thought I’d swap things around and do some running then, but ended up staying late at work. Ditto Thursday and by the time Friday rolled round, I thought I may as well give up.

Saturday morning is sacrosanct for running – except when you sleep in and realise as you look blearily at the alarm clock that the girls would be tucking into bacon rolls and coffee by now (and I missed Dianne’s new granddaughter visiting).

So, week two was a total washout. My positive mental attitude is missing. I’ve stuck a reward out for its safe return.

There’s no way I can suddenly gain those extra miles needed in 20 days, not without injuring myself, anyway.

I think I was being far too ambitious thinking I could do it so soon.

The 10km sort of scared me too – feeling so light-headed after six miles cannot be a good thing and I don’t want to be carted off to hospital midway through the 10-miler and told I cannot exercise again, or even worse eat chocolate or something.

So, discretion is the better part of valour and I’m going to give it a miss.

I don’t want running to become a chore, but I have given myself a good kicking for missing so much this past week. Tomorrow is a new day and I’m going to have a go at increasing my mileage anyway – I have got a half-marathon in mind.

But I’m hoping without the intense pressure of a race looming in front of me, I’ll have the chops to go through with it for my own satisfaction, rather than panicking that there’s a deadline coming and I haven’t done my homework.