I’ve been thinking a lot about what stops me from going out the door on a Saturday morning with a spring in my step, ready to do laps of my post code area and I’ve concluded that it’s fear.

During the week I look forward to my weekend run, during the winter it was my only outside run of the week and the one where I didn’t have any time limit. There’s no lunch break to rush back from or risk of it getting dark soon. But when Saturday approached I’d put off putting on my trainers and be reluctant to go outside.

Yes, part of this reluctance was laziness but mostly it was fear. I get scared that I’m going to have a bad run, that it’s going to hurt or that I’m going to have to limp home having only done a fraction of the mileage that I’d promised myself. Why am I scared of that? I suppose the fear comes from a couple of bad runs in my past where exactly that happened – but if that happens again is it the worst thing in the world? No.

Last night I went out for a 3-miler on a new route. Having just reassured myself that my ankle is OK I found a new sort of fear creeping into my head – the fear of injury. Every little twinge of pain that I felt in my left foot made me worry – have I made it worse? Was it OK to run? Should I cut my run short?

So I told myself that I was a grown-up who can sleep in the dark, get rid of spiders she finds in the bath and laugh in the face of clowns, I’m not going to let a slightly tight shoelace and a bad run three weeks ago keep me from my goals.

So I plodded on for the remainder of my 3 miles and had what was probably the most enjoyable (in that it was the least achey) run I’ve had in a long time. So on Saturday I’ll try and remember how I felt last night and wipe memories of limping home from my mind. Down with fear – up with running!