I thought I was relatively fit until this morning. I haven’t ran for 5-6 weeks due to injury (see Too Much Too Soon) and my leg was okay tramping round the Brecon Beacons last weekend, so I figured it’s time to get back to Ultramarathon training. I headed down to Winchester Parkrun for 9am, expecting a casual 5k bimble alongside gentle, chatting joggers enjoying a spot of exercise before coffee and brunch.

That was a misconception. There were easily 400ish people milling around in parkrun t-shirts, running club vests and colourful sports kit, talking, grinning and looking (almost uncannily) delighted to be there. I asked a marshall how it works and he explained that everyone will set off together, run around the fields a couple of times and collect a token at the finish line that gets scanned with the barcode I’d printed out at home. A nice, straightforward setup.

After a speech and a few rounds of applause (John’s 100th parkrun, welcome Bruce from Sydney etc) a whistle went and the colourful mass swarmed off. There were pacers in orange high vis vests; on my own I’d usually do 5k in about 25mins, so I thought I’d push it and stick as close to the 23min pacer as possible.

Having not run for a while, I felt so good at first that I sped off like a gazelle (or so I thought), overtaking lots of people – including Mr 23mins. I had a lovely time for about a mile, then I realised I’d been way too optimistic. My legs started feeling heavy, I started getting overtaken and couldn’t settle my breathing into a steady rhythm. Exactly what I deserved for flying off at an unprecedented pace on my first run back from injury, and as usual I knew I only had myself to blame. I felt less gazelle, more moose.

Mr 23mins glided past me as I sweated and puffed away, wondering why on earth I ever thought taking up running was a good idea. The next mile dragged, and it only started getting easier as I turned the final corner towards the finish line. Annoyingly I’ve often found that it takes a few miles before I can get into a rhythm, so the run was practically over by the time my breathing started to settle. I crossed the finish line, collected my token and stretched my leg (which barely twinged!) among the still-grinning, sweaty, colourful finishers.

My Nike Run app says I did 5.5k in 23:55, averaging a pace of 4:21 per km. That’s 5k in 21:52, which I’m pleased with, and it would explain why I struggled, given that I usually stick to a fairly relaxed 5min/km. That made me feel better. Parkrun’s results say I was the 11th female out of 153 and 1st in my age group, which gave me another boost. But given the tens of people ahead of me I’m still not quite happy, so I’ll be squeezing some training in alongside exams and assignments (which I should be doing instead of writing this) – and I’ll definitely be back!

It was extremely well organised and the volunteer support was incredible. The marshalls were really positive and helpful, the token system ran smoothly despite the huge volume of runners and I was e-mailed and texted with my results within a couple of hours. It made me realise just how fortunate I am to be able to take part in such a community-led, efficiently organised and fitness-oriented… event? thing? phenomenon?… for free.

What struck me most was that despite the incredible diversity – small children, grandparents, teenagers, pram-pushers, dog-draggers, lean, muscly, round, tall, tiny, black, white, two-legged, one-legged, no-legged – everyone wore huge, ear-to-ear, idiot grins (including me, I realised at the end). I heard countless words of encouragement, cheers from onlookers and just a little bit of friendly competition – not a hint of hostility.

It was a lovely feeling, being amidst this huge, supportive community. Having experienced my first taste of parkrun, I’d urge anyone – and I mean literally anyone, no matter how unfit you think you are – to get up on Saturday morning and give it a go. I get the feeling that running is just a part of it.