Over my lifetime, I have set myself many personal goals, some achievable, some not.

There were those journeys which were more difficult than others, and some more successful.

The following story immediately came to mind, because it led to many positive changes in my life.

Back in the early 1980s I decided it was time I became physically fit. I had never been overweight , nor slothful, in fact it was not for health reasons that I had this goal.

I fell victim to vanity, and to the then relatively new craze of jogging.

I was going to get out of my malaise, I was going to transform myself. I was going to get fit.

It was my intention to attain a sexy six-pack, or at least some noticeable muscle tone, previously and regrettably nowhere to be found on my body.

So off I trotted to purchase tools of the trade: some shorts and a pair of flat tennis shoes. The shorts did the trick, but unfortunately the shoes, with little or no support for my very sensitive feet and calves, brought about shin splints within my first weeks.

For those of you who have not encountered this condition, I can assure you it is not pleasant.

However, with rest I recovered, and undaunted, bought more suitable running shoes, and restarted my journey to fitness.

I was at this stage the mumma of two very young children, and it was incredibly difficult to find some me time to pursue my goal.

The only way forward was to get up very early in the morning, sometimes before dawn, and start training before Hubby left for work. What a support crew he was!

Soon, I purchased a treadmill, because within a relatively short space of time, jogging became my drug of choice. I’d get into a rhythm on that treadmill, sweating all those little daily issues away. It was soothing, a salve for the day-to days of being an at-home mum.

I couldn’t just run off around the neighbourhood when I felt like it, but having that treadmill at home was such an asset.

I was able to train early, late, whenever I could take time out from the day-to-day mundanity of raising kids and running a household.

I did not run with anyone. I hadn’t joined a running group. It was just me, the treadmill, and occasionally the neighbourhood streets.

And then a 10km local fun run was advertised. I had never run anywhere near that distance.

I decided to enter. At the time, Hubby wasn’t keen on the idea - he was worried for me, but I just kept training.

And when the big day arrived, my first competitive outing since school, he was there with the kids at the finish line, camera in hand. He’d cheered me all the way.

It was the hardest physical thing I had done to this point in my life. I am no athlete. My body type isn’t exactly gazelle. My legs are sturdy, but definitely not long.

At the start of the race, I positioned myself quite conservatively midway in the pack. More lack of self-esteem than strategy.

I was very naive in the ways of fun runs, this being my first, and when the starter’s pistol sounded, I took off as fast as I could.

Unfortunately, I was very slow, and as runners obviously a lot older than myself were flying by me with relative ease, I reset my thoughts to finishing. Just that. Finishing.

Because I had never trained on the road for the whole 10km, only on the treadmill, I soon discovered a vast difference.

In fact, there was no comparison. The road was not giving in any way. I now just had to pace myself.

When I crossed the finish line, not disgraced, the camaraderie of the competitors was awesome, so comforting. I remember us all in the park, eating communal raisin toast with an accompanying cup of tea not long after, and it hit me: what an amazing experience I’d just had.

The kids were impressed. I was a hero. And Hubby? He told me then and there that he’d be training with me for next year’s event.