So what do you say when you’re a huge Triathlon fan and an old mate, who just happens to be four-time World Champion Chris McCormack (aka Macca), phones you up out of the blue to ask if you want to work as the Spanish interpreter at Super League Triathlon Mallorca?

Er…hello! There is no other coherent response than, “Yes, please!”

And the whirlwind adventure began.

Flights were booked, bags packed, though I had no idea what exactly was needed of me. But I was too excited to worry. I was going to be hanging out with the best triathletes in the world—Vincent Luis, the Brownlee brothers, Katie Zaferes, Taylor Spivey to name but few.

But on arrival I certainly didn’t expect to be presented as the official Spanish race commentator. What? You know commentating requires a skill, right? A certain personality, a special flare to keep the crowds entertained. A high degree of self-confidence to talk non-stop (often about a whole load of rubbish) but make it sound coherent, intellectual and interesting.

Certainly not a skill I possess. I can quite comfortably write a 90-thousand-word novel, but get all tongue-tied when speaking in public. And now I was going to have to speak to a massive crowd about a race which gets broadcasted to over 850 million viewers.

My heart beat shot up, beads of sweat started to form, my legs went weak, and I hadn’t yet been handed the microphone…

I really wasn’t sure it was something I could do or accomplish without making a complete fool of myself and ultimately let the team down, a team who believed in me much more than I did myself.

Funnily enough, race day came along and I wasn’t nervous. I put it down to being in a dream-like state. Surely there was nothing to worry about, because the whole thing was a figment of my wild imagination, and at any point I would wake up. Wouldn’t I?

But I didn’t wake up, and before I knew it, I was called over the loudspeakers—so everyone knew my name and there was no escaping—to do a live interview with no other than Javier Gomez Noya, five-time World Triathlon Champion. This was not the time to get star-struck. I had millions of eyes on me. I was desperate to ask him for his autograph, but it wouldn’t have been the most professional approach.

And I have to say, Javier Gomez Noya, despite being a huge triathlon super-star, is an incredibly down-to-earth, nice guy. I found myself chatting to him as if I’d known him for years.

Interview done. Everything felt surreal. And I was having more fun than I’d had in years!

But there was no time to relax. The starter’s gun went off and the real action began. I’d watched live coverage of the Super League Triathlon series before and knew how impressive it is. These fast, technical and tactical courses keep the spectators on edge. But to watch from inside the perimeter of the race-course was just mind-blowing. The hiss of the bike wheels as they sped past, kicking up the rain drops that had settled early morning; the shouts of the crowds, cheering on their favourite athlete; the emotion, determination and stamina of the leaders visible on their faces; the courage, tenacity and willpower of the athletes towards the back of the field in their own personal battle to remain within the 90-second cut-off margin—all these made the perfect cocktail of ongoing entertainment and excitement throughout.

Of course, by the end of the first race day I was completely hoarse, having taken this commentating lark in full swing. I was thankful that, as I was commentating in Spanish, statistically, of the 850 million home viewers, half wouldn’t understand a word of what I was saying; the other half just didn’t speak or understand Spanish anyway.

Day two was even more emotional, if that’s possible. A close race between the leaders of both the men’s and women’s event. The short-chute rule played a decisive tactical strategy and provided ultimate emotion for the spectators.

Personally, I was shattered, and I hadn’t done any racing (actually, that’s not correct; I did the corporate mixed relay race before the professionals took the stage, I know! Crazy, certainly not my idea! It just highlighted how fit and fast the professionals are, or perhaps how slow and clumsy we are). At the end of the day, it was with personal satisfaction that I completed the relay race without bringing up breakfast, and I didn’t say anything offensive over the loudspeaker whilst commentating.

However, just as I thought I’d overcome my reticence to talk, Rafael Nadal walked past me and I was thrown into a state of bashfulness, awkwardness and gawkiness. It was a real teen-fan moment, making me feel youthful and infantile—for all the wrong reasons. Thankfully I was able to stutter out a request for his autograph for my kids. (An excuse, of course; the autograph is for me!)

Super League Triathlon Mallorca was an amazing experience. I met some incredible athletes, a very professional back-stage team, hung out with some old friends and met some lovely new ones.

Don’t believe you can’t do something until you try it… you may surprise yourself and have a whole load of fun in the process.

This time last year I embarked on my journey to fulfil my “little big dream” of competing at the World Masters Athletics Championships.

It was a personal challenge, one I was confident of achieving. But I was wrong… or was I?

The winter months passed, and I was consistent in my training, my motivation high. Depending on my work schedule some of my runs were first thing in the morning, others late at night. I ran through rainy nights, blustery wind and hail storms. But I kept focused and not once did I deviate from my fitness programme. I would compete with the best in the world in my age-group; I had to give the best of me.

My body started adapting and responding to the training. Body fat fell away and muscles became more defined. With each passing day I felt stronger.

The start of my race season reflected this. I was on course to a great performance at the worlds. At least it’s what I believed. I always knew I was light-years from winning a medal, but there was a chance I would pass the qualifying rounds and get to the finals. That was my goal.

Over self-confidence is destructive. I kept pushing my body, on and off the track. I was offered several work projects which I accepted. I was capable of anything, or so I believed. My training would take up 1-2 hours a day, 6 days a week. Work another 10 – 11 hours Monday to Sunday, add in family life, keeping a house in ship-shape….plus eat and sleep… It was a cocktail for disaster. My body started giving out little signals…which I, of course, ignored.

Exactly a month before the World Champs I came down with a throat infection and high fever. And still I trained through it. At least I tried, but by the third day I could hardly get out of bed.

My right knee started giving trouble and tendinitis in my left foot just complicated matters more.

But I was still optimistic, until I started training again, every run was slower than the previous. I had reached my limit. Was it too late to rectify? I cut down on my training to let my body recover. There was still a chance I might make it to the finals.

Then three days before I was due to compete I go a phone call. Someone very close to me had had an accident and was in hospital… The next few days passed in a blur and I found myself on the start line of the 800m at the Malaga World Masters Athletics Championships and all I could think of was:

I don’t want to be here….

And I had the worst race I’ve had in a long time…

Sometimes dreams don’t come true…Or perhaps they do, just not in the ways you imagine. The final result wasn’t what I had expected. But isn’t it the journey that counts? I had a great year; it was immensely satisfying to see I could still get my body to run, twenty years on and as a mother of two, almost as fast as when I had been in my late teens. And that’s what I’ll take, it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey and the people you meet on the way…

And now to continue dreaming… I have several I hope to make a reality soon…

As Christmas is just around the corner, I thought that it might be appropriate to talk (or rather write) a little bit about though it may well be tempting to get a little puppy or kitten or any furry friend as a Christmas present for a loved one, remember having a pet is a big responsibility.  I’m aware that you all know this, but for the last six months I’ve done voluntary work for the local animal rescue centre and I’ve been amazed at how many people don’t seem to appreciate the importance of looking after these beautiful loving creatures, and can leave them abandoned with such cold-heartedness.

In the last six months, five different puppies have passed through my hands. Puppies that have thankfully gone on to loving homes, but for the five that I have helped there are probably hundreds that haven’t have the same good fortune.

I don’t want to get into a debate on whether you should spade your cat or not, on whether you should dress your dog in a hand-made, dimond-studded body-warmer or not.

But a pet does require a minimum of attention. I’ve always loved having pets, but now holding down a full time job, plus part-time writing, looking after two young children and trying to keep up some sort of social life (nothing too adventurous mind, I’m lucky if I make it for a jog around the block with some mates from the local running club and have some Gatorade afterwards) I’m totally aware that I just don’t have time to have a pet and look after it properly.

I do this voluntary work now and again and every-time I get a puppy to look after it brings home how much hard work it is. Though I also have to say that the satisfaction of seeing the puppies grow strong is greater and the unconditional love they offer goes beyond words. It makes the experience a positive one, especially for my children who are learning that if you have animals you have to be responsible with them and that success at its greatest has nothing to do with fame or fortune, rather it’s about helping those in need.

If you’re still thinking of getting a furry friend for a loved one for this Christmas, you may want to pop into your local RSPCA, I can guarantee that there you’ll find a friend for life.

PUPPY YouTube VIDEOS

• One week old pups bottle feeding.
• Puppies, two weeks old
• Puppies on my launch day

Sign up to my News Letter for the full story about the first three puppies I looked after “Three Against One. A true story about Love, Survival and Hope.”

It was a bank holiday here in Spain last Thursday, a perfect day for a lie in. But instead of sleeping in, for some mad reason I convinced myself that participating in a 5km road race was in fact what I wanted and needed!! I don’t know how I reached this conclusion at 6 am. It was obviously some sort of daybreak trick. A trick I fell for and so by mid- morning, much to my confusion, I found myself at the start line of the race. And not just in the midst of the race line-up, with your local Bob plodder, but right at the very front, surrounded by all these elite runners.

Two things crossed my mind as, in a panic I waited for the start gun to go off. If I have ever fantasied about being surrounded by a whole load of athletic, half naked men, this is not how I had envisioned it. I was surrounded by a handful of elite female runners and a whole mob of guys. In the reality of this odd fantasy, there is no whiff of Hugo Boss or Giorgio Armani cologne, rather smelly armpits and other, not so pleasant, body odours mixed with an overpowering smell of Reflex, a far cry from any erotic fantasy I could have possibly envisioned.

But what concerned me more, on finding myself right up at the front of the start line, is that though 5km may seem quite a distance for some, believe me, a 5 km road race, even for the most amateur runner, is a frantic sprint. The leaders will head the race at a pace of about 22 km per hour (14 mph). Slow for a car, but try and get your legs to go that fast! And I had a good chance of getting stampeded on in the first 100m.

At this point, my internal battle of “What the hell are you doing here?” Because I enjoy it “You’re too old for this” No I’m not  “You could be having breakfast in bed!” But I don’t want to... “Seriously?”… takes wing. My mental conflict of why this could or could not be a good idea went on and on, only to be suddenly broken by the race commentator who’d recognised me amongst the mob of people and blasted my name out over the loud speakers. Startled, I found myself turning to the spectators to give a little wave and I hoped to God I don’t trip up and make a fool of myself in front of everyone, because then, those who don’t know who I am (the vast majority may I add) will now know and remember me for all the wrong reasons. Of course my heart beat went up a notch from the stress of it all and the race hadn’t even started yet! Perhaps breakfast in bed would have been the better option.

My New Year’s resolutions are made in September….

Everyone tends to make their New Year’s resolutions on the 1^st January. It’s the day when you make all those soppy promises to make the year the best possible ever…when you decide you’ll join the gym, quit smoking, get back into those jeans that have been sitting at the back of your wardrobe for the last ten years, three sizes too small for you now…turn Vegan (at least for a week) and hey, though you haven’t done regular exercise since you left school, you decide that this is the year you’ll run a marathon.