Over the years I’ve tried almost every kind of sport and, to be perfectly honest, it turns out I’m pretty useless at anything I tackle.

I bought my own set of golf clubs and played regularly with friends who were club members, but I always had the worst score.

I tried tennis and badminton but played as though I was wearing deep-sea diving boots because my feet only seemed to move in slow motion.

Running? How hard can it be I thought to myself?

However, disappointingly, I failed my running trial miserably.

Reluctantly my friend Angela who is an experienced runner, agreed to shadow me around the block of her housing estate.

But after quarter of a mile she stopped in her tracks, did a U-turn and headed back home as she yelled.

“Janice, that was embarrassing, you’re running as if you’re wearing high heels and have a handbag over your arm.”

Well she wasn’t wrong there because later back at her house I clarified.

“Angela, to be fair, the only time I do run is for the train in the morning and I am wearing high heels and carrying a handbag!”

Not long after that my friend Christine and I joined a dance class.

We believed we had gotten right into the swing of the Cha-cha-cha, Merengue, Salsa and the Tango.

However, in week three the instructor politely suggested we try again the following year as we were holding the class back.

But walking, well what can possibly go wrong on a wee walk? I decided.

“Hi Sheila, I’m going on an organised walk on Saturday.”

“It would be good if you could join me.” I suggested to my pal.

And after much incoherent rambling down the phone line, I suddenly remembered why Sheila wasn’t up for my Saturday walk.

A couple of years ago Sheila, her dog Jack and I went for a walk along the local canal which resembled Sauchiehall Street as the sun shone and it seemed like everyone was out for a stroll.

The fresh air and sunshine was wonderful and we were loving every minute until somehow Sheila caught her toe on a branch root sticking up from the grass verge.

Next minute, like a Russian gymnast, she somersaulted head first into the cold muddy canal.

Thankfully for Sheila, the water was shallow and after a moment or two she managed to scramble her way up the banking of the canal and flop down on the grass.

Meanwhile, her beloved dog Jack had jumped in to the water too thinking this was a game.

“Are you OK Sheila?” I nervously asked whilst my shoulders shoogled with laughter.

“Do I bloody look OK?” she coughed as she wiped the mud from her panda eyes.

Somehow things got funnier for me, but not for a drookit Sheila.

As she stood up and balanced herself, her short bright yellow jersey sun dress had stretched somewhat with the weight of the water.

It stretched and stretched, so much so that the neckline was now below her boobs and all was revealed to the crowd of flabbergasted onlookers who had gathered to watch the unusual spectacle.

Sheila’ looked like Medusa as I attempted to remove leaves and twigs from her matted hair whilst she emptied her sodden pockets containing her iPod and mobile phone.

Resting on a nearby bench we tied the shoulder straps of her elongated dress up as tightly as we could to protect her modesty before taking the walk of shame back to the car.

And that’s when I realised that asking Sheila to coming walking was a bit like asking an atheist if they wanted to go to church. It was all rather pointless.

However, I did go walking with the group and all went well for most of the day.

That was until I passed a photographer who accidentally knocked his heavy tripod over causing it to whack off my hand which turned black and blue and chipped one of my newly manicured nails.

Resting later I flopped down on the grass only to be stung by some ferocious jaggy nettles, and no amount of rubbing with docken leaves could help soothe the pain.

Finally when we finished, our walking guide informed us that because it had been such a beautiful day, our 12 mile trek had been extended to 18 miles, at which point my right leg went into an agonising cramp.

So there I was lying on my back with a stranger pulling at my cramped leg muscles, whilst another fellow walker rubbed leaves on by swollen arm as I noticed my poor hand had enlarged and was getting darker and darker.

A simple walk? I questioned.

Perhaps I’ll try something less energetic next time.