RUNNING always seemed like a pastime for someone who doesn't like themselves very much.

You're not learning a new skill.

It's fairly solitary, even in a group

The glory of a personal best come from... beating yourself. Why would you want to know that you've ousted yourself? Bizarre.

Self improvement is one thing, but self competition seems fairly unhealthy.

And let's not get started on what running does to the knees.

Yet... yet...

The first time I ran, I had no idea how hard it would be.

A colleague at work was running the Women's 10k and wanted a chum. I'll say yes to anything so I offered to run it with her.

Great. Except that I had no idea whatsoever how far 10k was. The race was five weeks away.

This still meant nothing to me at all.

I was having dinner at my new boyfriend's house and his mum was horrified at the news. "You'll never manage that," she said.

"It takes months to train for a 10k."

Of course, I wanted to impress her so I determined I'd do it. Ah, the glory of being 22, eh? Youth on your side.

I did a few laps rounds the loch at Drumpellier Country Park a few times and thought I was on to a winner.

I look back now and realise this was bananas. I didn't even own trainers. The great day came and there I was on the starting line in my flat Adidas Campus sneakers. What that did for the knees, I can only imagine.

But you know what? I ran it. I ran the whole thing without stopping and it was marvellous.

The morning was sunny and light, Carol Smillie had stopped at the side of the road to cheer us on and it gave me the chance to take in Glasgow's South Side, a place I'd been only once, when my school work experience at Cumbernauld Theatre led us to put on a finger puppet display somewhere in Shawlands.

Very nice it was too. And it was my first real experience of mass female solidarity.

I wasn't worried about making an idiot of myself because it was entirely other women who knew the score. The support in the atmosphere was palpable.

I felt like I was flying. At certain points, also like I was dying. But that last bit - I'd never have the cheek to call it a sprint finish - but that slightly faster last bit where your legs know you've only so far left to go, it was like being made of better material.

And the medal. What a glorious moment, putting on that medal.

My history with running has been patchy since. I'll do it, but under duress. Or for the annual Moira's Run in Queen's Park, which I would never miss.

Even as a sketchy, half-hearted, non-runner's runner, I was gutted at the news the Glasgow Women's 10k is no more.

Glasgow Life and the organisers of the event have positioned the race as a victim of its own success.

With a different, less competitive atmosphere to other races, the idea was that it would encourage novices, like myself, to get started.

But once novices became more experienced they began to resent being treated like fun runners and they wanted a more serious challenge, provided by the Great Scottish Run.

If this is the case, and it does make sense, then we should be having a spectacular send off for the Women's 10k - especially after 26 years of hosting it in the city.

Instead, we've just been deprived of it with no warning. Surely we should get one last shot at it, one giant farewell party?

If the Women's 10k is to be thanked for getting so many women off to a healthy, inspired start in sport then we need to give it a decent send off.

How about a plea to the organisers to make Glasgow Women's 10k 2019 the very last one.

We'll all sign up for that challenge, won't we?