Olympic legend Steve Cram used to be quick off the mark. Now there's no catching him after he volunteered to be plastered across the back of a bus to promote July's big run.

I grew up watching Cram battle it out with Seb Coe and Steve Ovett in the 1980s, but he still looks fit as a fiddle - even on the back of the No17 to Shadsworth.

Amazingly, Crammy will be 50 this year, and he'll certainly be the star attraction if he makes it to the starting line in Witton Park.

My tactics are simple. I'm going to stand next to him and when the gun goes off to sound the start of the race, I'm going to sprint away (with the Chariots of Fire soundtrack blasting in my headphones) leaving the boy Cram in my wake.

Former Olympic silver medallist - you're having a laugh!

Of course, these tactics mean my 10K race ends after 200 metres - so let's hope Cram doesn't make it!

Back to my training: Although I can't boast quantity, I can at least claim a quality run, my longest so far over the hills of Cliviger.

The first leg of the run is uphill for three-quarters of a mile, and is energy-sapping, even though I deliberately slow the pace.

I've got the trusty iPod on at full volume, so it comes as a complete shock when a fellow runner flies past me.

He's in his 50s, grey hair, wearing black leggings and luminous pink shorts. It does nothing for my confidence as I see this fashion disaster disappear into the horizon within three minutes flat.

What next? An asthmatic snail burning past me?

I cheer myself up with the thought that Trinny and Susannah were hiding in the bushes waiting to ambush 'luminous shorts man', carting him off kicking and screaming to a studio makeover.

I reach Mount Lane, which is so steep, there's mountaineers scaling it. Luckily, I'm heading downhill (geographically not physically).

A left turn at the bottom, and it's off towards the Ram Inn for another half-mile, then another left turn onto the foot of Red Lees Road.

Now, the one thing about hills is that if you go down them, at some point you have to go back up them.

It's a struggle for three-quarters of mile back up towards the Kettledrum pub, and my brain is screaming for me to stop.

I look at the lambs in the field to distract me, each of them looking at me like I'm some kind of lunatic. "Why's that man running uphill with a face like a beetroot, when he could be sat here eating grass all day long" I imagine they say.

Fair point. You don't see sheep going for a jog, do you.

The final three-quarters of a mile is all downhill, and I even manage a bit of sprint at the end, passing that asthmatic snail that overtook me 40 minutes ago.

I've clocked up just short of four miles - my longest run to date, and although my legs ache, I'm not a physical wreck by any means.

I celebrate by the only way possible - with a curry and a pint. If you would like to sponsor me, make a donation at www.justgiving.com/paul-plunkett. Click on the link below.