A few weeks ago, a friend of mine who lives in the UK ran the London Marathon. He has run several marathons, even including a few in fancy dress, and by all accounts always enjoys the experience. This time was no different - he had trained well, and even though it was a hot day he managed to pace himself well, so he didn’t end up overdoing it. He was thrilled after completing the race, and proudly posted photos of himself and his new medal on social media.

It just so happened that another friend of mine also went for a run on the same Sunday, except hers was much shorter. She has been struggling to get back to running after an ankle injury a few months ago, and while her ankle is completely recovered, she has faced some other difficulties. She is having to build her fitness back up from a very different place to where it was a few months ago, and while she previously loved running, it has now fallen out of her routine and she finds herself struggling to find time around work and childcare. She also struggled with feeling a little nervous after her injury, not wanting it to happen again. We’ve spoken before about how this has had a negative impact on both her self-confidence and her mental health, and I tried to encourage her to get back into her runners even just a little at a time.

You can imagine my delight when she sent me a message on Sunday to say she had finally managed to get back out for a run, going for a short distance and making sure to return to the activity gently. She was utterly thrilled with herself, and I was delighted for her. Unlike my marathon-running friend, she didn’t post about the run on social media, and only mentioned it to me as we had spoken about the issue before. I was so proud of her – and felt strongly that just because she didn’t run 26 miles, her achievement was no less than the marathon my other friend had breezed through.