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“Don’t sit down, Tom,” Kath chides me as she starts stretching. “You’ll seize up and you won’t be able to get back up.”

I ignore her and instead collapse backwards and stare at the sky. I’m never running a half-marathon again. Never ever.

Who knew there was such a thing as a winter half-marathon? And who knew that wearing a Santa costume would be a requirement?

The answer to both of those is my sister. A pesky sister who persuaded me it would be a great idea to do even though we hadn’t really been training enough.

Never again. Never ever again.

Though even as I think the thought I know I’m lying to myself. The moment the endorphins hit I will inevitably end up signing up for another one. Kath won’t even have to try that hard to persuade me.

She ran fast. In fairness she’s been doing far more training than I have because she is frankly a more accomplished and organised person. She’s also marrying an Olympic athlete, which might help with training motivation.

Or maybe Claire’s right and I’m getting old.

After a few minutes Kath heaves me to my feet, and I hobble after her as we make our way from the runners finish pen towards the area where we can meet supporters. Kath’s texting Sam and Claire to tell them where we are, but I immediately collapse back onto the grass the moment we get to an empty spot. I’m not sure my legs are going to be up to anything after this.

A shadow falls across me a few moments later.

“Alright down there, old man?” Claire asks, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Alive,” I tell her.

“Wow, you didn’t even tell me that you weren’t that old. You really must be broken,” she says, taking a seat next to me.

I pat her hand and continue looking at the sky. I don’t think my brain is working yet.

“How are your knees feeling?” Sam asks smugly and I glare at him.

“None of that cheek from you,” I tell him. “I can still withdraw my brotherly seal of approval.”

He laughs and puts his sign down on top of Claire’s. They both made comically large signs. One side of Claire’s said “stop looking at this sign Tom, keep running” and the other said “Tom > Achilles. No dodgy heel, just solid pacing”. I started laughing when I saw the second. I do love a history joke, but laughing nearly gave me a stitch. Sam’s ones for Kath were far more supportive.

“Banana?” Claire holds one out to me, and I take it from her as my breathing slowly settles. Manoeuvring myself into a sitting position, I watch the people milling around me as the endorphins start to hit. Maybe that was actually quite fun. It was dry, a minor miracle for December, and the crowd was fantastic. Claire is wearing a huge puffa jacket, and her hair is up in a high ponytail with a ribbon. Her cheeks are pink and she looks beautiful. When I finish eating she leans across to give me a kiss and Kath pretends to vomit.

The four of us chat and people-watch for a few moments before Kath reminds me that we need to go home to shower and change.

Movement… That sounds worrying.

Claire pulls me back upright, a process that takes several attempts and much teasing about being old. Kath simply gets a piggyback from Sam.

“Absolutely not,” Claire tells me when I cock an eyebrow at her. “I would drop you.”

“Aquaman?” I ask and Sam shakes his head.

“Sorry, it’s part of the pirate’s code,” he answers. “I always have to give Kath piggybacks.”

Ugh those two and their decades of inside jokes.

I slowly start following the pair of them, though Claire and I fall behind within minutes; my pace is that of someone in their eighties. Maybe nineties.

“I can’t believe your parents donated to my fundraising page,” I say. Kath and I set up a joint fundraising account for the charity Claire and I volunteer for. Claire’s so popular with the kids in the art classes, and always walks home stained with paint.

“I think you’re growing on them,” Claire says. We went for coffee with them a few days ago, very much on Claire’s terms. Her mum was way more relaxed, and didn’t make a single critical comment. It’s slow going, but I think things are going well.

“Thanks for coming to watch, Buttercup.” I place a kiss on her temple.

“You know,” she says after a moment, “I don’t think you’ve ever actually told me why you call me Buttercup.”