The yearly Run Norwich 10K took place in September – and as usual, Wymondham were out in force.

I was there. I saw many people with Wymondham Athletics Club T-shirts, one or two former schoolmates, and one former Wymondham High teacher. There was also more than one regular from the Wymondham New Year’s Day 10K.

My sister, mum and I turned up at 9am, my sister armed with multiple bags and suitcases because she was leaving on the train afterwards. My sister wasn’t best pleased with me because I had signed us all up months earlier and put her in a pace category about ten minutes slower than her actual 10K time. She was kind enough not to be too insulted.

This pace category was more accurate at the time I booked, but between then and the event day, her running became exponentially faster, so she was now negotiating crowds who were no longer at her level. Though she still achieved a Run Norwich PB.

(For some reason, I had also put her name down as ‘Miriam’ – her birth certificate name – rather than Mim. That didn’t go down well either.)

The best part of any running event is the running itself. The second best is reaching the finish line, and the third is watching everyone’s pompous warm-ups at the start. Regular gym-goers will know the funniest part is watching people look at themselves in the mirror very seriously, like some cinematic action hero. There’s a similar phenomenon at the start of a race, where people warm up in a way that says, ‘yes, I’m very serious and deep about this.’

Also, watch out for the people who confidently march right to the front! You pass most of them again on the hills.

But the best part, in my view, is the running.

Stephen King calls writing ‘self-hypnosis’. I agree, but would also say the same about running. The 45-50 minutes of covering the ten-kilometre distance – they are the best, and most precious, minutes of the day. Your brain goes on autopilot, and the only focus is putting one foot in front of the other. You don’t have to – and often can’t – think about anything else.

So the blissful oblivion of the run came and went. I was lucky enough not to have any problems.

Regular Wymondham attendees know the real hassle starts after you’ve finished the race.

I reach the finish line – also with a PB in the bag. The immediate finish line is wonderful. The usual cocktail of relief and smugness kicks in. It’s a hot day, and several of the men start whipping their tops off, so it becomes a parade of toned male torsos.

Then the annoying step is navigating the city. That is – navigating the endless barriers, cutoffs, and road closures set up to facilitate the event. You are grateful for these barriers while you’re running, because it means you don’t have to think about oncoming vehicles. Then the moment you’re done, they go from being a godsend to the most inconvenient things on Earth.

I was at the finish line considerably before my mum or sister. I started walking to our meetup point while they were still running – and they still arrived before me. This was not helped by the dodgy phone signal. It was only when I got to the meetup point that the flood of texts arrived saying, ‘Fred, where are you?’, or WhatsApp pins saying ‘WE’RE HERE!’

We have lunch with some family friends – also Wymondham New Year’s Day regulars. I’m asked for a photo by two very nice and vaguely familiar women, who turn out to be the mother and sister of an old primary school friend.

Then, having deposited my sister at the train station, we’re in the car hurtling down the road, and I see one of my Wymondham High teachers on the pavement with their family. We were going too fast for me to roll down the window and call out.

(Which was probably for the best. I don’t think this teacher likes me.)

One of my deeper university friends asked me, ‘did you do anything symbolic to signify the end of summer?’ My answer would usually be ‘no’, but I had to say something, so I mentioned this. It was quite a useful go-to answer.

And not untrue – because for most of us, this was the end of the summer break before returning to school/uni/work. And a very good end it was.