I’m not a big fan of running. It’s not a secret, just ask anyone that’s ever played football with me.

Running for no reason or with no real purpose other than to get back to where you started, but a bit sweatier, seems a pointless exercise to me.

The way I see it, the only people that need to run are bank robbers and the policeman that chose chasing them as a career path.

However, in almost exactly a month’s time I will be faced with the prospect of running 10 kilometres around my home town of Royal Leamington Spa, with more than a few familiar faces in the crowd eager to see if the rumours are true.

Revell is going to run further than the end of the road?

Why on earth would I want to do such a thing having just aired my views on the subject, I hear you ask?

A very good question – one I still often ask myself.

The answer is simple. Family rivalry.

The Regency Run is an annual 10km event that recently my Dad (who is in his 50s) entered as part of his midlife crisis.

He’d already planted potatoes in the back garden and considered renovating his old BSA Bantam motorbike, so the family was hoping this would be the icing on the cake.

Fair play to the old man, he pounded the streets for weeks beforehand in preparation and completed the course in a respectable 62 minutes, just over his hour target.

It was agreed that just finishing was a decent achievement for someone who once told his doctor that his “regular exercise” was walking down the pub three or four nights a week.

Having allowed my Dad to bask in his moment of glory and hammer the last nail into the coffin of his midlife crisis, my brother and I set about some gentle ribbing to bring him back down to earth.

Either greatly offended or just a little tipsy following some more “regular exercise”, my Dad felt aggrieved enough to challenge us to enter the race next year and see if we could do any better.

Game on!

Despite my brother’s equal dislike of jogging (or anything that involves any effort at all on his part) we immediately accepted.

Why? Family rivalry of course – it’s a powerful thing.

So that is why I have been hitting the streets of Queens Park and Charminster lately, turning myself into a breathless sweaty mess who has developed shin splints and an apparent desire to be the first person declared “bankrupt by Lucozade” – and I’m only running 5k at the moment!

I do still have a month to get up to 10k but as expected I am rapidly losing interest and it’s only the regular phone calls with my brother in Sheffield (who actually seems to be taking the whole thing seriously) that give me any motivation.

So if you see a 6ft 3in blonde 23-year-old in a West Ham home shirt (circa 2005) looking decidedly unhappy as he plods his way around Queens Park feel free to offer any words of encouragement, or just some water.

All this to prove a 52-year-old wrong.

So the question is, is it worth it?

Of course it is!

It’s like the old MasterCard adverts...

Jogging trainers – £25.

Race entry fee – £15.

Getting one up on the old man... PRICELESS!