So there we have it.

Too much jogging is just as bad for you as none whatsoever. I know which camp I'll be sticking with.

Scientists in Denmark studied more than 1,000 healthy joggers and non-joggers over 12 years. Those who jogged at a moderate speed for less than two and a half hours per week were the least likely to die in this time.

The highest death rates were amongst those who ran for more than four hours a week, and those who did not run at all.

So while you may take a message of moderation from this new research, I see it as a confirmation that jogging is just plain wrong.

It's not that I haven't attempted to join the strange legions of pavement pounders over the years.

I've bought the sweat-bands, donned the vest and felt the burn, but nothing will convince me that this is a natural way to travel.

I always found having to climb (crawl) three flights of tenement stairs with leaden legs after a jaunt round the park was just a challenge too far.

Plus, according to the Law of Sod, during a jog round the 'hood when you are puce, breathless and dressed in sweat-drenched, body pinching lycra is precisely when you are most likely to bump into your boss/ ex-boyfriend/ mortal enemy.

And then there were the injuries. After several public stumbles, invariably in front of packed bus stops full of smirking spectators, I decided, for the sake of safety (but mainly vanity) to take my exercise endeavours indoors.

A quick scout around the charity shops of Glasgow proved surprisingly fruitful for unwanted exercise equipment. Who knew?

I was able to purchase an entire gym for under £50. My new treadmill was of the non-electric variety. It was essentially a thick green elastic band attached to a sloped frame.

The momentum required to start this beast was immense and after repeated use the machine left the user with a rather unusual gait developed from having to lean forward at 45 degrees and continually gouge one's heels into running surface to make it move. I had to stop when I developed a back problem.

The exercise bike proved slightly more successful and had the bonus of being mobile so could be whipped out at a moment's notice and plonked in front of the TV.

Eventually the chain went, however, and that was the end of that. The skipping rope? Never got near it. The dog had his chops round that tasty "mega chew" in seconds. Still one out of three ain't bad.