If you expect a running blog from me on London Marathon weekend I will not disappoint. I enter dangerous territory with an editorial decision to compare two wheels with my preference for two legs. If you should ever hear me express an interest in swimming, please shut this careless talk down immediately.

I have whanged on many times before about my reluctance to hop on a bike. Even with both feet on solid ground I can manage to trip over my own feet; imagine the carnage if I were to multi-task around gear change, potholes and traffic. If I even attempted to experiment with cleats I would surely keel over every time I was forced to brake at a set of traffic lights.

Admittedly it is a measure of Himself’s character that he has never sulked about my inflexible pro-running mind set. Considering he has written cycling guide books, led groups on cycling tour and owned his own bike shop, I think this approach reflects positively about his capacity for patience. He has even been gentlemanly enough to cycle alongside me so that I can run along forest trails without getting lost.

During our time together I have only once been tempted to get on a bike – on that occasion I had to reluctantly admit that Himself was an excellent coach and that by the end of an hour I was ‘feathering my brakes’ and changing gear with something bordering on confidence. I was also incredulous that I finished this cycling lesson feeling saddle sore when I have more than sufficient posterior padding; I decided that this was not the sport for me. Good legs come in many shapes and sizes.

Fast forward, and last weekend finds me being caught off guard. For the first time ever I find myself feeling slightly envious of cyclists.

Himself had entered ‘The Tour De Bristol’ ( ‘A Gurt Lush Spin’ might have been more appropriate branding for the South West but St Peter’s Hospice seem to know what they are doing) and invited me along as his Domestique. I have now been subjected to enough TV cycling coverage to realise that Himself was in no need of support and really just wanted someone to drive him to the start line and meet up at a few fuel stations en route. (Or as we say in Bristol, ‘Cheers Drive’). As it was a sunny day and as the route was to take the riders through some splendid countryside – and as Himself had mentioned coffee – I said yes.

The event was so friendly and so well organised that I was soon totally immersed in this cycling experience. I noticed that some cyclists looked a lot like me – i.e. they were not wearing cleats, they had shunned overly tight lycra and their bikes had perhaps seen better days. Waiting to cheer Himself off in his event start wave, I had to admit that even the course briefing was witty, warm and insightful for it usefully mentioned some pub stops en route and the existence of a support vehicle should anyone have difficulty leaving these taverns after over enthusiastic drinking of ‘one for the road’.

Thirty miles later and I am duly waiting on a village green for Himself to pull up. He is such an efficient spectator at running events that I am determined to pick him out from the hundreds of other cyclists and to attempt some photography as a record of the day. Sadly, I am so busy chatting to some other lovely cyclists who are already at the feed station that I totally miss Himself gliding in. Himself – patient as ever – just seems relieved that I have read the event map correctly. At least one leg is in the bag.

At this point I find myself wishing that I knew how to insert a Venn diagram into this blog so that I can efficiently note my comparison of cycling and running. I do not, so I will just subject you to a linguistic attempt without visual aids.

Both sports involve a lot of specialist gear and most of it is lycra-based. I am no business woman but would hazard a guess that it is much less expensive to equip yourself to run than it is to cycle. While I was heartened to see some bone shakers at the start of the race, I soon realise that these are ridden by enthusiasts attempting the shorter routes, not by the crew attempting this 100 KM distance. I do not pretend to know a Basso from a Ridley but I can recognise some expensive carbon when I see it and there is quite a line up on this village green and there is also some impressive gadgetry to record distance, V20 and MPH. As for clothing – arm warmers, gilets, streamlined helmets (not to mention those cleats) a cyclist can make a runner feel slightly under-dressed. I may now be able to justify a new pair of expensive trainers.

Enjoying this people-watching experience, I also note the fuelling difference between cyclist and runner. Both sports offer the best of feed stations, but I cannot imagine a runner swapping a can of full fat coke and a huge slab of cake for their obligatory running banana and jelly baby for fear of having to stop en route for a calculated vomit. As a spectator I am totally sold by the inclusion of some impressive barrista-worthy coffee at some of the feed-stations and the sale of family-sized pizza on the finish line.

Thirty miles later (thankfully I am now back driving) my new enthusiasm for cycling is tempered as I wait for Himself at the finish line. The reality of long distance cycling is evident as I watch seasoned cyclists wince as they cross some unfortunate speed bumps during the last few hundred metres and gingerly dismount their bikes to collect their medals. I realise that these cyclists have made this event look much easier than it is and that an artful dismount is as tricky as it is to wear cleats.

In conclusion I now believe that my wheeled future may lie in spectator support at cycling events rather than in entrant participation. I have a new respect for cyclists and freely admit that I may have previously been of the opinion that a good bike does all the hard work and that ‘anyone can cycle’. Sorry. I will now go on record to state that good legs are needed for the last leg in both cycling or running event. If I can keep both my feet on solid ground – rather than converting to pedal power – I believe I will be less of a liability as a cycling spectator and can then remain available to take the odd dodgy photo. No cyclist need live in fear of competition from this slow jogger but I pledge to make myself freely available for coffee companionship should cycling rules allow.