As if running 50-odd miles a week wasn’t enough, I’ve now started running in my sleep. I am currently taking part – unwillingly so – in a 5km race series. It started on Wednesday night when I won race one, completing the course in a modest 17 minutes-something.

Last night’s events started on the slopes of Slieve Donard, Northern Ireland’s highest mountain, before turning downhill and passing through the changing room of a sports centre.

After negotiating the locker room, I found myself running across a car park and waste ground. I was struggling, my legs leaden. I was in second place; the leading runner out of sight and the number three man catching me.

Leaving the waste ground, I emerged onto a gleaming street lined with skyscrapers. I was in New York, obviously – only a dream could transport its victim from Slieve Donard to the Big Apple in the course of a 5km race. And that is where it ended; as is typically the case, the sound of an alarm shattered my sleep.

I woke up feeling puzzled over my poor form, but wondering if I could include my night-time stints in my weekly mileage accumulation.