In my late 20s and early 30s, I was captain of the England rugby team. But as a teenager, gym knickers and leotards nearly put me off sport and exercise for good. I left school over 25 years ago now, but I can still clearly recall how awkward I felt walking across the school playing fields on my own in a pair of extremely unflattering navy blue pants, past groups of girls huddled together and laughing – I was sure – at my tree trunk legs.
At that stage, a discus was the only thing guarding my embarrassment. I was 14, and I had been persuaded to practise on my own at lunchtimes in preparation for the district games. I completely flopped at the games – standing alone, at the centre of the discus throw circle, feeling like everyone was staring at me, and feeling as though I was hardly dressed.
