By the time you read this I’ll be running in circles around Aberdeenshire. Yep, I’m off on another adventure. This one - an endurance event called Saltire 24 - is taking place in the scenic countryside surrounding Knockburn Sports Loch, near Banchory.

I can already hear some of you sigh. Not again. It’s less than a month since the shenanigans of the half marathon. Surely there must be easier ways to have a midlife crisis? In theory, you make an excellent point. But hear me out. There is another reason: it is also a birthday party.

My friend Lynn turns 50 on Sunday and to mark it she’s taking part in a 24-hour race, which means as the clock strikes midnight, she will be - quite literally - leaving her forties behind and running into her fifties.

I’m not quite up to 24 hours of running, so I’ve decided to be sensible for once and do the 12-hour equivalent, aka Saltire 12. Which, admittedly, does come down to your definition of “sensible”. Potato, potahto. Tomato, tomahto. Sensible, schmensible.

What supplies does one require for this kind of endeavour? I’m glad you asked. The past week has felt like a cross between Shackleton preparing for an Antarctic expedition and a Victorian-era plant hunter getting ready to embark upon a three-month trek through exotic climes.

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As well as the usual assorted paraphernalia, such as shorts, T-shirts, sports bras, caps, shoes and so forth, there is a long list of eclectic-yet-essential items.

Mine includes toilet roll and wet wipes (fairly self-explanatory); Vaseline and Sudocrem (to prevent/soothe chafing); Avon Skin So Soft (to ward off midges); Compeed (blisters); a sun hat, woolly beanie, gloves, a rain jacket and waterproof trousers (all-weather gear).

Kendal mint cake, jelly sweets and flat Coca Cola (sugary energy); Pot Noodles, Cup-a-Soups and Hula Hoops (salty sustenance); peanut butter sandwiches, my mum’s homemade pancakes, instant porridge and cold boiled potatoes (fortifying carbs).

Spare socks (for wet feet); old newspapers (for wet shoes); power banks (to recharge phones and other gadgets); sunscreen and a first aid kit (again, fairly self-explanatory).

And that’s me travelling light. I’m car sharing with my friend Steph and by the time we pack her tiny Hyundai to the rafters with the basic gubbins for two people, there won’t be much space left.

I think back to my twenty-something self who thought putting on a posh frock and high heels to sip cocktails in a swanky bar at weekends was reaching the pinnacle of grown-up achievement.

Fast forward a couple of decades, I now know that the sweet spot, for me at least, is throwing on outdoor apparel, muddy trail shoes and topping up drinking flasks from a portable water bowser in a field.

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The goal of this weekend is to complete as many laps of a 4.2-mile loop as you can within the allotted time. It is also, of course, all about the three Fs: fortitude, friendship and fun.

Oh, and there is another F too: fuelling. Or in layperson’s terms: food. What is akin to a glorious, grazing-style picnic buffet with a bit of running squeezed in between rounds of scoffing a smorgasbord of snacks.

One that bears uncanny resemblance to the spread at a 1980s kid’s party. All that is missing is a tinfoil-wrapped “hedgehog”, laden with cubes of cheese, pineapple and pickled onions. Or some marshmallow top hats. Although I wouldn’t rule out someone bringing either of those.

You’ve not felt unbridled joy until you’ve licked the salt from a mid-race cold boiled potato, bitten the ears off a Percy Pig after a particularly leg-sapping climb, or slurped the dregs of a lukewarm Pot Noodle and felt life return to your weary limbs.