If there was a reality TV show for sporting events, the London Marathon would run away with it.

Week after week, big names like the FA Cup final, the boat race and the Great North Run would be voted out on the text and 09066 lines in favour of the fun run with a vengeance.

Why? Cos it has more 'X' Factor than a busload of Shane Wards.

It is completely unique. Nowhere else in the world do you get 35,000-odd people on the streets all with a united goal to run the equivalent distance of York to Leeds.

Throw in a few cuddly toys, well Pink Panther, Tigger and Eeyore costumes plus half a million spectators on the streets of London in a way that Ralph McTell never envisaged, and you have the London Marathon.

Seeing it close up in the early 90s was pretty terrifying for a pre-teen middle distance athlete. The already knackered knees, the weaving stagger starting to creep in among one or two just a couple of miles past half way - where Andi Peters was doing his best to keep up with the throng.

But the pain was from the neck down. From the neck up, there were smiles - some of determination, some of enjoyment. Even five hours after the start, the stragglers were still grinning.

I've been hooked on it for as long as I can remember. And I've been determined to run it for just as long.

But, me being the awkward kind of girl that I am, it comes with a slight string attached - I want to run it on my birthday.

My last chance was five years ago: my 21st birthday, the 21st running of the event. Next year, the clock rolls round again. I'll be 27.

And all I want is the chance to run it.

Thousands of people apply every year for what is a badge of personal honour, a realisation of a dream, an achievement. More than 90,000 applied last year for 34,500 places.

Every one has a reason and a dream and a hope that they get their chance.

And I'm pretty sure that every one of the unlucky 55,000 will have been sending thoughts tinged with whitehot anger Jade Goody's way on Sunday.

She laughed when asked about her training regime. I got bored, she smirked. So I ate Chinese, curry and drank.

And then she collapsed at 18 and a half miles. Her sponsors for the NSPCC stood by her so the charity didn't miss out. But thousands of genuine runners did.

Entering the London Marathon is a lottery but unfortunately some of the balls are magpies, heavily weighted to the sparkling Jade Goodys of the world with their Heat magazine smiles.

Admittedly, celebs bring publicity. But the London Marathon doesn't need reality stars with their fake training - it shines all by itself.

Updated: 10:05 Saturday, April 29, 2006