Some men, it is said, pay prostitutes just to have a conversation with them. I have a similar relationship with Phil Chalmers, the sports therapist who tortured my calf into obedience in the lead-up to the Boston Marathon. Like, I suspect, a tart’s recreation room, Phil’s studio is lined with equipment, offering varying degrees of cardiovascular menace: rowing machine, bike, medicine balls, fitballs, weights, and other instruments I don’t dare enquire about in case he invites me to get off my arse and do something with them.… READ MORE.... …