I did a thing on Sunday.

I wasn’t alone either.

Around 65,000 people descended on the North-East from all over the world to take part in the Great North Run.

Now, I’m biased, but I reckon it’s the best half marathon in the world. Starting in the centre of Newcastle and ending at the coast in South Shields.

Dan Burn high-fiving everyone who passed at the starting line (should have worn a glove, Dan). Local Hero being played at full blast. The crowds. What a day.

Now, was I ready to run the Great North Run?

No. Absolutely not!

That’s probably the easiest question I’ll answer all week.

I hadn’t really trained. I hadn’t really prepared and the night before, I could think of far more reasons not to do it than reasons to do it.

My brain was in overdrive.

But I’d told myself I was going to do it. I’d told everyone I was going to do it.

Run it. Walk it. Jog it.

Just do it. Get round and hope not to take so long that I got told to get on the bus to the finish line.

So, on Sunday morning, I stood on that start line and off we went.

Was that sensible?

Probably not.

My legs have spent the last few days providing regular feedback on that particular decision, even though I’ve not asked them for it.

But let’s go back and talk about that word.

Ready.

Because we use it all the time.

Am I ready for that promotion?

Am I ready for a new job?

Am I ready to manage people?

Am I ready to change career?

Am I ready to take the next step?

And I wonder if we sometimes ask ourselves the wrong question.

Because what does ready actually mean?

The truth is, I don’t think I was ready for the Great North Run.

But I was ready to give it a go.

There’s a difference.

Once I’d made the decision to do it, continuing to argue with myself about whether I felt ready wasn’t really going to achieve much.

At some point you have to start.

And that’s where I think I can make a comparison with work and careers, because how often do we wait for complete certainty?

More confidence.

More knowledge.

More experience.

More proof that we’ll be good at something before we’ve even had the chance to do it.

But how can you know?

You don’t know what it’s like to work somewhere until you work there.

You don’t know what it’s like to manage people until you’re managing them.

You don’t always know what you’re capable of until you’re given the opportunity to find out.

Of course preparation matters.

Trust me, the Great North Run taught me that lesson quite painfully.

Next year I’ll train properly.

I’ll prepare properly.

I’ll probably listen to my legs a little more.

But preparation and readiness aren’t quite the same thing.

Because here’s the thing I didn’t expect. It wasn’t really my legs that got me round.

It was the people.

Thousands of complete strangers standing on pavements, shouting encouragement to people they’d never met.

People you’ve never met shouting your name because it’s printed on your number.

Somehow, those few seconds of encouragement give you another little boost.

People clapping. Cheering.

Telling you you’re doing great when you’re pretty sure you aren’t.

One sign in particular stuck with me.

It simply said:

“I’ve never met you, but you’re amazing.”

And for some reason that landed.

For a few seconds, you actually believe them.

Because somewhere along the route it stopped being just about me getting round.

You start running for the people cheering.

For the volunteers standing out there all day.

For the person next to you who’s struggling but keeps going.

For the people who believe you can do it, even when you’re not entirely convinced yourself.

Then there are the friends and family waiting along the route.

Big smiles.

Encouragement.

Perfectly timed jelly babies.

Although if I’m being honest, next year I’ll take more than one or two.

Those moments matter.

More than we probably realise.

And perhaps that’s true in our careers as well.

We often talk about progression as though it’s a solo journey.

You versus the challenge.

You versus the opportunity.

You versus the next step.

But most of us get where we’re going because somebody backed us.

A manager.

A colleague.

A mentor.

A friend.

Someone who believed we could do it before we fully believed it ourselves.

And maybe that’s why the question isn’t:

“Am I completely ready?”

Maybe the question is:

“Am I willing to start?”

Because once you’ve started, things become clearer.

You learn.

You adapt.

You get things wrong.

And gradually you work out what works for you.

That’s certainly what happened to me.

Before Sunday, I was wondering whether I could do the Great North Run.

Now I know I can.

Not perfectly.

Not comfortably.

Not particularly quickly.

But I can.

And because I’ve done it once, I know far more about what I need to do differently next time.

Yup, I’m already signed up for next year.

Maybe careers are a bit like that.

You don’t always need to know you’re going to be brilliant at the next thing.

You don’t need every answer before you walk through the door.

You don’t need complete certainty before you take the first step.

But you do need to be willing to learn once you’re there.

Because perhaps being ready isn’t about knowing you can do it.

Perhaps it’s being willing to find out.

And as for the Great North Run?

Next year I’ll probably do a bit more training.

I’ll definitely take more jelly babies.

And I still probably won’t feel completely ready.

But I’ll be on that start line anyway.

Looking forward to finding out what I’m capable of. 🖤