Six months ago, Echo reporter Jill Neill was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. After chemotherapy, she signed up for Cancer Research's Race For Life, which took place at the weekend.

IT'S the back signs that bring a lump to the throat and remind us all why we are doing Race for Life. As well as a race number, all competitors receive a bright pink sign to pin to their backs with the words "I race for life for ..." and space for dedications.

Until I turned up at Darlington's South Park on Sunday, the event was simply a bit of a jaunt, a way of regaining fitness following chemotherapy.

But the sea of signs - dedicated to cancer patients, those who had beaten the illness and those who had died from this horrid disease - is really what it's all about. Some bore great lists of names - grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, sons and daughters - others simply read 'Susan' or 'James' and there were non-specific but equally moving messages such as 'I race for life for a better future' or 'for all with cancer'.

I raced for 'me ... and all other cancer patients at James Cook Hospital', having toyed briefly with 'chemo-babes', which was rejected because it might seem overly flippant.

My sister Anne's sign sported my name - quite strange to see it among all the others - and that of her friend, Sue Coates, who died from cancer.

However sobering the back signs, the atmosphere in the park was that of a carnival. Four thousand women, all ages, shapes and sizes, milled around with supporters in tow, joined the inevitable queues for the loo and struck up conversations with complete strangers.

Many joined in the up-beat warm-up routine led by two impossibly energetic young fitness instructors; the rest of us shuffled about a bit and soaked up the atmosphere until summoned to the starting line, which resembled a large, blue bouncy castle.

There was no starting gun - we just counted down from ten and we were off. The route circled the big field in the park, wound its way round the paths to the main entrance, crossed the road for a circuit of the riverside meadow and returned via the park paths and the big field again.

Some ran - the winner completing the course in 19 minutes - some jogged, some walked, some did a bit of each. There were children, pushchairs, at least one wheelchair and a blue T-shirted group called Tracy Walker's Walkers, who came in last to the loudest cheer of all.

The race marshalls were fantastic and joined with the people who lined the route in shouting encouragement. "Well done, number 87," yelled one marshall. I glanced down - yes, I was number 87. I beamed at him.

Fellow competitors also called out in support - I guess my stubbly head and back sign identified me as one of a handful of chemo patients tackling the event. I spotted at least two other competitors who looked as though they had recently completed treatment, too.

Music from a band in the bandstand - a feature of the beautifully restored park - also spurred us on. But why, when I've just joined Weight Watchers, did they have to play Food, Glorious Food just as we passed?

Determined not to walk a step, Anne and I jogged steadily all the 5km, running on the spot when a log jam at the gates prevented progress. When I began to flag about half a kilometre from the end, she kept me going by pointing out that we could see the finishing line.

We had just enough in the tank to sprint the final ten yards, crossing the line hand in hand with a time of 40 minutes. Minutes later we were wearing our medals, investigating the contents of our goodie bags and rejoining our partners for a picnic lunch.

We were dead chuffed to have finished and to have raised more than £500 between us for Cancer Research.

I made up my mind very early on in my treatment to enter the Race for Life. When I felt at my most miserable in the clutches of the horrible side effects, I reminded myself that I would feel fit and well again and go jogging round the park on a summer day in the company of thousands of others. It happened on Sunday.