The awkward introductions had been made, the first impressions noted. Michael Watson has big hands and the soft handshake that is typical of boxers. He is tall, and his feet are huge for a man who fought mostly as a middleweight — size 12. His face is handsome, and he looks straight into your eyes, his spectacles giving him an air of benign concern.

When he walked, leading the way to the room where we could talk in peace, he dragged his left leg in a rolling motion, but made good progress, at his own pace. The publicity person departed on some errand, along with Lenny, Watson’s friend and carer. The interview could begin. And it did.

Except that it was Watson who moved his chair opposite, who leaned forward, gazing penetratingly; and it was Watson who started asking the questions. Are you married? Do you have children? Where do you live? Do you follow boxing? For a sportsman or celebrity, this was unusual behaviour — if inquisitiveness is a mark of intelligence, they generally score about zero. And the way Watson followed up the answers made it clear that this was no smart-arse attempt to turn the tables. He was interested.

Perhaps he had sensed nervousness and wanted to put the interviewer at ease. But equally, he wanted to make something clear from the outset: don’t worry about me and my brain damage. I’m all right. We can have a proper conversation.

And perhaps he wanted to enjoy taking control after more than a decade as a “cripple”, a “victim”; to exercise what he has only lately recovered — his free will.

ON April 13, Watson will run the Flora London Marathon. Actually, he will not run but walk, and it is likely to take him five or six days. His plan is to walk 2Å miles each morning, followed by a four-hour rest and a further 2Å miles each afternoon. He will rest and sleep in a bus.

The press releases and sponsorship appeals remind us that when Watson was left paralysed and comatose after his world title contest with Chris Eubank in 1991, he was not expected to live; that when he left hospital, it was assumed he would be dependent for the rest of his life and would never walk again; that it was little more than a year ago when he was able at last to leave his wheelchair to take a few faltering steps; that the effort he must make to walk or converse soon leaves him exhausted.

So the London Marathon is once again the backcloth for a rendering of human courage, a celebration of miracle. This may even be the most amazing example of all; and we should be inspired and feel humbled as we see Watson on his way, with Lenny always beside him, with well-wishers to accompany him on every stage, and, most poignant, Eubank joining Watson for the final leg to the finish.

But Watson sees the challenge of the marathon simply as his next fight. “It’s going up against the odds,” he said, using a favourite phrase. “It’s like when I fought Nigel Benn. He had had 22 fights and 22 knockouts, and nobody gave me much of a chance. But I was better than Nigel technically. I had style and control. I was fully equipped, and you know, a good boxer will always beat a big puncher.”

Watson defeated Benn, the short-odds favourite, in the sixth round to win the Commonwealth middleweight title in May 1989. It gives him pleasure still, and it is obvious that respect for his boxing achievements is very important to him. He is painfully aware that he did not win a world title and did not reach his potential. “I could have been a living legend, an all-time great,” he said. “But fate played its purpose. I don’t miss boxing. Boxing misses me.”

For the first time in almost 12 years, Watson is back in daily training. At the moment, he walks with Lenny and works out in a gym. The effort he has put in since taking up the challenge last November has already brought a marked improvement in his physical capability and energy. His face has a leaner definition, and he has gained in muscularity and bearing. For his final preparations, he will go to Cornwall this month to a training camp, living the spartan life, just as he used to before a championship fight.

The task, though, is Herculean. “Michael’s first ‘wall’ will come after 10 minutes, and after half an hour he will be exhausted,” said Peter Hamlyn, the consultant neurosurgeon who treated Watson and has become his friend as well as physician. “He has no business to be walking to the end of the road, never mind taking on the marathon. If he manages it, it will be one of the greatest achievements the marathon has seen.”

True. But then completing the marathon, for so many the ultimate test, is as nothing compared to the journey Watson has already accomplished and the difficulties he has overcome to reach the starting line.