Last month, 42-year-old Liverpudlian Tony Moran won a cruiserweight boxing world title in Glasgow. There were no TV cameras to witness the event, no tuxedoed guests at ringside and no promises of life-changing purses. The World Boxing Federation belt that was strapped to his waist is a symbol of a life devoted to overcoming adversity outside of the ropes.

For three years Moran has been homeless, not sleeping rough on the streets, but completely reliant on the generosity of his friends and family for a bed. In a cruel twist of fate, a kind man who spent most of his life working with the city’s homeless in shelters, found himself joining them looking for a place to stay. The cruiserweight worked three jobs to provide for his children and fund a burgeoning boxing career and he remembers his first night as a homeless man well. He spent it in the homeless shelter laundry room, trying to coax his 6ft 6in frame into a sleeping position on the cold floor. It was Christmas night.

“I really don’t want this to be cliched or a sob story, but this is my life and I’ll speak freely about it,” he says. “I’ve been in some terribly deep, dark places. At that time, things just went wrong for me. I had split from my wife, I was missing my kids terribly, I was drinking, then I saw an MMA fight as a lifebelt. You see, fighting has always been that for me, it’s saved my life many times. I was doing well then in a freak accident I fractured my skull when it hit a metal step. That set me back even further. Looking back on that deep, dark hole, I take such pride in where I am now.”

Moran grew up in Kensington in Liverpool, an uncompromising area where bullies thrived in the streets. “When I was 13, I was a kind, innocent young boy. I would have been a direct target for any bully. I walked into a karate dojo by sheer chance with a friend, and in that chaotic environment outside, with no guidance, fighting saved my life, giving me discipline, structure and manners – and it continues to this day.”

After winning 12 British titles in karate and kickboxing, Moran started his professional boxing career at 28, with no amateur fights. To fund his fighting career, he worked 100 hours a week in a multitude of careers. A regular nightshift in security was also supplemented by his regular work with Liverpool’s homeless, caring for them in the city’s shelters. He also looked after his children and trained as a fighter when he could. Sleep was a luxury that seldom came.

“Looking back, what I was doing was beyond comprehension. A typical day was me working 12 hours somewhere, parking the car, getting an hour of sleep in the car park, going to the gym and sparring hard with a full-time fighter like Tony Bellew, giving no quarter. Then I’d go home, look after the kids, make sure they were OK, try to sleep, and go back and work in a nightclub as security. The idea of living as a full-time fighter? A luxury.”

When Moran first approached promoters to look after his boxing career at 28, he was laughed out of offices. He received minimal coaching and became a scholar of the sport. Studying alone into the night. He was almost completely self-taught as a boxer, relying on his fast hands and feet from his martial arts background. Within 14 fights, he was challenging for a Commonwealth and British title against Mark Hobson. He lost by technical knockout 12 years ago, starting a slow climb back to boxing redemption today.

Moran has never made a comfortable living from combat sports. In addition to boxing, he reached the highest level as a professional MMA fighter. These sports have taken hours of his time and beaten his body to a pulp, but he kept lacing up his gloves. “Whenever I was at my lowest ebb, not only being homeless, but as a youngster, I thought about what exactly made me happiest, and it was the fight game. When everything else in my life has been going terribly, just getting in the gym everyday and working towards something encouraged me to believe and dream. I didn’t have a choice whether to stop, it saved my life when I needed it most, so I want to honour it.”

The Glasgow Hotel was the venue for Moran’s title challenge against hardened Scot Sandy Robb. He arrived at the venue with his first ever coach, Fran Harding, a man he credits for reinvigorating his career. The fight was on a Saturday, and by the Wednesday, Moran’s challenge had grown starker. Nursing a broken rib, he received two phone calls that day. One to tell him that his regular employment as a security guard was over due to the nightclub shutting down and the second to let him know that his accommodation arrangement at a friend’s flat was over. The British Board of Control also turned him down for a professional licence again, giving no reason, and forcing him to fight outside of their licensing.

“I’ve been moulded by adversity, so what choice do you have when these things happen? You have to keep going. I believe entering a boxing ring, like many things in life, it’s is a matter of fight or flight. It doesn’t matter what it is in life, you make that decision whether to keep going or not. That night against Sandy, I chose to fight and won the belt. It was a personal thing, I had a few tears in the shower room, the end of a long journey.”

Since that night in Glasgow a month ago, Moran returned to Liverpool where he is setting up a personal training business and working towards getting a home of his own. The fight in Glasgow wasn’t about strapping a piece of leather around his waist, he wanted to prove to everybody that he could dare to dream for something bigger at 42.

“I don’t believe there’s anyone who has done what I’ve done. To come from no coaching, no amateur career, managers, promoters, a regular home and still be able to compete. I want to inspire people to dream.”

• This article is from Behind the Lines

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