Eight months ago I was eating McDonalds two or three times a week. I had never done exercise outside of P.E. at school and I’d scoff at any kind of suggestion to do it.

Then one day a friend nagged me into getting some running gear. Nike Town is probably one of the most intimidating places I’ve been to. Loud music punches you in the face and muscles scatter the floor. I was outta there as quickly as possible with my Lunareclipse 3's.

My first run was tough. Snot dripped from my nose.My lungs hurt. I wheezed louder than a fat man having sex. But I kept pushing and shouted down any thoughts of doubt. Do not stop. That 2.84 miles is still my most proudest.

Running with my friend was nice. Running on my own was a totally different story. Running is 50% strength and 50% mental ability. You do not go too fast, you can run that extra mile, you will breath in time to your feet. These lessons are learned — they do not come with your shoes. My first solo run was dismal. Barely a mile. Stitch. Went home.

You do not stop. You put back on your shoes and try again — aim higher. You spend months wheezing. You always have a stitch. Your lungs constantly hurt. Until one day your lungs don’t hurt. Your feet are silent. Your breathing is rhythmic and you start to wonder what being a steam engine is like. This is your level-up.

Holy shit, you think. Maybe it is possible that I could be a runner. What was once a pie throw at the moon is now attainable. And that’s when the obsession starts.

You add in a run or two during the week to, you know, keep your muscles awake. And then you hear of some guys doing interval training. You’re doing planks every morning to make your core stronger. You’re walking up the escalator on the underground!

Before you know it you’re looking at your time and being disappointed with 8 minute miles. Being overtaken by other runners is seen as a challenge. You have to get faster. You don’t know why, but you have to.