At school I was the active one — basketball, rugby union, never a thought about my weight. Then I left, started working, and life took over. No sport, long hours, eating and drinking like none of it had a cost. By my early twenties I was 100 kilos at 6'1". I'd turned into someone I didn't recognise, and it happened so slowly I never saw it arrive.

What turned it around the first time wasn't a program. It was a bet — a mate wagered I couldn't fit into a pair of jeans by a trip we had coming up. That was the trigger. I started eating properly, started training, and got into triathlon. The weight came off — down to 77 kilos — and for five years I raced as an elite age-grouper. I won local races, travelled the world, cycled in France. For a while I was convinced that version of me was permanent.

Then I wrecked my back. Multiple bulging discs, and just like that the training stopped. Going from twice-a-day sessions to nothing is harder than people think. I kept eating like an athlete while doing nothing, and the weight came back. By the time I turned 40 I was 96 kilos.

That was the second trigger, and it came in a stupid, perfect form: I bought a paddleboard and was too heavy to stay on it. Went straight in the water. Forty years old, telling myself a story about who I was that my body flatly disagreed with. So I started again — CrossFit first, then I actually got good on the board. Back down, stronger, rebuilt.