If you told my overweight 17-year-old self I'd enjoy running in a few short years, I would have laughed in your face with my many, many chins. But six years later, here I am.
My love affair with long distance was a slow-burner- for the first year; I hated every minute of it. Now with a few hundred kilometres under my belt, I've actually come to the point where I can't go more than a couple of days without hitting the pavement.
Getting to that point meant a whole lot of work, and at first, I trained how I wanted to train. I ran at night, in back streets and in a crop top if it got too hot.
But there came a point where I realised I couldn't train how I would like to.
One summer evening about three years ago, I pulled my shoes on at around 8pm and went out for a quick jog around my local suburbs. I went later in the evening in order to escape the heat, and ran along a backstreet footpath.
My very fearsome and intimidating golden retriever, Fred, was a little way in front of me, and I had very few streetlights to illuminate what was in front of me.
I had my earphones in and was focusing on my pace, but I soon became aware of a set of headlights coming up the street behind me. My dog had disappeared into a median strip of bushland, and I took out one of my earphones so I could listen for where he had got to.
As Fred came trotting back into view, I noticed the low rumble of engine an engine behind me. I checked over my shoulder and realised a black utility vehicle had pulled up just behind me.
I felt a bit unsettled, and picked up my pace a little bit. After a few hundred metres, it soon became clear the car was trailing me at a pretty low speed. It had turned its headlights off.
My heart was pounding in my ears, and just as I had steadied myself to break into a sprint, I heard the ute roar to life. It headed up the street and past me, and I breathed a sigh of relief- until it went the full way around a roundabout, crossed to the wrong side of the road and headed straight toward me.
I booked it, cut across a school oval with a very excited Fred in tow, and probably recorded the fastest 5k I've done to date.
When I came puffing through the front door, I had a moment to consider what had just happened - and instead of feeling panicked, I felt embarrassed.
For all I knew, I had completely overreacted. The person could have been pulling over to tell me my shoe lace was untied, or ask if I needed help to find Fred. I was thoroughly mortified I had just given in to every fear I had ever had about running by myself.
I was now a part of the 45 per cent of Australian women who felt too afraid to exercise after dark.
According to a survey conducted by Runner's World Magazine, 43 per cent of women had experienced some kind of harassment while on a run. That's in comparison to just 4 per cent of men.
Thirty per cent of women have reported being followed, and 18 per cent had been sexually propositioned while running. Closer to home, I'd heard horror stories from my friends about being cat-called, followed along streets, and into public toilet blocks.
So while I had a right to head out whenever I want, wherever I want and wearing whatever I want, the statistics, media reports and horror stories were against me.
My training regime began to change. I only ran before 8pm, fully clothed and along main highways. This continued for about two years.
But in January this year, I decided enough was enough. I was sick of running in 30 degree heat, and I wanted to run in the peace of my local bushland. It was a mammoth effort to put all the evidence behind me - but if I didn't, I don't think I'd ever end up hitting the pavement again.
So off I went for a run at 9.30pm at night. Sure, I ran on a trail that was bordered by local suburban houses, with my iPhone tracker on and no earphones, but I hadn't felt that free in awhile.
Every time I lace up my joggers, I have to confront the reality of running as a woman. I have to assess whether I bother putting my earphones in, I have to make sure my dog is up for a 5 kilometre jog, and I have to let my family know what route I will be taking.
But the fact is I love running. I love the burning feeling, I love the sense of accomplishment and I love making it up a stupidly-high mountain. I'd rather base my viewpoint on the cyclists who have smiled at me as I've gone past, people who have yelled from cars that I'm doing a great job, and road workers who have high-fived me after I've finished a particularly hard interval.
I could wrap myself in cotton wool - which I'm sure my family would probably prefer I do - and decide to hang up my shoes forever, but I'm brought back to that mantra I repeat when I'm on the very last stretch of a hard, middle-of-the-day, fully-clothed run:
"If you stop now, what was the point?"
So for now I'm going to put my shoes on, put my earphones in and start my watch anyway.
