Video by emilyannwillcox

For those who don't know me, I used to be a muscle mummy. I mean, bodybuilder. The definition of happiness was seeing my abs in 4K resolution, and the only way to add color to my life was to use copious amounts of fake tan. Eventually yo-yoing between being a stick insect and a well-fed caterpillar in off-season

became far too much for my small, self-obsessed brain to handle. So I did what any rational 23-year-old would do. Crammed my entire existence into the back of a van, left everything familiar behind, and moved alone to a new city where I had absolutely no friends or career prospects. I've had no luck in London's dating scene of commitment-phobic man-children,

but I did fall in love with a running club. They say you can't outrun your problems, but with the right pair of shades, you can certainly hide from them in style. This time last year, I was eating out of Tupperware at family gatherings like a leper. Turns out the real race was just in finding where I belong,

and the answer is not on stage, but in loitering in car parks with other rappers. I mean, runners. A year of ups and downs, but every mile was worth it. The only word to describe this journey is winning.