I have not posted for a while, but it was for good reason. I needed to live my life and become comfortable in my skin before I could fully accept who I was and who I am today. It all started around March 2011, I was 17 and half years old. I was no different to anyone else at that age. But, for some reason after an 18^th birthday party in my hometown, was when I began to develop a lonely, empty feeling. I didn't get where this came from, nor to be honest will I ever know. But I lived with this and got over it, or so I thought anyway. I was in fifth year of school and I was your average gifted slacker, I had ability but no desire. The summer came after school and here was when things got hairy for me. I got a job with my brother-in-law just to be doing something. The pay was awful, but I was minted as far as I saw it. Hurling was and still is a huge part of my life. I loved it, nothing else mattered. I was after getting a bit fit and losing a bit of weight and this was great. I was moving well so to speak. All this was fine until one day I did something very stupid to deeply upset my mother; it was awful and stupid of me. We both said regrettable things but I wasn't able for this, I buckled. I went out and found a rope. I wrote a note.

 I disappeared and went to end my life. I chose an old water supply station as my spot and climbed the hill to it, as it's on a large height over our house. I made the journey and arrived, it was go-time as far as I saw it. I placed my note under a rock and tied the rope onto a ladder. I made a noose and put my head into it. I went loose and felt the choking. I chickened out. I thought of everything important in my life and the effects this would have, I grabbed hold and pulled myself away. I hadn't fully realised what had happened, so I went and destroyed the note for obvious reasons. I then realised what had happened, and I was in shock. I fell to my knees and cried to God for help. It was a dusky summers evening, not quite dark but not quite bright. All of a sudden, clouds broke away and there was sunlight over me in the sky. I felt this warm, comforting feeling as I lay there on my knees. I mustered the strength to get up and go home. I took the rope with me, just in case. I fell on the way home, which was another sign of some intervention; as I lost my phone. The significance of this was that the whole thing was to do with my phone. And no matter how hard I tried, I never found that phone. I went home, got my father's phone and rang the Samaritans. I told them nothing about my attempt, but it was useful to address some issues. Eventually, my mother and I reconciled and I buried my feelings. I focused totally on work and hurling. It's weird to say, but other than that, it was a great summer. I did nothing but make money and hurl, not a bad combination!

 Anyway, that summer passed and I was faced with something I wasn't prepared for, the Leaving Cert. I cared, but I didn't care. I was in recovery mode throughout the year and only did two and a half weeks of honest study, my hopes were pinned on a certain college; I honestly thought I would get it. I also put on a lot of weight; I reckon about 2 stone, 2 pounds. But that's only a rough guess really. The Leaving Cert came and went, I was on a high. I was free, or so I thought. That summer was fine as after your leaving cert, you've zero interest in doing too much, you need a rest! I got it, but then August came. 325 points: 15 short of where I wanted to go. I was sunk, deflated and horrified. This was not the plan. I got another college on my CAO but had no interest in it. The course didn't suit me and I wasn't wasting my time or my parents' money. So on the advice of my mother, I applied for a PLC and got it. I was damn glad, I couldn't repeat, I just couldn't. So time passed and this course started. I wasn't fully over my leaving cert at all. I was doing brutal in this PLC solely because I didn't care. I hated myself. I did not want to exist. I used to listen to sad songs. I spent many days pondering why I was alive at all. My mood was erratic and I could flip at any time. I stopped feeling emotions, only hatred survived. It all came to a boil when I found myself sitting on a park bench wanting to die. Even in my sick state, I vowed to never let that happen again. I just about existed from then until Christmas, getting by was a success. Christmas came, that got me through the winter. I found that I was beginning to lose a bit of weight without effort, and when I couldn't fit into a shirt from my sister, I was done. Weight was implanted in my mind when in November I weighed myself, and I saw 15 stone 9 pounds blinking back, all I thought was "Oh Jesus Christ". So, I watched what I ate at Christmas, no indulgence. It was also this time I quit drinking. December 26th was the day. Because I was minding children new year's eve, I didn't go out.

The journey started on January 8^th 2013. It was 5:25 am and I simply could not sleep and felt no way tired whatsoever. For some reason that I still cannot truly fathom, I decided to go for a run. It was tough, but I felt good and was happy that I did it. In fact, I was buzzing so I decided to keep going at silly o’clock in the morning. My first real foray into road running was on New Year’s Day 2013. It was a five mile charity road race organised by my GAA club. I’m a sucker for charities so I did it. It was torture. I couldn’t walk for three days as my legs were so stiff. Despite this, I liked it. It wasn’t as bad as I first feared. Anyway, back to the real beginning. I kept running every day, and I was feeling the benefits. I decided to take it seriously, make a real good stab at it now that I had begun the journey. I reduced the amount of food I ate. I used to love food. I still do, but I used to eat food like no tomorrow! I went down to three meals a day. The basic set of breakfast, lunch and dinner. I stopped eating after my dinner, for which I was notorious for.

I was improving as a runner, but I was still quite naïve. I hadn’t proper footwear, and my feet were suffering for this a few weeks into it! I had to splash out on a new pair of Aasics trainers. Believe me, they weren’t cheap! I didn’t mind that, it was about getting my feet right at that stage as they were hurting like hell. I was going good at this stage, I was about three weeks on the trail, but then I met my first real challenge. Every person that has ever been a runner has regularly spoken about the wall. And on this Friday, I hit mine with a spectacular bang. It was my first morning with my shiny new trainers. I was like a child at Christmas; I couldn’t wait to use them. So off I go with my new trainers, full of zest, full of hope. It started off fine, but then once I hit my first checkpoint, the laces came undone. Fair enough, these things happen, but I hated having to stop to tie them as I was losing time. I tied them, and trotted off again. Then, every injury I had prior to that hit me like a train. I had a groin strain, ligament damage in my ankle from the year before and sore knees. It was horrible, I mean, it was my worst nightmare. I had to stop. I absolutely hated what was happening. I felt weak, I felt vulnerable and I was angry. I pondered giving up, I really did. I was standing in the middle of a quiet road at 5:50 am on a Friday morning wondering what the hell was going to happen. But then I realised, what would be the point of giving up? It wasn’t in me to give up; I’d never forgive myself, so I walked for a while. I then started running again; it hurt me so much I can’t even describe it to you. I eventually completed my run, but the time to me didn’t even matter at that stage. The fact I finished it all was an achievement. I concluded that I had to get a good swim to relax myself. It worked a treat, and I took the weekend off (at least from running) to get myself right.

I was pleased that I won that battle, I needed to, it’s moments like those are the ones that can make or break a person. It made me. All the while, I was training with my hurling club. That was fine with me, I got in extra exercise by myself and I could use it to benefit me at training. It was hard to balance them at the start as I wasn’t used to training on my own, but I got around it. Initially, I was doing seven days a week, which is utter madness when you think about it really. I then got more structured. I would get up at 5:30 am on Monday to Friday and take Saturday off. I would then run on Sunday nights as it would be dark, and I like running in the dark. I could see the benefits more and more. I was beginning to noticeably lose weight; I was getting stronger and faster. Speaking of strength, I started doing push-ups and sit-ups to help my core area. I was doing this for a long time, but, between hurling training and the running, I was making myself sick as I was doing too much for my own good.

At this stage, February had almost passed and even I; my worst critic, could even see I was toning up. I was delighted, but knew I had more to do. I was so used to being heavy that you just, simply, accept your load and ignore it. Especially when you were heavy for as long as I was; I was heavy since 12 more or less, and I was never, ever truly happy about it. I was not morbidly obese or anything, but I was overweight nonetheless. Anyway, at this stage I was beginning to start getting good at running. I was doing 2 miles in 17 minutes. Not bad, considering I did it in 23 minutes on that awful Friday I discussed.

The mental side to it is obvious, but it’s much deeper than anybody could ever realise. I have always had a deep, innate, fear of the dark. As daft as it sounds then, I like running in the dark. I wonder about myself sometimes……..Anyway, some mornings were awful for me. As it was so scary, I was always running from the dark, into more darkness. But it was good for me. It taught me to face my fears and while you’ll always be scared of things, it’s how you react to fear is the measure of a person. I was seeing things that weren’t there. One morning I nearly got a heart attack as I thought I had encountered a person standing in a ditch! But thankfully, it was merely a piece of light and my mind playing tricks on me.

At the beginning of March, the weight loss was really obvious and I was beginning to look really thin. It was great, and along with it, my confidence was growing. I began to look into psychology more and more, and that’s how I discovered how the mighty Muhammad Ali really thought about himself and the world around him. People always assumed he was arrogant, but he was anything but. He had great self-belief, but knew he had to continue to train hard to keep at his great heights. He knew he was better than his opponents, but was also aware that this meant nothing if he got beaten. He knew his strengths and weaknesses, but also knew how to defeat himself. He had a good view of the world. He helped people and still does. He always pondered about the more philosophical aspects of humanity and cared deeply for his fellow man. He summed himself up for me in a pre-match press conference when he told George Foreman that “I’m a show you how great I am”. Those words became my motto. I am great, why am I not? I began to get more confident in myself. I began to have this burgeoning sense of pride within myself that I’m not sure was ever there. It was good, I was improving my social skills more and more. I was never shy, but now I could talk to a stone about the recession.

April came and things in my life were coming good. After Christmas I totally changed. I worked hard at the PLC and it worked! I did well. Well enough to get into university. This was great, and I had the best summer ever, because I was loved by people and I was capable of love again. I began to look sharp with my clothes and looked healthy. Women were noticing me and needless to say I liked this!

Also, during the journey I made a necessary mistake. I left my home club for a neighbouring club for games. It worked, but I missed "home". I'm going to finish off the year and go home again, back to where I belong.

So then I started university in September, a new beginning. I'm doing fine in my studies so far and I'm receiving counselling from an amazing woman in there, I thank God for her influence.

Now here I am before Christmas, different. It's amazing to think of how much change can occur in twelve months. For me, everything has changed.

My journey is not over, it's only beginning. I now weigh 11 stone, 13 pounds and I am as fit as I've ever been, I have a four pack, which is great! I feel my rebirth as like regeneration from Doctor Who, a totally new man! I'm confident, proud and strong. I want to meet people, I love life and I love who I am. I'm not afraid of new challenges and wake up happy, compared to not wanting to wake up at all. I had to endure a lonely journey of torture and pain but now I'm a better person for it. Nothing will stop me now, I am my own hero. I wrote about this to not gloat, but to inspire. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems. Don't let things get to you. Don't do what I did and walk a lonely road, realise people love and care about you! You are special, and don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Get help if you need it, do what you need to do. Realise your own greatness and use it, be your own superhero. Be a trail blazer, not a sheep. Who do you want to be?

As for me, I'm on my road to greatness. I'm not afraid anymore; I am the person I've always wanted to be! Fight for who you want to be! YOU ARE THE GREATEST.

The story never ends until you want it to.