26 miles completed, just a few more moments and I can’t hold back the tears.

Concerned fans are crying, “Keep going!” But I promise, these are tears of joy.

Water, sob. Banana, sob. Medal, sob. And as soon as I see my brother, I throw myself at his neck and really let myself go.

It’s April 2018 and I just ran the Newport Marathon, my first ever marathon. It’s a tremendous achievement and one that would have been impossible just a few years ago.

For as long as I can remember, my breasts have caused me embarrassment and pain.

When I was nine, I was forced to wear a bra. I was the only one in my year who did so, but thanks to a friend I confided in, it didn’t take long for the news to spread like wildfire, which was embarrassing.

However, I quickly got used to the taunts.

Just in case I hadn’t noticed, boys in particular felt compelled to say, “Look at your breasts, they’re huge!” And it became almost normal for people to talk to my breasts instead of to my face.

In high school, I began avoiding physical education classes because I felt the exercise drew attention to my breasts.

It’s not like sports bras existed back then. And even if they did, nobody told me about them.

Then, at age 12, an older boy squeezed my breasts in the school hallway.

I swore at him and walked away humiliated. I tried to keep my cool – it seems silly now, but what else do you do at that age? – but inside I was angry.

I could deal with the comments and looks. But that was the first time someone groped me.

I felt hurt, humiliated, and just amazed that he thought it was okay to touch me like that.

But as I got older, I became more and more accepting that this was my fate.

When I was in my late teens, I was surprised if an evening went by without lewd comments. And if a man flirted with me, I assumed it was because of my breasts and not because of me.

And it wasn’t just about sex. When I worked at the store, a (female) manager forbade me from wearing tank tops, even though other women with smaller breasts were allowed to.

My mother was concerned about the impact on me – and my increasing back pain – and suggested a breast reduction.

I always knew this was a possibility, but I also knew it was very rare in the NHS.

The NHS does not consider breast reductions to be essential, although the guidelines list seven symptoms as an indication for classification: back pain, shoulder/neck pain, skin irritation, rashes and skin infections under the breasts, grooves on the shoulders from bra straps, psychological distress and the inability to exercise.

I had all but one.

Finally, I found the courage to see a doctor who, after I told her my bra size – 34GG at the time – said: “My goodness! Is large!’

Although it was meant as validation, I left feeling judged and ashamed. Once again I have rejected any chance of a reduction.

However, when I was 24, I asked my (new) GP about contraception without breast-enhancing side effects. She was brilliant.

She asked me how I dealt with my breasts and what impact they had on my physical and mental wellbeing. She was non-judgmental and supportive and immediately referred me for a consultation about breast reduction.

There was a psychological evaluation to understand the impact of the size of my breasts on my mental health, and I was warned that it was a long list.

I then spent three years on the waiting list and during that time I seriously doubted that the operation would ever take place.

I checked my list position regularly and still received comments from strangers – my confidence waned a little each time.

During this time, I discovered that yoga helped with my back pain and cried in Bravissimo when I found halter tops with built-in bras that I could wear.

Then, in 2003, my operation was no longer unlikely, but confirmed!

I vowed then that I would give something back to the NHS by taking up running and committing to a 5k.

The surgery itself would involve cutting around the nipples and removing a piece of the breast underneath. The two sides and the nipple would then be reattached, leaving an anchor-like scar.

My surgeon suggested a B cup, but I insisted on a C because what if it really was just my breasts? I’m so sad when I think about it now.

Nevertheless, when I woke up, I was immediately in love with my newer, smaller and more beautiful breasts. Although I also had large scars, My life and my attitude towards myself changed practically overnight.

I proudly showed off my (bandaged) new breasts to my friends who came to visit and they were very happy for me. When I got home, I went through my closet and got rid of many of the super baggy clothes I had been wearing.

The first time I went shopping after the operation I was able to buy a cream-colored denim jacket in size 12/14 at GAP – it was the first time I owned a jacket that fit my waist And my breasts instead of flooding me.

And behaviors that I had become so accustomed to – the looks, taunts and comments – stopped overnight. Finally people spoke to my face.

All this meant I felt more confident and behaved differently. I didn’t feel the need to hide myself by making myself smaller or withdrawing into myself. I felt like a different person.

The only time I experienced breast shame after surgery was after the birth of my children in 2010 and 2012, and that was because I couldn’t breastfeed because my milk wasn’t coming in.

This is a surgical risk and I knew this from the beginning, but not every patient who undergoes breast reduction has this problem. For me, it just wasn’t right.

And while today you can’t tell them apart from breastfed children, back then I felt like I had failed as a mother because I had made the “selfish” decision to stop breastfeeding.

However, I had to remind myself that my decision was anything but selfish. I am happier, healthier and can be a better mother because of that.

As for my running career, My private life got in the way for a while until I discovered the app Couch25k in 2014 while looking for “time for myself”.

The first 60-second race was brutal, but I fell in love with running and ran my first half marathon in 2016. As I couldn’t get a place in the London ballot, I entered the Newport Marathon and crossing the finish line was just incredible.

I was finally at a point in my life where I can exercise with confidence, have conversations where people talk to my face and not to my breasts, and know that I am so much more than just my breasts.

My scars help me honor my journey, and my desire to help other women discover their self-worth has only grown from there.

In 2019, I launched Quiet the Hive and now help women create lives they love by giving them the power to shut down the little voice that tells them they are not “enough.”

If you had told my humiliated 12-year-old self that she would be joyfully speaking to huge audiences around the world, she would have been terrified.

As it is, it is my happy place.

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