My first love was language. I love looking at words, writing them, reading them, hearing them. I love naming things. I love the culture that language express and the heritage and tradition that is passed on through it. Despite that, it has taken me 20 years to write this text. My second love was sport, particularly running. I feel fearless when I move and I’m excited to push past pain and exhaustion to see who I am (or perhaps if I am) on the other side. Nothing makes me feel more alive and connected to myself than running. My relationship with running spans 25 years but came to an abrupt end in my teenage years. My coach at the time chose me to groom when I had just turned 14. He was born 1973 and me in 1989. In hindsight I was like an alone animal on the savanna, an easy target. I was shy, insecure, I would walk myself to and from practice. I must have seemed unprotected and in some ways I suppose I was. The relationship had to stay hidden and I had to lie to my friends and family. This lie destroyed me. I felt nowhere was safe, nowhere was free anymore. I got sick from the lie and had to quit running for a long time. Essentially, the relationship washed all of me away and I become a shell for a very long time. But my language came back, as did my energy to share my experience with others. I faced this man this year. I realised something had been taken from me all those years ago and that no one but me could put it back. So I did. By sharing my words and my story I hope that other women and men can face their past or present. The truth as they say, will set you free. And by not speaking out about the violence and abuse of power we are unfortunately helping in keeping it alive. Sometimes all you need is to hear that it happened to somebody else too - #metoo