I was four months into a graduate job as a trainee solicitor and life was good. I spent most weekends like your average yuppie: drunk on Clapham Common with no real regard for my health. Exercise? I don’t know her.
On 9 July, the evening after an annual health check-up, I got a call from a private number. “Amol, I told you I’d call you if there was anything unusual on your blood tests. I’m sorry to tell you there may be something wrong with your liver.” I had early stage Non Alcoholic Fatty Liver Disease. It was manageable, but if I didn’t make significant, healthy changes to my lifestyle I would die early.
I was determined to beat it, including by starting to exercise. But how could I carve out an hour each day when work already left me with no time? I decided to try commuting to work on a Boris bike. Google Maps told me the 6 km each way would take half an hour – the same as my Central line commute and about as sweaty (lucky my office has showers).