On September 15, 2015 in London I took back control of my life, it was the moment Frank Bruno was reborn BY

ing the fool. Back in panto. I wasn’t. s clinging on to the wheelchair to on my feet. y hip had gone – I heard a bone pop d it was hurting like hell. My body, my mind, was breaking down. hould have walked away. But I had eep moving. he rest of the race is a blur, I ember the relief when I got over the hing line, but when I looked up at clock I was furious. I’d got nowhere r the time I wanted. I didn’t want to k around a second longer. t it was the moment I knew I actucouldn’t keep running any longer. following day, I called my children told them I needed help and I ught it would be best if I went back hospital. s. I said those words. “I need help. I d to go into hospital.” I made one mand – I didn’t want to go in by ulance. I wanted to walk in and out on my terms. I was willing to surrender, but I wasn’t prepared to lose my dignity.

When the doctors sat me down they didn’t hold back.

“Frank, this isn’t good. For a start, when was the last time you slept?” the doctor asked.

I thought for a moment, until the silence became uncomfortable. I had to admit: “I’m not too sure, sir.”

He made clear it wasn’t just my mind that had been racing. It was my heart too. Training left me a physical wreck.

“At your age Frank,” he said. “If you carry on putting your body through all this stress and strain you are going to end up having a stroke, a heart attack or both.”

Each time I broke down, I was moving another step closer to the end. That’s how serious things had become.

I had my head in my hands. If I didn’t make damned sure this was the last time I ended up in hospital I was putting my life in danger. Coming to terms with my illness was now a matter of life and death. IT has been 182 days since my last doctor’s appointment. That’s how I deal with my illness now. Day by day. Step by step.

Never forgetting what happened in the past, but learning from it. I’ve now been medication-free for 18