“Wow. You’re quite the expert on the subject.”

“My family likes to dig deep when one of us has a problem.”

“Clearly. The thing is, I don’t know if it’s an addiction, but even if it is, controlling whatever it was that made me anorexic is the only way I am ever going to believe in myself again,” she said.

“Therapy, with a psychologist and a dietician, worked for my sister. You still have to do the work yourself in therapy,” said Mark. “It’s not like one of those vibrating weight-loss machines that promises to shift kilograms while you passively lie there.”

“I know, but it depends on someone else, others, helping you, showing you how. I need to do this on my own.”

“Okay. But don’t you think it might be easier if you accept help? Also, you might recover faster,” he said.

“It’s not important how long it takes; what matters is I do what it takes so I like myself again.”

“You’re hardcore.”

A week after they met, he bought himself a pair of running shoes and shorts. She was surprised by how much she looked forward to running with him, and the relief she felt from being able to talk so openly about her anorexia. If Mark ever worried about her eating too little and running too much, he never mentioned it. That’s not to say he didn’t quiz and tease her about her habits. He was the only person who noticed when she gained a few grams and congratulated her when he saw her eating more than usual or daring to eat food she wouldn’t have previously. Many of her eating milestones happened when she was with Mark. She smeared butter on a Provita for the first time in eighteen months as they snacked together before a long run, and ate a spoonful of peanut-butter when he dared her. It was also Mark who convinced her to eat a tiny block of chocolate on her birthday.

They sat together during the one lecture they shared and they ran most days. Aside from that, Clare and Mark didn’t see one another. He told her about girls he was keen on and asked her advice about approaching them.

For Clare, it was the ideal relationship. She’d cut herself off from the friends she’d made during her early days at university and didn’t make any new ones aside from Mark. She couldn’t bear the idea of being watched and worried over. She didn’t want to explain herself to anyone else and she didn’t believe she would make a good friend until she had overcome her anorexia. Mark didn’t give her a choice and Mark was a running friend, which was a different kind of friend. But even that changed.