His name was Peta. Not Peter — Peta. Like pita bread, but with an 'e'. He weighed 120 grams. He ran his wheel at 3am with the fury of a man who had something to prove, and somehow became the most motivating creature I have ever met.

While Peta ran, I started running. When he refused to quit the wheel, I refused to quit the gym. He never missed a session. So neither did I. No trainer, no app, no motivational poster — just a small furry animal with apparently limitless energy and absolutely no concept of rest days.

Fifteen kilograms later, I looked in the mirror and didn't recognise myself. Peta looked at me and kept running. That's the kind of accountability that no personal trainer on earth can replicate.

"He didn't know what he was doing.
That was the point."