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Happy Sunday 👋🏾,

This week I accidentally ran my first half marathon...

Yep, you read that right. 21K. Me. The guy who, 12 years ago, was told I’d probably never run. Let alone walk properly without the help of walking aids.

Some of you will already know the story. Twelve years ago, I had a severe epileptic attack that completely knocked me off my feet. I had to relearn how to walk, and the walking stick became part of everyday life. Running felt like something for other people, not me.

And if I’m being honest, I’d never really been into long-distance running anyway. I was a sprinter! I feel like every man says this when they go past 30, or it’s “I could’ve been a footballer if it wasn’t for my ACL injury” lol.

So yesterday, I set out for a long run with no set distance in mind. The furthest I’d ever gone in my life was 18K, and that was years ago with a lot of stopping and starting. To make it a bit more fun, I gave myself a challenge: run as far as I could while following the Northern Line.

We live fairly close to Morden, and by the time I reached the station, I’d already hit 3K. I thought, let’s keep going, station by station, and see where I end up.

One stop turned into the next. At first, I felt good. Then, the challenge started to kick in. I found myself questioning why I was still running. There were moments I genuinely wanted to jump on the Tube and head home. My body didn’t feel tired; it was a mental battle.

That voice in my head kept going:

You’re tired.​
​You won’t make it.​
​You’re going to be in more pain tomorrow.​
​Just STOP.

But something in me kept saying, keep going. It wasn’t about pace or time. I told myself to let go of the pressure and just see what I was capable of on that day. So I kept going.

Eventually, I made it to Old Street. Yes, Central London. When I posted about it in my Spartan group, someone messaged me saying,

“Who was chasing you on a Saturday morning?”

The honest answer? My fear of taking life for granted.

I remember lying in a hospital bed, barely able to move, and promising myself that if I ever made it through, I wouldn’t take life for granted again.
​
The truth is, sometimes we forget. We heal, settle into routines, and lose sight of the things we once thought were impossible. Yesterday reminded me.

I want to keep pushing myself, even while living with constant, invisible pain to others.
I know deep down it's something that’s going to get worse as I get older. I can already feel it now in terms of my mobility and the pain.

So why not challenge myself now, while I can? Live life to the fullest each day and enjoy the treacherous runs. And yes, I said enjoy myself.

There was a moment, just as I reached Old Street, when my watch buzzed to let me know I’d hit 21K.

​
I felt emotional. I had to fight back tears. Not because of the distance or the pain, but because I genuinely never thought it would be possible.

I’d finally beaten the harshest critic I’ve ever had — myself.

For years, I believed what people told me. That I couldn’t. That it wouldn’t happen. I convinced myself my knees wouldn’t cope and that my body couldn’t handle it.

But I pushed through.
Despite the fear.
Despite the doubt.
Despite the pain.

If there’s one thing I hope you take from this, it’s this:
​

Don’t let anyone place limits on what you’re capable of. Not doctors. Not friends. Not strangers.
​
The only person who gets to define what’s possible for you is you.

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Have a great week!

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