Day 45: What really happened

I’ve been sitting on this one for a while. Almost seven months, in fact. Not because I didn’t want to write about it, but because putting the experience into words felt almost as complex as the journey itself.
Before I go any further, this isn’t a blame game. No witch hunts, no pointing fingers. Just truth. Truth matters to me, and stories only matter if they’re told honestly, even if they’re not wrapped in sunshine and glitter. I’ll skip a few details, not to protect anyone, but simply to protect your attention spans. Trust me, we’d be here all day!

Let’s rewind. The planning? Thorough. The drive up? Joyful chaos... the kind you look back on fondly through bleary eyes and half-eaten flapjacks. Pam, Cat, and I tackled that two-day trek like a road-trip dream team, with Cat gallantly steering our electric chariot sponsored by BYD. Charging point drama? Of course. But a beautiful start nonetheless.

Then we arrived at John O’Groats. And out of nowhere came THE comment: “I can’t wait for this s** to be over.”* I laughed... thought it was a joke! Spoiler: it wasn’t. That was my first red flag flapping in the Scottish wind. Still, we carried on.

Neil, bless him, had a different accommodation arrangement some of the time, one that he eventually chose and paid for some rooms himself, despite our earlier offers to cover everything, but that was a long winded, year long conversation of him kindly offering to sleep in the van (he is an avid camper with an amazing van). I wanted to make sure people felt supported, taken care of and seen. But early signs told me not everyone felt the same way. That hurt, alot!

Day by day, the cracks widened. And no, I didn’t expect perfection. This was Scotland in all its weather-whiplash glory. Wind, rain, and soul. And yet... and yet, there were moments that sparkled. Random strangers from Exeter showing up at the send-off. Sky Sports News giving our cause a sliver of the national stage, the AaronLewisFoundation making the epic drive to see me off, the amazing home crew who never stopped working. And of course, the rugby clubs, warm, wonderful clubs who welcomed us with energy and open arms.
But behind the scenes? A different story.

Let me be clear: I wasn’t the star. I never wanted to be. I was the ball carrier, literally and metaphorically. The challenge was about the charities, about women’s rugby, about showing what can be done when determination meets purpose. Not about me!

Still, by Week Two, something didn’t feel right. The kindness started to feel… exclusive. The 2 support crew who did the whole journey, supported each other wonderfully. I saw that. I just didn’t feel part of it. Maybe I gave off the vibe that I didn’t need support. Truth is, I needed it more than I wanted to admit. So I turned to my real support system, all of those friends back home, calling every night for sanity, solace, and a little humanity.

When I did ask for support on the road, sometimes I would be given a very warm and lovely hug, but the authenticity would be squished by "im good at faking this s***, arent I?" Or if I'd dare to mention being tired after wheeling a marathon literally up mountains, with my arms, I'd be told “yeah, so are we!” The emotional equivalent of a door slam! Conversations became traps. Fatigue became a competition. And support became selective.

The drivers, though? Heroes. Every one of them. Navigating a new team, a new car, new towns, and still managing to smile, and offer kind words of support and encouragement. Unfortunately, one co-rider in particular made their lives, and mine, difficult, a lot of the time. Tearful drivers. Cruel comments. Passive aggression so thick it needed its own seatbelt.

And the clubs? We’d promised speeches, shared stories, meaningful moments. What happened instead was two out of 18 clubs hearing from me, and not because the clubs didn’t care. They were golden. But because the support provider… didn’t show! The promises we made never happened. Instead I was informed over and over of a support member complaining about every aspect of the event, to anyone who would listen. Why? I had no idea. They literally volunteered and knew the plan, the positivity which was supposed to be spread, but again and again, what was meant to be uplifting became uncomfortable. Energy turned toxic. I wasn’t just unsupported, I was silenced! I was ostracised, and definitely didn't feel part of the team!

By the end, by the time I reached out and toughed that post? I was actually relieved. Not proud, not exhilarated, not teary with joy. Just deeply, desperately relieved.

Relieved I’d never again be shouted at for texting a teammate. Relieved I could finally say “I’m tired” without being dismissed. Relieved I wouldn’t have to brace myself before speaking, or have to tentatively ask to join conversations.
There were beautiful moments, and I’ll carry those with me forever, and I cant thank them enough for, each and every one of them. The clubs, the supporters, the magic of the mission, that part was everything I hoped for. During the day, some days I felt support, But the internal dynamics? They broke something in me I didn’t know could be broken.

Still, we got to the finish line. Together, technically. And for that, I’m so grateful. But I’d be lying if I said I’d do it the same way again.

I’ve since spoken to others who’ve done epic challenges. I wondered, maybe this is normal? Maybe it’s meant to feel this messy? Their answers: Unequivocally No! What I experienced wasn’t right. It wasn’t how it should’ve been. I doesn't happen that way. And I needed to hear that. Because even the strongest among us sometimes wonder, was it me? No. I’m not perfect. But nobody deserves to be shouted at, excluded, or emotionally sidelined. Not me. Not the drivers. Not anyone!

What I'll never understand is if people weren't enjoying themselves, then why, when given multiple chances to activate substitution, did they avidly refuse? The mind boggles!

This post is not about vengeance, It’s about much needed closure. It’s about ensuring the next person who takes on something big, whether for charity, sport, or self knows they deserve support. Real support. Not only when moving, but when they needed it the most. Kindness without caveats. Teamwork without toxicity.

To the good parts, the people who lifted me up, the home team, the drivers, and the clubs, thank you. You made it worth it. To the rest? I hope, truly, you find what you need, just not at someone else’s expense.

And to anyone reading this, wondering if their gut is lying to them: it’s not. If it feels wrong, it probably is.

But if your goal still burns in your bones? Keep going. You can carry the ball, even if you have to carry it alone.