One Month to Go: Whistles & Wheels

This morning began in a blur... literally. Pain has a habit of stealing clarity, and last night wasn’t exactly a gentle lullaby. Still, somewhere around 2am, I had this jolt of realisation: it’s July 8th. Now, normally, that date wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. But today? Today it hit different. Because this time next month, I’ll be embarking on one of the most intense challenges of my life—10 ultramarathons in 10 days, rolling out from Twickenham, whistle in hand, as part of Rugby World Cup’s incredible campaign with ChildFund Rugby. Yes, that whistle. The ceremonial one. No pressure!

Actually, loads of pressure. But the good kind. The kind that comes from being trusted to represent something really meaningful.

At the moment, my “mornings” start at 4am. Yes, it’s pitch black. But it’s peaceful. It’s quiet. And if I time it right, I get to see the sun rise while wheeling down empty paths. A kind of spiritual caffeine.

Exmouth cycle paths have a reputation. Let's say…“wildly unpredictable.” Between pedestrians who don’t care it’s a cycle lane, and cyclists who do but don’t use them. I’ve learned to train when most sane people are asleep. It’s safer for all involved, including my wheelchair.

I haven’t hit the track in three weeks, with no times availabledue to sports day season. On the upside, there’s something amazing and inspiring about the next generation enjoying sport. On the downside, my ultramarathon prep doesn’t fit neatly into a one-hour time slot at 9PM. Add to that: my leg pain builds through the day (despite being in a chair, it still works hard), so evening sessions are a no-go. By 3pm, it’s hot packs and often a few tears. Yet despite everything, I’m still going. Still training. Still inching towards something enormous.

There are so many exciting plans from ChildFund Rugby and World Rugby, many of which I can’t tell you yet (I’m a vault), but just know, it’s big. One thing I can share: there’ll be an opening ceremony in York, featuring teams from Canada, New Zealand, Fiji… and me. Yep, me. Rolling alongside elite rugby players. No biggie. (Massive biggie.) Imposter syndrome? Oh, absolutely!

This year, I’ll be sharing daily updates with Michael Chequer on Devon’s local radio, which I’m buzzing about. He’s lovely and im so honoured to be doing this again. I was asked to do the same thing during last years event.

And today? Today was meant to be an ultramarathon day. But I took a rest. Because I’ve learned (the hard way) that no sleep + relentless training = one way ticket to Concrete Faceplant Land. It’s happened before, and while I did finish that particular ultramarathon... bloody, bruised and strapped up, today I made the grown-up choice. Rest days are also training. Especially when there’s pain. Especially when there’s life stuff adding emotional weight.

Weekend training always hits a bit harder. Not physically, but emotionally. It means less time with my wife, who’s currently training for her own Half Ironman (she’s a machine and I love her for it). Our time together is precious, especially when I’m in bed by 8pm and up before sunrise. Weekend sessions eat into that, and it’s tough. But this is what I do. It may not pay like a job, but it is one. I train. I campaign. I advocate. I race. I collapse. I get back up. Repeat. Funny thing is, I still can’t call myself an athlete with a straight face. But Guinness World Records confirmed I’m the only person on Earth doing what I’m doing. That’s… wild. And maybe, hopefully, not forever. If my journey inspires someone else to believe they can too? That’s the real win.

A month from now, I’ll be one day into 10. A whistle around my neck. A mission in my heart. A community behind me. And probably a gel in my pocket. Until then, it’s training, breathing, resisting 2am existential spirals, and reminding myself that rest is part of the work.

The countdown has officially begun.

Stay with me.

Let’s roll.