There are moments in life when you look at yourself and think — How did I end up here?
For me, that happens every time I tell someone I’m getting ready to run a full marathon.
Even after months of getting up before the sun and pounding the pavement, I still don’t think of myself as ‘a runner’.
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I was the kid who tried to get out of cross-country and did debating or musical theatre instead of PE.
I didn’t start running because I suddenly grew to love it — I still don’t love it! I started running because my mum died.
My mum Elizabeth passed away from Motor Neurone Disease (MND) in 2024 at the age of 71. Her symptoms started as a slight slurring of her speech and a limp.
At first, we had no idea what was going on with her, we even joked she’d been hitting the wines in the daytime too much. But trips to doctors, specialists and finally a neurologist, confirmed the worst possible news. Less than a year after her diagnosis, what they call ‘The Beast’ claimed her.
Anyone who’s experienced grief knows the disorientation that follows. I found myself untethered, trying to make sense of something that didn’t make sense at all.
In my search for meaning — for some kind of anchor — I decided to do a physical challenge to honour my mum’s memory and fundraise for FightMND. I wanted it to be a ‘proper’ challenge, one that would really stretch me and make me feel like I’d earned it.
So, I chose the thing I hated most. Running.
I wasn’t, *cough cough* unfit per se… I mean, I went to the gym before all this madness. But when it came to running, let’s just say that at the beginning of last year, I couldn’t even run five kilometres.
I set my sights initially on the Gold Coast Half Marathon (because I’d been told it’s the flattest course in Australia, I’m not stupid!) downloaded a running app and followed the plan.
It will shock you to learn that if you take the time do something, get serious with your commitment to it, and have a purpose that’s bigger than you — you can achieve more than you ever thought you were capable of.
Last year, I ended up completing two half marathons and an additional 27-kilometre challenge where I was an ambassador for FightMND alongside AFL great Jack Riewoldt.
After that, I thought I’d probably hang up my running shoes for good.
But then, while scrolling on Instagram, I came across a stand-up comic absolutely giving it to people who run halves.
“A half marathon?” he sneered, “I just finished reading half a book. Yeah, big thick one. Got to the middle, set it down, never looked at it again.”
The comments section was going off, and it lit a bit of a fire within me.
I sat on my couch, thought about it, and signed up for the full. (Again, on the Gold Coast, the flattest course in Australia — I’m not stupid.)
At first, it was going to be purely a personal challenge. I wanted to see whether I could do something that genuinely scared me.
But then, two things happened in the space of a week: NRL star Jai Arrow tragically announced his MND diagnosis at the age of 30, and Neale Daniher — founder of FightMND — died.
I was sitting at the news desk reading those stories and both hit me like a punch to the gut.
They were a reminder that while there is more hope than ever before, this disease is still devastating families every single day.
As I walked out of the studio, I remember thinking that if I could raise even one dollar through running this marathon, that would be one dollar that otherwise wouldn’t have been raised.
So, I sat in my car in the Channel Seven carpark in Brisbane and filmed an off-the-cuff Instagram video announcing my fundraiser.
That is how this ‘non-runner’ will stand on the starting line of my very first marathon in a week’s time.
I have absolutely no idea if I can finish it — the furthest I’ve run so far in my training program is 32 kilometres — but the generosity of everyone who has donated so far will definitely put some wind in my sails.
I’ve met so many beautiful families who are heroically fighting this disease and I’ll do it for them, too.
One person who particularly comes to mind is Ron ‘Hobbo’ Hobden, a father of two who, in 2023, was a week out from running the same marathon I’m about to run on the Gold Coast when he received his sudden MND diagnosis.
“I remember Annie (Ron’s wife) sitting beside me and the way she tried to hold back her tears,” Ron said. “I thought of our kids. Lizzie was three. Henry was one. How do you tell them their dad is dying?”
So, next Sunday, I’ll think about my mum, and Ron, and every family still facing this disease. 42 kilometres is nothing compared to what they’re being asked to endure every day.
If running this marathon raises money that helps bring us even one step closer to better treatments, or one day a cure, every single kilometre, and every single blister, will have been worth it.
