One Sunday afternoon in February, 20 years ago, slightly hungover in my university digs, I got a phone call from my Mum. My dear Dad had died. He had had a heart attack, while out walking with his friends. To say it was a complete shock does not come close. We had no idea his health was in bad shape or his heart was so poorly. Looking back there were warning signs, and we live every day with thoughts of what might have been. He was only 53 which, now I’m in my forties, seems all the more a stupidly and cruelly young age to die.

So this year to mark the 20th anniversary of his death I’ve had the mad idea to run my first and (obviously) last marathon to raise funds for the British Heart Foundation to support their life changing research. Every donation will help fund scientific breakthroughs that can save and improve the lives of millions suffering from heart and circulatory diseases. Their work will hopefully prevent others from losing cherished family members, way before their time. 

My Dad was my biggest supporter in life. He loved to come and watch me play sport and cheer me on, so he would have been chuffed to bits to know I was running a marathon. That thought, and a shed load of jelly babies and energy gels, will hopefully keep me going though those 26 gruelling miles!