On Christmas day in 2018, my then 5-year-old son Roman suffered a severe eye injury while playing with his older brother and cousins while on holiday. The first anxiety-ridden days were a waiting game to see if he wouldn’t lose his eye to a possible infection. Then, after three weeks in hospital and two operations later, we were told that he would be lucky to have 10% vision in that eye with prolonged rehabilitation, and that “people can have a very good quality of life with just one eye”. This wasn’t acceptable to us, and they certainly didn’t know Roman.

Roman started attending the various clinics at the Children’s Centre at Moorfields Eye Hospital. He received exceptional care and support there while working to develop the vision in his weakened right eye through daily patching. He patched for up to six hours a day, every single day, all the while being limited to the use of his weaker eye for a large part of his waking life. This went on for almost two years. Never complaining, I promise you that this young boy showed a level of resilience that I don’t expect most adults would be capable of.

Because there was a large scar running through the very centre of his right eye, it was recommended that he have an operation whereby his cornea, the central part of his eye, would be transplanted and rotated so that the scar would be off the visual axis, as it was impeding his vision. This was to dramatically improve the quality of his rehabilitation with the possibility of improving his long-term vision. It was a difficult decision and a race against the clock, as any further visual development within the brain ends at about age 7-8. We had to get him using the eye as much as possible or he could lose it forever. The operation itself was not without risk of failure, but we had complete faith in the expertise and the care of the corneal transplantation team at Moorfields, who were incredible.

The operation was a success, and after a couple of weeks of recovery, Roman was able to continue his demanding regime of patching. One day, which I will never forget, while he had his patch on and only the use of his weakened eye, he asked me to let him ride his bicycle around our garden without removing the patch. I thought it was a complete impossibility, but he kept pressing me. Finally, I agreed, and walked next to him, ready to catch him, while he rode in circles around our garden with only the use of his right eye – the one that he was only supposed to see 10% out of. At that moment, while he casually rode circles around the garden, as any normal boy would, I felt like I was witnessing something of a miracle. At that moment, I knew that Roman would be just fine, no matter what he encountered throughout his lifetime.

Today, Roman wears a highly specialised contact lens to replace the lens within his eye, courtesy of Moorfields’ optometry department, and doctors say he has 50% of his vision. A few years ago, this would have been unimaginable. He went from potentially physically losing his eye, to 10 - 30% vision in an absolute best-case scenario, to 50% vision today. He’s a lively boy who loves reading, math, cycling, and chess, and he lives a full, normal life, for which we are thankful to Moorfields Eye Hospital for years of specialised medical attention and care.

I’m running the Ultra-Trail Snowdonia over two days from 1st to 3rd July. It’s a single-stage 165km kilometre race with over 10,000 vertical metres of elevation gain. I’m doing this in support of Moorfields Eye Hospital, which my family has so much to thank for. During what will no doubt be a gruelling physical and mental challenge, I intend to reflect on the journey that Roman has been on for almost four years. If I can muster just a small portion of the courage and tenacity he has shown, I have no doubt I will succeed in completing this challenge.

Thank you so much for your support!

Update after the race:

 Before I even get into how the event went, I would like to thank everyone who has generously donated and supported me with their kind words and messages so very much! The response has been nothing short of incredible. I never expected so much goodwill and generosity from all corners of the social and geographic universe. Thank you all so very much! You guys really carried me on the day and turned this into an unforgettable experience. Over the coming days I will try to reach out to as many of you as possible to thank you individually. All the money we have raised here will go directly to the charity, as I self-funded the event itself. Moorfields allows the fundraisers to choose which projects they would like to contribute to, and I intend on engaging Roman in that, so that he can see for himself how this whole process has translated to supporting other patients, just like him.

And the event? The Ultra-Trail Snowdonia 165km is now finished. So how did it go? Like many things in life, the outcome, and feelings it elicited are complicated. The race started well at 11 am and I was in good spirits and felt strong. About six hours into the race the weather started to deteriorate with strong winds and rain, really to be expected in Wales, so seemingly no real surprise there. Even as I ran through trails that were ankle-deep in water, with my legs occasionally half disappearing into knee-deep mud, through driving wind and rain, I felt good and actually thrilled to be there, in what felt like a street fight against the elements in the middle of nowhere. Even as I scrambled over the steep, craggy peaks with my hands totally numb from the wind, it felt like I was in the middle of an adventure that still held great promise.

Unfortunately, over the next few hours, the weather deteriorated further, and the winds picked up to over 50 mph. As I got into the 3rd checkpoint, out of 12 in total, I was told by the support crew that race leaders were being repeatedly knocked off their feet on the ridgeline ahead. The support crew wore looks of concern as they relayed this information but tried to stay upbeat and motivate us to push on.

As the mercury fell and darkness slowly crept in around us, it was time to strike out to the fourth checkpoint. My general mental trajectory was that as I started the race, I tried to optimise as many things as possible: how my pack was situated on my back to minimise chafing, avoiding stagnant water on the trail to keep my feet dry, trying to eat the right kinds of calories, etc. But by now my mental tunnel vision had narrowed to the point where my sole focus was reduced to getting food and liquid in and propelling my legs forward to stay warm. That was it. That was everything. By about 9pm I was running along a flat section in a valley that was completely underwater. To my left was a lake, and to my right, a boulder field on the side of a slope that disappeared upward into low-hanging clouds. The wind was so violent over the boulders that it produced a constant deafening sound – something between a thunderstorm and a distant fighter jet engine. Still, it was exciting, and I could feel myself grinning because I felt good. Despite it all, I was moving well, and the fundraising and incredible words of support were like a strong wind at my back, propelling me forward through whatever the trail threw at me. By 10:30pm I could see lights in the hut of the fourth checkpoint. The plan: load up on water and calories, get my head torch out and move. As I entered the hut, I was greeted with blank expressions from the support staff. “Race is cancelled.” And that was it. Twelve hours and 59 km in, a little over a third into the event, it was all over. We were told that it was just too dangerous to continue, that savage conditions were being reported ahead, and that mountain rescue had to go up into the mountains to save a stranded runner who got lost in the storm. How could I argue with any of that? Everyone I subsequently spoke to said that what was happening around us was not in the forecast and not common for this time of year.

From the hut, a minibus took a few of us back to the start line, where we collected our drop bags and loaded up on warm soup and bread. Then I was taken back to my campsite by another minibus. At that moment, the whole thing felt anticlimactic and heart-breaking. It took me a while to process what was happening. The next day I awoke feeling very strong and barely sore. That didn’t exactly help me feel better, because it just highlighted that there was a lot more left in the tank. What did help me, however, was the knowledge that I had battled through as much as I was allowed, and that I would have kept going, conditions permitting.

This is how it goes in life. Unexpected things happen, upending our plans and turning everything upside down. How will we respond? That’s how we can measure ourselves in the end, and by now I was no stranger to this dynamic. All I can say is that I will definitely be back to finish what I started and to make good on all the support I have been showered with.

So again, thank you so much for your support! I carried that strength and positivity that you imbued me with throughout the event and would have carried it all the way across this finish line if circumstances had permitted. You guys have truly been fantastic, and I can’t thank you enough!