Scott and I grew up playing rugby against and with each other a school. We shared many a laugh at university or in the gym, back in the day when we were full of beans, armed with cheekiness, and had very few cares in the world. We fell out of touch but could follow each other's lives on social media, which was where I learned about Scott's MND diagnosis.

When I was over in Scotland in March, I knocked on his door in Stirling after nearly two decades of time apart. The fancy footwork of yesteryear might be leaving him, but he was full of his usual charm and bonhomie. We drank tea and shared stories new and old, all the while with the game we loved playing quietly in the background on the television. His courage and conviction to appreciate every moment was palpable, and I was in awe of his strength in the face of the hand he had been dealt.

Scott has just turned 42 and with his new daughter, Rae, having just been born, it seems beyond cruel that his wife, Robyn, and wee Rae will have to forge much of their future with him in their hearts and minds rather than in their arms and by their sides.

So many people confront this reality and so many more are beginning to rally their support for finding a cure, so that people like Scotty can delay their good-byes and live a full life.

Scott's posts on LinkedIn are nothing short of inspirational. His determined mindset to move the MND ball down the field, so to speak oozes through his actions, and I hope collectively, this fundraising mission I am embarking on can contribute in some small way.

As the pain sets in on my 220km ride, I'll be thinking of you, mate.