Will you support me this Blue September? Let's tackle prostate cancer together
Blue September โ For Dad
Ten years ago, I lost my dad to cancer. He was 73โa quiet man with a dry wit and a soft spot for the underdog. Hardly a day passes without a moment when I catch myself thinking, he'd love this, or I wish I could ask him that. Grief doesn't disappear. It simply learns to live alongside everything else.
In 2021, the ache became harder to ignore. I hadn't taken on a serious endurance challenge since completing Ironman New Zealand in 2016, and something in me knew it was time. I signed up for the Taupล Ultra Marathon, scheduled for what would have been Dad's 80th birthday on October 16th. When lockdowns forced its postponement, I did what felt right instead. I ran 73 kilometres alone through Riverhead Forest. No support crew. No finish-line tape. Just me, my legs, and every unanswered question I'd ever wished I could ask him.
The number 73 mattered then. It still does.
The years that followed became a series of journeys, each one another way of carrying him with me. I completed a 3,500-kilometre bikepacking odyssey, riding solo and unsupported from the top of New Zealand to the bottom, a pilgrimage on two wheels through every kind of weather and doubt the country could throw at me.
A few months later, I travelled to Nepal to trek the Annapurna Circuit, a place Dad loved and had visited several times himself. Walking those mountain trails gave me the chance to experience landscapes he had spoken about years before. It felt, in its own quiet way, like sharing one last adventure together.
Last September, I completed 30 triathlons in 30 consecutive days.
This September, on the tenth anniversary of his passing, I'm going further again.
On September 16th, I'll begin a 730-kilometre hike through New Zealand's South Island, from Queenstown to St. Arnaud. Ten kilometres for every year since we lost him. I'll finish on October 16thโwhat would have been his 85th birthday.
Solo. Unsupported. On foot.
Not because it's easy, but because the hardest journeys often teach us the most. Somewhere in the exhaustion, the silence, and the long days on the trail, I find space to remember him. And because the people and families facing cancer today deserve every dollar, every kilometre, and every step I have left to give.
If you've lost someone you love, you'll understand why I do this.
If you haven't, I hope you never have to.
If you're able, please consider making a donation. If you can't, sharing this page means just as much. Every contribution, whatever its size, will travel with me across those 730 kilometres, alongside the memory of a quiet man with a dry wit and a lifelong soft spot for the underdog.
For Dad.
16 October 1940 โ September 2015
Blue September โ For Dad
Ten years ago, I lost my dad to cancer. He was 73โa quiet man with a dry wit and a soft spot for the underdog. Hardly a day passes without a moment when I catch myself thinking, he'd love this, or I wish I could ask him that. Grief doesn't disappear. It simply learns to live alongside everything else.
In 2021, the ache became harder to ignore. I hadn't taken on a serious endurance challenge since completing Ironman New Zealand in 2016, and something in me knew it was time. I signed up for the Taupล Ultra Marathon, scheduled for what would have been Dad's 80th birthday on October 16th. When lockdowns forced its postponement, I did what felt right instead. I ran 73 kilometres alone through Riverhead Forest. No support crew. No finish-line tape. Just me, my legs, and every unanswered question I'd ever wished I could ask him.
The number 73 mattered then. It still does.
The years that followed became a series of journeys, each one another way of carrying him with me. I completed a 3,500-kilometre bikepacking odyssey, riding solo and unsupported from the top of New Zealand to the bottom, a pilgrimage on two wheels through every kind of weather and doubt the country could throw at me.
A few months later, I travelled to Nepal to trek the Annapurna Circuit, a place Dad loved and had visited several times himself. Walking those mountain trails gave me the chance to experience landscapes he had spoken about years before. It felt, in its own quiet way, like sharing one last adventure together.
Last September, I completed 30 triathlons in 30 consecutive days.
This September, on the tenth anniversary of his passing, I'm going further again.
On September 16th, I'll begin a 730-kilometre hike through New Zealand's South Island, from Queenstown to St. Arnaud. Ten kilometres for every year since we lost him. I'll finish on October 16thโwhat would have been his 85th birthday.
Solo. Unsupported. On foot.
Not because it's easy, but because the hardest journeys often teach us the most. Somewhere in the exhaustion, the silence, and the long days on the trail, I find space to remember him. And because the people and families facing cancer today deserve every dollar, every kilometre, and every step I have left to give.
If you've lost someone you love, you'll understand why I do this.
If you haven't, I hope you never have to.
If you're able, please consider making a donation. If you can't, sharing this page means just as much. Every contribution, whatever its size, will travel with me across those 730 kilometres, alongside the memory of a quiet man with a dry wit and a lifelong soft spot for the underdog.
For Dad.
16 October 1940 โ September 2015
My Impact
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