So many homeless people. Such a stark contrast to the grandeur of the buildings, the fancy shop fronts, and the shiny mobile phones everyone’s glued to. It hurts. And yet, I can feel myself slipping into indifference fast, like it’s easier not to look.

But it’s that gaze that stays with me — half pissed off, half crazy, half desperate, and half deeply sad. A gaze that says they’ve been let down. That life promised something it never delivered. Broken dreams. Broken promises. Missed love.

​It cuts deep, and it makes me wonder how quickly we all learn to look away.

The integrity behind the small and big actions I take—especially when no one’s watching—sets the tone for my peace of mind. It also shapes the person others get “a gut feeling for” when they meet me for the first time.

​Most days, maintaining that integrity feels easy… until the ego shows up. Then it becomes a real battle. Because standing tall in those moments doesn’t mean fighting the world—it means standing up, stronger and more decisively, against your own self. And that’s the hardest opponent of all.

Funny how these realizations sneak up on me during long runs. Somewhere between the steady rhythm of footsteps and the quiet of the trail, truths like this surface—simple, raw, undeniable.

This morning I had the privilege of pacing young Felix to a Parkrun PB—and wow, what a joy that gave me. He smashed through the 20-minute barrier, by a solid 17 seconds, and while I’m sure he’s proud, I honestly think I was the happier one just being there to assist.

I’ve run plenty of PBs myself over the years, and I’ll keep adapting them into age-relative ones as time goes on. But here’s the thing: the joy of hitting a PB is often short-lived. Sometimes it barely lasts longer than the buzz of stopping my watch.

Supporting someone else, though—that’s different. Helping another runner hit their best leaves me with a sense of fulfillment that’s deeper, more intense, and lingers much longer. And when that someone is a kid or a young athlete, it feels extra special. It’s like you’ve nudged open a new door of possibility for them, boosted their confidence, given them a tiny piece of belief. Chances are, they’ll forget you were even there. But you won’t. And that’s more than ok.

It reminds me of a line from Seth Godin: “The most successful givers aren’t doing it because they’re told to, they do it because it’s fun. It gives THEM joy.”

Thanks, Felix—you made my morning

This morning, I was grinding my way up the hill. 
And somewhere between my footsteps, I found myself thinking about one of my deepest running fears: sleep deprivation.

It’s not just the tiredness. It’s that hollow, drained feeling… like my mind’s battery is flat. And because I’m such a “head runner,” when that battery dies, everything else seems to collapse in on itself. The world goes silent, dark, and heavy. I’ve been there enough times to know the place too well. It’s almost like PTSD; just the thought of going back there can make my stomach knot.

But then, out of nowhere, I remembered - it was Keith’s birthday yesterday. Keith, who fought battles far bigger than mine. And just like that, perspective hit me in the chest.

Sleep deprivation is not the enemy. Not really. It’s uncomfortable, sure. It tests you. But compared to what so many people face in life… it’s small. And letting it stop me from chasing something meaningful? That would be absurd. Worse—it would be cowardly.

Because in the end, the equation is simple:
Conviction says: I will finish.
Endurance says: I will suffer as long as it takes.
Together they say: Nothing can stop me.

Some people you meet leave a mark so deep it changes the course of your life.

Richard Scolyer is one of them.
The first time I heard him speak, he was sharing both the incredible breakthroughs in melanoma treatment he helped pioneer, and his own deeply personal fight with incurable brain cancer. That talk lit a fire in my belly to give back more, to push harder for the causes I believe in.

It also — quite literally — sparked something else: a burning sensation near my shoulder that I couldn’t ignore. Turns out, it was something I needed to remove.
A strange twist of fate, but a powerful reminder to listen to your body
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Richard, your courage and determination continue to inspire me. Even if I fight in a different way, I’ll keep going — and I’ll do it in your honour.

I can’t wait to see you take on the 2025 City2Surf. Keep running your race. We’re all running beside you. 🏃‍♂️💪

https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/health-and-wellness/i-m-not-giving-up-now-richard-scolyer-defies-cancer-to-run-city2surf-20250805-p5mkkm.html

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