Thanks for visiting my page. Bear in mind that our run is on 9 September 2018 so please don’t procrastinate on those donations please!

In our 7th consecutive Great North Run, me (Nick) and my best buddy Pete Wood are running for the British Heart Foundation in memory of my dad, Mike, who died 10 years ago in September 2008. We’ll be running as Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble to try and (1) make our run a little harder and (2) squeeze as many donations out of our lovely friends and family! We’ll also be going for a Guinness world record for fastest half marathon dressed as a cartoon character, and (don’t tell Pete this part) I’m going to try and pace Pete round so that he lowers his ‘proper’ personal best of 1.29:24. (Like I said, don’t tell Pete about that part otherwise he’ll get grumpy).

My dad died on 20 September 2008, after falling ill with pneumonia a few months before. Eventually his illness affected a faulty heart valve and he died of heart failure. He was just 62 and had always been very fit and healthy; didn’t smoke, didn’t drink much, ate well etc. His illness and death came as a huge shock to me and my family and just struck me as so bloody unfair after his long career in the NHS and as he approached retirement. I’ve always generally been a glass-half-full type of guy (nothing bad will happen to me and my loved ones, etc) and I just never saw it coming. Even when my mum called me one Saturday afternoon in Sept 2008 to say that dad was back in hospital and could I come home on the train from London to Newcastle because he was very unwell, I just didn’t cotton-on to how serious things were. He died that Saturday evening, and thankfully I did get back home before then, but for me it was still just all so unexpected and unfair.

It seems strange that 10 years has passed since that time. Life just keeps moving on, distracting you with the latest distraction. In those 10 years, as time has gone on, I don’t think of my dad on a daily basis (just being honest; there’s no right or wrong in terms of grief) but I really miss him and always regret that I didn’t get more chance to tell him how important his love and support had been in shaping me. The times when I’m really conscious that he’s not with us are the times in life when you’re higher-than-high (my marriage to Claire, the birth of Seb and Max, finishing my professional exams) and lower-than-low (fill in the blanks yourself - there’s not been too many, but more than I’d like, over the course of the last decade). For those higher-than-high times, the fact he’s missing and can’t share in my happiness, will always mean there’s a tinge of sadness. If you’ve diligently read all of that text then please just give a small donation to our cause, which we would really appreciate.

And finally, for any of our friends (the 30-40 somethings amongst you) just try to appreciate your parents a little more than you do. 

Right. Now. If you’ve read all the way to here then you definitely need to donate. Don’t procrastinate, just do it now.

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The BHF has helped halve the number of people dying from heart and circulatory disease in the UK but sadly every day hundreds of people lose their lives. It's only thanks to support from people like us that the BHF can create new treatments and discover new cures. £24 could pay for two hours of research by an early career scientist, but every pound helps so please give what you can to help me hit my target. Thanks!