On your marks.... Swimathon is back!

The 28th April I'm going to swim (again) 200 lengths for a total of 5km at Swiss Cottage Leisure Centre.

I've done it before but this time it’s different. I'm 2 years older, 1.5 years more sleep deprived, about 10kg fatter, and way too lazy to have done any proper training.

I’ve never been into fundraising. Probably because it's not really a thing in Italy due to the fact that charities tend to make all the money disappear; so I never fully trusted them. Even in the UK although things seem to be a lot different here.

The last few years have been a rollercoaster of emotions for me: birth of my first child which made me somehow more emotional and sensitive to people around me; both mum and dad with bladder cancer, my partner's mum with the same. They all seem to have won their battle for now, but right now an old and dear friend of mine is fighting with a nasty stomach cancer.

Cancer is bad. When you're told that you have cancer, the world crumbles underneath your feet. Cancer doesn't care. It doesn't care if you're young. It doesn't care if you have a lot of things left to do in life. It doesn't care if you want to see your grandchildren. It doesn't care if your son needs a father. It doesn't care if your partner loves you. Or if you have nobody to share the pain with. It doesn't care if your family relies on you to get to the end of the month. It doesn't care if you're behind with your mortgage payments.

Looking my father in the eyes when, with the result papers still in his hand, he struggled to keep the tears in and stuttered "...but I'm feeling well, I don't want to die" is something that I will never forget as much as I'd love to.

Seeing my best friend in tears because he wasn’t ready to lose his dad (is anyone ever?) made me realise how short life can be and how suddenly and unexpectedly everything can change.

His dad has been diagnosed with a stomach cancer and metastasis on his liver and esophagus therefore could not be operated on. He had to undergo a series of chemo in hope that it would regress so he could have his stomach removed. And that was the best possible scenario. His spirit and the positivity with which he is living his fight made me realise what an amazing person you have to be to face such a problem in that way. Every day, living with the uncertainty of not knowing what the rest of your life will hold.

All these things together made me decide to do it. Actually I didn’t even decide, I kind of felt like I had to do something. It might not be a direct help, and it might not be much, but this time for once I want to try.

I know I’m not doing anything extraordinary. Just a 5k swim in a safe and mildly heated (although probably heavily urinated) pool. I’m not swimming the Atlantic or doing something that would put Ranulph Fiennes to shame... but that’s not the point. The point is to do something that even if it seems trivial, some people can’t do. Because maybe they’re less fortunate or because maybe they’re losing their fight with this terrible thing that one day some doctor might tell you you have. The point is to create awareness one way or another.

It’s almost unbelievable how much of a difference a small donation can do. Here are some examples:

• £70 pays for someone with a terminal illness to attend day therapy
• £20 a nurse can look after someone terminally ill for 1 hour in their own home
• £180 a nurse can look after someone terminally ill for a 9-hour shift

Cancer Research UK and Marie Curie are teaming up and heading down to the pool for Swimathon 2018 – thousands of swimmers, two great causes, one big charity challenge.