The Challenge: 10 Million Steps in a 12 month period — 15/06/2025 to 15/06/2026

Current Progress: 8.9 million steps.

That’s 89% of the way there, with just 1.1 million steps left — which sounds small until you remember it is still one million and one hundred thousand steps.

At this point, my hamstring has moved beyond a formal complaint and is now seeking legal advice.

I’ll be sharing more videos, photos, hikes, updates, and occasional evidence of poor life choices as I move into the final stretch of the challenge.

Instagram: Burrillliant

My Story

In January 2016, I was diagnosed with myxoid liposarcoma — a rare cancer with a name that sounds like a rejected Pokémon. They found a large tumour in my thigh, hit it with five weeks of daily radiotherapy, and then removed it — along with a decent chunk of what used to be my favourite leg!

I was told I’d be lucky if my hamstring ever worked properly again. Apparently, they don’t grow back — which feels like a design flaw. The message was basically: “You’ll have a leg, but don’t expect it to do anything athletic. Or useful.”

When they told me I had cancer, my very first response was:

“Will I still be able to play football?”

Not “what’s the prognosis” or “am I going to die.” Just football. The nurse looked at me like I’d misunderstood the assignment.

I hadn’t. My priorities were simply in order.

The years that followed were… elegant chaos. My leg would randomly give up like it had better things to do. I fell over a lot. Gained weight. Got depressed. I bought very expensive chairs, hoping one of them might magically fix everything.

Spoiler: they did not.

I also bought a BMW 330e for “seat comfort” reasons. Still stand by it. Technically.

At work, I hoarded so many pillows the staff built a cushion tower on my chair to mock me. It was majestic. I wish I took photos.

Despite operating on roughly 1.75 legs and the mobility of a sleepy shopping trolley, I didn’t stop. I trained, adapted, and created a workaround for every twitch, wobble, and collapse. Eventually, I started climbing mountains — literally — and even playing football again.

Somewhat aggressively. Mostly upright.

So now, in true overcompensatory fashion, I’m walking 10 million steps — one million for every year I’ve been cancer-free — finishing on June 15th, 2026: my 10-year cancerversary.

I originally held off sharing this challenge because I wanted to prove to myself I could truly do it. Back then, I was closing in on halfway.

Now I’m at 8.9 million steps.

I’m not just halfway anymore. I’m in the final stretch. The bit where the finish line is close enough to see, but still far enough away to make your knees question your decision-making.

This isn’t just a fundraiser.

It’s a middle finger to the statistics, a sarcastic shuffle toward self-redemption, and a tribute to everyone still fighting the good fight — preferably with better hamstrings than mine.

Never give up. Never surrender. And always stretch before limping.

Where the Money Goes and Why It Is Important To Me

I’m doing this walk mainly because I can — and because someone once said I probably couldn’t.

But while I’m stubbornly hobbling across the UK one million steps at a time, I’m also raising funds for children’s leukaemia research, a cause that matters to me for one simple, painful reason.

Louie, a lad from Poulton, was a friend of my son’s and one of the kids I briefly coached. He passed away far too young. His fight — and the love around him — stayed with me.

I’ll never forget his smile.

I’ll never forget how he said “thank you” after every training session.

And I’ll always remember how, instead of showing off like many others, he’d ask:

“What can I do to get better?”

So I’m supporting Louie’s Research Fund through the Children’s Cancer and Leukaemia Group.

They fund vital research into childhood cancers and provide support for children and families affected by them.

If my ridiculous, slightly wonky march can raise some money for that battle, I’ll take the blisters.

Update: still so, so many blisters.

Further update: they now have personalities.

Follow My Steps

I’m logging every step on a Fitbit Versa 4 — a watch smart enough to know when I’m walking… and when I’ve face-planted in a park.

I haven’t shared as much of the journey as I originally planned, partly because I wanted to know I could actually do it before making too much noise about it. But now, at 8.9 million steps, it feels like the right time to start showing more of the final stretch — the milestones, the hikes, the questionable footwear, and the occasional self-pitying moan.

At 8.9 million steps, this challenge has gone from “ambitious idea” to “slightly concerning personality trait.”

And for reasons I can’t fully explain, every 1 million steps I celebrate by visiting Hickories and taking a photo — because if you’re going to limp around the UK, you might as well make it scenic.

At this rate, Hickories may need to start offering a loyalty card for emotionally unstable step-count milestones.

Moon-distance comparisons may be exaggerated.

Limping is not.

I want this journey to be one of positivity and resilience. A reminder that we can overcome the challenges in front of us: for me, for you, and for anyone else who needs it.

I’m now 8.9 million steps in, with 1.1 million to go.

The finish line is close, but the reason behind it still matters more than the number.

If you feel generous enough to donate, please do — but only if you want to, and only if you don’t need the money yourself.

Following, sharing, encouraging, or even just laughing at the state of my hamstring all helps.

Thank you for every bit of support so far. It genuinely means a lot.

Note: This page mainly shows step totals due to platform limits.

I share my full weekly reflections — including the physical impact of cancer treatment, the reality behind the numbers, and the occasional dramatic complaint from my left leg — on Facebook:

Garry Burrill

If you’d like to follow the story more closely, you’ll find it there.

Thank you for your support.