10 million steps 15/06/2025 - 15/06/2026

In January 2016, I was diagnosed with myxoid liposarcoma — a rare cancer with a name that sounds like a rejected Pokémon. They found a tumor in my thigh, hit it with five weeks of daily radiotherapy, and then removed it — along with a good portion of my hamstring.

I was told I’d be lucky if my hamstring ever worked again. Apparently, hamstrings don’t grow back — which feels like a bit of an oversight in human design, if you ask me. 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 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. I just had my priorities sorted.

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 began collecting very expensive chairs in the hope that one of them might solve everything. Spoiler again: they did not. I also bought a BMW 330e, citing “seat comfort” as my excuse. (And yes, I stand by that decision. Technically.) At work, I hoarded so many pillows that the staff started building a cushion tower on my chair to mock me. It was majestic. I took photos.

But, even with 1.75 legs and the mobility of a sleepy shopping trolley, I didn’t stop. I trained. I adapted. I built a workaround for every twitch, wobble, and collapse. And eventually, I started climbing mountains — literally — and playing football again (somewhat aggressively and mostly upright). So now, in true over-compensatory fashion, I’m walking 10 million steps — 1 million for every year I’ve been cancer-free, finishing on June 15th, 2026, my 10-year cancerversary. 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 (with better hamstrings than mine, hopefully). Never give up. Never surrender. And always stretch before limping.

Where the Money Goes

Let’s be honest: 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 figured I might as well do some good too. So I’m raising funds for children’s leukemia 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 used to coach. He passed away from leukemia far too young. His fight, and the love around him, stuck with me. That’s why I’m supporting Louie’s Research Fund through the Children’s Cancer and Leukaemia Group (CCLG). If my ridiculous, slightly-wonky march can raise some money for that battle — I’ll take the blisters.

Follow My Steps

I’m logging every step of this challenge using a Fitbit Versa 4 — a watch smart enough to know when I’m walking… and when I’ve face-planted in a park. There’ll be updates, memes, milestones, questionable footwear choices, and probably a few self-pitying moans. Live step count coming soon! (Just as soon as I figure out how to connect it without breaking something.) Note: moon-distance comparisons may be exaggerated. Limping is not. What You Can Do I’ll handle the 10 million steps. You just click a few.