Next Sunday, I'll be running the Manchester Half Marathon in memory of a very special little boy, Bertie.

Bertie is the son of my best friends, and sadly, we lost him on the day he was born. After a difficult pregnancy, Emma's waters broke unexpectedly at 21 weeks. Somehow, she held on for another three weeks, hoping and fighting for every precious day. Tragically, Bertie died during labour while being transferred by ambulance to a specialist hospital.

Watching people you love experience that kind of heartbreak is something that stays with you forever. The grief, trauma and helplessness felt overwhelming. Like so many family members and friends who stand alongside bereaved parents, I desperately wanted to make things better, to take away even a fraction of the pain, but there was very little I could do.

The weekend after losing Bertie, I travelled to Manchester to be with my friends. The following day, my husband and I were back in the city for an event, and I noticed hundreds of runners wearing medals. It must have been the Manchester Half Marathon. In that moment, something clicked.

I thought, maybe this is something I can do.

A few days later, I signed up.

Then panic set in.

Because the truth is, I am not a runner. I never have been. I'd tried Couch to 5K before and abandoned it when the weather turned bad, life got busy, or I found another excuse. But this time was different.

This time, I wasn't doing it for me.

I downloaded the Couch to 5K app, struggled through every step, and promised myself I wouldn't quit. Whenever it felt hard, I thought about Bertie. I thought about Emma and Paul. I thought about the strength they had shown through the most unimaginable circumstances.

Week by week, mile by mile, I kept going.

Almost a year later, I'm still running. Not particularly quickly, and certainly not gracefully, but running nonetheless.

What started as an attempt to do something in the face of heartbreak has become so much more. Running has helped me in ways I never expected. Through every run, I've carried Bertie with me and found purpose, perspective and determination.

I never got the chance to meet him, to hold him, or to become the unofficial auntie I had hoped to be. But I think about him every single day. He is so deeply loved, so desperately missed, and he will always be part of the lives of everyone who knows his story.

So on Sunday, I'll be running for Bertie.

I'll be saying his name. I'll be celebrating his short but precious life. I'll be remembering him, honouring him, and helping to keep his memory alive.

The wonderful Honeysuckle Charity has provided invaluable support to my friends and so many other families facing baby loss. If you're able to donate, no matter how small the amount, it would mean so much.

Thank you for your support, encouragement, and generosity.

And please wish me luck!

For Bertie, always. ❤️