It’s just two weeks until this year’s Race for Life, and I’ve decided that we’re raising a thousand pounds this year. We are currently in terrible shape to hit that goal, but we’re going to do it. I can feel it in my bones. I’m sending it into the universe. Manifesting it like a boss.
This year is a big one, pals. My amazing, excellent, unstoppable mum celebrates her ten years clear this year. And that deserves £1000. It just does.
Our Race for Life journey has been a long one, spanning seven years so far, and some of you have supported us all the way. I love you, from the very bottom of my heart. But after seven years, I can imagine that you might be feeling a little…what’s the diplomatic phrase…sick of the sight of us.
So! To combat the inevitable Fiona fatigue, I thought this might be a good chance to have a chat about what the heck your money has actually been achieving over the past seven years, other than stroking my ego. And for that, I’m going to get a little help from my glamorous assistant…
It’s my mum! Hooray!
Cancer is a thief. It steals our friends, our loved ones, our heroes. But it also steals time. And the money that you have donated over the past seven years is helping families steal back time every single day. Ten years clear sounds good, doesn’t it? Ten whole years pinched back after cancer tried to take them away. Here’s what that really means.
My mum got to see me turn sixteen. And then eighteen. And then twenty one. And then twenty five. And now I’m old, so who really cares what comes next. But thanks to advances in cancer treatment, she got to see me grow from a gangly, awkward teenager into a gangly awkward young woman.
She got to see Sophie turn thirteen. Isn’t that wild? She could have missed those sweet, sweet teenage nightmare years. And then sixteen. And then eighteen. And then twenty one.
And just as Sophie turned twenty one, she got to turn fifty. Chaos ensued.
She got to see me graduate. Later this year, she’ll get to see Sophie do the same thing.
She got to marry this old devil, after we’d all given up hope that he’d ever get round to asking.
She got to meet her first grandchild.
She got to see our football team lift the Scottish Cup. I think this might have been as good as the grandchild.
She got to meet the boys who’d make her girls so very, very happy.
She got to see me realise a lifelong dream and write a book. She got to see that book win a competition. She got to see me sign with a literary agent because of that book. And hopefully, someday in the not so distant future, she’ll get to see my book published.
She got ten years of Monday mornings, Friday nights, crazy parties, cups of tea, shopping trips, holidays, Facetime catch ups, bickering arguments, raucous laughter, kitchen dance offs, walking her dog, snoozing on the sofa, baking cakes, drinking in the sunshine, watching TV, clock watching in the office, sitting in traffic jams, eating in restaurants. Ten years of living her life that she almost had stolen away from her.
I cannot even begin to tell you what a gift every single day of those ten years has been. The big ones, the little ones and everything in between. Every single day has been a priceless, indescribable privilege. I race for life because I have a debt that I can never even begin to pay back. All I can do is try to pay it forward.