In October of 2022 my step dad Harry passed away at the age of just 70, leaving a giant (literally) void in our family.
Harry came into my life at the age of seven, when I most needed a father figure and for a while I called him Dad. Most of my early memories are going to watch him play rugby at Bowden Rugby Club where he was first team captain for a while in the mid 80s and his name and picture were up on the walls of the rundown old club.
Me and a few other kids used to mess around on the fields after the games and enter the clubhouse when it went dark to often find grown men singing, laughing, swearing, helping themselves to pints behind the bar and the unforgettable smell of deep heat spray wafting from the corridors. We used to kick a football around the squash courts until some grumpy old man would tell us stop and we generally caused a ruckus every other week, on the hunt for packets of crisps, nuts and a refreshing glass of coke.
In 1990 Harry's job as a civil engineer took us to Hong Kong for 15 months where we lived in a high rise apartment building with a swimming pool and tennis courts - absolute bliss to an almost teenager. I went to an English speaking school and my class was full of kids from all over the world. British, American, Indian, Australian and rich Chinese kids who parents wanted them to learn from the UK curriculum. It wasn't always easy, especially for my Mum with a one year old (my sister Caroline) but it was a hell of an experience for us all and myself and the good friends I made were given a level of freedom that would be unheard of in this era.
My later moody teen years and my drunken early twenties were not easy for Harry, I'm sure of that but as we both grew older I like to think we developed a strong warmness and respect for each other and his passing was hard for us all.
Everyone you ask would say the same thing about Harry. Very quite, very tall, very gentle and a good sense of hunour. One of the things I appreciate most about a Harry was his calm consistency. It's made me think about fatherhood and father figures and how important but also how different they can be.
I used to hold my father-in law-Steve, who passed away in 2018 up on the highest pedalstool of father figures, someone I could laugh with, drink with, watch sports with, roll our eyes at other family members with. There's no rule book for what makes a great father figure and Harrys consistency is very understated and I wish I'd have realised it earlier.
His funeral and the large turnout of people was a fitting tribute to the man and we celebrated his life afterwards at his favourite spot, Bowden Rugby Club.
Shortly afterwards I decided I wanted to do something to honour his name and to raise money for Prostate Cancer. I find Prostate Cancer screenings to be frustrating because nobody seems to know what the best screening is. It used to be the dreaded finger up the bum from the doctor, it moved on to blood draws to test PSA levels and then recently my doctor told me no actually, those are ineffective now, just let me know if you notice anything different. Huh?!
The recommended screening age also seems to be a lot different in different countries too. In the US it seems to be 40 but in the UK most people I've spoken to say it's 50. All very confusing and worrisome as it affects so many men around the world. Raising money for research would be a good way to honour the big man so I chose Prostate Cancer UK and decided to do a long walk and raise money that way.
Rather foolishly, I decided to attempt to walk from my home in Corona, California to the Pacific Ocean which is a total of 30 miles, almost exclusively along the Santa Ana River Trail which is popular with cyclists. I could have settled for the distance of a marathon but no, my stubbornness added four miles on to that distance and the thought of finishing it by putting my feet in the ocean at Huntington Beach was an image I couldn't shake.
After two months of preparation, where I did a lot of hiking to build endurance and did various practice runs of 7, 10, 15 and 20 miles of the same trail I would take, I was ready and raring to go. I chose January 10th as the big day as that was Harry's birthday. Unfortunately Southern California got hit with freak storms and there was heavy rain forecast for the 10th so I switched it to the 9th and took comfort in the fact that by the time I reached the finish line, it would be past 4pm local time which is midnight in England - I'll technically still be finishing it on his birthday.
My iPhone maps said it would take me 10 hours to complete and I had learnt in my preparation not to stop at any point and seize up my muscles so I left my house at 6:20am. This was me, fresh and excited.
La Palma Avenue, Yorba Linda, around five miles in.
About 12 miles in I came across this sign in a tunnel from my 8 year son. At this point my ankle was already feeling sore and I could feel blisters that had formed so I needed a little pick me up like this.
Angel Stadium, just so we stay on theme here. 18 miles in.
Most of the trail is very boring looking, just a dry river and nothing much to see.
Another sign from my son around 25 miles in. At this point I was in pain, walking very slowly and desperate to get it over with. I was on track for 4pm.
Almost there, the Pacific Ocean started to come into view.
The best supporter I could have wished for greeted me right before the end of the trail.
30 miles officially done, now I just had to limp across the huge beach to reach the ocean.
The moment it sank in that I had actually done it.
I had done it. In almost exactly ten hours. It was painful and emotional but I got through it with some good music and some much need interaction from friends and family via text and Instagram. If you're reading this and you contributed with money, or a simple message of encouragement or even both, thank you from the bottom of my heart. It was much appreciated and something I'll always remember.
Rest in peace Harry.
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