Since I last wrote into this blog there has been a lot I have been trying to comprehend.

This has a lot to do with the approach to what I’m trying to achieve physically for charity this year. Partly I have done this to sit back and reflect after parting company with my home of over 20 years last year. First thing was how an amazing act of bravery lead to the day I was born.

From what I read from old letters in the house my parents marriage was in trouble approaching the mid seventies. Amongst other things my mum had serious health complications giving birth to my brother Andrew. He was seriously ill when he was born but came through it.

Mum has miscarried seven times at least, just once was more than once is enough to break the spirit of some people and apparently not supposed to have children again. Her own mum died within 24 hours of her being born making mum a pocket miracle in her self.

Dad had transferred from flying jet planes to flying helicopters with the Fleet Air Arm. In 1974 he and his ship formed part of a NATO group during the Cyprus crisis.

Turkey had invaded Greek Cyprus moving on several Greek residents. Dad’s first task was to help as part of a group several Greek-Cypriot refugees by helping to move and feed them.

What came next pushed his skills to the limit. The Turks sunk one of their own ships. With an improvised landing deck he helped save 72 Turkish sailors by helicopter. He was awarded the second highest honour in the Turkish republic for his actions.

Whatever happened out there reunited my parents love. He had a brief visit home as a break. Nine months later my parents had an unexpected surprise in the form of me. I was born with a milder form of cerebral-palsy which the effects my parents were made to understood could be cured.

Since I was in infant school I had physiotherapy to deal with my co-ordination and physical problems. After a neck injury when I was 16 I was informed by a consultant neurologist that wouldn’t be walking properly by the age of thirty.

I watched my brother Andrew slowly die over five years. The third and final thing for me to comprehend is that I would ever reach the age he was when passed away from the Haemachromatosis - that being 37. Andrew’s death stopped me believing I could win at anything.

The reason for laying this out for you is that I’m approaching the task of writing the book. Amongst other things I have been scratching my head over is how it would end or how I want it to.

A happy ending would be good. I would like it to end reaching the age of 37 healthy as possible. Not only that but by reaching as fast as possible and strong as possible. I need to be able to believe I can do this by believing I can win at anything I want to, including the race to 37.