This is an unusual and remarkable story. Though it's beginning is far from inspiring, what it does show is that even devastation can deliver something great.

I really dislike the term “Everything happens for a reason.” It minimises and invalidates peoples experiences. Terrible things happen. They shouldn't but they do. I don't believe in fate. I do believe though, that within whatever chance and circumstance delivers, there is opportunity.

Recently I have been recovering from running ultra marathons in support of an Australian charity - Bravehearts. They hold an annual event in which participants run seven marathons in consecutive days, starting on the West Coast of Australia and making our way east, finishing on day seven on the Gold Coast in the North East of the country. I am not an athlete, so for me it was no mean feat. My motivation came from an unlikely encounter with a man who has changed me forever, after a man I loved dearly almost destroyed my faith in humanity.

As I was nursing physical injuries sustained in the run, I allowed myself to be still for the first time in a very long time, and I registered with Steemit. I believed that a week or two would suffice, and I would then gratefully return to my regular life. In my attempt to restore the life that I new, I brushed over the context of the run in my introductory post. But it was a cause that had completely consumed me, and has proved to be not so easily processed.

At the completion of the event, I stumbled into July, hoping to find my feet, both literally and figuratively. It is now almost two months since the marathons finished. I have mostly contained the injuries, triumph, bereavement, achievement, and emotion. Throwing myself back into life I have busied myself and now I realise that in doing so I have held it at arms length, and therefore find myself no closer to processing exactly what it is that I accomplished.

So here it is.

I’m not sure if this is a rambling journal. I am certainly no journalist, but I feel the need to share my story, or at the very least record it for myself and for those who helped me achieve it. In an attempt to start, I am going to share the journey that has brought me to this day. I could start at a number of places, but I think 2009 is the best reference point.

On a night not unlike any other in 2009

I am sitting at home with my family. The channel ten news is rolling in the background, and I am going about the bustle of family, evening chaos. A typical, uneventful and otherwise mundane night in a humble suburban home. I stare in the general direction of the television, but am not really watching it. My husband remarks with a hint of alarm in his voice, "Are you seeing this?"

A news story is rolling. Yes I was looking at the TV, so I suppose I was seeing it, but I wasn't really taking it in. We see so much news coming at us all the time, I think we filter it out a lot. It was washing over me, someone else’e story, the news very seldom impacts my tiny existence. So I fix my attention on the screen, and watch as a man is arrested. His face blurred, he is being walked up a driveway. Suddenly the home he is being walked from, flanked by detectives, is familiar. The figure despite the blurred face, unmistakably so.

The man with the blurred face was my uncle.

Held up on pedestal in our family, I had strived my whole life to impress him. Catching the end of the news story, I learned he was arrested for multiple counts of child sexual abuse.

I didn't fully understand it at the time, but it is at this very point, that so much that I thought I new was wiped away. The foundation of my life, my childhood memories and the world they were based upon, from this moment were void of truth.

Me at age 4.

He pled not guilty to scores of charges, the court proceedings were drawn out over years, with multiple complainants, who spanned decades. The cases were split, evidence from one case was prohibited from being shared in another, and jurors were unaware of them entirely. Following a hung jury, and an acquittal, he was eventually found guilty of a number of charges in another case in 2012.

I attended the sentencing hearing. The victims had been employees of his, and although they were now adults, some of their faces were familiar to me. The room was full. I hadn't been in such an environment before, and I found myself to my horror, sitting with his supporters. These people heckled and shouted as the charges were read out. The irreverence of these people, to attempt to take from the survivors and their families their moment of justice disgusted me, and I was appalled that I may be mistaken as one of them.

I was there to witness the proceedings for my own reasons, and to support my beautiful father as he attempted to process his own complex position, as this man’s brother.

It was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

I sat through almost two hours as each charge was read and detailed. I held my father like he was my child. My uncle entered escorted through a little door that led him to the witness box. I barely recognised him, he addressed me by name and for a moment it felt like the entire world shifted below my feet. I left feeling like I needed to hold my breath in order to walk tall, and to a degree I carry that feeling to this day. Almost like if I exhale fully maybe I will unravel permanently and not be able to recoil myself. I manufactured a strength that became an armour I couldn't take off, and now I don't think I know how to, nor would I want to.

I am glad I went. It made the devastating and until now surreal situation very real. It changed me, but not in a bad way. I am more inclined to make decisions for myself and less inclined to give a thought to judgements made by other people. When the person you always looked to as your safety net turns out to be only smoke and mirrors, you stop looking to be saved and save yourself instead. More importantly I laid my eyes on another man. A man who sat directly across from my uncle. His presence was impossible to ignore.

This man was Kevin Whitley. He sat opposite my uncle. Directly across, and stared at him, holding an indomitable glare the entire time. In his eyes was triumph, anger, pain, fury, pride, satisfaction and pure strength. I assumed he was a parent or support person for the young men he sat in front of. His powerful presence seemed to shield the men behind him, who were sitting I learned later, in the jury seating, as the room was so full.

I couldn't wipe the mans face from my mind.

The names of the people who gave evidence during the cases were suppressed. Two men however asked that their names be lifted from the suppression orders so they could share there own stories. It was then, when I saw this mans face in a newspaper article, that I learned that he was a complainant in the earlier case that had been acquitted.

Kevin, myself and Mark at 1 in Five Gala

I couldn't shake that day. I couldn't shake that face. I decided to write to him. I wrote, and I tore up the letters, and I rewrote. I couldn't even start. What would I say?

Mostly I worried that I would traumatise this man, and potentially intrude on his life uninvited, and cause him more pain. But I needed to do it. I needed to tell this man who I was, and where I stood, and how, unknowingly he had impacted me.

So eventually, almost a year later, I stood at a letterbox for the longest time. With my heart pulsing in my ears, and with a trembling hand, I dropped the latest version of my hand written letter into the letterbox. I had easily found his Facebook account, which linked to his business address. I marked the letter- "Private and confidential - To be opened by addressee only,” and included a Po Box return address.

The months passed, and although I was consumed by my own life, not least of which was the surprise news that I was expecting a child, I often wondered if he had received it, and how he had reacted. A Facebook request popped up from him, and I freaked out and changed my settings. Okay, that confirmed it, he had definitely received it!

But I didn't know this man. He had my PO Box address. Facebook in my mind was not the way to go, to link our lives, our families and friends, and our children. I couldn't imagine that could ever happen.

I thought about him from time to time, but life is busy, and the years passed.

In October 2015 I received a letter. Before I opened it I new it was him. It was addressed with the very same phrasing I had written years before to him.

The letter was lovely. I had a positive impact on this man. I had helped him. He had even used my letter as the basis for a speech he had recently delivered as a key note speaker at a police ball, in support of an organisation I had never heard of - Bravehearts. At the end of the letter was a youtube link to his speech, and a request to meet.

The speech was incredible. He had utilised a phrase I had used in my letter, “Ripple Effect,” to formulate a message of survival, hope and courage. Towards the end of his speech he reached into his pocket, and pulled out my letter. In conclusion to his speech he read my letter aloud to a packed room. Holy shit!!

Kevin Whitley's speech

I watched the video a number of times and googled Bravehearts.

I felt many things, exposed, overwhelmed, proud, these words don’t seem to do justice to how it was that I felt. I emailed him to arrange a meeting.

We met in a coffee shop in Cronulla, a southern beach side suburb of Sydney. Cronulla holds a great number of long suppressed memories for me, so returning there was both confronting and cathartic. I knew what he looked like, but he didn’t know me. We had a coffee, and I felt surprisingly comfortable.

When I had researched Bravehearts, I had come across Bravehearts Adventures, and discovered they held an annual event called the Bravehearts777. Participants run seven marathons, in seven days, in seven states, across Australia.

At that first meeting as strangers, I propose I run it for him, in his name.

He asked me, “Are you a runner?”
I said, “No,” and laughed.
“Have you even done a half marathon before?”
I said, “NO, but I enjoyed the odd fun run before I had a baby last year.”

He told me later that he thought I was completely bonkers, but by the end of the day we had decided to enter together. We registered a team which he aptly named, “The Ripple Effect,” and launched our fundraising campaign. We aimed to raise at least $20,000 for Bravehearts, and also hoped that our story would inspire others to come forward and stand together to effect positive change. In Australia 1 in 5 children will experience sexual assault before the age of eighteen.

With the help of friends, family and the community, and the help of an extraordinary journalist by the name of Daniel Sutton, we hosted among other events, a Cocktail Gala named 1inFive, and achieved a total of $31,847.30 for Bravehearts.

Giving speech at 1 in Five gala

Over the months, Kevin and I worked together to promote our cause, and tentatively navigated our unusual relationship. To call it a friendship in these early days, would be over simplifying the complex situation.
We did however seem to trust one another from the start. We both had our reasons for taking this on, so our shared dedication was enough to unite us.

I specifically mentioned the journalist Daniel Sutton. Daniel’s continued involvement is another incredible twist of fate in this story. Incidentally he was the journalist who ran the original arrest story in 2009. He also jumped in at the last minute to host a Bravehearts charity ball, and unbeknown to him Kevin was the speaker on the night. It was only after hearing Kevin speak that he realised the connection. When we formed our team, he promoted our campaign by covering our unusual partnership on the national evening news.

While shooting the story he showed no hesitation when Kevin asked him to host the Gala. I said earlier that I am not a great believer in fate but I must say Daniel’s involvement certainly challenges that notion. Daniels uncanny connection to our story, and ongoing support, is at the very least testament to his good character and decency. Thank you Daniel. TV journalism needs more Daniel Suttons.

Daniel Sutton hosting the 1 in Five gala

Australia is currently holding a Royal Commission into Child Sexual Abuse.

All survivors nationwide have been invited to lodge a submission to the independent inquiry. As Kevin’s case against my uncle had been acquitted he had never been able to make a victims impact statement. The Royal Commission presented an opportunity to truly share his perspective. Because of the acquittal the media have only been able to refer to Kevin as a whistle blower, or complainant. If they were to use any other term in relation to my uncle, they would breach the legal rights of an incarcerated child predator, and risk litigation. The inquiry however is open to all people who consider themselves survivors, regardless of court proceedings and findings. Our joint campaign and the enquiry had given Kevin the platform he was hoping to find, when he bravely released his name in 2012.

Kevin was overseas when he was called to appear. He requested that the date be changed, however the nature of the proceedings made this impossible. When he asked me to read his statement on his behalf, I surprised him by agreeing to do it immediately. It wasn’t a difficult decision. To me, this was what our team was actually about. We weren’t runners. The running event provided us with an opportunity to speak to survivors and encourage them, regardless of the situation to stand together for the protection of all children.

The Royal Commission was the perfect opportunity to show Kevin I was truly committed, for reasons that went beyond a fun run.

My uncle sent barristers to the hearing to appose my reading of Kevin’s statement. Down to the last minutes I didn’t know if I would be allowed to take the stand. Eventually parts of Kevin”s statement were redacted and I was allowed to read the statement in his absence. The hearings stream live, and I read Kevin’s account in the first person, to the open court.

Something else remarkable happened that day.

I met Mark Lawrence, the other man who had released his name in court in 2012. Mark was a complainant in the case that was not acquitted, and we can therefore call him a survivor of my uncle without fear of litigation. I mindfully use the word survivor rather than victim, as through his difficult life he has not only survived but gone on to thrive. Mark is a true survivor and an inspiration. He himself a Bravehearts ambassador, Mark had by now already joined our team and although I felt like I already new him, I had never met him in person before.

We sat together as support person for each other, and since that day he has called me sister.

Mark lives hundreds of miles away and had flown down to Sydney for the enquiry. He promised to return again for the fundraiser, and true to his word he returned to Sydney, bass in hand, and along with Kevin and his band, he rocked the night.

Mark playing bass with Kevin & his band MOJO at 1 in Five Gala

The fundraiser was a wonderful success, not only for the thousands of dollars raised, but for the remarkable way in which our families and friends came together. The room was filled with nothing but love and support from everyone. I was expecting a powerful emotive evening, but I wasn’t expecting to have so much fun.

We smashed our target, had a cracker of a night and had shared our unified message.

Video of Kevin and myself speaking at 1inFive Gala

Our team now included six people. Kevin, Mark and myself, and also Kevin’s partner Vicki, my brother in law Rob, and Bel one of my dearest and oldest friends. They all pledged to run one of the marathons as state runners, to support my attempt to complete all seven. Kevin would travel with me, his knees too arthritic to run, it would be his tour, and I would be his legs.

All that stood in my way now was the simple task of running almost 300kms in a week, while flying between capital cities every day.

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I arrived in Perth a couple of days early. I stayed with friends who doted on me, and most importantly I got two good nights sleep. My baby now two years old is still not a brilliant sleeper. The only part of the trip I new I was fully prepared for was the early mornings and limited sleep. My training regime well intended and initially consistent, had been hampered by shift work, family commitments, two solid years of sleep deprivation and a bout of whooping cough six weeks out from the mega run. I had also been feeling the emotional toll of my own complex position, which very much impacted my energy and desire to train. Obligation rather than passion drove my training runs in the final weeks.

The national team consisted of twenty people including myself and Kevin. We met them in Perth the night before the first marathon. We had flown in from every corner of the country. The team was comprised of teachers, health professionals, students, lawyers, bankers and business people. Many of them were mothers fathers and grandparents. The youngest nineteen years old and the oldest sixty two. We all shared the same goal, irrespective of whether we would complete a marathon in three hours or six and a half hours - To give a voice to those without one, and to help make Australia the safest place to raise a child.

National team minutes before the start of the first marathon.

In my excitement, on the way to meet the team, and only two blocks from the hotel, I impulsively decided to have the Bravehearts777 running man shaved into the back of my head. I popped into a barbershop on Murray St. The barbers seemed amused by me and chuckled and spoke to each other in arabic as I sat expectantly in the chair. It wasn’t a perfect reproduction of the logo, but more an interpretation of it. It seemed like a good idea at the time…………I’m left trying to decide now whether to grow it out, or take the lot off.

Early the next day we gathered at the starting line in the south bank of The mighty Swan River. With excitement, anticipation and a good dose of nervousness, we set off along the foreshore. Perth had delivered a beautiful morning. I completed the Perth marathon comfortably and steadily, and finished with a positive mind set.

The team flew to Adelaide, our longest flight, and checked into our hotel late in the evening. Up early the next morning I was psyched to hit the track, and keen to run a sub five hour marathon. The Adelaide run was also a very pretty waterfront run, and in spite of my Ornithophobia (fear of birds), I almost enjoyed seeing the black swans that had also joined us in Perth. We ran along The River Torrens and under a number of beautiful bridges. Bravehearts had carefully planned the the courses to be laps of 7km stretches, 3.5km out and 3.5km back. This allowed participants to support one another along the way. Each time someone passed they would hi five and check in with each other. We all worked together to ensure everyone got across the line.

At the completion of my fifth lap I was on track for a comfortable sub five hour run, and feeling on top of the world. I gave Kevin a big hug at the aid station where he sat strumming his guitar, and set off. I rounded a corner and in an attempt to relieve my angry quadriceps I smashed my knee in a ballistic squat /stretch. I was shattered and shuffling. The other runners knew, and as they passed they were a great support.
One runner remarked, “Keep going, there is a surprise waiting for you around the corner.”
As I shuffled on I could see a figure heading my way. It was Kevin, he had come to my rescue. The man I had pledged to run for, supported me across the finish line.

I prayed that once we got to Melbourne and I had a good nights sleep, I would be good to go in the morning. Melbourne delivered a beautiful day also, and a lake side run in Albert Park, complete with Black swans. However the overnight wish for a miraculous double knee replacement didn't occur. I did decide though at some point midway, with both my knees strapped on, and every single step feeling like murder, that this was actually not such a bad thing. For a couple of reasons. I thought about the survivors who have told me that they have experienced times in their life that felt worse than murder. I also thought about the promise that I made to Kevin to be his legs for the tour, as both his knees are arthritic. In that case it seemed only appropriate that I should do such a run with blown out knees. I finished in a pretty good frame of mind all things considered, only my knees were protesting, the rest of me had a bloody fabulous time. It also turned out that Captain Kev was very capable of holding his own. He cruised home completing his own half marathon. CHAMP!

We flew to Hobart next, the capital of Tasmania. What a charming little city. We didn’t see a hell of a lot of the places we ran. The airport, the drive to the hotel, the drive to the running track, and the 7km lap. I had only been to Tasmania once before. I had visited Launceston and fell in love with the place, but I have never been to Hobart. What I did see of it was divine, a picturesque hidden secret. AND COLD!! To cold for swans too it seemed, not a black swan in sight.

My broken knees didn’t like the cold at all. I shuffled to the starting line. As long as I shuffled and didn’t lift my feet off the ground, I wasn’t too bad. As the runners set off, I attempted to follow. They ran ahead, their ears plugged with music, and I wailed! I screamed! A down hill start in the cold Tasmanian winter was murder. Even Kevin setting out on his next half marathon walk, with his newly discovered endurance capacity, was ahead of me. He thought I had headed off with the other runners, and with his music in his ears too, he was unaware I was behind him. Our team mentor Shane, one of the amazing support staff had heard me. He rode up behind me on his bike. I refused to give up, so he rode ahead to the aid station at the turn around point to retrieve the first aid supplies. I agreed to meet him there. He also alerted Kevin, who came to my rescue again.

Mentor Shane to the rescue

Kevin suggested that maybe I should stop, that I didn’t have to finish or perhaps we could tag the laps and share the distance. I was enraged! Not at Kevin of course, but I was frustrated and devastated. Every piece of me except my knees was willing. I filled with the emotion of our partnership. I screamed through tears. “He doesn’t get to take this from us! He is waiting for me to fail! He is not taking this from you!”

And there it was, that was our moment. The very moment that this man became more than a person with a common cause, and I found it, the strength to continue. I tapped back into the reason we were there. I couldn’t really use my knees at this point, so I shuffled using my hips and my ankles. I met Shane at the aid station he taped my knees in place, and Kayleen, a Bravehearts legend, appeared like The Arch Angel Of Over The Counter Anti-inflammatory Analgesia, and I was off. I surprised myself with how fast I could walk, and I finished. I had time for a 30 second shower, and before I new it I was back at Hobart airport.

I lay on the floor at the terminal gate and cried on the phone to my Husband, Dad, Mum, Sister, and a couple of good mates, including of course Mark Lawrence, who had been a great source of encouragement and strength. My sister and her husband Rob who was running the A.C.T marathon, and my mum were meeting me in Canberra in a matter of hours. I couldn’t wait to see my sister, she knows me like only a sister can. I don’t need to say anything, just being in her company would be fantastic.

To get to Canberra from Hobart we needed to change flights in Sydney. I flew over my home at dusk, and thought of my babies getting ready for bed below me. I actually live under the flight path and passed over them with my heart, and every other part of me aching. I was missing them desperately. Without them I felt like a vital organ had been removed, and I so very much just wanted to rest my head on my husbands shoulder, or to tuck myself perfectly under his arm. Before leaving for Perth I hadn’t even spent one night away from my baby, and my big girl needed me too although she wouldn’t admit it. And I needed them.

We weren’t in Sydney long. I headed to the connecting flight and there it was. The contraption I had been fearing. A twin propeller plane. At this point I must make mention of Tassie runner Paul. He was buddied up with me for a number of flights, and helped me through a few sketchy moments. A more genuine man you will never meet. I made friends for life on this trip.

My Sister, her husband, and our mum met me in Canberra. My mum drove hundreds of kilometres to get there. If I thought Hobart was cold then Canberra was brutal. The coldest Australian City in winter, and often the hottest in summer, Canberra is a funny place. It was purpose built as our nations capital, placed between Melbourne and Sydney in an attempt to appease the rival cities, as neither would abide the other having capital status. In 1911 a man named Walter Burley Griffin won a design competition and Canberra was created. It resulted in an overly organised network of roundabouts, connecting a decentralised suburban structure, with parliament house siting on a hill next to a man made lake. A vast contrast to the haphazard chaos of Sydney that I am accustomed to.

My mum cried when she saw me. She also delivered much needed analgesia that I had asked her to pick up for me when I called her from Hobart. I ate three hamburgers and a couple of painkillers and headed to bed.

My brother in law ran an impressive marathon. I power shuffled and finished. Granny (my mum), was there with Kevin at the finish line when I crossed. In spite of the pain I had an enjoyable time. Roughly three hours drive from Sydney, it was the closest run to my family, and with some family there too I felt a great lift in my spirits.

We flew to Coolangatta that night. While I would have loved a run in Sydney I was grateful that the next two runs would be based from the Gold Coast in southern Queensland, with a New South Wales run just a bus ride south, over the boarder in Kingscliff.

My darling friend Bel who was to run the last marathon with me, had decided to head up early from Sydney when she heard I was struggling. Mark Lawrence, now friends with her since our fundraiser was picking her up. Vicki, Kevin’s partner also joined us when we again changed flights in Sydney.

THE TEAM WAS TOGETHER.

Following my brother-in-laws impressive run in Canberra the rest of the team were coming together a day early for the sixth marathon. Kingscliff, with Mark’s home only a stones throw away, was perfect. We took number six very easy. With my team united I was strong. We finished together, crossing the finish line very injured, but somehow feeling stronger than ever. I was also very grateful to not be getting on another plane. Just a bus back to the hotel.

Stumbling across finish line no.6 with Mark Lawrence

I’m so grateful to Bel. She came to my rescue and cared for me those last couple of days. At one point I asked her to stop being so lovely as I was scared I would totally unravel if I allowed myself to acknowledge how in need of care I was feeling. I had one more marathon to go, I couldn’t afford to let go of the denial that was holding me together. I didn’t really mean it though, she did so much for me, fed me, tended to my wounds, and made me laugh til it hurt as I lay almost broken next to her in our tandem beds. I can’t express my gratitude, Bel is a beautiful human being.

On day seven we gathered at the starting line. The Gold Coast Airport Marathon is big. It’s an annual event that draws thousands. The crowds lined the streets. The starting line was crammed full of fresh faced healthy excited participants.

When I woke up I could barely open my eyes. It seemed the oedema from the salt loss and resulting fluid shift was no longer confined to my hands and feet. My face was puffy, and I could hardly walk. I let myself have a couple of minutes to cry in the bathroom, then I gathered myself, ate some salt, donned my running gear, and shuffled to the hotel lobby.

The Bravehearts team gathered on day seven with several of us injured, some to the point that they had decided to withdraw from the last run. They came down nonetheless to support the other. Incredible people, thinking of others, and all the while carrying their own disappointment and injuries, and reliving their own personal experiences and reasons for undertaking this trip.

Every National runner had an inspiring and very personal story. By this stage it is not about a passion for running. It’s not about running at all. By the last marathon we are all wearing our personal journey like armour as we triumphantly take to the streets. Surrounded by the shiny, healthy, positive runners lining the street, I felt like I knew something they didn’t, with my swollen knees and ankles taped on, and skin torn away in places from the previous days strapping.

People talk about taking journeys and learning that they are capable of more, blah, blah, blah………
I’m not about to be one of those people. But I will say this.

Don’t set your expectations of yourself or of what is possible, by the limitations of someone else’s mind. Don’t be scared to step outside of yourself and attempt something someone else tells you you can’t do. Turn their doubt on its head and treat it as a challenge.

And if you feel like you need to tell someone something, or maybe you can articulate better if you write and have the opportunity to find the right words, don’t let this misguided world tell you that you shouldn’t or you can’t.

I believe we only ask people for advice to hear what we already know mirrored back at us, to help us find the courage to do what we already know we need to do. So if you are sure you need to do something, do it, don’t wait for permission from others. The same people who told me not to, or suggested that working with Kevin was “inappropriate” have congratulated and supported our ongoing work.

It’s okay to be the person to redefine what is acceptable and possible.

I started out on the last run very slowly. Runner after runner passed me. With Bel at my side I cheered for each one as they passed us, and Bel proudly told everyone that I was running number 7 in a week.

Unlike the last six, this marathon had cutoff times at certain points along the way. So I kept an eye on my borrowed Garmin and kept on shuffling. Every time I felt pain, instead of crying out, I yell Woohoo! I told myself it was fabulous and fabulous it became. I let the crowd carry us along. I imagined carrying my pain in my pocket, and when that didn’t work, I imagined my pain running and I allowed it to do the work, and I visualised myself sitting in it’s pocket.

I utilised many different shuffling techniques. When one group of muscles started to hurt, I changed it up a bit and shuffled in a slightly different fashion. By halfway I found my groove, and and started to pass the now less shiny looking runners, who had started out so strong and were now walking. Unlike them, with 21kms to go, I could taste the finish line already.

As I was counting down the kilometres I looked around and realise - I HAVE DONE IT! Well, - I HAVE NEARLY DONE IT!

With very little training and a huge amount of stubbornness, denial, a touch of the crazies and a bloody important message, I have almost completed the Bravehearts777.

Bel and I trotted on side by side. We crossed the finish line together, our team waiting. Kevin wrapped me in his arms, and the rest of the team folded around us. I’m not sure how long we remained like this, Kevin let go of his rock star bravado and we both shed a tear. I will treasure that moment for the rest of my life.

We embarked on this event together, hoping to carefully navigate the sensitive nature of our relationship. Of all the things that I expected to come from this endeavour, I did not expect to come to love this man. Sometime during that week, or perhaps as a culmination of our shared experiences that week, and in the months prior, Kevin Whitley and Mark Lawrence moved into my heart.

I spoke with Kevin recently and said exactly that, “I love you. I didn’t expect that I would. I thought we could accomplish something pretty amazing together, but I didn’t expect that.”
He replied, “I love you too Margie.”

###People say you can’t choose your family. You might not be able to choose who you are genetically related to, but you can most certainly choose who you consider family, and who you call your brother.

People have also told me that I have done something amazing for Kevin, but he has done so much for me too. He restored my faith in human beings. What I did for Kevin wasn’t amazing, it was just the right thing that rippled along as it went, then other people helped us both build it into something. The Ripple Effect isn't Kevin's or mine, it belongs to everyone who continues to speak out and demand a safer future for our children.

Following our great feat, many of the National runners featured in follow up stories in their local news. We didn’t feature in any news articles in our home town of Sydney despite our attempts to engage our local rag. Perhaps this retraction of an article that ran prior to our run explains why.

We won’t be silenced or intimidated. During our fundraising Kevin spoke to many people. The responses were surprising, varied and unpredictable. One person who was impacted by the Whitley Ripple was Sam McAuliffe. Sam donated a beautiful bike that was auctioned at out fundraiser. Bel caught wind of the fact that my daughter had her eye on it and out bid everyone to secure it for her.

Sam has entered a team for next year and will be running all seven marathons, and her team mate, my darling Bel will be running beside her in every one. Kevin and I have joined their team too, and will run one or two as state runners to support them.

The Ripple Effect is real. Your small actions can make a change. Maybe you won’t change the world, but you might change one persons world, and that person just may have the ability to turn your ripple into a tsunami.

National team, Kevin and I front & centre.

If you fancy a whirlwind tour of Australia, and a week that you will never forget. JOIN US. We would love to have you on our team. You don’t have to be an athlete, in fact Sam has named her team “FIT-ISH.”

ALL YOU REQUIRE IS A BRAVE HEART