I Don’t Deserve This… | Mental Health Blog Awards

I feel like a fraud.

Last month, I won the Social Champion of the Year award at the Mental Health Blog Awards. But the truth is, I feel far from a champion. In the past two years, I’ve barely blogged and I’ve strayed from the raw openness about mental health that was at the heart of this blog when it began.

The trophy now sits on my shelf, surrounded by medals and awards—not as a symbol of pride but as a sharp, painful reminder: I need to be better.

But how did we get here?

Why I started The Morning Coffee Run in the first place

If I’m being honest, I haven’t written about my mental health in months—maybe years. And it’s not because I haven’t struggled; quite the opposite. The past few months have been especially hard. Yet I’ve stayed silent. That silence isn’t okay.

I launched The Morning Coffee Run in 2017 as a space to be vulnerable, to share my experiences, and to show the world that running—like life—is both brutally hard and breathtakingly beautiful. Back then, becoming a runner felt like the ultimate adventure, and I wanted to bring others along for the ride.

At the time, I didn’t see many runners like me out there—thankfully, that’s changed—but it drove me to be a voice for those who felt they didn’t “fit the mold.” My mission was simple: to inspire just one person to believe they could start, no matter their shape, size, or pace.

My mantra became “Do what you can’t,” a reminder that we’re capable of more than we think. Somewhere along the way, though, I drifted—from my running, my writing, and, most painfully, my “why.”

Running Can Save You

Running has always been more than miles to me; it’s been salvation. It taught me that strength isn’t just about cresting the hills—it’s about enduring the valleys. The finish lines, the moments of triumph—they’re sweeter because of the struggles along the way.

Running gave me purpose. It helped me understand my depression—not fix it, but hold it in my hands and measure its weight. Through the rhythm of footsteps and sweat-soaked miles, I found my strength.

But somewhere along the journey, I began to hide. I created a persona of endless enthusiasm, an unshakable image of positivity. And without realising it, I became a caricature of who I once was.

Call it vanity, ego, or a need to fit in—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I lost touch with the real me.

The Breaking Point

In 2024, I set my sights on my A-race: the Autumn 100. But I DNF-ed at 38 miles. I barely mentioned it online for a while, and I certainly didn’t admit the biggest reason why I pulled out: my mental health was in tatters.

Yes, there were other factors—thanks, COVID—but my mental strength, the thing I once prided myself on, had eroded. I assumed it was solid but when I leaned on it, I found only smoke and shadows.

Change has always been a trigger for my depression, and leaving my full-time job at The Running Channel hit me like a tsunami. Instead of facing it openly, I disappeared. I failed to uphold the responsibility that comes with the platform I’ve built since 2017: the responsibility to be honest (sorry Uncle Ben I ruined your catchphrase).

A Promise

So here it is. In black and white.

A promise to you, and selfishly, a promise to myself: to be open and honest about my journey. To make it my journey again.

I’ve been struggling, yes. But the road ahead looks brighter. And I’m ready to lace up, to show up, and to move forward once more.

Always forward. Forward always.