The Man Behind It All: Why I Ran the New York City Marathon for My Grandad

Behind every milestone is someone who made it possible.

For me, that person was my grandad.

One year after we lost him to prostate cancer, I signed up for the New York City Marathon. I'd never run a marathon before. No years of experience. No running club. No coach.

Just a promise to make him proud.

Running for Someone Who Couldn't

In 2009, we lost our grandad to prostate cancer. His passing left a hole in our family, but it also opened my eyes to something much bigger.

Grandad taught us the importance of resilience, determination and taking pride in where we came from. Even after he was gone, those lessons stayed with me.

Back in 2010, not enough people in our community were talking about prostate cancer. Black men were dying, yet conversations around prevention, testing and early diagnosis were almost non-existent.

The silence was costing lives. I couldn't change what had happened to Grandad. But I could honour his legacy.

So I ran.

Every Mile Had a Purpose

Every part of the journey was a solo mission. I trained alone. Raised money alone. Flew to New York alone. I'd just turned 30. My little cousin Corey would have been 16. 

To make things harder, I was carrying an injury that, looking back, I probably shouldn't have been running on.

But once you've committed yourself to something bigger than your own discomfort, quitting becomes much harder.

Every early morning reminded me why I was doing it. Every run became another chance to honour his memory. This wasn't about chasing a personal best.

It was about making him proud.

The Energy of New York

The morning of the marathon is something I'll never forget.

The speakers were blasting Frank Sinatra's New York, New York. I remember smiling to myself. Of course they were. On my headphones was the soundtrack I'd carefully chosen for the day. Biggie. Nas. Jay-Z. New York jazz.

I didn't just want to complete the New York City Marathon. I wanted to absorb every single second of it.

26.2 Miles Across Five Boroughs

Then the race began. 26.2 miles.

Through Staten Island. Brooklyn. Queens. The Bronx. Manhattan. Every borough had its own energy. The crowds never stopped cheering. Even with the injury. Even in the freezing temperatures.

There were moments when my body wanted to slow down, but New York has a way of carrying you when your legs can't.

The atmosphere was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Pain and joy somehow existed at exactly the same time. Every mile reminded me why I'd started.

More Than a Marathon

Crossing the finish line wasn't just about completing 26.2 miles. 

Together, we raised £2,000 for prostate cancer awareness.

That mattered more than any finishing time ever could. It took me a week to recover physically. I'd do it all again tomorrow. Every early morning. Every training run. Every ache. Every mile.

Every moment was worth it.

The Man Behind It All

The hardest part is knowing Grandad never got to see it.

He never saw the finish line. He never knew how many people supported the cause. He never knew the impact his life would continue to have. But every step I took was for him. 

If there's one thing that marathon taught me, it's this:

The medal isn't what stays with you. The finish line isn't what changes you. It's the journey.

The discipline. The resilience. The purpose behind every step. Some races are about beating the clock. Others are about carrying someone's memory across every mile. This was the latter.

The New York City Marathon lasted one day. My grandad's influence has lasted a lifetime. His legacy continues to shape the way I live, the challenges I take on and the pride I have in my Caribbean roots.

The marathon wasn't the story. He was.

For you, Grandad. Always.