By Brad Dryburgh
Scrolling through my camera roll in an effort to pass time, I came across a photo of my dad taken 22 years ago.
Sitting by my side for the third consecutive evening in Wollongong Hospital’s emergency department, I stretched over to show him the image that caught my attention. Digitally captured on my phone was the hilarious yet inspiring scene of an old photograph that marked one of my old man’s most significant and meaningful achievements.
In a set of footy shorts that must have survived since the 80s and with a can of Toohey’s in hand, my dad had just completed a 3-day, 212km effort running to raise funds and awareness for cystic fibrosis in hopes of a brighter future for his little boy.
Just a month prior to seeing the image I had joined a run club down at North Wollongong beach that met every Sunday at 6am with 3 objectives: 1. Run 5 kilometres. 2. Sink an iced long black. 3. Share a yarn with mates new and old. It was a great initiative and whilst I spent my first 4 weeks barely surviving the long and arduous runs, the coffee and conversations were my motivation to get to the finish line. A few hours after my fourth Sunday effort, I found myself coughing up a frightening amount of blood and on my way to the ER for testing.
This wasn’t new territory for me, but it was unexpected.
6 years prior I had my first ever experience with bleeding and it was terrifying to wrestle with that for the first time. Though it was an isolated incident and whilst my lungs had their fair share of infections and time on IVs in the years that followed, this was now only the second time I was coughing up blood. However, this time it wasn’t an isolated experience but rather a repeated occurrence for 3 evenings in a row. The third evening led to that moment in conversation with my dad.
Whilst I had begun to enjoy overcoming the challenge of a Sunday jog, I was still very new to distance running and was far from comfortable with it, yet I couldn’t help but feel inspired looking at the photo of my dad that night and the fact that he had not only risen to the occasion for himself but to inspire me and so many others. There was a real sense of purpose that surrounded the achievement and without too much thought I made a declaration that would go on to change my life as I knew it, “I’m going to run a marathon by the year’s end to prove that nothing is impossible for people with CF.” It was bold and I believed it, but there was one thing I hadn’t figured out… how the bloody hell was I going to do that?!
If you haven’t heard the origin of the marathon let me share a basic history lesson with you. A Greek soldier is given orders to carry an important message to save the lives of thousands and he has to travel on foot to deliver it. After 42.195 kilometres of putting one foot in front of the other, against all odds he hands off the message and drops dead. The bloke didn’t have another step in him, he was burnt bread and for some ungodly reason we thought it ought to be a good idea to make a whole event out of it. The marathon was and will never be a small feat, I knew it would require 4 months of dedication, discipline, and grit to get it done and I had no idea how my lungs would hold up in the wake of the consistent bleeding I had experienced.
My first order of business was to announce it to the world through social media. I knew I’d be too stubborn to back out once I had made my intentions known and I needed that sense of commitment to lock in on the task at hand.
Step 2, was to bring a coach on board who could turn a 24-year-old with a dad bod and cystic fibrosis into an athlete in just 4 months. Thankfully former rugby player turned ultra-endurance athlete Benny Seymour put his hand up to train me for free and to run the event with me.
Step 3, I partnered with Cystic Fibrosis Australia to raise funds and awareness through the event and turn the spectacle into Wollongong’s first official marathon event with 13 of us signed up to complete it together.
Step 4, get it done and appreciate the experience.
The months that followed cannot be represented by a linear line of progress but rather by a messy and challenging map, that for all of its twists and turns was nonetheless heading in the right direction. My weeks consisted of 2-4 runs, 2-3 gym sessions, lots of food, lots of walks, 0-4 lung bleeds, 0-2 trips to the ER and 100% of the energy I had to give every single day.
To cut a long story short, I completed the marathon on December 12th, with my family and friends present to bear witness and celebrate a truly special day with me. A day in which we raised over $56,000 and I proved that CF doesn’t define us but rather how we respond does.
Nothing worth doing comes easy. I empowered myself with a purpose that fuelled my progress, I made a commitment to keep moving forward no matter how hard it got and with the tool of perspective I reminded myself just how much of a blessing it was to have air in my lungs and the ability to take another breath.
That was the first of now 3 marathons and a 50km ultra that I have completed. I certainly don’t plan on it being the last. I’m not suggesting that you set your sights on goals similar to mine, but I can profess to the power of challenging yourself.
In the end, it’s got little to do with whether you fail or succeed, it’s about the growth and experience along the way. As the great Jimmy Carr once said, “Trajectory is more important than position.”
The views, experiences or comments shared on this website are not medical advice and may not reflect opinions or beliefs of Cystic Fibrosis Community Care. Always seek the guidance of your doctor or other qualified health professional with any questions regarding your health.
