I’m up to my eyeballs in this thing called life with MS. Sometimes I’m paralysed by fear. Too scared to look down in case I drop the baton. When I look around, all I see are fallen soldiers. Then I look in the mirror and remind myself: I have MS too. I pick up my sword, remembering that strength also means knowing when to keep it sheathed. I’ve come too far to turn around now. Some days, though, I’m tired of having to be brave. Today is the anniversary of losing my best friend, Ben. He was 42. Two months after completing an Ironman, he died from a brain tumour. An Ironman. Then gone. Sometimes I wonder whether he’d even recognise me now. I catch myself thinking, “How far have the mighty fallen?” Then I think about what he lost. If Ben could swap places with me—live with MS, but get to see his kids grow up—I reckon he’d bite my bloody arm off. That doesn’t make MS any less shit. It reminds me why this life is still worth living. The kids growing up. The ordinary days. The moments we never think to count until we realise how precious they are. As shit as it can be, this is my life. There are many like it, but this one is mine. Thank you, brother, for the friendship—and for the reminder. RIP Ben. Love you, mate. xx