Ryan Morris

What am I doing?!

There are some journeys you don’t choose, they choose you.

In May 2026, I will run 50 kilometres for SANDS, a charity that supports families through the unimaginable pain of stillbirth and neonatal death. This isn’t just a physical challenge. It’s not about pace, distance, or medals. It’s about something far deeper, remembrance, love, and the quiet strength that grows from grief.

Fifty kilometres is a long way. Long enough for your legs to ache, your lungs to burn, and your mind to start asking difficult questions. But it’s also long enough to reflect, to honour, and to carry stories that deserve to be heard.

Every step I take will be for the babies who never had the chance to take their own.

Every mile will be for the parents who carry both love and loss in the same breath.

Every moment of discomfort will be a reminder that some pains don’t fade, they simply become part of who we are.

Running has always been a way to clear my head, to find space in the noise of everyday life. But this run feels different. This time, the miles aren’t empty. They’re full,  full of meaning, memory, and purpose.

There will be moments when I want to stop. When the road feels endless, when my body feels heavy, when doubt creeps in. But those moments will never compare to what so many families have endured. And in that perspective, I will keep going.

Because this run is not about me.

It’s about shining a light on something people often struggle to talk about.

It’s about saying the names that deserve to be spoken.

It’s about making sure no one feels alone in their grief.

SANDS does incredible work, providing support, understanding, and a community for those navigating loss. They help turn isolation into connection, and silence into shared strength. Supporting them means helping families feel seen, heard, and held during their darkest times.

As I prepare for this challenge, I carry a mix of emotions. Determination. Gratitude. Heartache. Hope.

And maybe that’s what this run truly represents, the coexistence of all those feelings. The reality that even in sorrow, there can be purpose. Even in pain, there can be movement forward.

So when May arrives, and I stand at the start line, I won’t just be thinking about the distance ahead.

I’ll be thinking about why I started.

I’ll be thinking about who I’m running for.

And I’ll run with everything I have, not just to finish, but to honour, to remember, and to make every step count.

Because some journeys deserve to be felt, not just completed