“On paper, my life looked perfect.

But it didn’t feel like mine.”

Two incredible children.
A caring, loyal wife.
A home. A dog. Stability.

But it felt like someone else’s dream.

I didn’t feel proud.
I didn’t feel fulfilled.
I didn’t feel like a man.

I felt like a disappointment.

One day, while driving a lorry — a job I’d fallen into because it was convenient rather than chosen — I broke.

I was behind the wheel of a large goods vehicle, crying uncontrollably and punching myself in the face.

That was the moment I knew something had to change.

I couldn’t keep living like that.

THE DECISION

I needed to build something.

Not another idea.
Not another “maybe one day”.

Something real.

So I combined two things:

• My need to build
• My love of running

At the time, there weren’t many trail events in Dover.
So I created one around the Western Heights — a Napoleonic-era fortress overlooking the town.

It became the first running event in its history.

People turned up.
They ran.
They suffered.
They smiled.

And that’s when Hellfire Events was born.

“Hellfire wasn’t built from confidence.

It was built from survival.”

Since then, we’ve hosted multiple Western Heights Trail Races and created The Governor Backyard Ultra — the world’s first Backyard Ultra inside the high walls of a prison.

But the real story started much earlier.

THE 11-YEAR-OLD BOY

I was sent to a special secondary school.

At 11 years old, I was learning the alphabet.
Learning how to spell my own name.

While other kids were flying ahead, I was starting from scratch.

At that school, I learned something else:

How to disguise my academic ability.
How to sound intelligent.
How to talk my way through situations.
How to survive socially.

Somewhere in that process, a deeper need formed.

To feel enough.
To feel special.
To prove something.

That desire followed me for years.

“I thought I needed to be Richard Branson.

I just needed to be myself.”

He’s dyslexic. He built an empire.
I used to think, why can’t I be him?

But chasing someone else’s version of success is dangerous.

Because I’m not Richard Branson.

And I don’t need to be.

WHAT SAVED ME

If I’m honest, my children probably saved my life.

The depression came in waves.
Sometimes months. Sometimes hours.
But it always returned.

Having them around kept me here on days when I wasn’t sure I wanted to be.

I’m grateful for the support network my wife built around me, even when she didn’t know how much I was struggling.

I just wish I’d been braver sooner.

WHAT HELLFIRE REALLY IS

Hellfire wasn’t born from a polished business plan.

Not confidence.
Not strategy.
Not momentum.

It was a survival decision.

It was a man deciding he couldn’t keep living a life that didn’t feel like his own.

I’m still figuring parts of it out.

Some days I still feel like that 11-year-old trying to catch up.

But I’m proud of this.

Not just the races.

What it represents.

Something built from nothing.
Something earned.
Something real.

“This is my version of success.

And it was earned, not given.”

WHAT WILL HELLFIRE BECOME?

I don’t know the final shape yet.

But I know exactly what it must stand for.

Hellfire started as a way to save myself.
Now it feels like something bigger.

Not just races.
Not just medals.

Something that helps people.

Sport has power.

It builds routine.
It creates structure.
It gives people a reason to wake up early.
It builds belonging without judgement.

I’ve seen people change because of running.
I’ve seen confidence grow.
I’ve seen doubt turn into belief.

Whatever Hellfire becomes:

It has to stand for something real.
It has to do good.
It has to help people move forward.

Even if it’s one person at a time.

“If you’re reading this, you’re part of it now.”

Every race.
Every lap.
Every decision to show up.

That’s what builds Hellfire.

And that will always be earned, not given.