Why I’m running the Dubai Marathon – Georgia’s story
1 in 20 children lose a parent by the age of 16, that’s at least one in every classroom. By age 26, I had lost both my parents, my dad when I was 10 and my mum just over two years ago. Grief, both as a child and an adult, has shown me how deeply loss can affect a life.
Georgia
After losing my dad, my mum became my rock and best friend. From that moment, it was just me and Mum against the world. We weren’t just mother and daughter—we were best friends. We leaned on each other, fought through the grief together, and somehow kept going. Losing her reopened the grief I never fully processed from losing my dad. I was lucky to have support, but many don’t, which is why Winston’s Wish means so much to me.
Running isn’t just exercise—it’s therapy. It’s a space where it’s just you, your thoughts, and the steady rhythm of your feet hitting the ground. For me, it became a lifeline, a way to process emotions, find clarity, and, most importantly, keep moving forward.
When my mum was seriously ill in the hospital, I could feel it—she was holding on for me. She didn’t want to leave me alone. But watching her suffer was unbearable, and I knew I had to tell her it was okay to let go. I promised her I’d be fine, even though I wasn’t sure how I’d manage without her.
After Mum died, I felt like I was floating through life, disconnected and numb. So, I started walking – hours and hours of walking.
Georgia
Moving my body reminded me I was still alive. Being out in nature reminded me that there is still beauty in life and something to live for. Those walks eventually turned into runs.
At first, I ran to feel something—anything. The physical burn was a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest. Over time, though, running became something more. It gave me space to think, to process, to cry without anyone watching. Running became a reflection of grief itself. Both are hard. Both hurt. But as I kept going, step by step, the pain became a little more manageable.
Before she passed, I promised Mum I’d do something with my life. I told her I’d run a half marathon, maybe even a full one. I wasn’t much of a runner then—5K was my limit—but I knew she’d be with me every step of the way, just like Dad had always been.
Last year, I kept my promise and completed two half marathons. This year, I’m going all in—a full marathon. On January 12th, 2025, I’ll run the Dubai Marathon in their memory, raising money for Winston’s Wish.
I chose Winston’s Wish because grief has been a part of my life since I was a child. Losing my dad at ten was a trauma I didn’t fully understand at the time. As a young adult, losing my mum reopened wounds I thought I’d healed, and forced me to confront the weight of both losses. Grief can be so isolating, especially for children who don’t have the tools or words to express what they’re feeling.
Winston’s Wish provides immediate, no-barrier support for children and young people navigating the unimaginable. They understand that grief doesn’t wait and neither should support. I wish I’d known about them when I was younger, when I was trying to make sense of losing my dad, and later, my mum. Their work ensures that no child has to face their grief alone.
Grief is a marathon, not a sprint. Running has taught me that. It’s about putting one foot in front of the other, even when you don’t feel like you can. It’s about finding those small moments of joy and clinging to them.
On that day in January, I’ll run for Mum. I’ll run for Dad. And I’ll run for every child who feels like the weight of grief is too much to bear. Because together, step by step, we can move forward.
Fundraise for Winston’s Wish!
Join Team Winston today and help us to achieve our vision of a society in which every child can get the help and support they need when someone important dies.