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<div>Hello everyone,
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<div>This year I’ll be running the TCS London Marathon for two of the most incredible, strong women I know both of whom are still bravely fighting cancer.
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<div>In the past, I’ve raised money through charities, but I never really saw where the funds went. This time, I wanted to make it personal. Every pound raised will go directly toward the nurses and local community who are supporting these amazing women every single day.
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<div>I won’t say much about myself just know this: I absolutely HATE running. I’ve never even done PE in school. But for these two warriors, I will run every single mile.
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<div>Please take a moment to read their stories in their own words
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<div><strong>Shilpa Story in her own words </strong>
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<div>A Battle I Never Expected to Face &amp; the Fear No One Talks About
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<div>A story of strength, resilience, and hope
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<div>One day at a time
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<div>2024 was supposed to be the year I jumped out of a plane, planned a trek to Mount Everest Base Camp, and chased every adrenaline filled dream on my list.
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<div>Instead, I heard the words that changed everything:
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<div>“You have Triple Negative Breast Cancer.”
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<div>Triple Negative Breast Cancer — TNBC — is an aggressive form of breast cancer.
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<div>It lacks estrogen receptors, progesterone receptors, and HER2 protein.
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<div>That means the usual targeted treatments don’t work.
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<div>It accounts for only 10–15% of breast cancers, but it’s fast, fierce, and unpredictable.
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<div>The prognosis is tougher.
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<div>The journey is harder.
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<div>But the fight?
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<div>The fight is the same — and I was ready.
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<div>My world paused — but my fight began.
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<div>️ The Battle Plan
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<div>My treatment was long, intense, and relentless:
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<div>Chemotherapy + Immunotherapy
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<div>16 cycles of chemo with 4 different chemo drugs
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<div>13 immunotherapy infusions- 8 combined with chemo
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<div>Surgery
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<div>Lumpectomy to remove the tumour and surrounding tissue
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<div>Radiation
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<div>9 Sessions of daily Radiations
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<div>Endless blood tests, medications, and side effects
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<div>Sixteen months of fighting.
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<div>Sixteen months of surviving.
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<div>Sixteen months of becoming someone stronger.
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<div>I’m a mum of two, someone who rarely falls sick, someone who loves life with every breath — and this fight has pushed me to my limits physically, emotionally, and mentally.
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<div>Finishing treatment doesn’t mean the fear ends.
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<div>In some ways, it’s where a new fear begins.
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<div>After TNBC, the next five years are the most critical maybe even more years.
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<div>Every ache, every twinge, every moment of fatigue makes your heart stop.
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<div>You learn to live between hospital appointments, scans, and the quiet question that sits in the back of your mind:
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<div>“What if it comes back?”
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<div>Moving forward after TNBC isn’t just about healing your body — it’s about learning to trust it again.
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<div>It’s about rebuilding your life while carrying the invisible weight of uncertainty.
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<div>It’s about choosing hope every single day, even when fear whispers louder.
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<div>This is the chapter I’m in now — healing, rebuilding, and learning to live again with courage, gratitude, and a heart full of fight
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<div>Living my Life ' One Day at a Time'
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<div><strong>Joanne Story -</strong>
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<div>About My Mom, Joanne.
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<div>Hi, I'm Chloe, I’m writing this because my mom can’t really manage it at the moment.
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<div>She’d normally be the one telling the story herself, she’s young, independent (Except when it comes to WIFI, passwords and signing into her email if she's kicked out!), private and always been the strong one. Treatment has taken a lot of her and her energy, for the first time in my life the roles have been reversed.
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<div>I am taking this opportunity to share a little of her journey these past 11 months.
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<div>March last year, what we thought was a stubborn cold and a small pain in her chest, turned into something life-changing. My mom works as a cardiac physiologist, caring for heart patients every day and asked one of the doctors at work for a chest X-ray, just to be safe. I remember visiting from London (Home for me is Ireland) and noticing she couldn’t shake this cough, her voice hoarse. You always think it’s nothing until it really isn’t.
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<div>The scan led to a biopsy (How they extract a piece of tissue from your lung is not worth talking about, it's vicious), and then the words no one is ever ready to hear followed a few days later: Cancer. A very aggressive one.
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<div>She found out over Mother’s Day weekend and didn’t tell a single soul. She said she wanted to protect us for just a little longer, to hold the worry and scary news to herself until she knew exactly what she was dealing with. That’s who she is. Always putting me, my brother and sister and everyone else first.
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<div>Because it was caught at a limited stage (there's only 2 stages for this type of cancer, limited when it's in one place and extensive when its spread to other areas of the body), the treatment was immediate and aggressive: chemotherapy and radiation at the same time, day after day. Within weeks she lost her hair. The side effects built quickly and brutally. The radiation burned the inside of her chest and oesophagus so badly she couldn’t even swallow water and had to be admitted to hospital, fed through a line in her arm. She was exhausted, weak and sleeping most of the day - I have never seen her like that in all my life. Seeing her like that is something I could ever prepare for.
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<div>The nurses told us it’s one of the toughest treatment plans that they see. They even joked that most people (Men specifically-that was the joke) are admitted from day one, but my mom only came to hospital when she physically couldn’t go on any longer. But it is that stubborn strength has carried her through everything.
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<div>And through all of it, the nurses have been extraordinary. They didn’t just treat her, they cared for her. They sat with her on the hard days, in between visits from family and friends and made her laugh or held her hand if that's what she needs in the moment. They celebrated every tiny win and somehow made an incredibly frightening time feel a little less lonely, even for me when mom was sleeping most of the day and I was trying to work from the hospital by her side.
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<div>When we got good news just before Christmas that the treatment was working (We weren't sure it would the second time round, we had a set back in October as the cancer spread to her spine and brain and affected her walking), they actually ran into her room cheering and celebrating with her. She says she wishes she could do something special for them to thank them for the incredible kindness they’ve shown.
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<div>There have been setbacks, more scans, cancer spreading when it shouldn't, more chemo, more radiation, learning to walk upstairs again, rebuilding strength step by step. It’s strange and heartbreaking being the one to drive her to hospital when she was always the one waiting for me at the airport to drive me home. Your brain jumps ahead to the worst-case future, even while you’re trying to stay hopeful.
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<div>But what amazes me most is that every time something knocks her down, she gets back up. She just keeps going. Quietly. Bravely.
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<div>So when Katrina decided to run a marathon and share some of the proceeds with my mom, we were overwhelmed with gratitude. Choosing to put your body through something so tough to support people going through their own fight is such a generous, beautiful thing to do.
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<div>We can’t thank her enough and all of you for supporting. Mom is excited to plan something special for the nurses, who support her constantly and have become integral to her journey &amp; healing. There's more difficult times ahead but it's the support from incredible nurses, people like Katrina, family and friends that make the battle worth while.
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<div>Thank you for being part of her fight.
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Erminia Pennacchia

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Paul Curbishley

Stuart Olivier

Colin Walker

ANDREW POINTER

Nicola Wotton

Anthony Spence

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Goran Milic

Robin Hollins

Sandesh Kuckian

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Rebecca Oates

Nigel Shortt

Luke Miles

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Two Warriors, One Marathon: For Shilpa & Joanne

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