54 Miles/24 Hrs Ultra Hike for the Veterans & Families.
On 6 - 7 June 2026, I am taking on the Cateran Yomp, run by the Army Benevolent Fund, which is described as one of the toughest charity endurance events in the UK. It is in the Scottish wilderness around Blairgowrie and challenges participants to walk 54 miles in 24 hours – so basically walking a double marathon half in the day and half in the night- my secret challenge as a solo ultra-hiker is to make it!
A silent army of veterans and their families struggle every day with dignified grit.
The purpose of my fundraising is to raise awareness and help make the transition into civilian life less brutal and more stable—for those who went away, those who waited, and those who will meet and love them as friends, partners, lovers, children, brothers and sisters, colleagues, students, etc.
I learnt a great deal from veterans, and I am deeply aware of the privilege I had: I will remember with respect. Please note that what follows is a broad, anonymised aggregation of my reflections and learnings from my professional experience.
A silent army of veterans and their families struggle every day with dignified grit.
After the First World War, the UK was flooded with kids returning home, veterans (the sad irony of this linguistic paradox…). Those young men were shattered by what they had lived through. The impact was so dreadful that even the government tried to respond by naming it ‘shell-shock’ and developing rehabilitation programmes.
Nowadays, veterans - young men, women and non-normative folks return with the same old pain from the same old horror. But, this time, the dread is made less difficult to spot amongst civilians, by using a wider, broad acronym, PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) applicable to any human. By disenfranchising the unique experience of landing back in a reality that will never be the same, the institutional powers seem to make the dread easier to swallow and hide. But this is an illusion.
It has become clear to me that the term ‘PTSD’ is just an institutionalised way of denying the truth that the lesson taught by the teacher—war, mission, duty—cannot be unlearned, whilst it can be quietly forgotten by those who ordered it.
Yet, for some, the label is a lifeline, for others, a curse. I respect the freedom to choose what means what.
I also heard the good stories; there is beauty in comradeship. Discipline, structure, and being miles away from a chaotic home are a great anchor and North Star at once, being close and distant safely.
Money matters. We all know it, but it is so messed up that only the government seems to be able to name it out loud in its army ads: bulking up by being paid whilst getting the thrill of adventure for free, much better than Centre Park, and a rare sense of belonging too often taken away too soon.
What comes back are folks still full of energy, attention, and strategic thinking, mislaid in civilian lives that can feel nothing: supermarket queues, neighbourly disputes, days drained of the intensity and purpose that once defined them.
Sometimes the crash is too much. When a veteran decides to kill themselves, they do it using the skills they were taught. I am in awe of those who still choose life instead—I mean it: every single day—crafting unconventional, sometimes uncomfortable civilian lives on their own terms. I like to imagine they earned their self‑respect, and they own mine too.
I did it again, got lost in my small world of a middle‑aged counsellor at her desk… The facts are simpler: practical help, not only therapy but to get a proper accomodation, a base to start again, a community, a place to exercise, a job that is ok, can make a life‑saving difference. And there is not enough of it.
SO HELP ME TO MAKE IT HAPPEN.
