Casey Robinson

People ask me why I’ve signed up to take on the Marsden 26.2-mile trek this September.

The answer is simple. I’m doing it for my stepdad.

Now, if he could read this, he’d probably tell me to stop being soft and then laugh in my face for even thinking I could walk 26.2 miles. He’d definitely remind me of the time I moaned my entire way around Hampton Court Palace because my legs hurt. He never let me forget it! So, I know he’d be taking the mick out of me every step of the way.

He wasn’t your stereotypical man. He was sarcastic, blunt, rude in the funniest possible way, and a complete wind-up merchant. In fact, when we met with the celebrant before his funeral, one of the first ways we all described him was, “He was an arsehole.” It sounds awful to anyone who didn’t know him, but anyone who did would know exactly what we meant. He would have absolutely loved that description.

He came into my life when I was little and helped my mum raise me. He took on being my stepdad without ever making me feel like I wasn’t his own. He was simply there. The person you called when something needed fixing, when you needed help, or when life got difficult. He’d just get on with it. No fuss, maybe some life advice or nagging, but no real fuss.

In 2018, he was diagnosed with kidney cancer.

He fought it for years. He went through treatment after treatment, all with the hope of giving us more time together. Thankfully, those treatments did exactly that, and we were lucky enough to make more memories with him. But those extra years came at a cost. Watching someone who had always been so strong slowly become weaker and live with so much pain was heartbreaking.

On 17th September 2025, we lost him.

The date is one that will stay with us forever because it was also my daughter Neeve’s 5th birthday. A day that should have been full of celebrations became the day we said goodbye to one of the most important people in our lives.

He adored my girls, Neeve and Everleigh. If you knew him, you’d know he was forever winding them up, making them laugh and pulling faces. It breaks my heart that they won’t get to grow up making more memories with him.

James was someone I looked up to so much. He helped shape the person I am today, and not a day goes by that I don’t wish he was still here with us and here with mum. There are so many moments in life that I wish I could share with him.

That’s why this walk means so much.

It isn’t just about walking 26.2 miles. It’s about every painful step being for him. It’s about raising money so that more families can have extra time with the people they love, just as we were lucky enough to have. And it’s about proving to myself that I can finish something that I know he’d have laughed at me for attempting, but I think secretly he would be proud. 

When I finally reach the finish line, I’ll look up to the sky and say, “I did it.”

Not because the walk will ever take away the pain of losing him, but because every single mile will have been walked in memory of a man who changed my life.

If you’ve donated, shared my page, or simply taken the time to read my story, thank you. Your support means more than words can say, and together we’re helping to make a difference for families facing cancer.