Phil Barrett

In April 2024, I heartbreakingly lost my mum, Betty, to pulmonary fibrosis, after watching her fight it with incredible strength and dignity right to the end.

What makes it even harder is that during that time, she also lost my dad to cancer — and still, she just carried on. No fuss, no complaints, no pity. Unless you were close to her, you wouldn’t have known half of what she was dealing with. She kept it to herself and just got on with it.

That was her.

She was a true example of inner strength. Not loud about it, not looking for sympathy — just getting through what was in front of her, one day at a time.

She also ran the London Marathon twice.

Looking back now, that says everything. The courage, the determination, the will to keep going and get to the finish line — that was her through and through. And it’s exactly how she dealt with everything that came her way in those final years.

Pulmonary fibrosis is a cruel condition. It slowly takes your ability to breathe — something you don’t think about until it starts to go. Towards the end, life becomes about oxygen. The bottles, the machines, the hoses — all just to get through the day. Seeing someone you love live like that stays with you.

But even through all of that, she never let it define her.

She handled it the same way she must have handled those marathons — with incredible courage and a determination to keep going and get to the finish line, whatever came her way.

That’s what I’ll be thinking about when it gets tough.

I’m running the London Marathon for Asthma + Lung UK as part of Team Breathe, and this one’s for her.

For the way she fought it.
For the strength she showed.
And for everyone else going through the same thing.

Because no one should have to fight for every breath just to reach their finish line.