My Testicular Cancer Story: How One Diagnosis Changed Everything

2 days ago
4 min read

Cancer Changed Everything

This is my testicular cancer story, and it changed everything.

It’s a word no one ever expects to hear. No one is prepared for it. It lands cold, without feeling, yet somehow cuts deeper than anything else. When it’s said to you, everything shifts.

What does it even mean?

I couldn’t see it.

I hadn’t asked for it.

So why had it chosen me?

As a kid, I broke my arm falling off a skateboard, the board went one way, I went the other. It was obvious. I could see the damage. I understood the pain.

But testicular cancer… it doesn’t work like that.

Person skating on asphalt with a black skateboard, legs in motion, wearing slip-on shoes. Sunlit road with grass and rocks in the background. — I fell, I broke an arm

The Testicular Cancer Diagnosis I Never Saw Coming

I was diagnosed with testicular cancer in 2021, something I never saw coming.

I’m not sure when it truly dawned on me that life was about to change. But let’s be clear, it does change.

Not just physically. Yes, I now have one less testicle. Yes, there’s a scar I notice every time I get changed. But the real change is in my mind.

It’s the questions that never quite go away.

Are there cancer cells in me right now?

How would I even know if it came back?

Because it could come back.

That morning cough, does it mean something?

The constant, nagging stomach ache?

Why have my bowel habits changed?

And the tiredness… the relentless, bone-deep tiredness.

I can fall asleep anywhere, anytime.

Running feels harder.

Work drains me in ways it never used to.

Is this just getting older?

I’m 53 now.

Or is it something else?

That uncertainty is exhausting.

Just One in Millions—But It Doesn’t Feel That Way

Person in a white lab coat puts on green gloves, with a stethoscope visible. The setting is clinical, with a focus on preparation. — 1 man every 4 hours in the UK

Around 2,600 men in the UK are diagnosed with testicular cancer each year, roughly one every four hours. Worldwide, it’s about 190,000.

Cancer in all its forms? Over 20 million diagnoses every year, expected to rise to 35 million in the next decade.

So in 2021, I was just one in 20 million.

A dot.

A tiny, insignificant dot.

But when it’s you, it doesn’t feel insignificant.

Not even close.

When Did I Actually Accept It?

I still don’t know when, or if, I truly accepted I had cancer.

The Moment Something Felt Wrong

Was it when I noticed my left testicle had shrunk and hardened?

A moment I owe, bizarrely, to Jeremy Clarkson—which you can read about here:👉

https://www.runningwestwardho.co.uk/post/jeremy-clarkson-saved-my-life

The GP Visit

Or was it at the GP’s office, standing there in my boxers, looking away while he examined me, then calmly saying he’d refer me on a two-week pathway?

My wife started placing bets on what it might be.

Me?

I turned to Google. Convinced myself it could be anything else.

I was wrong.

The Whirlwind: Scans, Surgery and Chemotherapy

What followed was a whirlwind.

Appointments.

Scans.

Surgery.

Chemotherapy.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, some serious soul searching.

At one of my lowest points, I made a decision. I would rebuild. Not just recover, but come back stronger. I would take this experience and turn it into something positive, for me and for others.

Running Became My Way Back

Before cancer, I could comfortably run a marathon.

After cancer, I returned to running, but differently. Further. Harder.

Ultras. Endurance events. Challenges that pushed me physically and mentally.

Some self-designed.

Some attention-grabbing.

All with a purpose, to raise awareness of testicular cancer and to raise funds.

Man holding an "Ultra 525" banner at a race finish line, surrounded by blue and black sponsor arches. A church and mountains in the background.

Keeping Busy to Keep Going

But even then… I still hadn’t fully accepted it.

That question kept nagging:

Why me?

And could it happen again?

So I kept busy. I had to.

Running helped. Training helped. But people helped even more.

Unexpected Opportunities and New Connections

Cancer, strangely, opened doors.

Man in white t-shirt and shorts stands by a wooden wall with "Prime" and "Clarkson's Farm" in bold yellow letters.

From Diddly Squat to London Ultras

After running to Diddly Squat Farm to thank Jeremy Clarkson for that life-saving nudge, a relationship began. One that continues today, with more runs planned.

Then there’s Krispy Kreme.

In 2024 and 2025, I ran to 20 of their shops. I spoke at their national conference. And in 2026, I’ll be doing it again, another solo ultra across London.

Tough work… but delicious.

The People Who Make a Difference

New friendships formed with incredible charities:

The Robin Cancer Trust
Cahonas Scotland
ChemoHero

Real people doing real, meaningful work in the testicular cancer space.

In 2026, I’ll be running an ultra with Toby from The Robin Cancer Trust, another powerful way to keep raising awareness.

Turning Pain Into Purpose

Cancer gave me something I never expected, purpose.

By the end of 2027, if everything goes to plan, I hope to hold two world records.

And along the way, I launched my own brand:

Check Ya Balls

A cheeky name, but with a serious message, raising awareness of testicular cancer and reminding men to check themselves. The testicular cancer underwear that reminds ment to check; every man should own a pair. Because that way we save lives.

Because sometimes, it really is that simple.