Photo: Ruba Saqr/Oxfam

At 8.00am on Friday, I’ll be heading off with my team to walk 100 kilometres to raise money for Oxfam. Walking through the night, we’re hoping to cross the finish line sometime on Saturday morning. The trail travels along bike paths, bush tracks and roads and includes some nasty hills and long flats.

So I’ve been watching the weather forecast closely. Well, more than closely. Obsessively.

It’s not good.

This morning it included the words “cloudy”, “rain”, “thunderstorms” and “hail”.

Really not good.

But whenever I start to feel sooky about the weather, I remind myself:

I am not a Syrian refugee, watching my family shiver in a tent in Lebanon, wondering when we will be able to go home, if ever.

I am not a Bangladeshi fisherman, watching my home wash away in the floods.

I am not an indigenous man in Brazil being forced off my land by a multinational company, watching the disappearance of not only my livelihood but also my traditional way of life.

I am not an African mother watching my child waste away in my arms from a preventable disease.

Taking on Oxfam Trailwalker for me has never really been about the walk. It’s always been more about the Oxfam than the Trailwalker. It’s a means to an end to raise as much money as I can to help Oxfam do its work around the world.

So the refugee can start a new life.

So the fisherman can have a safe home.

So the indigenous man can continue his traditional ways.

So the mother does not have to watch her child die.

So bring on the rain. ……… Meh, it’s just a bit of wet.