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10 - WORDS & DEEDSstruggle on as best they can. Othersdon’t get to go home at all. Mostly theyare much older than us, those ones.Perhaps that makes it slightly easier todeal with. Some of them are youngerthan me though, like James Dunsby was.Some are even younger than you.Sometimes it seems like they have had afair innings. Sometimes it seems theywere dealt a terrible hand. No twopeople are ever the same. But there aresome things that never change.When I stand at the end of the bed andlisten, nobody ever tells me they wishedthey had worked more hours, earnedmore money, been more famous, or hada bigger house. But they do tell meabout the dreams they didn’t chase, thedesires they set aside, the decisions theyregret. Decisions they backed away frombecause they were afraid. Afraid offailing. Afraid of what other peoplewould think of them if they followedtheir own path. Afraid of being different.Afraid of what they thought ofthemselves. Afraid to say sorry. “If I hadmy time again” can be the saddestsentence a health professional comesto know.But the happy ones don’t tell me aboutwhat they achieved or the attention theyreceived for it, even when some of themdid truly great things. The majority ofthem didn’t, living what many would call“ordinary” lives. They tell me about theway they faced their fears, the times theyforgave, the way they persevered despitesetbacks and remained true to what theyfelt was right for them, regardless ofwhat the task was or the challenges lifethrew at them.Often it was the simplest of things -being a good father, a loving partner, atrue friend. I’ve treated cleaners,labourers, renowned authors andmilitary generals, people of vastlydifferent backgrounds but all united bythe challenges, triumphs and failingsthat face every human being every day.They did these things without thepromise of reward or the applause ofothers watching on.Nine days ago I achieved one of thegreatest feats of my life. I woke upwithout pain, in a body that once againfelt like my own, and I put a rowing boaton the water and I rowed. That’s all. Norecords broken. No races won.No one will ever write about that in thenewspaper, ask me for my autograph orgive me a medal that I can show toothers. But what I endured in these pasttwo years to get to that point requiredmore determination, learning,persistence and sacrifice than anythingelse that was ever required of me tobecome an Olympic champion.I may never be able to race again, andthis is heartbreaking. But when I lookback on this time I will see that I facedmy fears head-on, I suffered, Ipersevered, and I learned. There wasnothing more that could have beendone, and so there is nothing left toregret, whatever the outcome.In short, it’s only been through thisstruggle that nobody’s seen have I beenable to discover, test, and finally become,the man I believe that I was meant to be.Ostensibly today we are here torecognise our leaders. This is animportant role, and I congratulate therecipients. We look to them to embodythe characteristics that we aspire to inourselves. This is a challenging task andone that should never be taken lightly.While it may seem unlikely to you now,your role as a leader lends your actions,or inactions, a weight that can havecontinuing impact many years from now.What will that impact be? Many peoplewill be watching.But just as important, perhaps even moreso, is what becomes of the rest of us? Aleader’s formal title is no guarantee of agood man, but neither is its absence anyreason we can’t be great men. Nothing tostop us being true to ourselves, and trueto those around us. Not just the ones thatwe love, but to those who have nopermanent place in our lives. To be thebest we can for those who may never evenknow of our efforts. Or the greatest test -even to those who resent us for it.Because what a great thing it would be,to live our lives such that when our timecomes we could look the personstanding at the end of our bed right inthe eye, and know in our heart:“I was a good man when no one waswatching”.July 2015 Vol. 12 No. 2