A simple outlook,

One that has guided me for decades.

Movement and Discovery

Curiosity and a deep connection to the outdoors have shaped my life far beyond the workplace. Across four decades, I’ve pursued adventure in many forms. Always chasing movement, freedom, and the thrill of learning something new.

Long distance running taught me pacing—when to push, when to conserve, when the body is lying about its limits. I ran over 5,000 km annually for years, and in my 20s coached others from struggling with a single mile to completing marathons. I’ve tackled more 50-60 km trail runs than my knees would care to count.

Mountain biking taught me to read the terrain ahead. I started in the early 1980s, often the only rider on the “tracks” of the North Yorkshire Moors National Park. More recently, I cycled coast to coast across England, off-road through three National Parks. I often get asked why, because the road less taken is often the most rewarding. Except on the first day of waht was forecasted to be a pleasant three days, the torrential rain, then horizontal hail, proved the forecasters wrong that Summer.

Along the way, I’ve picked up mountain boarding, kiteboarding, climbing, bouldering, hill walking, wave skiing, kitesurfing, scuba diving, sailing. And many others. Each new challenge has taught me resilience, focus, and the joy of pushing past comfort zones.

Halfbike: Rebuilding After Turbulent Impact

After a traumatic hit-and-run incident in late 2018— 50 mph head-on collision while out on my mountain bike—I had to reimagine what my future fitness routines looked like. That’s when I succumbed to a Halfbike.

It’s a quirky, stand-up cycle that blends elements of biking, running, and skiing. You steer by leaning, not turning—a bit like carving through complexity itself. It’s compact, surprisingly intense, and demands balance, agility, and attention. Living in the countryside, I’ve adapted mine to take on rougher terrain and undulating lanes.

It makes running and cycling seem easy—even a 2% incline feels like a tough hill.

During recovery, I found myself not only rebuilding my body but contributing to others’ recovery. I worked with the hospital’s head trauma team, sharing adaptive strategies I’d used to guide my own rehabilitation. Together, we explored new ways to support patients on their own unpredictable journeys. It was an unexpected, humbling reminder of how adaptive thinking can be powerful—even outside of business.

Resilience isn’t a concept I teach. It’s something I’ve had to practice..

Travel: Adventures in Uncertainty

When I’m not helping organisations navigate turbulence, I’m usually out embracing it myself—through travel.

My wife and I don’t do package holidays. We prefer the unpredictable, where adaptability isn’t optional—it’s essential.

Indonesia keeps drawing us back. On an earlier trip, I “discovered” the Indonesian Throughflow (ITF) (the sole tropical link between global ocean basins. Functioning as a massive leak from the Pacific to the Indian Ocean, the flow is driven by a cross-basin pressure gradient. The higher sea level in the Western Pacific forces the water to navigate the intricate topography of the archipelago’s labyrinth of narrow straits and deep basins, rather than flowing as a single, uniform stream. As you can see from the video, its turbulent.

The most useful discoveries often come from paying attention in unfamiliar places.

A later adventure took us from a five-star hotel in the chaos of Jakarta to the desolate volcanic wilderness of Krakatoa. We crossed the Sunda Strait on a reconditioned fishing boat, climbed Anak Krakatau at sunset, ate freshly caught fish, camped under the stars, and woke to a sunrise on the summit, sharing the island only with metre-long monitor lizards and the boat crew.

A few months later, the volcano erupted again, reshaping the landscape completely.

That experience—unfiltered, awe-inspiring, and utterly impermanent—was a reminder: the most powerful journeys are rarely smooth, but they change you.

The Thread

Whether navigating a trail, recovering from injury, or wandering through the unknown, the lesson is the same: notice what’s actually happening. Adapt before you’re forced to. Stay curious about what’s around the next corner.

The best path forward is rarely a straight line. But if you’re paying attention, there’s always more ahead worth discovering.