Keara Cupidon

Singing in the rain

Let the May 50k challenge begin!

Today felt like the real start of my May 50K challenge.

Yesterday, I only managed a couple of kms before choosing self-care, and a few wines with a friend.

This afternoon, I set out along Four Mile Beach in Port Douglas. The ocean breeze kept my body cool while the kids ran ahead, laughing and playing in the sand. It was the kind of walk that ticks the mental health box too — the sound of the ocean calmed my mind, the salty air opened up my lungs, and I finally breathed.

Every step I take this May is for people living with MS, including me. If you’re able to donate, cheer me on, or share, I’d love your support.

Oh, and in other news! My walking board arrived! It’s pretty, pink, and will help me reach my kms on the days I can’t leave the house.

Why I hesitated - Sharing my MS diagnosis with love, strength and a little shiraz

When I announced my diagnosis, it came as a shock to many of my friends and family, including some of my nearest and dearest. I honestly had no idea how to even start the conversation or how to talk about my diagnosis. I found myself saying I was ‘fine’ when anyone asked how I was.

At first, I just wanted to keep it quiet. No fuss, no drama. No one needed to know. I hid. I felt embarrassed because I didn’t want to be seen differently, or have my friends and family feel sorry for or pity me. I also felt guilty because there are people going through so much worse.

The truth is, it was what I didn’t know about MS that scared me the most. Before my diagnosis I didn’t even know what the symptoms were, what caused it, or how to treat it.

The last few months of discovery have been full of ups and downs. I’ve felt overwhelmed, isolated, determined, stubborn, hopeful… sometimes all in the one day before I even got to pour a glass of Shiraz!

But no matter how much I wanted to keep this under wraps a little longer, when you live in a small town, news gets around fast. My husband and I were seen at the hospital when I had my first spinal tap, and word spread like wildfire. Most of the stories going around were inaccurate and outrageous, hilarious, and some hurtful.

So in the end, I decided I wanted to tell my story, in my own time, my way, when I was ready. The May 50k gave me that opportunity, as well as the chance to create more awareness and understanding.

I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have so much love and support from family, friends, my work family and my amazing medical team, who I know are all walking with me in spirit.

Every day I’m feeling more confident than ever that I can get on with things and take whatever comes next.

Why 100Km?

During my time living in Mauritius, I walked everywhere. From taking the kids to and from school, to beach walks and grocery runs, I was averaging between 8 and 12 kilometres on a weekday without even thinking about it. It was just part of my Mauritian life, and I loved it so much. Even when I moved to Port Douglas, I managed to keep up a good walking pace, most days I’d hit around 10 kilometres, just going about my day and taking the kids to the beach after school. They'd bike, run or scooter from home and I'd walk the length of 4 mile beach and back while the sun set.

So when a friend of mine asked, "Why are you only aiming for 100km in May?” it’s a pretty fair question. It seems like such a small goal compared to what I used to do

The truth is, I honestly don’t know if I can manage a full beach walk every day. Some mornings I wake up and feel like I can take on the world, walk into town and chase a football around the garden with the kids. Other days, just getting out of bed and making a coffee feels like a bit too much exercise for one day.

In the end, 100km in May isn’t just about the number of km or steps for me. It’s about showing up - For myself, for others with MS, and for anyone trying to keep going when their body doesn’t want to cooperate. 

Thanks for cheering me on and for all the support so far. Every step feels a little lighter knowing I’m not walking this road alone.

This was meant to be my year, the best one yet. The year I turn 40.

This was meant to be my year, the best one yet. The year I turn 40. Finally old enough to know better, but still young enough to do it anyway.

2025 was going to be all about happiness, adventure, probably too much red wine, and just a few questionable choices. 

But December 2024 had other plans for my New Year.

I’d just wrapped up running an event in Melbourne and woke up with a weird hot patch on the right side of my back. Not the good kind of heat, like being snuggled up by a fireplace with a glass of Shiraz - more like oopsie doopsie, I sat on the fireplace after too much Shiraz kind of hot. A few hours later, I was on a plane, uncomfortable and slowly realising the rest of my body felt like it was wrapped in ice. No one could touch me, even water and my clothes stung my skin. Not long after, I lost all feeling in my limbs and the right side of my torso. By the time I landed, I was confused. Nothing I was doing or seeing made sense. I reached Carlo and the kids at the car and just burst into tears. I couldn’t talk. The words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t explain what was happening.

My doctor called everyone she knew, having no idea what it could be. Forty-eight hours later, I saw a neurologist, who also had no clue. Because, as usual with me, my symptoms weren’t typical. They were unpredictable and sporadic, including something I learnt was called a nummular headache. A rare type of headache. Most people get one. I had four. One of them went through my ear, and if you know the history I’ve had with ear surgeries, you’ll understand just how upsetting that was for me. Felt like a bit of a cruel twist, honest.

On Christmas Eve, the MRI results came in. Just after New Year’s, and three painful spinal taps later, I got the diagnosis: MS. Multiple Sclerosis. Definitely not the kind of New Year’s surprise I had in mind.

I’d been dreaming of a relaxed year - maybe even, dare I say it, one where I actually took it easy. Instead, 2025 kicked off with the start of my MS journey.

It’s been a lot to process. But I’ve got an amazing medical team, and I’ve just started treatment, which is a whole other kettle of fish, complete with a side effect list long enough to make you want to bury yourself under a blanket until 2026. Regardless, I’m doing it. For my family, for myself, and for all the things I still want to do.

So, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, I’m pulling up my socks and giving the MS Australia May 50K a red-hot go, for everyone who had to grow up too fast when life changed without warning, and for those of us who still feel young at heart, even when our bodies have other ideas. And because I still haven’t quite learnt how to take it easy, I’m aiming to hit 100km.

Now, MS and heat are mortal enemies. So of course, glorious Port Douglas, where the forecast is always hot with a chance of hotter, isn’t exactly ideal for long beach walks every day. On the tough days, I’m looking at getting a walking pad so I can still clock up the kms in the lovely, cool air con, coffee in hand.

Recently, I shared my diagnosis with someone, and their response was, “Oh, is that all? My friend has MS and they’re on the new treatment - it’s like they never had anything wrong. You’ll be totally fine.” 

I wish it were that simple.

But here’s the reality… MS is often called an invisible illness, and it’s true. What you can’t see is often the hardest to explain. Every person’s journey with MS is different. No two cases are the same, and no two treatments work the same way. Turns out, I must’ve caught a virus when I was younger that can cause fatal reactions with some treatments, which means I didn’t qualify for the “miracle” option that works so well for others. And I’m not “totally fine.” I live with memory loss, stuttering, trouble walking, numbness, and horrible, stabbing pains in my head and spine. Every day is unpredictable, and I have to take each one as it comes.

Please remember - MS doesn’t always look the way you might expect. Just because someone seems fine doesn’t mean they aren’t fighting a battle on the inside. I still work full-time, and I’m not planning on slowing down any time soon. I’ve got two kids and a husband I adore, who are helping me through every step of this MS journey. Some days, I manage it all. Other days, I’m completely wiped out by 10am. You might see me out and about, smiling and chatting away like nothing’s wrong - but what you don’t see is that it might be the only time I’ve left the house all week. I’m still figuring out my new normal, still learning my limits, and trying my damn hardest to be kind to myself as I go.

If you’ve got a few dollars to spare or just want to follow along as I aim to reach my 100km target, I’d be super grateful. Every contribution goes to MS Australia for vital research and support.

So here’s to 40.

Here’s to showing up.

And here’s to walking through it - one wobbly step at a time.