Ten years ago, my life changed forever:

It was the summer of 2015. I had just finished the 12th grade of high school — just an innocent teenager still unsure of my purpose — when my parents and I heard the words no family ever wants to hear:

“Your child has cancer.”

Nothing can prepare you for that kind of news. I was 18 years old, staring down a reality I never imagined I’d face, a reality no teenager should have to face.

In the spring of 2015, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled across a video that talked about testicular cancer and how important it is for young men to check themselves.

That single video saved my life.

I did a self-check. I shared my concerns with my family doctor, who did some tests. Within days I was referred to a urologist and oncologist at Juravinski Cancer Centre in Hamilton. What followed was a whirlwind of tests and scans. The results were serious and by late summer, I had undergone surgery.

It was, without question, the hardest most difficult summer of my life — the scariest time I’ve ever faced. I was 18 years old, staring down a reality I had never imagined I’d have to face. I was terrified. I didn’t want to die. I had my whole life ahead of me.

Cancer is something no one is ever truly prepared for. The fear. The shock. The unknown. I may have been scared, but I was also lucky. I caught it early. I didn’t need chemo. I didn’t need radiation. But I did need strength — and I found it, in my family and in my faith.

As testicular cancer survivor Lance Armstrong once said: “Before cancer I just lived. Now I live strong.”

Those words hit home for me.

This year, I was discharged from my oncology team — a moment I once only dreamed of — and transitioned back to the care of my family doctor. It marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

Ten years later, I’m proud to stand here and say – I’m officially cancer-free.

I’m now a Paramedic student, dedicating my future to helping others — just like others helped me.

That’s my purpose. That’s my why.

And like Lance Armstrong, I’ve made it my mission to speak up, to educate, and to remind young men to move past the awkwardness, get over the uncomfortable and check yourself.

Because one simple check can save a life. It saved mine.

This year marks my third Big Move Cancer Ride — and it’s by far the most meaningful.

I ride in loving memory of my Uncle Mike, whose strength and resilience in the face of cancer continue to inspire me. Though we lost him this summer, the compassionate care he received at the Walker Family Cancer Centre is the reason I continue to ride. I also ride for his wife, my Aunt Eileen, who we lost just last summer after her own courageous battle with cancer. I also ride for my Aunt Donna who we too lost last year to cancer.

Three incredible people— taken far too soon — whose love, laughter, and legacy remain deeply woven into the fabric of our lives. This ride is for them, and for every family touched by cancer.

Because cancer doesn’t just affect one person — it sends shockwaves through entire families. It shattered my world, and it continues to test the strength of those I love most.

That’s why this ride matters. That’s why we ride today. That’s why the Big Move exists.

And that’s why every single donation matters.

Before I finish, I want to take a moment to say thank you:

To my mom and dad, who are here today. I love you both more than words can say — thank you for never letting go of hope.

To my incredible oncology team at the Juravinski Cancer Center —

Thank you for your compassion and expertise. Because of you, I’m here today.

To the Walker Family Cancer Centre and Niagara Health Foundation — Thank you for the generosity, compassion, and dedication you have shown to my family, as well as for your ongoing commitment to supporting our Niagara community through this event.

And to you — my fellow riders — thank you for being here today. Whether it’s your first ride or your tenth, whether you’re riding in memory of someone, in celebration of survivorship, or simply because you care — thank you. Your presence matters. Your ride matters. You are part of something bigger than yourself.

From my heart, and from my entire family:

Thank you.