Location: World’s End Rockface, North Wales

This was it. The moment that my life would end. As I tumbled uncontrollably down the exposed rockface, the jagged outcrop of World’s End blurred past me in sickening flashes. Gravity’s unforgiving grip dragged me closer to the base of the towering cliff over 200 feet below – a deadly labyrinth of broken, unforgiving rock fragments. My body moved without control, but my mind was cruelly sharp, painfully alive to the magnitude of what was about to happen. Even if, by some miracle, I survived the fall, I knew the sheer force of impact would irreparably change everything. I believed all hope was lost.

In those terrifying seconds, I confronted the reality that we all fear but rarely face: the helplessness of knowing your life is no longer your own to save. My desperate shouts for help echoed into the void, swallowed by the vast emptiness around me. There would be no time for goodbyes, no chance to make peace with the life I’d so eagerly embraced. Only fate would decide how this chapter of my story would end.

Now, as I plummeted toward the earth, seconds stretched into an eternity, each heartbeat a stark reminder of what was slipping away. Life wasn’t flashing before my eyes, but for the first time, it came into piercing focus. Three words clung desperately to the frayed edges of my consciousness as I neared the jagged ground below, words that felt like both a prayer and a command to the universe:

“Please don’t die.”

The impact was inevitable. Life hung in the balance.

Mindset Reflection:

No matter how many times I reflect on my accident, or speak about it on stage, the visceral feeling of fear from the moments before hitting the ledge – and the actions of my best friend, which saved my life – come rushing back. It’s as if I’m reliving those moments all over again: the sense of being completely out of control, the emotional overwhelm, the fear of what being paralysed on a cliff-edge might mean for the rest of my life. That sense of vulnerability is imprinted on my mind, no matter how many years pass.

But the defining moment of 6th August at World’s End wasn’t the cliff unexpectedly collapsing beneath my feet, nor the impact as I landed on my back on an exposed ledge. It was the moment I made the single most important act of accountability and ownership in my life.

With the powerful downdraft from the Merlin helicopter beating down on our position, and as I was transferred onto the spinal board attached to the winch, I made a solemn commitment: whatever happened next, I would not let the weight of this day beat me. I would not give up. I was surrounded by an uncertain future and unknown consequences. In fact, the only certainty was that the road ahead would be far harder than anything I had faced before.

That decision to take accountability in that moment wasn’t born of innate resilience or some unshakeable sense of bravery. Quite the opposite. As the minutes ticked by, and Matt and I waited for the rescue teams to arrive, the reality of the situation began to sink in. I desperately tried to keep composure and hold the rising panic at bay. I was scared shitless – my life had just irreversibly changed, and not in the way I would have chosen. Even with my best friend by my side, I felt utterly alone.

And yet, every time I had encountered adversity before – in the mountains or in daily life – I had learnt the same truth: taking accountability for your actions is the most powerful way to overcome whatever you are facing. The only way to guarantee failure is to decide not to act. True bravery is found in moments of action, when self-doubt is loud and the way forward is unclear. As Seneca said: “He who is brave is free.”

Across philosophy, expeditions, and recovery from the injury I sustained at World’s End, the pattern is the same: accountability restores agency. It gives us something solid to stand on when the ground beneath us has shifted (or collapsed entirely). Above all else, no one is in control of your story but you. Even if you must remind yourself daily, you are the author, the architect of the future ahead.

For me, 6th August marked the beginning of an arduous rehabilitation process that would push my body and mind to their limits. There were moments of doubt, times when I questioned whether I could overcome the scale of the challenge ahead. But I never wavered in the promise I made to myself on that day. Whatever happens, don’t let it beat you. Take ownership. Stay accountable. Keep moving forward.