Stefania, Juliet, and I attended the Sussex Sport & Physical Activity Awards 2025, where GoodGym Brighton was awarded Runner-Up for the Environmental Sustainability Award. We had such a great evening — full of energy, community spirit, and the chance to meet so many inspiring people from across Sussex.

Although we didn’t win the top spot, we’re incredibly proud to have been recognised and truly appreciate the honour. Sustainability remains one of our highest priorities when designing our activities, and this acknowledgement reinforces the importance of the work we’re doing.

We’re really grateful to Active Sussex for the opportunity and for celebrating organisations striving to make a positive environmental impact.

This Sunday, me and Rachel decided to do a GoodGym community mission and volunteer as marshals for the Hove Park Junior Parkrun. A wholesome start to the morning — helping the local community, cheering on young runners, and getting a bit of fresh air. What could go wrong?

As I made my way to the park, I started thinking about my own running. You see, I always seem to end up last in my age category at Parkrun (well, they call it age grade, which somehow sounds even worse). And as a 39-year-old staring down the next age bracket, I can’t say I’m particularly excited about it.

Then it hit me: Why volunteer when I could just run the Junior Parkrun and win? It’s a shorter distance, right? Surely, I could take gold!

In my head, I lined up at the start, ready to show those under-14s how it’s done. The whistle blew — and off I went. Run, run, Forrest, run! Parents shouted something (probably words of encouragement, maybe not), but with my headphones in, I didn’t care. I was flying. Some gave me looks — clearly just jealous of my speed.

And as I reached the finish line, I did it. I won! Because age is just a number, and the sky is the limit.

…Did that actually happen? No. Did I end up marshalling as planned? Yes. Was all that just a vivid daydream while clapping and cheering from my post? Absolutely.

Still, it was a brilliant morning — great atmosphere, enthusiastic runners, and plenty of smiles. I’ll definitely be back to marshal again. (Though I’m still slightly amazed they let me.)

When I moved to Brighton in 2014, I loved everything. I loved the beach, I loved the people, I liked the piers — I enjoyed everything about Brighton. But what I hated, from the moment I arrived, were the seagulls.

I never understood why we, as a population, tolerate their screeching, their evil stares, their habit of snapping up food, the relentless flapping of wings, that territorial attitude. Since 2014, I’ve always avoided them. I never spoke to them, never wanted to be anywhere near them.

That changed last week. A friend invited me to help out at a seagull sanctuary in Hailsham called Bird Aid — yes, it’s real, you can look it up. We drove there and met Julia, the charity organizer, who gave us our tasks: cleaning the sheds, scooping out dried feces, and refreshing their water.

To my surprise, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Somewhere between the scrubbing and refilling, I started to feel… connected. I began to see the seagulls differently.

I’ll never forget the time I went on a date in Hastings — of all places — and a seagull pooped on me. But I think I’m finally over it.

Now, after spending time with them, I’m happy to say I’ve made peace with the seagulls. They’re not so bad — in fact, they can be quite nice, if you don’t provoke them. So if you’ve ever felt the way I once did, I ask you to reconsider.