Several hundred years ago (or so it feels now), I was at a Christmas drinks party. The man hosting it happened to be a sponsor of the London Marathon, and during the evening he asked: “who’s up for running the marathon?”
I put my hand up and said yes. Then I went home and completely forgot about it. That was until January 18th – a date inscribed in my brain forever – when a fax arrived. (Which shows you how long ago this was.)
The fax said that the London Marathon is in 12 weeks time. Here’s your running schedule. I was absolutely horrified. It was like having your bluff called. So, I phoned a friend of mine, Ricky, and asked if he was up for it. “Absolutely,” he said. So, the following day we went out and bought running shoes.
At that point, neither of us had been running anywhere since compulsory cross-country at school. It was just complete stupidity – or serendipity, as you’ll discover.
We started training, if you can call it that, running a little bit. Then, when we thought about it, we came to the conclusion that we should do it for a purpose. We realised that if we were going to attempt something mildly heroic – running 26.2 miles with absolutely no preparation – then we should do it for a reason.
When everything changed
That’s when I met Sammy. Sammy was 12 years old and had cerebral palsy. She couldn’t move at all. She was in a wheelchair and could only go somewhere if somebody physically pushed her there.
So, we decided we would run the marathon to raise money to buy her a powered wheelchair. In other words, we were going to run so that she could move.
Before the marathon, we sent a photo of Sammy to all our friends and explained what we were trying to do. By the time we got to the start line of the marathon, we’d never run more than six miles. It was pathetic, really. Some people even sponsored us just to get across the starting line.
And then off we went, with no idea what we’re doing, but we raised £9,000, which in those days was a lot of money. Six hours and 30 minutes later, I finished.
The truly important moment came later. We bought Sammy her powered wheelchair. She arrived in an ordinary wheelchair, then she climbed into this and she could herself around. She got freedom. And that was the moment everything changed.
A year later, we started a charity called Whizz-Kidz, to help disabled children who can’t move, move. We didn’t know what we were doing but we started anyway.
Then, after about seven years, after putting proper leadership and succession planning in place like sensible grown-ups, we stepped away. Since then, Whizz-Kidz has raised more than £150 million and helped around 70,000 young people gain mobility.
In April just gone, 400 people ran the London Marathon for Whizz-Kidz and raised £1 million in a single day. That’s extraordinary. And it all happened because we did something silly – but we did it with our hearts. And it worked. The DNA of it all was great to start with.
Why giving feels good
After Whizz-Kidz, my wife Shuna and I spent the next couple of decades advising hedge funds and private equity companies, and families about giving money away – in other words, being useful.
We were encouraging them to be generous. And we’ve been doing that for roughly the last 25 years.
And over those years, what we did notice was the impact that giving had on the people who gave. When you give something to somebody else, you feel better about life. Everybody knows this instinctively, but we learned it by watching it happen repeatedly in practice.
Last year, just before Christmas, I published a book called How To Be A Better Human. It has two main themes.
The first is that everybody is having a difficult time. It doesn’t matter whether it’s in business, charity, home, relationships, or trying to navigate modern life – everybody needs help. We wrote the book to persuade people about this and show them how to come alongside other people and help them.
The second reason for writing the book is that we realised that the news is just too ghastly for words. We are all overwhelmed by awful and very seriously depressing news.
But the bottom line is that each of us can do something useful. There are lots of stories in the book about people who spotted a problem, cared enough to respond and created something meaningful. They get on with it and they start things that are really useful.
And that’s really the point. You don’t have to be extraordinary to create impact. You just have to begin. Sometimes that starts with a conversation. Sometimes it starts with a ridiculous idea. And occasionally, it starts at a Christmas party.
This post is based on a talk by Mike Dickson at the launch of Impact Unlimited in London on 6 May 2026.
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