We spoke to Kat Spencer, who is currently cycling across the alps with the FireFlies to support The Blood Fund and raise money for blood cancer research. Here’s what Kat had to say about her family’s personal experiences with cancer, the joys and hardships of cycling tours, and the solidarity she found with the FireFlies 20 years ago.

Twenty years ago, I lost my dad to oesophageal cancer.

This summer I will ride with the Fireflies once again, crossing the Dolomites and the Alps to raise money for The Blood Fund at Hammersmith Hospital. What began as a ride in memory of my father has become a 20-year journey through grief, friendship, resilience and hope.

This year feels more personal than ever.

As I prepare for my seventh Fireflies ride, my mum is undergoing treatment for two cancers – one of them the same disease that took my dad. Twenty years after his diagnosis, our family is once again navigating the realities of cancer, and it has reminded me why this ride matters so much.

When were you first introduced to the FireFlies?

Swarms of lycra-clad cyclists buzzed around the Soho production office of Ridley Scott Associates, where I worked as a receptionist in my mid-twenties. Hand-drawn cartoon faces, a storyboard timeline and photographs telling the story of the Fireflies covered one of the corridor walls.

Riders would saunter in glistening with sweat, duck-waddling in their cleated shoes - it felt like an admirable but completely unknown world – one that was far removed from my own life and ambitions.

And it was, until my dad became ill. One day in the garden he awkwardly explained that he had a tumour on his oesophagus. Looking around for something to illustrate its size, he picked up a piece of moss and said:

"About this size."

I was 23. The comparison meant very little to me because I didn't really understand what cancer was. We had never really come into contact with it before. I was largely in denial and Dad was guarded about what he shared. Then, suddenly from my perspective, we found ourselves in palliative care.

In January 2006, we lost him. What I remember most, twenty years later, is how peaceful he seemed when he finally let go.

He loved the extraordinary doctors and nurses caring for him. One of my favourite memories from that time is breaking out on a small road trip to a service station to buy chocolates for the nurses. Another is lying beside him, filing his nails and moisturising his hands because he couldn’t, while we watched Toy Story together. Simple acts of love and distraction giving him comfort and dignity.

Dad only allowed immediate family to visit him in hospital but he eventually relented when his friend, collaborator and boss, Ridley Scott, asked to see him. Dad had mentored Ridley's sons Jake and Luke, training them as art directors and later production designing for Jake – my youngest brother is even named after him. Jake flew from Los Angeles but before he landed, Dad had passed away.

His body had failed him after a brutal battle but his mind remained strong to the end.

In the awkwardness of someone arriving in the immediate aftermath of such a loss, I found myself searching for conversation. I told Jake how remarkable I thought the Fireflies were.

His response changed my life.

"We'll ride in memory of your dad this year.” Then he added: "In fact, you're going to ride with us... and I'm going to buy you a bike.” I didn't really have a choice.

And it remains one of the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me.

What do you enjoy the most about cycling with the FireFlies?

Completing a Fireflies tour is a monumental achievement and the ride has given me more than I can ever explain. I've often described cycling as a physical expression of grief – a form of therapy.

The first year I rode, I stood nervously to give the customary intro speech and realised it was exactly five months to the day since Dad had died. Training was brutal but I kept turning up. The Fireflies community carried me through.

Ascending a mountain is slow. You experience every change in weather, every scent, every sound and every contour of the landscape. Unlike travelling by car, you become part of the environment rather than simply passing through it.

During every ride I experience what I call emotional surfing. I battle fatigue, altitude, self-doubt and moments when I desperately want to stop. Then I remember why we're there.

I enjoy the challenge, the community, the scenery and the sense of achievement – all powered by the generosity of those who donate.

What motivates you during training to keep going and complete this challenge?

This year I am riding for my mum, who was diagnosed with two cancers last August.

In a strange and painful coincidence, one of those cancers is oesophageal cancer – the same disease that took my dad twenty years ago. Watching her navigate treatment has reminded me once again how brutal cancer can be not only physically but emotionally for the entire family.

I’ve also seen first-hand the extraordinary work carried out by medical, surgical, diagnostic and support teams caring for cancer patients.

The ride ahead is brutally demanding and has taken months of preparation. I've always found that the pain of training helps me process everything – the emotional highs and lows are often as intense as the physical challenge itself. In truth, I didn't initially want to ride this year. Life was busy, work was demanding and the commitment felt overwhelming. It is and has always been the biggest physical and mental challenge I have ever undertaken. But I knew that if I didn't ride this year, marking twenty years since losing Dad, I would regret it. Little by little, training started to feel good (or good-ish). My schedule allowed for proper recovery and I treated myself to a new bike to mark the milestone.

I have a mountain motto: "What goes up must come down.” Cycling constantly reminds me that things change. Difficult periods pass. Hard climbs eventually end. Growth often comes from the challenges I would rather avoid. The connection to nature, to myself and to this remarkable community keeps me coming back. Although I should admit that during the longest training rides, simple enjoyment of a nice cup of tea or glass of something and salivating over a delicious pizza feature rather heavily in my thoughts. Starting in Italy this year with professional advice to carb-load shouldn't make the start of it too difficult either.

What are you most looking forward to during this year's tour?

This will be my seventh Fireflies ride and my eighth year involved with the Alps tour. There is something difficult to explain about what draws us back. Perhaps it's the challenge, the friendships or the shared purpose. Most tours I have spent long stretches of the ride struggling – managing fatigue, physical pain, anxiety on descents and the endless challenge of eating enough to keep moving. Sometimes you focus only on the next ten feet of road, get there and repeat.

This year feels different. For the first time in a long time, I feel strong going into the ride. I have been able to train well around work, I have fallen in love with cycling in a new way and I will be riding a new bike.

More than anything, I am looking forward to sharing the experience with this extraordinary group of people once again. It is a giggle and a very real experience.

Why is the work of The Blood Fund important to you?

The late Professor John Goldman, a pioneer in blood cancer treatment whom I knew through Fireflies, once told me that many breakthroughs in blood cancer research go on to influence treatments and cures for other cancers too.

That idea has stayed with me ever since. Supporting blood cancer research means supporting discoveries that benefit cancer patients everywhere.

The Blood Fund supports world-leading patient care and pioneering research at Hammersmith Hospital. Its funding helps advance blood cancer treatment, transplantation, gene editing, specialist care for adults and children and research projects.

Over the past twenty years I have seen cancer affect my father, my mother, my godmother and countless friends and families around me. I have also seen the difference that exceptional healthcare professionals, groundbreaking research and access to innovative treatments can make.

Twenty years after losing my dad, I will once again be climbing mountains with the Fireflies in his memory.

This year, I am also riding to honour my mum's strength and battle. And I am riding in support of everyone currently facing cancer and in the spirit of the Fireflies "for those who suffer we ride".

 

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A huge thank you to Kat for her tireless efforts supporting our hospitals!

If Kat's story has inspired you, you can donate to the FireFlies fundraising page here.