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Paul Coulson

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Every step
matters this
Men’s Health Week.

I’m walking for prostate cancer to honour the battles fought in silence, to raise awareness that saves lives, and to turn my own diagnosis into a step toward hope—for myself and for every man who still has time to act.

Prostate cancer is Australia’s most commonly diagnosed cancer. 1 in 5 men are likely to be diagnosed in their lifetime.

That’s why, this Men’s Health Week, I’m making every step count.

Will you donate today and help fund new research to detect and defeat prostate cancer?

Help me raise funds to support those impacted by prostate cancer

Raised

$3,868

My Goal

$500

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My Updates

Last Steps

Sunday 22nd Jun
The Cruel Irony (and the Exquisite Beauty)

A reflection on walking through pain, perspective, and presence

There’s a cruel irony to life that I keep coming back to.
We’re forced to live it forward — to keep moving, choosing, becoming — while all the real answers lie behind us.

We stumble into moments blind to their meaning until they’ve already slipped through our fingers.
We make decisions with half-lit hearts, only understanding their full weight in hindsight.
Wisdom, it seems, is always late to the party — showing up after the lights are dimmed and the guests have gone home.

And yet… in that irony lives something exquisitely beautiful.
Because eventually, meaning does arrive.
Sometimes in unexpected ways. Sometimes in the aching silence of reflection. Sometimes when you're walking alone, feeling everything.

Over the past 14 days, I’ve taken part in the Walk For Him challenge — 100 kilometres to raise funds and awareness for prostate cancer.
There were good days, where the kilometres came easily and I felt strong.
But there were also days my body said no.
When the pain crept in. When the walk felt longer than it was.
When the ground underfoot felt too real, too heavy.

Ironically, those were the moments that revealed the most.
Because this challenge — like life — was never about perfect progress.
And while purpose has become a bit of a buzzword lately, I’m not sure that’s what I was chasing.
For me, it felt more like presence.
Staying in it. Letting it be uncomfortable.
Paying attention — not because it would all make sense, but because it mattered.

I wasn’t walking to prove anything.
I was walking to feel.
To honour.
To keep moving — even when I didn’t have all the answers.

Today marks the last official day of the challenge.
But it’s not the last day of the walk.
Because the deeper challenge doesn’t end when the tally stops.
We keep walking.
For him. For ourselves. For the ones who can’t.

That’s the quiet contract of being human:
To live forward, even when our hearts linger in the rearview.
To trust that not every answer needs to be known in order to keep going.
To find meaning not just in understanding — but in the act of continuing, despite it.

To everyone who has supported me — thank you.
For your donations, encouragement, quiet check-ins, and words that arrived just when I needed them.
You’ve helped raise funds, yes — but more than that, you’ve helped lift the weight of this walk with your kindness.

Peaks and Troughs

Friday 20th Jun
I wasn’t sure whether to write this.
There’s a part of me that feels a little embarrassed to admit I haven’t maintained my 9km daily average this week.
I started strong—determined, focused, committed.
And truthfully, I still am. My mind is all in.

But this week, my body just hasn’t played along.

That’s the thing with a challenge like this—especially when you’re not just managing kilometres, but also navigating pain, fatigue, and the unpredictable rhythms of your health.

It’s easy to talk about the peaks—the milestones, the momentum, the days when everything flows.
But the troughs deserve a mention too.
The slower days. The difficult ones. The moments where you feel a little worn down and wonder if you’re still doing enough.

This week I walked less.
Not with defeat—but with the quiet reminder that this isn’t a competition.
There’s no medal for pushing past your limits and ending up worse off.
There’s strength in knowing when to ease off the throttle.

That said, I’ve still got my sights set on the goal:
100km by Sunday and hopefully $4,000 raised for prostate cancer research and support.
I’m currently at 91.7km—aching, limping, and inching closer.

I even considered strapping on a pair of rollerblades just to keep up the pace—until I remembered my hip (and my dignity) wouldn’t survive it.

I’m grateful for everyone who’s encouraged, donated, or walked a little alongside me in spirit.

Still walking. Still steady-ish.
One step at a time.

#walkforhim #peaksandtroughs #prostatecancerawareness #100kmbysunday #thislimpmeanssomething #resilienceinreallife #menshealth #onedayatatime #rollerbladesarenotthesolution

Navigating a Decision: What Support Looks Like Beyond Surgery

Tuesday 10th Jun
Yesterday’s urology appointment left me feeling deflated. Not because of the prognosis — I’ve had time to sit with that — but because of the conversation.

The surgeon was once again recommending IRP — invasive radical prostatectomy — despite the fact that I’ve already, respectfully and carefully, made my decision not to pursue surgery or active treatment at this time.

What made it harder was the tone of the conversation. It wasn’t overtly disrespectful — but there was a borderline dismissiveness, as though my choice didn’t quite register as valid. I was spoken to, not with. At one point, there were long, awkward silences while he tapped away at his keyboard — and I sat there, feeling like a bystander in my own care.

I get it. They're trained to treat, to act, to do. And for many people, surgery might be the right path. But it isn’t the right one for me — not right now.

This isn’t a post about discrediting medical advice. I value the role of specialists. I respect their skill, their intent, and their desire to extend lives. But I also believe that support doesn't end when we choose a different path.

What makes it even more complex is being in the public health system, where you often see a different doctor at each appointment. Some are wonderfully empathetic — they listen, they ask, they see you. Others are more matter-of-fact — focused on the charts, not the person. That inconsistency can be jarring, especially when you’re trying to build trust around such a deeply personal decision.

I also understand that the profession is structured in silos — highly specialised services focused on specific organs, conditions, or treatments. It’s how modern medicine works. But this siloed approach often misses something crucial: whole-person care. The kind that considers not just what’s happening in your prostate, but what’s happening in your mind, your relationships, your life.

Because here’s the part that doesn’t always get talked about enough:
The mental health toll.

The anxiety before appointments.
The exhaustion of retelling your story over and over.
The isolation of feeling like your decision somehow makes you “non-compliant.”
The quiet question that creeps in later — did I do the right thing?

It wears on you. Even when you feel certain. Even when you’ve made peace with your choice.

For those of us who opt out of surgery — for now, or forever — it’s not because we’re giving up. It’s because we’re choosing to live on our terms. To weigh quality over quantity. To listen to our own bodies, values, and instincts.

But what’s missing, sometimes, is the system of ongoing support for those who don’t follow the standard roadmap. Once you say “no” to surgery, you can feel like you’ve fallen off the edge of the care plan. The hand-holding stops. The check-ins grow sparse. The reassurance, the practical guidance, the space to ask “what now?” — it fades.

And yet, this is when support matters most.

What I — and others like me — need isn’t persuasion. It’s partnership.

We need clinicians who can sit with uncertainty. Who can help us monitor and manage symptoms with compassion, not pressure. Who understand that doing less is sometimes doing more, especially when it comes to dignity, autonomy, and life quality.

We need pathways for the “in-between” — where active surveillance isn’t passive avoidance, but a legitimate, supported, and carefully managed choice.

We need emotional and psychological support, not just scans and numbers. We need GPs, nurses, allied health professionals, and peers who check in not just on our cancer, but on us.

If you've made a similar decision — to forgo treatment for now — I want you to know: you're not alone. Your choice is valid. And you deserve care, respect, and guidance just as much as anyone undergoing surgery or radiation.

This community — and the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia — has an opportunity to help shift the conversation. Not away from treatment, but toward whole-person support, wherever we are on the path.

Because prostate cancer isn't one-size-fits-all.

And neither is courage.

Thank you to my sponsors

$106.12

Leanne McVeigh

Great effort Paul.

$43.60

Marco

Go get ‘em Pauley

$11.65

Kate

I'm in awe of you Paul.

$54.12

Helena Sandford

We know you are giving it your all Paul. Listen to your body and be kind to yourself x

$106.12

Mr & Mrs Kybartas

Bravo Papa Floof!!!

$66.77

Kate Ho

Hats off to you 🥰

$43.60

Natalie Brownlie

So inspiring Paul! Go you! Tarlie

$22.58

Nicole Clark

Holistic support services are so needed Paul, thank you for all you are doing, you are a superstar ❤️

$22.10

Pene George

Thank you for your courage, love and of course raising awareness.

$22.58

Margie

So proud of you. Keep walking.

$54.12

Bart Olszanowski

Here to support you Paul. You’re doing great.

$54.12

Megan Buerckner

Sending big hugs xx

$50

Anonymous

$126.62

Dean

Courage/Resolve/Self Determination

$515

Matched Donation

Proudly matched by Tyrepower

$515

TRADIES NETWORK

$66.77

Scott Kilkeary

Much love

$85.48

Debra Oliver

Keep on walking 🙏❤️

$43.60

Chris Smith

Hi Paul as you know I will walking in this challenge too. Thinking of you and Dean along the way💪

$22.58

Kim Coles

Thinking of you 💕 Kim

$22.58

Odette

Walking with you in spirit Paul.

$126.62

Kim Lang

$126.62

Alistair Rich

Thank you for the enormous value you add to my life on a daily basis. You are inspirational.

$20

Jennifer Tonkin-Jones

Thinking of you Paul. Good luck on the walk

$106.12

Sarah Waller

Paul stay strong walk tall and keep the conversation going. You are an inspiration to so many. Xx

$66.77

Jo Levin

Stay strong and walk tall. Your willingness to be open about your journey will encourage men to have this important conversation

$126.62

Karen McKeering

$22.58

Diana Maher

Thinking of you Paul. Your not alone, sending you love & support.

$465

Clix Carpenter-Frank

Love your soul xxx

$100

Ashna

With huge love to you

$66.77

Susan & Ross Bardon

You are inspirational Paul, I love the thoughts you share and wish you as much joy as this life can bring you.

$54.12

Lace

All our love and support from the Millwards. Xoxox

$126.62

Sally TingleyWalker

For the wonderful memories of of life as kids. You can & will do this with strength and poise. Love to you & yours. Xxxx

$43.60

Petra Spencer-Scarr

Jy is ‘n legend Paulie en sal altyd wees. You can do this!!! Xxx

$126.62

Simon Crowther

We are with you every step of the way Paul!! Thank you for your openness & honesty with your choices & how that makes your feel. It is certainly enlightening and raising our awareness of the myriad emotions that may fuel treatment decisioning. Thank you & we love you! ❤️

$54.12

Shelley Boyd

Thinking of you Paul and wishing you all the best on this journey, big hugs xx

$126.62

Kris Polkinghorne & Adrian Pennisi

We love you for being the inspired individual you are, who has always lived by his own values, rules, belief’s.

$54.12

Paul Coulson

You can also Donate via Direct Deposit:
Account Name: Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia Ltd
BSB: 062 000
Account Number: 12668231
Payment reference: Your full name
To request your receipt: donations@pcfa.org.au