There is a very specific smell that hits you when you walk into a grassroots football changing room on a Sunday morning.

It’s a distinct mix of deep heat, damp kit, polish and the odour of men in a compact changing room.
As you come out the changing room, the sound of studs clicking on concrete outside the door and a sharp intake of breath with a silent prayer and hope of 'no injuries please'

This past Sunday with the good grace of the brilliant Charlton United Football Club, I laced up my boots for a pre season friendly game in preparation the start of the new Veterans league season.

Now for back story context, I was fortunate enough to play and manage at a half decent level of Saturday football for 20 years or so but this ended some time back BUT at almost 49 years old, with my 50th birthday looming on the horizon next year, I’m back out on the pitch - with many family and friends asking why am I doing it?

Simple. Because I want to see if I can.

The Cold Maths of Veterans Football
The Veterans league starts at age 35.

Let’s sit with that piece of maths for a second.

When you are knocking on the door of 50, a 35-year-old isn't really a peer in physical terms—he’s practically a different generation. When he was sitting in primary school learning his times tables in the late 1990s,
I was already out on local pitches, running my lungs into the ground, trying my best not to throw up (the memories). 

Do I have any realistic chance of keeping up with a 35-year-old winger in a 40-yard footrace?
Not a chance in hell. Not on my best day.
My top-end sprint speed left the building quite a few years ago - My explosive acceleration was never a strength.

But here’s the thing I want you to sit with - it doesn't need to be.

I still have a role to play.

I can read the game, organize the backline through to midfield and on to the attack, I can still deliver a clean pass, handle physical contact (always loved the battle) and contribute to the team through communication and experience - (funny that after 30 years of coaching).
 
As long as the manager is happy to put my name on the team sheet, I will gladly step across that white line and give 100%.
Because staying in the game is entirely a choice, one that I am very appreciative I still have the decision to make. 

The Moment That Put Me Firmly in My Place

How many times have you started a new fitness routine on a Monday, only to find yourself back on the couch by Thursday?

How many meal plans are sitting in your email inbox right now, pristine and completely ignored?

If you are like most people, your phone is packed with health apps and your mind is full of good intentions. We live in an information age where we have never known more about what we should do to stay healthy, get fit, or prepare for an epic outdoor adventure.
Yet, the gap between what we know and what we actually do seems to grow wider every day.

This is because traditional health and fitness advice focuses entirely on the what and the how—the training plans, the macro splits, the gear lists. But it completely ignores the who and the why.

Enter Behaviour Change Coaching.

This isn't about being given another strict set of rules to follow. It’s an evidence-based approach designed to rewrite your psychological default settings, bridging the gap between intention and action.

​If you have ever felt like you are constantly fighting your own brain to live a healthier, more adventurous life, this is the missing link you've been searching for.

By the time you reach your late 40s or mid-50s, you’ve usually mastered the professional side of life.

You know how to manage a high-stakes crisis, lead a cross-functional team, and steer a business through turbulent economic waters.

You have earned your stripes.
Your authority in the office is unquestioned, and your professional acclaim is at its peak.

But for many corporate leaders, executives, and self-employed professionals, while they are winning the war in business, they are quietly losing the battle with their own bodies.

It happens gradually.

A decade of back-to-back meetings, red-lined schedules, constant travel, and the background noise of family commitments slowly chips away at your vitality.

One morning, you look in the mirror and experience a familiar, sinking feeling.
The reflection staring back doesn’t match the sharp, capable identity you project to the world.

Your physical health and appearance no longer match your professional stature.
Instead of dressing with the calm confidence you had in your university days, you find yourself using premium tailoring and looser cuts to mask your fears.

The background noise of chronic fatigue and lethargy starts to blunt your leadership edge at work.
At home, that bottled-up work stress spills over into irritability, a suffering sex life, and a frustrating inability to physically keep up with your family.

You know something needs to change.

But the standard advice offered by the fitness industry feels entirely disconnected from the reality of your life.

The wind up on the ridges doesn’t care about your corporate hierarchy. It doesn’t care about department boundaries, project deadlines, or who owns which piece of the quarterly budget.
When you’re out in the hills, navigating a steep incline with the rain starting to threaten or the sun beating down on your shoulders, the corporate noise completely evaporates.

I was out there again last week with the team from Darke & Taylor.
We were out in the hills, putting the miles in, training for their big Autumn endurance event.
This wasn’t a one-off afternoon of mandatory fun. This was another deliberate step on a longer journey we’ve been taking together. And as I watched them move across the landscape, I caught myself smiling.

It is incredibly refreshing—and honestly, quite rare these days—to see a team who are sincerely, genuinely excited about a hike day. No one was dragging their heels. No one was checking their watch every twenty minutes to see when they could slip back to their car.

They were fully present. In the terrain. With each other.

But it was a comment from one of the senior leadership team during a brief pause at a viewpoint that really stood out to me. They looked back down the line of hikers, watched the groups mingling, and said:

"Ben, it’s just fantastic to hear people who don’t normally work in tandem chatting away like this. I just heard someone say, ‘Haven’t seen you since the last walk, how’s the family?’—Ben, those conversations simply do not happen in the normal, day-to-day operations of the workplace."

That single observation hits the nail squarely on the head.

​It reveals the invisible friction that is quietly draining the energy, culture, and collaborative power of almost every major business today.

There is a moment in every fitness coach’s career where you realise you aren’t just building muscle or prescribing heart rate zones anymore.

​You are building a community. Or, if you are incredibly lucky, a community finds you.

Three years ago, my running days were firmly behind me.
​Decades of throwing myself down trails on a mountain bike, countless tackles on the football pitch, and the inevitable, relentless "wear and tear"—my preferred euphemism for the creaks, groans, and structural complaints of a body well-used and broken many times—had forced me to hang up my distance shoes some years back.

I was a coach, content to stay on the sidelines of runs, program the workouts, to watch and support my guys chase the horizon. (My passion had shifted back into mountain biking, paddleboarding and hiking)

Then, I met a very rare group of people.
​
They were a tight-knit squad who had trained together for many years. When their long-term coach moved on, they found themselves at a crossroads, searching for someone to take them into the next chapter.

To my absolute honour, they chose me.

What I expected was a standard coaching gig.

​What I inherited was a masterclass in the true meaning of group fitness, a renewed sense of purpose, and an annual pilgrimage to one of the most eccentric, brutal, and beautiful endurance events in the UK: The Man V Horse.

Most couples spend the morning of their wedding weekend managing a very specific brand of chaos.

There are seating plans to double-check. Catering hitches to smooth over. Pre-wedding jitters to manage.
Usually, this involves pacing up and down a hotel room, checking a watch every three minutes, or downing an early glass of prosecco to take the edge off the nerves.
​
But not these two - These two are Project Active People.

And when they approached me in the buildup to their big day, they didn't want a standard itinerary.
They had a completely different blueprint in mind.
Their brief to me was beautifully simple: “Organise a session for the guests. Make it fun, competitive, and full of laughs.”

No traditional, rigid expectations. No stuffy pre-wedding protocol.
​Just an open field, a stunning location, and a group of people ready to trade their morning suits and high heels—if only for an hour or two—for something far more grounding.

​What followed was a powerful reminder of what happens when you stop viewing fitness as a chore to be ticked off a to-do list, and start viewing movement as a celebration of what the human body can do.

Something new is taking shape.
It started with a drive out into the countryside, a break from the screen, and a realization. For months, I’ve been looking for the right environment—a setting that matches the standard of work we do at Project Active.

A place that doesn't feel like a sterile city gym or a punishing, generic bootcamp.
I’ve just finalised a partnership with a stunning, 5-star venue right in the heart of the Cotswolds.
Think rolling hills, world-class spa facilities, incredible food, and the kind of quiet space that lets you actually hear yourself think. No traffic. No endless pings from the laptop. Just space.
It is the perfect backdrop for what we do. But before I lock in the itinerary, set the schedule, and open the doors, I want to build this around you.

There are a few dates in the calendar that don’t just happen — they mark a turning point.

For us at Project Active, the Good Friday SUP is one of those. It’s the unofficial start of the season: the moment the year shifts from “getting through it” to getting out there.

This morning reminded me of something I can easily forget when life gets busy: how good a steady paddle with good people is for the soul.
​
The first paddle always tells the truth

The first social paddle of the season has a way of cutting through the noise. You can turn up with a head full of to-do lists, deadlines, family logistics, and the usual background hum of modern life — and within minutes of being on the water, something changes.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not a big motivational speech. It’s just simple, honest movement.
A board under your feet. A paddle in your hands. A rhythm you can settle into.

And suddenly you remember: this is what I’ve been missing.........