Ordinary people doing extraordinary things….

Igniting the Ordinary is about finding purpose, challenge, and growth in the middle of everyday life. Written by a firefighter, husband, and dad, it follows the honest journey of chasing big goals while juggling family, work, fitness, and the chaos of a brain that doesn’t always follow the manual. From rebuilding fitness and pursuing England selection in skeet shooting, to navigating ADHD, dyslexia, and the mental weight that comes with the fire service, this blog is about proving that ordinary lives can still carry extraordinary ambition. Because sometimes the biggest changes don’t start with dramatic moments — they start by simply deciding to light a spark in the everyday.

 

Chapter One: A Slightly Chaotic Beginning

Right then… where do I start?

Probably with the obvious: I’m a 47-year-old Watch Manager in the fire service, married for 20 years, father of two brilliant boys, owner of a ever expanding dad-bod, and until very recently… the proud carrier of a brain that seemed determined to operate like a browser with 47 tabs open at all times.

Some people have focus.I have enthusiasm followed by confusion.

For most of my life I just assumed that was normal.

I’d start projects with the energy of my Labrador that’s just discovered a tennis ball… and then two weeks later I’d find myself in the garage wondering why I owned three half-built shelving units, a motocross bike that “just needed one more thing doing,” and a harmonica I was absolutely certain I was going to learn during lockdown.

It turns out there might have been a reason for that.

Recently it dawned on me that maybe—just maybe—my brain wasn’t quite playing the same game as everyone else’s. After years of bouncing between hyper-focus and “where did I leave my keys?” I started looking into ADHD.

Suddenly a lot of things made sense.

The constant mental noise. The starting-ten-things-finishing-three thing.

The ability to focus like a laser on something exciting… while simultaneously forgetting to reply to a text message for three weeks.

Classic.

But just when I thought the plot twist had been revealed, life threw another one in for good measure.

Not long ago I was diagnosed with dyslexia.

Now, at 47 years old, that’s a slightly surreal moment.

It’s a bit like finding out halfway through a marathon that you’ve been running in someone else’s shoes the entire time.

Things that had always felt harder than they should—reading dense text, writing without second-guessing every sentence, staring at words until they start rearranging themselves like they’re in a boy band—suddenly had an explanation.

Which was both reassuring and mildly irritating.

Because on one hand it’s nice to know you’re not just thick…but on the other hand you do wonder why nobody mentioned it sometime around Year 5.

Still, better late than never.

And to be honest, the diagnosis has been oddly freeing. Instead of beating myself up about the way my brain works, I’ve started learning how to work with it.

Which is handy, because life isn’t exactly slowing down.

Firefighter, Watch Manager… Controlled Chaos

Being a wholetime firefighter is already a job built around controlled chaos. Being a Watch Manager means trying to keep that chaos pointed in roughly the right direction.

It’s leading a crew, making decisions quickly, keeping people safe, and occasionally pretending you know exactly what you’re doing even when the job throws something unexpected at you.

It’s a role I take seriously, because when the bells go down it usually means someone somewhere is having the worst day of their life.

But like most firefighters, we also balance that seriousness with a bit of humour and the occasional well-earned tradition.

Which leads nicely to one of my favourites.

The Sacred Family Pub Night

If you ask me what a perfect evening looks like, it’s not anything fancy.

It’s a family pub night.

Nothing glamorous. Just the four of us sat around a table, talking rubbish, eating something that probably isn’t on any nutritionist’s recommended list, and enjoying a bit of normal life.

And if I’ve just come off a particularly long shift?

My go-to reward is about as sophisticated as it gets:

A pint of lager and a packet of crisps.

Simple pleasures.

Unfortunately, those simple pleasures—combined with shift work and busy family life—have a habit of slowly expanding the waistline.

The Dad-Bod Situation

Let’s talk about weight.

Not in a tragic “before and after” Instagram way… more in the honest reality of what happens when life gets busy, the kids grow up, work gets hectic, and suddenly your metabolism quietly resigns without telling you.

I’ve always been active.

I’ve run a marathon.I’ve boxed.I’ve raced motocross.

These days I’m also chasing something that keeps my competitive side alive — selection for the England CPSA English Skeet team.

Which, if you’ve never tried skeet shooting, is basically standing still while small orange discs attempt to humiliate you at high speed.

It’s technical, frustrating, addictive, and brilliant.

And here’s the thing most people outside shooting don’t realise — your body weight matters.

A lot.

Shotgun fit is everything. The gun needs to mount the same way every single time. When your bodyweight changes, your posture changes, your mount changes, and suddenly that perfect gun fit… isn’t so perfect anymore.

For me, 78kg is the sweet spot.

That’s my fighting weight.That’s where I move best.And more importantly, that’s where my shotgun fits perfectly.

The small problem?

I started this journey at 102kg.

Which means there’s a fair bit of work to do.

Enter Coach Phil

This is where Phil Matthews enters the story.

Phil runs a programme called Fighting Fire Fit, designed specifically for firefighters. No nonsense, no gimmicks, just proper training built around the realities of the job.

And more importantly… accountability.

Because here’s the thing about ADHD brains: we love a new challenge.

But we also love abandoning things halfway through when the excitement fades.

So having someone in my corner who understands the job, understands the physical demands, and won’t accept “I got distracted reorganising the garage” as an excuse… well, that’s exactly what I needed.

Phil is basically the human equivalent of that voice in your head that says:

“Stop messing about and do the work.”

Except louder.

And probably with burpees.

Why This Blog Exists

This project — Igniting the Ordinary — isn’t about becoming some sort of ultra-disciplinedh superhero.

It’s about the messy middle.

The juggling of family life, work, fitness, competitive shooting, and a brain that occasionally decides to chase a completely unrelated idea halfway through a sentence.

It’s about being honest about the struggles most blokes quietly deal with:

Weight creeping up

Motivation disappearing

Brains that don’t quite behave

Balancing family, work and ambition

And the constant feeling that maybe we should be doing a bit better

But also recognising something important:

You don’t have to be perfect to improve.

You just have to start.

This blog is my attempt to do exactly that.

To train properly again.To get from 102kg back down to 78kg.To chase England selection in skeet shooting.To be the best Watch Manager I can be.

To understand how my brain actually works.And hopefully to prove that even slightly chaotic, middle-aged dads can still chase big goals.

Even if we occasionally forget where we put the car keys along the way.

So Here’s the Plan

Right now the scoreboard looks like this:

Weight: 102kgTarget: 78kgFitness level: Work in progressADHD brain:

EnthusiasticCoach Phil: Already planning my suffering

Next chapter starts where the real work begins.

The first weigh-in.The first brutal training sessions.The moment I realise just how far 24 kilograms actually is.

But every good story needs a starting point.

This one starts here.

Chapter Two: The Moment You Admit It

There comes a moment when you have to be brutally honest with yourself.

For me, that moment came after a family holiday.

Now, the holiday itself was brilliant. Great food, great company, and beer that seemed to magically appear whenever my glass looked remotely empty. Exactly the sort of holiday it should be.

Unfortunately, when I got home and properly looked at myself… the reality hit a bit harder than the sunburn.

I’m 102kg.

That might not sound catastrophic to some people, but when I looked in the mirror the image staring back at me resembled a melted wheelie bin after a particularly enthusiastic rubbish fire.

Not exactly the look you’re going for as a Watch Manager in the fire service.

And if I’m being completely honest, it bothered me for another reason too.

At work I’m surrounded by younger firefighters. Good lads, keen, fit, and right at the start of their careers. The job is physical. It demands a lot from you. And whether we like it or not, people notice how you carry yourself.

Standing there knowing I was this far out of shape, I started to feel like I wasn’t setting the example I should be.

That stung a bit.

What’s strange is I genuinely don’t know exactly when it happened.

There wasn’t a dramatic moment where everything went off the rails. It just crept up slowly over a couple of years. A few kilos here, a few more there. Shift work, busy life, family time, the odd takeaway, the occasional pint… then suddenly one day you realise you’re a long way from where you used to be.

And worse than that, fitness had quietly disappeared from my day-to-day life.

No structure.

No routine.

No real accountability.

Which, if you’ve got a brain like mine, is basically the perfect recipe for doing absolutely nothing about it.

So once we got home from the holiday and normal life resumed, I decided something had to change.

Properly change.

Calling in the Cavalry

That’s when I contacted Phil Matthews from Fighting Fire Fit.

I’d heard about Phil for a while. His work with firefighters isn’t just limited to the UK — he’s helped crews all over the world. More importantly, he understands the job, the demands, the shift patterns and the realities of fire service life.

Phil also served in the fire service himself, which matters.

You can spot within about ten seconds whether someone actually understands the job or whether they’ve just read about it in a fitness magazine.

Phil gets it.

We arranged a video call to talk through where I was at and where I wanted to get to.

Now, while we were chatting, I had this strange feeling that Phil was already mentally building the plan.

You know when someone is listening to you… but you can almost see the cogs turning in their head?

That was the vibe.

I’m explaining the situation, talking through my weight, my fitness, my goals with skeet shooting, and my job at the station… and you can almost picture him quietly assembling the pieces.

Exercises.

Food.

Training structure.

Accountability.

All being mapped out in real time.

And to be fair to him, he understood my concerns immediately.

The lack of fitness.

The absence of training from my routine.

The way life had slowly edged exercise out of the picture.

There was no judgement in the conversation, just a calm, professional approach to fixing the problem.

Which is exactly what I needed.

The Goal (Which Suddenly Sounds Slightly Ridiculous)

During that call we also talked about the target.

And this is where things start sounding a bit ambitious.

To get my shotgun fitting perfectly again for competitive skeet shooting, I need to be around 78–79kg.

That’s my sweet spot.

That’s the weight where the gun mounts consistently, my posture is right, and everything lines up the way it should.

Right now?

I’m sitting at 102kg.

Which means I’m roughly 24 kilograms away from where I need to be.

When you say that out loud it suddenly sounds like quite a lot.

Because it is.

But here’s the thing.

The longer I sat there thinking about it, the clearer it became that the bigger problem wasn’t the weight.

It was the direction.

For the last couple of years I’d been drifting. No plan, no structure, no accountability.

Now suddenly there was a plan.

There was a coach.

And there was a clear target sitting there at 78kg.

The road between here and there is going to involve a fair bit of work. Probably some suffering. Almost certainly some moments where I question my life choices.

But sitting there on that video call with Phil, one thing became very clear.

Something needs to change.

And it needs to change now.

Chapter Three: The Work Starts Here

Before we get into training plans, weigh-ins, and the slow muscular death that is lunges…

There’s someone I need to mention first.

My wife, Fay.

Fay and I have been together since 2001, which means she has had a front-row seat to more of my ideas, hobbies, phases and questionable life decisions than any human being should reasonably have to endure.

And to her credit… she’s still here.

She’s been there through everything.

The early motocross years — weekends spent at muddy tracks surrounded by vans, broken bike parts and the uniquely offensive smell of motocross portaloos. If you’ve never experienced one of those baking in the summer sun, I recommend keeping it that way.

She’s survived the various phases where I’ve decided this is the thing I’m going to take seriously now.

Boxing gyms.

Black eyes.

Early morning training sessions that seemed like a brilliant idea the night before.

Then there are the tougher bits of life that don’t make such funny stories.

The fire service has a way of leaving its mark on people. PTSD and the mental weight that can come with the job doesn’t just affect firefighters — it affects the families around them too.

Fay has quietly stood beside me through those times as well.

And then there’s the rest of it.

The new ideas.

The random challenges.

The slightly ridiculous goals I occasionally decide to chase.

Through all of that she’s never once said, “Maybe just sit down and be normal for a bit.”

Well… she might have said it once or twice.

But she’s still here anyway.

And now she’s watching me embark on another adventure — this one involving losing the best part of a bag of cement in body weight, training relentlessly, and trying to become something resembling a fit firefighter again.

If anyone has earned the right to roll their eyes at this plan, it’s probably her.

But like everything else over the last twenty-plus years, she’s right there beside me.

Which, when you think about it…

Might actually be the most impressive thing in this entire story.

It’s one thing saying you’re going to change.

It’s another thing entirely when the plan actually begins.

Suddenly there are weigh-ins, workouts, food logs, and a coach called Phil who is quietly expecting you to do the things you said you were going to do.

Funny how real it all gets at that point.

The Goal

Before anything else, I had to sit down and properly define the goal.

Not the vague “get fitter” idea that people say in January and forget by February.

A proper goal.

I started this journey at 102kg.

The target is 78–79kg.

That’s roughly 24 kilograms that needs to disappear before April.

Or, as I prefer to think of it, the best part of a bag of cement.

When you frame it like that, it sounds slightly ridiculous.

But that’s the number.

And if I want my shotgun to mount the way it should for skeet shooting, that’s the weight I need to be.

No shortcuts. No excuses.

Just work.

Life Doesn’t Pause for Your Fitness Plan

The slightly inconvenient part of this whole transformation is that life hasn’t stopped.

I’m still working full time as a Watch Manager.

I’m still a husband.

Still a dad.

Still navigating school runs, family life, work shifts, competitions, and the general chaos that comes with normal life.

Fitness programmes are very easy to follow when you’re living in a fitness bubble.

When you’re juggling real life? That’s where it gets interesting.

And just to make things slightly more challenging…

It’s December.

Which means Christmas is approaching like a freight train made entirely of roast potatoes, cheese boards, mince pies and beer.

Normally I absolutely love Christmas.

Food is one of life’s great joys. Always has been. Good food, good company, a pint in hand — that’s my natural habitat.

Which means what I’m about to say next would normally be completely unthinkable.

I’m tracking every calorie.

Every single one.

Now if you’ve never tracked calories before, let me explain something.

It’s slightly obsessive.

You suddenly find yourself reading the back of food packets like you’re studying for a science exam.

“Why does this yoghurt have 140 calories?”

“How can three biscuits equal an entire meal?”

“Surely crisps can’t be that bad…”

The real shock is when you start realising that some of the things you thought were fairly harmless are basically calorie grenades.

My love of food hasn’t gone anywhere.

I’m just now painfully aware of exactly what it’s doing.

The Phil Factor

Throughout all of this, Phil has been exactly what you’d expect from someone who runs a professional coaching programme.

Calm. Structured. Professional.

Which is impressive, because if I were coaching me I’d probably have lost patience by now.

Part of the programme involves checking in and sending updates.

Training.

Food logs.

Progress.

And if I’m being honest, my early updates weren’t exactly Pulitzer Prize material.

Phil is asking for content and updates, and I’m basically responding with something along the lines of:

“Yeah… training done… food mostly alright… nearly died doing lunges.”

Not exactly detailed analysis.

You can almost sense his polite frustration through the messages.

But to his credit, he stays completely professional.

Encouraging where needed, correcting where needed, and quietly steering things back on track.

Which is important, because if I’m honest with myself, I’m probably not always eating the perfect things yet.

I’m improving.

But there’s still work to do.