Why Rob Burrow’s emotional marathon finish made me wince

There’s no question that it was a profoundly poignant moment, but as a wheelchair user I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable

It’s the picture of the day: Kevin Sinfield carrying his former Rhinos teammate Rob Burrow over the line at the Leeds Marathon.

Burrow has motor neurone disease, and Sinfield had pushed his adapted wheelchair over the previous 26.2 miles before that moment.

And it was emotional, for sure. I don’t want to detract from the efforts of the pair. They raised a stack of cash for research into the incurable condition. Good on them for doing so.

But as someone who uses a wheelchair, I still winced a bit when I saw the image. It made me feel ever so slightly uncomfortable.

Allow me to explain: for many disabled people, the chair serves as their legs. I’m sure Burrow was cool with the moment. I’m sure he gave his consent.

But I worry that it could encourage unwanted help – and unwanted touching – which is an everyday reality.

A number of times I’ve been out, gamely tackling a hill, only to have people coming up behind me out of the blue and start pushing. It’s not as bad as having abuse shouted at me, or being threatened. But it is still frightening.

Please: always ask first. And don’t take offence at a “no” from the guy in the Under Armour gear.

Think about how you would feel if someone came up behind you and grabbed you to “help” you up a hill without first asking. I guess women will understand that quicker than men. Am I right there?

Look, I get it. People just want to share in the moment. It’s a nice story. Two decent guys, former teammates, teammates still, out doing some good together. What’s better than that?

I don’t disagree with those demanding knighthoods for them, or using the word “legend” given the money they’ve raised. They are far more deserving than some.

But to those who saw the image and who really want to help? Perhaps think about this: disabled people face a daily marathon too often made that way by their fellow citizens, by callous officials, by their government. Instead of pushing me when I don’t need it, perhaps think about how to push back against those who make life for disabled people in Britain far more difficult than it ought to be.

I’ll give you an example of what it’s like when you go out in public as a disabled person: I use my chair to get exercise, because running was obviously out of the question after I was run over by a lorry and spent a very uncomfortable time breathing in petrol fumes beneath its wheels. Ditto cycling (which is what got me into trouble in the first place). Walking? I can do it, if I use crutches, over very short distances. But it’s difficult and painful and I’m not good at it.

I’ll admit, I’d really quite like Sinfield running alongside me when I take to my local park in the London borough of Redbridge. If I had a hulking six-foot rugby coach running next to me, I wouldn’t have to put up with aggressive and entitled dog walkers who seem to find a wheelchair moving at speed offensive.

I doubt I’d have to cope with people who are just flat out abusive, either. It got so bad recently, when I was just 100 metres or so from the constituency office of shadow cabinet minister Wes Streeting, that I had to call 999.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” said one of the coppers who attended. The Met gets a lot of flack, some of it deservedly, but she and her colleagues were great.

It’s a conundrum: I want to be fit, and to exercise, but I face a daily battle if I want to do either. I have a long-term, incurable, medical condition to deal with in the form of type 1 diabetes, an autoimmune disorder that hit me at the age of two, which is a lot easier to deal with if you keep fit and active (as you realise when you get older).

But it is also important to me that despite my disabilities and despite the kit I use to get round, I am seen as an active and independent person. Which might help to explain my discomfort when I see people using the word “inspirational” in response to disabled people like Rob Burrow on screen.

Part of the problem is how little we otherwise see disabled people being active in public broadcasting, on the BBC, ITV and Sky, all of which tweeted the image. We don’t see it often enough. How often do they put discussions of disabled people’s issues front and centre?

What this leads to is a collective inability to cope with active wheelchair users. People simply don’t know how to treat us.

The abuse I receive simply for being out in a public park still echoes in my head. I even thought about quitting exercise for a while, even though my health would suffer. I thought about it, but in the end I did “run” again, because I’m one of those angry disabled people and... as Margaret Atwood would say: “nolite te bastardes carborundorum”.

Unfortunately, there aren’t too many Kevin Sinfields around. Even if there were, I’m not sure I’d want him to carry me.