RIDE TO FIGHT NEURO | SUNDAY 14 JUNE | 130KM | 100KM | 60KM | CIRCUIT CHALLENGE
Meet Alex
At first glance, Alex McKay looks like any other 31‑year‑old Gold Coast tradie. Most mornings begin the same way they always have, with him slipping his board under his arm and jogging across the road to catch the early waves. A few hours later, he’s balancing on trusses, climbing rooftops, and running his business. To anyone watching, Alex is the picture of strength, agility, and the easy confidence that comes from moving your body in ways you’ve known since childhood. Yet behind that effortless stride sits a reality few people ever see.
As he puts it, “I’m up on the roof, I’m balancing on trusses and working a physically demanding job that requires coordination and balance, which might not seem a logical choice for someone who was diagnosed with MS 5 years ago.” He says it casually, almost as if repeating a well‑worn line, but the truth beneath it is far heavier. “Most of the time, it’s muscle memory. My dad’s a builder and so I’ve grown up in trades.”
As he puts it, “I’m up on the roof, I’m balancing on trusses and working a physically demanding job that requires coordination and balance, which might not seem a logical choice for someone who was diagnosed with MS 5 years ago.” He says it casually, almost as if repeating a well‑worn line, but the truth beneath it is far heavier. “Most of the time, it’s muscle memory. My dad’s a builder and so I’ve grown up in trades.”
Looking at him, you’d never guess the extra steps he takes just to get through each day. Sometimes he wears an ice vest to stop the heat from triggering symptoms. He keeps a fridge in his car, so his drinks stay cold enough to regulate his body temperature. “So really, my lifestyle couldn’t get more active,” he says. “And I definitely don’t look like I have a chronic neurological condition.”
His diagnosis came from an unexpected place. What began as a simple knock to the head during an AFL game led to a precautionary GP visit, an MRI, and then a result that turned everything on its head. Looking back, Alex realises there had been signs, though they were easy to dismiss. “I’d previously experienced tingling in my hands and general fatigue that I’d always put down to too much coffee and too many waves surfed,” he says. “Never did I think it would be something serious.”
He recalls the moment his neurologist delivered the words that split his life into a before and after. “Hearing the words ‘you have MS’ did not fit with the image I had of the condition. I thought of an older lady in a wheelchair with low‑capacity living. I was playing sport, taking on fitness challenges, building a business, socialising with friends. I wasn’t the picture I imagined when I thought of MS.”
Trying to protect himself from the shock, Alex pushed the diagnosis aside. For a year he refused treatment, convincing himself that if he just kept moving, kept building, kept surfing, he could outrun it. “I didn’t want to believe it, when I really should have taken the time to learn and get treated—grief is tough” he admits.
But MS has a way of demanding attention. One morning, he woke up unable to properly use his arm. The loss of function lasted 18 hours, long enough to frighten him into recognising what ignoring his condition might cost. “It jolted me into the reality of what my MS might look like,” he says. That moment forced him into honesty; with himself, with his health, and with the future he was trying to secure.
From there, he slowly began rebuilding. Treatment helped stabilise his symptoms. Conversations he had avoided for months became easier to open. He started reclaiming his fitness, as well as other parts of his life. “Mentally, I couldn’t continue living life to the full. Emotionally, I wasn’t present; mentally I wasn’t coping and physically, my fitness slipped.”
Today, Alex is open about his MS. His subcontractors know. His clients know. His friends and family have rallied around him. Rather than letting MS determine what comes next, he has stepped into advocacy roles, joining the MS Australia and MS Queensland Lived Experience Expert Panel (LEEP). By returning to formal study and contributing to disability advisory work, he is strengthening his capability as a Board Director and standing as a clear voice for the community he represents. “I’m actively positioning myself for where my MS might take me. I want to be ready for my future.”
Yet even with all this progress, what weighs on him most isn’t the symptoms. It’s uncertainty.
“When you get diagnosed at the age I was, you are just hitting your stride: career building, relationships forming, financial stability starting to take shape. Momentum is on your side.
“I was not ready for it. The diagnosis forced me to rethink everything: my goals, my timelines, how I see my future.
“What weighs on me most is not the symptoms. It is the uncertainty. I wanted to be a young dad. Married. Kids. I have had incredible role models. I have always pictured myself on a surfboard with my children, the same way they stand beside me. Now I do not know if this chronic condition will let me live that version of my life.”
It’s this mix of honesty, strength, and vulnerability that fuels Alex’s commitment to the MS Brissie to the Bay ride. Long before his diagnosis, cycling in the event was a family tradition. “My family are avid cyclists and as a child I remember doing the 50 km MS Brissie to the Bay ride because cycling as a family is what we do,” he says with a smile. “Little did I know that 20 years later I’d be riding to fundraise for people just like me.”
“What weighs on me most is not the symptoms. It is the uncertainty. I wanted to be a young dad. Married. Kids. I have had incredible role models. I have always pictured myself on a surfboard with my children, the same way they stand beside me. Now I do not know if this chronic condition will let me live that version of my life.”
It’s this mix of honesty, strength, and vulnerability that fuels Alex’s commitment to the MS Brissie to the Bay ride. Long before his diagnosis, cycling in the event was a family tradition. “My family are avid cyclists and as a child I remember doing the 50 km MS Brissie to the Bay ride because cycling as a family is what we do,” he says with a smile. “Little did I know that 20 years later I’d be riding to fundraise for people just like me.”
For Alex, the ride represents far more than kilometres or endurance. It’s a lifeline—one that funds critical services, connects the neuro community, and keeps support programs running. He knows firsthand how powerful that support can be. “The money raised helps people living with a neurological condition access support they really need. That support could be life‑changing and offer someone a place to connect, with that connection offers so much strength.”
To him, riding is an act of hope. It is a statement that MS may shape his path but will not define his limits. “Life might not look as it was when I was diagnosed, but there are other fulfilling places life might take me, and I can be guaranteed of adventures along the way.”
And this year, as he gets ready to take on the ride for another year, he wants to share a message close to his heart: “This MS Brissie to the Bay ride, I’ll be there side by side with my mates and my family riding to raise funds so every newly diagnosed person can find their support network to connect with. I hope that you will ride with me too.”
