How a desperate phone snoop saved a life – and reset Stefan and Lachlan Lamble’s relationship

Brothers Stefan, 27, and Lachlan Lamble, 25, are known by their 4 million social-media fans as “the Lambros”. In 2024, they ran from Perth to Melbourne, 3400 kilometres in 85 days, to raise money for cancer research.

LACHLAN: As a kid, Stef was extremely shy and introverted, the opposite of what he is now. I put it down to the bullying he experienced in kindergarten, but he also suffered some pretty tough love at home in Dingley Village [in Melbourne]. Our father would make us do these one-on-one AFL contests and there were no rules. Stef trained so hard that he broke a metatarsal in his foot, a fracture that would come back to haunt us.

In 2022, Stef went through a relationship break-up. He’d been with his girl for five years, and he thought he’d be with her forever, but she broke up with him suddenly and he didn’t sleep or eat for two days. Then, the following Saturday, he snapped his ACL, MCL and meniscus in an AFL game and had to have surgery. The pain meds gave him severe gastritis. He fell into a massive depression and barely left his room for six weeks.

One morning, he rushed out of the house, leaving his phone on the couch. I quickly grabbed it – our faces can open each other’s phones – and found a video he’d made, saying he wanted to end it all; he didn’t have much to live for. I bolted out of the house, barefoot, to look for him. When I found him ’round the block, I gave him a big cuddle and said, “Stef, I f—in’ love you so much. It’s you and me against the world.”

We came straight home and booked him in for 10 sessions with a psychologist. We began a 75-day mental toughness and discipline program and decided to record our progress on social media to keep ourselves accountable. We ended up with about 14,000 followers.

In 2024, I was studying to become a physiotherapist when our grandmother died of cancer. Suddenly feeling in need of a change of direction, I said to Stef, “Why don’t we raise a heap of money for cancer research by running across Australia and documenting it online?”

We trained every single day for five months, including a punishing stretch in Thailand. There was a lot of walking, too, because neither of us had a background in long-distance running. Stef didn’t want to go back to his finance job, so the success of the project became everything to both of us. He left nothing in the tank, which was super-inspiring for me.

We set off from Perth on February 11, 2024, with a view to running 44 kilometres – a marathon – every day. We imagined our grandma’s hand in ours, with an army of cancer patients behind us. We’d tell each other, “F—in’ come on! People are relying on us.”

With 10 days and 500 kilometres to go, Stef developed a stress fracture in the same metatarsal he’d broken as a kid. For the remainder of the journey we walked together – as slow as a death march – for 10 hours a day. I’ve never seen anyone endure so much pain.

Stef’s a perfectionist and his morning routine fully frustrates me. He wakes up, takes a cold shower, has coffee and breakfast before doing a round of Wim Hof breathing. Then comes a 10-minute meditation before hanging from a pull-up bar to stretch his back and shoulders. I’m like, “Seriously, mate?” I love him more than anyone in this world and would die for him, but no one frustrates me more.

STEFAN: According to Mum, I bawled my eyes out when Lach was born because I wanted a baby sister. I was also a bit jealous. I’m so glad now that I have a brother.

Dad had high expectations of us, especially on the footy field. If we performed well, he’d buy us hot dogs and Gatorade. If we didn’t, we’d hear all about it. At training at home, he’d have us stomping on each other’s feet, scratching and clawing to win. It felt like conditional love, but he’s our biggest fan now.

During a challenging period after a bad break-up, Lach pulled me out of a hole: he gave me hope. He realised, in that moment, that we had to pull the brotherhood together: up until then, we hadn’t been that close. We went on morning walks together, he cooked for me, drove me to the psychologist. That support shaped the next chapter of our lives together.

Two years ago, when he suggested we run across Australia, I was lying on the couch with my foot in a moon boot. I said, “You’ve got to be kidding!“, but Lach quitting his job, even though he’d just received a great offer, gave me the courage to quit mine and commit to the project. We poured all our money into making it happen. I was proud of him, the younger brother, for taking the initiative.

Incredibly, we weren’t prepared for the conditions we faced. It was the middle of summer. One day, when it was 46 degrees, our shoes melted on the bitumen. On day five, Lach’s left shin became inflamed. By day eight, it was double the size of his right one. Suspecting a stress fracture, the doctor wanted him to go back to Perth for an MRI. Lach just replied, “I’ll send you a photo when I get to St Kilda.”

Over the next week, we argued a lot because he was in so much pain and was being a bit “Why me?” But he kept taking one more step forward. Each night, he’d elevate his leg, ice it and get plenty of sleep. His hobble became a walk, and the walk became a shuffle. Soon we were able to do 30 kilometres a day. His leg recovered and he stopped complaining. We were receiving so many calls and messages from people who’d lost loved ones to cancer. We reminded ourselves that we were choosing our path; so many others hadn’t had that chance.

The eye-opening thing about ultra-endurance running was seeing the man that my brother was becoming because of the hard times – and our growing reliance on each other. We’re the first brothers to run across Australia. [Their book, One More Step, is in shops now.]

Lach has undiagnosed OCD. Whenever he brushes his teeth, he has to jump up in the air, and the bristles of the toothbrush have to touch his mouth when he’s at the highest point of the jump. If that doesn’t happen, he believes something bad is going to happen to the family. His left foot always has to touch the cracks in the footpath before his right foot. Another weird ritual is standing up against the wall and putting his hands in his mouth to tighten up his jaw. It creeps me out. But I’m so proud of my little brother. I’d jump in front of a bullet for him.

If you or anyone you know needs support, call Lifeline on 131 114 or Beyond Blue on 1300 224 636.

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