Adam in Runderland

'There'll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover.' sang Vera Lynn. Today black crows rule the roost. The trail from Folkestone via Dover to Deal is a place of contrasts. White cliffs and black crows, up hill and down dale, wet mud and crumbling chalk, green fields to the left and blue sea to the right. Kent is positioned at the bottom right corner of the United Kingdom and resembles a small foot dipping its big toe (Margate) in the English Channel. It is often referred to as the Garden of England. Dotted with Oast Houses and vineyards it was on the front line during World War Two. When it features on the national news it is usually for all the wrong reasons; migrants arriving on overcrowded rafts, traffic chaos, ferry strikes. However, it is also known for its castles, beaches and famous White Cliffs. It is also a great place to run. I planned to use a free morning to run along the Kent coastline from Folkestone to Deal, a distance of roughly 18 miles. I was stayi...

The start of the adventure "Adam, come quickly!" I hear Matt shout with a sense of urgency. "We need your help" It's the end of our first day attempting the Coast to Coast Challenge, a 190 mile self-supported run across northern England. Just the two of us. I've just stopped to take a leak behind a boulder. What on Earth is he hollering about? And who is 'we'? Over the course of the last hour we have been descending the steep sides of an 800m high fell. A giant rock strewn wilderness with fast flowing becks and raging waterfalls that towers over Grasmere, the location of our accommodation for the night. Just another three miles to go before we can enjoy a well earned pie and a pint. It has been a tough day with two big climbs and 38 miles of running across the Lake District from St Bees Bay on the Irish Sea. Our 10 kilo backpacks are weighing us down and blisters are already forming on the soles of our feet from the stony trails. It has been a clear ...

My knee throbbed. The pain emanated from the inside of my left leg and stretched upwards across the joint. Should I continue? Was I just making it worse? Could I run it off? With each step I winced and asked the question again. With each step the end came closer. But where would the end be? This was the biggest question of all. Twenty-six miles? Six miles? 600m? The New Year is not yet five hours old. Just twelve hours earlier I had completed a marathon. 26.2 miles across the south of London from Richmond upon Thames to my home in Lewisham. Now I was preparing to run another one. Back-to-back marathons over New Year. This had become a tradition. Book end the year with marathons. A tradition that was a year old. In other words, I did it last year, so now I have to do it every year. I wasn’t alone in this though. My equally obsessed running friend Matt Shimwell ran with me last year and is joining me again to welcome in 2025. Yesterday we had taken the train to Richmond on Thames a...