Dad

I’m blaming my Dad for what we’re about to do.
It’s a bit unfair as he’s not here to defend himself, but, it’s his fault.  

When my Dad decided, aged 62, that he was going to run from the bottom of the UK to the top of the UK (Lands End to John O’Groats), I called him an utter madman. I’m an established opponent to running, so I just couldn’t understand why he wanted to do it, why put himself through the pain and inevitable ruin. But for him, it wasn’t really about the running. It was the adventure. A chance to explore a land he loved so dearly, to visit new places and stand upon hills he’d only ever seen on a map. Getting there on his own two feet only added to the experience. So after a year of pouring over ordnance survey maps in our kitchen, in May ‘09 he set off with best friend Aly to run the 1944km LEJOG route they’d devised on our kitchen table. 49 days later (and 49 daily marathons later) they reached John O’Groats. I couldn’t have been more proud.

When I read about Te Araroa, I knew it was the adventure I was meant to do.
Dad and I had travelled to New Zealand together back in 2011, a year or so after he’d finished LEJOG. Whilst driving around the south island, we’d spent four days hiking the Routeburn Track and both absolutely fell head over heels - the mountains, the lakes, the people, we loved it all.

Following in my Dad’s footsteps by running the length of a country was never going to be on the cards, but I can do a slower version. I hope.

This walk is for me, but it’s also for you Papa, I hope I make you proud.