Kevin Webber is an ultra-runner with a tragic but truly inspiring story. After an active youth brought to an end by injury, he took up running again in his 40s. But then at 49 he was diagnosed with terminal prostate cancer. He was expected to live for two years.
Kevin has used his two years – and to date three more years beyond that - to enter as many endurance running events as he can, and he has notched up a record far exceeding that of most healthy runners. While he would never have wished the cancer diagnosis on himself, it changed his life by opening up an amazing appetite and opportunity for adventure.
By his own estimation, Kevin could reach the end of the road at any moment. However, each event is something to aim for, to keep the flame alight, and this week, he has made it to the start of Global Limits’ ‘Hemisphere Crossing’ in Sao Tome and Principe*, a 200km ultra in six stages that starts on Saturday.
Kevin has been raising money for Prostate Cancer UK, the biggest cancer affecting men. See his website here and his JustGiving page here.
See more about Global Limits races around the world.
*Sao Tome and where? It’s a tropical country formed of two islands in the Gulf of Guinea off Africa, about 150 miles west of Gabon and 300 south of Nigeria. The national language is Portuguese and it has around 200,000 inhabitants.
First a bit of form
Kevin Webber: I have been a runner off and on since my early 20s. Originally it was a means to stay fit for rugby, lots of half marathons and 10ks, but I found a love for running in its own right. Sadly in my early 30s I was injured playing rugby and that stopped my running too.
I was always healthy as a kid and I loved sport, though I was never quite good enough to get in the team at school. Separately I joined the Sea Scouts, which got me into rowing whaler-type boats called gigs, canoeing and particularly sailing, which my main thing in my teenage years - I raced small dinghies and then crewed a 43ft yacht based at Hamble for five years. We were quite good too, coming third in the European championships and in my final year winning 7 out of 9 races at Cowes Week.
Roll on 15 years and after an untimely death of one of my wife’s friends, my wife Sarah said: “You always wanted to run a marathon. Perhaps you should have a go now, as you never know…“
So in around 2012 I started running again; two marathons a year to start with. I kept getting niggly injuries and then decided that running faster might not be good for me, but perhaps running further was. In May 2014 I ran/walked/crawled 100k London to Brighton. Tactically I got it all wrong, but I did finish, in around 15 hours. I lined up another ultra for 2015, with the Brighton marathon as a training run (ha ha).
Then in November 2014 I was diagnosed with metastatic incurable, terminal prostate cancer. I was told I should have two years to live.
I took a decision, on the day after my first chemo session, that I was going to go for a run. It was a beautiful, crisp, cold day, and the week before I had run 20 miles, so how different could it be? And I just kept at it, running during the chemo. I had an entry the Brighton marathon, so I asked my oncologist if I could run the race. He laughed and said “Nobody runs marathons on my chemo…”. Then he saw my face and that I was serious. “OK, if you can train for it, then you can run it.” So I did, during Week 13 of chemo. And then I then did London in Week 15 of chemo. I just wanted to keep going. I didn’t want to let the cancer take everything away.
I have always loved being outside, but I guess cancer made me realise that I needed to get out there every moment that I can. It gave me the push to step up to some scary races. Challenging myself is a short term way of feeling alive, a reason to stay fit and to do once in a lifetime events. I went on to run some longer UK Ultras - Race to the stones 100k (twice), Pilgrims challenge 66 miles (5 times, most recently in February 2020).
I also got to run my ultimate race, Marathon de Sables. It was the only mega ultra I had heard of in my 20s and it became the only thing on my bucket list. I have now run the MdS four times, with a fifth (hopefully) in April 2020. I am the only person with any T4 cancer to have run the race 4 times.
I continued to look for challenging events that 1) pushed me, 2) gave me an excuse to get more people to sponsor me - I have been raising funds for Prostate Cancer UK for 5 years now - and 3) allowed me to see places in the world that I never thought I would get to.
I have run a number of other ultra-marathons, most of them 200-250k over 5/6 days, including :- Fire and Ice 2017 (Iceland, similar style to the MdS, carrying all your kit for the week, food, sleeping bag etc), Al Andalus 2017/8 (in July in the mountains of Andalucia, very hot, I was timed out on the long day 2017 but finished 2018), 6633 Arctic Ultra 2018, 2019 (120 miles across the Yukon in Northern Canada pulling a sledge, in -40c, did not complete in 2019), Global Limits Albania 2018, Global Limits Cambodia 2018, Ultra X Wadi Rum Jordan 2019, Ultra Trail Ibiza 2019. And in 2019 I walked the 600-mile Camino de Santiago, from St Jean Pied de Port to Finisterre, with my brother in memory of our father.
Why Hemisphere Crossing in Sao Tome? Why now?
Having finished Global Limits races in Cambodia and Albania, I knew that Stefan organised fantastic events. Not just the running course itself, but the support and equally importantly, the fact the races go to all these off the beaten track places – you stay in castles, temples, people’s houses, dried up lakes etc. There is no way that I would have ever done any of that, even if I had managed to visit the countries independently.
I then saw that Stefan was organising this race in Sao Tome as a one off. In theory, to qualify you had to have done all three of his races and I had only done two, but looking at the itinerary and learning about Sao Tome I was hooked. I sent Stefan several begging letters as in reality, the way my health is, this could be the last year I can ever attempt such things. I live in monthly blood test windows, and in any month my bloods could go bad. It will happen, it just depends when - most of my peers, the men diagnosed at the same time as me, are now dead.
Luckily there were a few spaces left, so he squeezed me in. I was over the moon to make the cut. The country looks amazing, beautiful and unspoiled, but scary in some respects – the sort of place Stefan is great at finding. Going somewhere that I had never heard of, but which on discovery looks amazing, means so much. It has given me a reason to keep going. I talk to people about my plans and they, like me, have never heard of Sao Tome. And then once I tell them they too sound hooked (if only they could run !!)
Sao Tome means two more things as well: it has been a goal to get to the start line. Now that it is less than two weeks away I probably will make it. Secondly, like every race, it is potentially the last race I will ever run, so right now, today, it is THE race in my life, my “A” race if you like.
Training and Preparation
I run so many races that my training is often the previous race. The problem is that I run so much that I do sometimes get injured, which then can stop me running for months. For example I was injured in April 2019 and ended up walking the whole Marathon des Sables. Whilst that’s fine - I still came about 550th out of 800 - I would still rather have run a bit at least.
August 2019 was a defining moment. I realised that in order to do everything I wanted in 2020 I needed some radical change, so I lost weight, from 96kg to 84kg. I significantly reduced alcohol consumption and have tried to be vegan, plus avoid fatty snacks – I have always been a sucker for crisps!
Running wise, my training plan includes the gym, mainly off road running (pavement does my knees and ankles in), diet and now heat training. Sao Tome may not be as hot as the Sahara, but it is hot and humid, so I have been going to the sauna and steam room most days. I’ll do this right up to the race as I know from other events that it makes a real difference. I have also been running hills as this is a past failing of mine
At the end of 2019, a running app sowed a seed in my head about running every day. They have a programme called ‘RED (running every day) January’, so on 23rd December I started my “streak”. As of yesterday that’s 42 days, with a total of 511k and an average of 12.1k per day. Running every day has been excellent training.
The race I did last weekend I have done five times, my total time this year was 16 hrs 7 minutes, my fastest ever (the others were 19h 12 m, 18h 16m, 17h 16m and 17h 32m). I point that out because that shows how much fitter I am now 5 years into terminal cancer and 5 years older. I am 54 now - you can go faster and further in your 50s!
A significant change in the last 6 months has been running to a heart rate. Most of my training is deliberately slow, 125 bpm for my heart as this trains my body to eat fat (of which I have lots) as opposed to sugar (which we have less of). It helps you avoid the marathon runners’ wall at 17 miles, when the body runs out of sugar, which is particularly painful if your body is not trained to burn fat when going fast.
Are you ready?
I am more ready for this race than any I have entered over the last 5 years, assuming my minor niggles calm down before the start. I feel fit, confident and excited about the journey, the people, the country and the whole experience.
Most daunting aspect?
Whenever I do a Global Limits race I buy a travel guide and usually a history book on some aspect of the country, as I want to understand a bit of what I am seeing. It also helps me respect the right things in the country, like the Killing Fields in Cambodia and the bunkers in Albania. Sao Tome has a slave history which I find sad: colonial rule by the Portuguese will have left its mark although the people appear to be very welcoming.
What I fear from the guides is malaria; despite going brown easily, mosquitoes love me and I always get bitten. I will of course put on spray and take anti-malarials, however any pills worry me as they could stop my cancer drugs working and I might have an unpleasant reaction. The other fear is black cobras: they sound like they are in abundance and whilst snakes usually move away when they hear noise, I am a bit paranoid about finding one in the toilet or running through a sunny patch in the jungle where one is sleeping or basking in the heat. That said, I will be near the back of the field, so the faster runners have more of a worry than me!!
And what are you most looking forward to?
It’s hard to explain, but for the past 5 years every day has been a gift for me: at home, work, hospital or racing, it is just wonderful to be alive still. Of course I wish I never had had cancer, but cancer has given me opportunities that I would never have had if I had stayed healthy and lived to 100!
Also, going to a place where few people go, which is unspoilt and beautiful, makes me feel privileged. It’s going to be a hard race: the heat and humidity, plus jungle terrain and some big climbs will take it out of us all I am sure, but that’s what makes the race special. It sounds like Stefan has done a great job of exciting the islanders about our arrival, I guess it’s probably the first ever multi day ultra marathon there. I think we are doing a casual run with the islanders before the race starts. That will be very special indeed.
I expect to come back home with a head and heart in love with the place, but also a trashed body!!
I understand that it also is a poor and uneducated country generally, whenever I see poverty it makes me sad and feel privileged. The money I spend on having fun racing could change the lives of many I know.
What does success look like?
Success for me is about putting my foot on the start line - every time I do that it’s an achievement. Sometimes dropping out of a race gives one more chance to really experience things, in the Arctic I went dog sledding for example, watched the local Inuits play ice hockey and had a coffee with the Mounted Police.
I do want to finish, it’s all about the bling you know! But also it means I can come home and inspire others to chase dreams, no matter what life throws at them.
Finally, I want to bring home memories that I can feel proud of. Morbid as this may sound, on my death bed I want to be able to look back at the time I had cancer and say that I did so much, saw so much and did good for so many others.
