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i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

i’m going back.

i haven’t spoken about the experience of trying to run the shropshire way here. i felt tom, and the words i shared through other platforms, did the job. and honestly, it’s hard to describe what felt like a failure.

over the last few weeks, a gradual realisation has surfaced. i need to go back. to complete the circle (or the 8).

more than anything i’ve done before, our last attempt broke me. whilst there were reasonable excuses to grasp at, i knew, clearly, from 150km, that it had beaten me. those last 50km, i was desperate to quit. “this is futile - can’t i stop. why can’t i stop”. 8 hours of those words rattling around my head and often out my mouth.

i’m very grateful to jacob, laura, sandra, mary and tom. they didn’t give me that out.

the sense of being defeated, though, lasted. it wiped my motivation for running. put a spanner in any dream of the winter spine. i quietly assumed i’d never go back at all.

despite that surface level assumption, on reflection it was obvious that at some point atonement was necessary. only recently have i refound the joy of running. the bleak memories have faded, and the orbit from hating the concept to craving it has swung back. it’s always in those moments of purity whilst running that i find the inspiration, and the compulsion to channel it. 

last august’s attempt was a mess of experience, hard to untangle: perfect preparation. the sinking feeling of realising i had covid the day before. relentless heat. fever. tears and vomit from 30k - we’d hardly even started. a miraculous recovery overnight. hope. naivety. pushing too hard. dreams of a 30 hour south loop. after clee hill. missed checkpoints. the switch flipped. where is the manor. blisters everywhere. tom’s legs gone to narnia. despondency. resignation. the record. the irony.

life is transitional at the moment, in a beautiful way. in september i start training as a doctor. until then i’m perpetually moving. i think i crave an anchor.

hoping to find that in the suffering.

late june.

Here’s the trailer for ‘It’s Supposed to be Hard’. We will be doing a little screening in Hoxton on October 16th, it would be great to see you down there. If not the film will also be put on Youtube at a later date.

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

ooh aah shangri-la, ooh aah sangria...

***

glastonbury was gorgeous... and fleeting. but i guess thats the point; beauty is transcient, wabi sabi and all that.

#glastonbury #adventureathlete

beaulieu, piacenza, pontolo

beaulieu, piacenza, pontolo

beaulieu, piacenza, pontolo

beaulieu, piacenza, pontolo

beaulieu, piacenza, pontolo

piacenza, belforte

piacenza, belforte

piacenza, belforte

piacenza, belforte

piacenza, belforte

beaulieu, belforte

beaulieu, belforte

beaulieu, belforte

beaulieu, belforte

beaulieu, belforte

belforte, pontolo, piacenza

belforte, pontolo, piacenza

belforte, pontolo, piacenza

belforte, pontolo, piacenza

belforte, pontolo, piacenza

ritratto, monocromatico

ritratto, monocromatico

ritratto, monocromatico

ritratto, monocromatico

ritratto, monocromatico

ritratto, a colori

ritratto, a colori

ritratto, a colori

ritratto, a colori

ritratto, a colori

paesaggio, monocromatico

paesaggio, monocromatico

paesaggio, monocromatico

paesaggio, monocromatico

paesaggio, monocromatico

paesaggio, a colori

paesaggio, a colori

paesaggio, a colori

paesaggio, a colori

paesaggio, a colori

If you’ve ever been out in the hills with me, then you know I’m a sucker for Jottnar. I’ve always felt very tied to their brand ethos and the quality is unmatched.

I’m chuffed to share they are going to be supporting me on the various misadventures coming up over the next 12 months. Go check out the most recent article for their “Legend Magazine” in their/my bio !!

@jottnar @willhp.studio

If you’ve ever been out in the hills with me, then you know I’m a sucker for Jottnar. I’ve always felt very tied to their brand ethos and the quality is unmatched.

I’m chuffed to share they are going to be supporting me on the various misadventures coming up over the next 12 months. Go check out the most recent article for their “Legend Magazine” in their/my bio !!

@jottnar @willhp.studio