I’d Still Win
The Long Run Mindset - For a Life Worth Living #15
The sceptics came out of the woodwork after I announced my plans to run 100 miles on my 100th birthday.
“Andy, be realistic. You’re 58. A 100-mile run at 100? You might not even make it that far. What then? All those miles for nothing?”
I laughed. Because they’re looking at my life like a balance sheet. They think the “profit” only happens at the finish line. They think the Long Run is a transaction.
They’re dead wrong.
The Raw Story
Saturday morning. 9:00 AM.
Burnley Parkrun. Towneley Park. A 28-minute lung-buster through one of the most beautiful parks in Lancashire. My heart is thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird. My legs are heavy, but my head is clear.
I cross the line, catch my breath, and then the real training begins.
We don’t go home. A dozen of us pile into the Stables Cafe — damp shirts and all, smelling of rain and effort. Sub-20 runners. People who walked it in 45 minutes. Volunteers who spent their morning standing in the cold with a stopwatch just to make sure everyone got their time. Every age. Every background. Every walk of life. One thing in common.
The last to arrive is always Anthony. Anthony volunteers as the tail walker every single week. He walks behind the final finisher the entire way round, making sure nobody feels alone out there.
Nobody comes last at Parkrun.
We sit there for two hours. Steam on the windows. A massive slice of Victoria sponge on the table — the kind of cake that makes a nutritionist weep but makes a runner feel like a king. In summer we take our coffees outside and sit by the Rotunda, watching the park fill up with dog walkers and families who have no idea what we just put ourselves through.
We don’t talk about optimising our lives. We talk about the raw stuff. The joy of scaling a mountain at 4:00 AM just to watch the sky turn from bruised purple to gold. The silence of the woods where the only thing you hear is your own breath and the sharp, clear call of birdsong.
Then there’s the digital tribe. The Strava kudos from a mate three towns over who’s grinding out his own miles in the driving hail. The messages from like-minded lunatics who get why you’d rather have mud under your fingernails than a remote control in your hand.
I’ve met more fascinating people on a muddy single-track trail than I ever did in a corporate boardroom. Why? Because when you’re twelve miles into a run, the mask slips. You’re too tired to lie. You’re just two humans moving through the world.
If this resonates with you, there’s more every Tuesday in The Long Run Mindset — stories from 75+ marathons, ultras, a resuscitation ward, and 1,564 days of running without a single day off. Free to subscribe. One email a week.
The Lesson
Most people are saving themselves for a retirement that looks like a slow fade-out in front of a TV. They spend forty years protecting their joints and avoiding risk, only to find that when they finally have the time to live, they’ve forgotten how. Or worse, their body has forgotten how to let them.
If I spend the next thirty years training for that Centenarian Ultra and I drop dead at 85, I’ve still won.
I’ve won because my 70s were spent watching sunrises from peaks instead of through a window. I’ve won because my 80s were filled with the laughter of friends in crowded cafes. I’ve won because I chose to be a participant in the world, not a spectator.
The training isn’t just about the muscle. It’s about the soul. It’s about the community that keeps you honest and the nature that keeps you humble.
I’m not just building a body that lasts. I’m building a life worth living while it does.
YOUR TAKEAWAY
Check your Liveability Score. If you’re so focused on the destination that you’re ignoring the cake, the coffee, and the camaraderie, you’re missing the point of the long run.
The 100-mile goal is the North Star — it gives me direction. But the life is what happens on the way there. It’s the 28-minute blast through Towneley Park, the Strava banter, and the deep soul-level connections made in the dirt.
Go to a cafe after your next run. Don’t look at the calories. Look at the people across the table. Tell them a story. Listen to theirs.
Nobody comes last.
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