Last year I attempted the 'baby brother' of this beast of an event – known over the world as one of the toughest foot races ever and for good reason! Back then, even though I wasn't sure I would even be alive in 2019, I realised that, for me with all my ailments, illness and all-round conditioning, that the 120 mile version (over 3 days) was more than enough of a challenge... so when asked if I wanted to forfeit my winner's medal in exchange for an attempt to carry on and try for the 380 mile version (just under 9 days – so that was another 260 miles over another 6 days or so) I plumped for the shiny thing! I honestly just didn't have enough left in the tank and mentally I was shattered from absolutely ZERO sleep over the 3 days.

This event is so, so, tough. By far the hardest thing I've done. And now I've only gone and decided to attempt the 380 mile version – so it's all or nothing now! There is no option to stop at the 120 mark and get a medal for completing that; this is finish at Tuktoyaktuk at the 380 mile mark or fail. So plenty of jeopardy then!!!

To complete this event everything has to line up; not unlike when people attempt to summit Everest.

The environment is the biggest unknown as it can change in minutes without warning, the temperature can go from minus 20 degrees celsius and drop another 20 or so degrees in no time. Right now as I write this it's minus 47 on the finish line!

Then there's the sleep factor: you have to kip where you can, often on the same stretch of track where the occasional Ice Road Trucker comes hurtling down with a 40-odd ton truck! You have to sleep in the snow, without getting snow in your tent/survival bag/boots/etc... and you get your kip in tiny slivers, no more than an hour or two at a time before you have to pick yourself up and go again. Just about every entrant has reported hallucinations from the effects of sleep deprivation - /and I certainly experienced that last year on the baby event, so looking forward to that again...not!

Add to that the wildlife you might see – or actually most likely hear as they will come out to investigate once you're inside your bag/tent. Last time around I was convinced there were things creeping around my tent and when you consider that wolves, moose and even polar bears live around there then you get what I'm saying..! And I'm going to be out there, on my own, for hour after hour, day after day, barely interacting with any human being except for the occasional passing support car which make their checks once a day or so – so it's incredibly lonely at times and when you're dealing with all the other things that occur to your body during an event like this, your mind REALLY needs to stay strong, which is not always the easiest when you're missing human contact.

And I've not even mention the very real risk of serious injury considering the amount of ice I'm constantly going to be walking on. The severe risk of stress fractures from the constant pounding on such a hard surface; the guarantee of really nasty blisters all over your feet; the high risk of frostbite on any exposed extremity.

And all of that is ON TOP OF my underlying condition. The fact that I'm well over 2 years past the date when the docs said I might die. I genuinely feel that I am really living on borrowed time now and with every blood test that goes on I feel hat I've used up another of the diminishing number of blank chambers in the gun. I'm not being pessimistic here, it's just a simple truth that no-one in the world is doing anything like this with my condition and diagnosis but I'll keep trying my absolute hardest until the disease makes it impossible to do so.

In summary, this event has broken much better athletes than me. It has demoralised far tougher racers than me. It has belittled far better prepared entrants than me. I guess that the only thing they didn't have is my tenaciousness. Others call it stubbornness perhaps but, hey, it's just a word to describe what I see as my determination to keep on trying to do the not-quite-impossible...!

"This will be my FOURTH attempt and, to the best of my knowledge, there's nobody else in the world attempting to do this with a Stage 4 cancer this many times.

I love, love, love this race. If there's one multi-stage ultra race that everyone should have a go at its this. Yes it costs but the organisation is second to none and the actual race is brutal; 250 kilometres across massive sand dunes that seem to go on forever; mountains (Jebels); endless salt flats. But the camaraderie on this event is the best I have ever experienced, its amazing and I will never forget my mates from previous events, those guys in tents 105 (in 2016) and 107 (in 2017).

Again, this is a self-sufficiency event so you have to carry a pack with your water and supplies but thankfully you can sleep in between stages and the temperatures do cool down at night.

Walking the Camino de Santiago is unlike any other long distance walk. There is no single section of any Camino walk that is not bursting with regional Spanish culture, historic cities and some of the greatest food available, from Michelin Star quality to hearty regional classics. There is more still to the Camino. A deep spiritual sense that accompanies the walk, whether you are looking for it or not. It may be an overused sentiment, but walking the Camino de Santiago will change your life.