Only last year I saw him standing tall, commanding his land. The North Sea winds have carved thin lines in his tanned, sage face. A smile of approval spread on his lips when we chopped fire-wood for winter. A quiet man. A year on, illness spreading through his body, he is bed-bound. Struggling to stay alert.
Was so sad to hear about MGF's dad.
And still, when running today, and I feel horrible about it, all I could think about was my dad. Almost of the same age. We only meet once a year. What if he suffered the same misfortune?
PS 820km down. 180km to go.
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Running to raise £10,000 for the NSPCC
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