Hi, I'm Shane

I used to run. Not competitively — mostly 5 and 10ks, a couple of half marathons. Running was my escape from a busy life: work, two kids, the general noise of everything. I'd put some music on and head out along the beach or into the forest and just forget it all for a while.

The problem with running is that it becomes addictive in the wrong way. I found myself obsessing over Strava segments, trying to beat previous times, constantly measuring. The thing I'd used to switch off had become another thing to achieve. It stopped being fun.

As I got older I knew the times weren't going to keep improving. So I made a decision — slow down. Stop measuring. Go for a walk instead.

The walks got longer. The gear got better — proper shoes, decent socks, a backpack for snacks. And somewhere along the way I stumbled across Outdoor Boys on YouTube. Luke's approach to the outdoors — calm, adventurous, rooted in family — resonated deeply. I had no desire to sleep in a snow hole in Alaska, but I admired the ability to find genuine peace in wild places. And the way he was with his boys reminded me of the relationship I have with my own kids.

From there I found Madison Clysdale — less polished, more real, someone who genuinely loves being in nature rather than performing for it. The kind of content that makes you want to put your boots on and go outside. Both channels gave me something. If you haven't watched either, I'd recommend a good binge session.

I am, by nature, someone who needs a goal. So naturally I signed up for the Jurassic Coast Ultra Challenge — 58km along one of the finest stretches of coastline in England. I'd originally considered the 100km continuous route, but a more sensible friend talked me back to earth.

The timing of that challenge was complicated. My wife was going through some health issues and I felt the helplessness that comes with not being able to fix something. Signing up gave me something to focus on, a way to raise a little money for charity, and an excuse to get out from behind my desk and into the fresh air. I trained alongside a friend — someone who had done more ultra marathons than I could count, who knew every decent trail in Dorset, and who was equally happy to talk for hours or walk in complete silence. Both, it turned out, were exactly what I needed.

And then my dad died. Unexpectedly. The kind of loss that reorders everything.

I didn't stop hiking. If anything, I needed it more. Getting out from behind a desk and onto a trail is one of the few things that allowed me to process what was happening — not to overcome it, but to sit with it. My friend showed up to every training walk. He is owed more than I can say.

I completed the 58km. I didn't aim for a time. I just walked, talked to strangers, and admired the people wearing '100km' on their event numbers. One day I'll have one of those. The event was genuinely hard — the furthest I had ever gone — but I enjoyed every difficult mile of it.

This year, my sister and I are doing the Jurassic Coast Challenge together — in our dad's memory, raising money for Dementia UK. The 100km is still on the horizon, maybe 2027. My friend won't be able to join me for that one due to injury. That one I'll walk alone.

As the walks got longer I started looking further afield. And I realised I had never actually seen a proper mountain, let alone climbed one. So in January 2026 I went up Pen-y-Fan in the Brecon Beacons in some of the worst weather I've ever walked in — horizontal sleet, winds that made standing up genuinely difficult, icy rain the whole way. It was brilliant.

Snowdon is next. Then Ben Nevis, once the snow and ice have cleared. I'll be writing about both here when I get to them.

No ropes. No crampons. No desire to do anything that requires a rescue team. Just boots, decent kit, and the kind of effort that earns a view.