It is said that in the UK you are never more than 70 miles from the sea.
Consider that for a moment. That means that wherever you are reading this now*, you are at most perhaps two hours’ drive from an ocean. Or, if you own a bike, almost certainly within a day’s ride.
I live in London. It is by no means the furthest point from the sea but you could well make an argument for it feeling that way. We may have parks and ponds but we are also surrounded by a thick wall of urban sprawl so that few things could seem more distant than the gentle lap of the ocean.
This weekend I intend to shrug the urban shroud by running to the ocean from my front door.
East looks like the best direction. I only came up with the idea last Sunday so haven’t done any training but it is mercifully less than 70 miles. It will still be a long way for me though, especially when I am a little out of shape for running.
I am sure I will walk at points and no doubt I will hurt a bit afterwards but I intend to reach the sea by power of my own two legs and in doing so, I hope, remind myself that nature is never that distant a neighbour.
I start running on Saturday morning. You can follow me on Twitter.
(*Apologies to the non-UK residents reading this. I hope that the broad idea will still translate, even if the numbers are a bit different!).