The story of a terminal cancer diagnosis typically follows a predictable arc—and Kevin Webber's initial reaction when doctors gave him two years to live was no exception. But what happened next defied all expectations. Instead of retreating, he began to run, literally, —not away from death, but toward a life more extraordinary than his previous four decades had prepared him for. When I discovered his memoir "Dead Man Running," I knew I had to meet the man who found liberation in what most would consider a death sentence.
"Before cancer, I was pretty boring," Kevin tells me with a characteristic self-deprecating chuckle. "I worked at a bank for 41 years. Married, kids, cats, mortgage. Quite happy, I didn't hurt anyone, but I also didn't do as much as I could for other people. I was pretty much wrapped up in my own life." Though he describes himself as ordinary, his pre-cancer life had its adventures – yacht racing in oceans, racing motorbikes, and playing rugby until an injury sidelined him.
In his twenties, Kevin ran half marathons to stay fit for rugby. "I'd finish a half marathon and collapse on the floor in a sweaty mess," he recalls. "I remember thinking, how does anyone ever go further than that?" He came across an article about the Marathon des Sables in a running magazine – this was before the internet existed – and thought it was impossible beyond his capabilities. "It became like Everest for mountaineers. In running terms, it was the one race I would love to do, but I never would because it costs loads of money, I wouldn't have the time to train, and I'd never be good enough anyway."
Everything changed in November 2014. During a holiday in South Carolina, Kevin started waking up in the night to go to the bathroom and he didn't understand why. He thought maybe it's the water or what he was eating, but it continued for a few weeks. After returning home to England, he did what he admits most men avoid – he went to the doctor. The subsequent blood test revealed a PSA score of 342, dramatically higher than the normal range of 1-2. The diagnosis was devastating: terminal prostate cancer that had spread to other parts of his body.
"You might live two years," the doctor told him. "If you're lucky, it's 3 to 4. Don't ever think 10." Kevin and his wife were shell shocked. He was only 49 years old. He felt fine. He didn't understand why this was happening. He remembers going home that day and feeling really sad because life is over. "What any kind of terminal illness does is cause you to lose your ability to dream. Dreams like seeing my daughter go to high school and graduate, seeing my sons get older and buy their first car, help them pass their driving test. Be a grandad. Retire and drive around Europe in a camper van. Suddenly all those dreams are gone." By Kevin's logic he had a year of horrible treatment and a year of dying and that was it. "I actually didn't have 2 years to live. My life was over, full stop, from this moment onwards."
But the worst day wasn't receiving the diagnosis. "The worst day in my life was three days later," Kevin shares, "because that's when I told my kids." Telling his 9-year-old daughter and 14 and 16 year old sons that daddy wouldn't be here much longer was the hardest thing he'd ever done.
Yet it was what happened next that would define Kevin's story. The day after his first chemotherapy session, looking out at a cold, miserable January morning in England, he decided to go for a run. "My wife wasn't 100% sure that was the right thing to do," he remembers, "but I said, 'doctor didn't say I couldn't.'" He managed three slow miles that day – a modest achievement that sparked something remarkable.
"Cancer takes away so much," Kevin explains. "When you have prostate cancer, it takes away all your sexual ability and desire. But suddenly, I could still run." This realization transformed his outlook. If he could run, maybe there was still reason to think about the future and things like new running gear, different stretches, better nutrition – maybe even races.
Kevin approached his doctor with what seemed like an impossible request: he wanted to run the Brighton Marathon while undergoing chemotherapy. The doctor's response was predictable: "People like you don't do that sort of thing." Kevin's reply was simple but powerful: "Is it going to kill me?" When the doctor said no, Kevin's path was set.
Not only did he complete the Brighton Marathon during week 13 of chemotherapy (in 4 hours 36 minutes), but he also ran the London Marathon two weeks later, finishing 12 minutes faster. Then he set his sights on something even more ambitious: the Marathon des Sables – six marathons in six days across the Sahara Desert in 50-degree centigrade heat, carrying everything he needed on his back.
He had a year to train and it was a very grim year. Chemotherapy. Radiotherapy. A host of side effects and collateral damage to healthy parts of his body. "You've got a choice. You can be a victim to these things, do nothing and watch the tide come in and let it wash over you. Or you can try and walk away from the tide, maybe give yourself a few more minutes." Kevin thought, "I have a choice. I want to keep going. This is my only shot. I might never get this shot again." So he trained.
He was so determined to carry on because he was on a mission. A mission to fundraise and bring awareness to Prostate Cancer UK. By taking on the challenge to fundraise he was committed. "If someone sponsors you $20, you're committed. If you give up, then you've taken their money under false pretenses. I said I would try. I didn't say I would finish." It was this mission that kept him going on the mornings it was cold and miserable and he didn't feel like training. That mission got him to the startline of the Marathon des Sables in April 2016, a miracle as far as he was concerned.
The experience tested him to his limits. On day four, crossing a five-mile salt flat between two mountain ridges, Kevin hit his lowest point. "The heat was coming up through my shoes. My feet had blisters, my shoulders were raw from carrying my pack. I burst into tears thinking I couldn't go on." In that pivotal moment he made a decision. "I thought, I have a choice. If I go home now, just because it hurts, to all those people who sponsor me, I'm a complete fraud. If I go home all the naysayers who said I couldn't do this would be right. If I go home I will be letting down the people with prostate cancer and other illnesses who are back home willing me on. I was their champion. They couldn't do what I was doing, but they wanted me to live for them. And finally, there were my kids. I don't want my kids to think when it gets tough, you give up. I wanted my kids to think that when it gets tough you go again. You pick yourself up. You find a way and you finish if you can. If it's humanly possible, you do it." And that is what Kevin did. He finished that race 562nd out of 1200 people. Proving that anything is possible.
Since his diagnosis, Kevin has run over 15,000 miles (23,000 kilometers) across some of the world's most challenging terrains. He's completed multiple Marathon des Sables, raced 200 kilometers nonstop across the Yukon in minus 40 degrees, and run through the jungles of Cambodia. Along the way, he's raised over £1 million (about 1.3 million dollars) for Prostate Cancer UK.
His Arctic adventures brought their own unique challenges. "In the Sahara, if you get too hot, you stop, and you will cool down. In the Arctic, if you get too cold and you stop, you just get colder. One mistake in the Arctic, you're out." During one race, after 23 hours without sleep, he found himself hallucinating, seeing a filing cabinet in the snow. Later, he discovered his bivvy bag (sleeping bag) surrounded by paw prints from Arctic foxes or wolves that had circled him while he tried to rest.
Kevin's travels have also given him profound insights into different cultures. In Cambodia—his favorite place to run—he was struck by the genuine happiness of people who have almost nothing materially. "It's the only place we'll ever run where the kids just go, 'Hello! Hello!' That's all they do," he explains. By contrast, his experiences in remote northern Canada revealed communities struggling with isolation and limited opportunities. These experiences reinforced his gratitude and his commitment to making each day count.
Through all his experiences, Kevin has developed three daily missions that guide his life. First, never go to bed without knowing what you'll enjoy tomorrow. Second, do something good every day – even if it's just a smile or a thank you. Third, make the best memories for yourself, your family, and friends.
He's particularly passionate about the first mission. "People often say, 'Yeah, but Kevin, this is my day: I get up, feed the kids, get on the subway, go to work, work's rubbish, come home, kids are waiting for food again, watch rubbish on telly and go to bed. Where's the enjoyment in that?'" His response is practical yet profound. He suggests finding small moments to look forward to – whether it's listening to your favorite album on the commute or choosing what to cook for dinner.
Kevin also stresses the importance of knowing when to focus on the "what" versus the "why" in any endeavor. When running in extreme conditions, concentrating on the practical details (the "what") of equipment, hydration, and safety is essential. But when motivation wanes, connecting with the deeper purpose (the "why") becomes crucial. "You need those answers straight away because if you don't have them straight away, then the danger is you won't find them, and you'll just quit," he explains.
Behind Kevin's incredible achievements stands his wife, whom he credits as having "the toughest job." As he points out, "People think it's tough having cancer, but actually, the toughest job is being my wife." She was the one who first encouraged him to pursue his dream of running the Marathon des Sables after his diagnosis, knowing it had been on his bucket list for years. Her unwavering support through his training, races, and ongoing treatment has been the foundation that made his extraordinary journey possible.
Kevin's story illuminates a powerful truth he found written in chalk one day in London's Trafalgar Square: "You only have two lives, and the second one starts when you realize you only have one." His message isn't about waiting for a wake-up call like cancer. "Why do people wait until they're ill to start doing the stuff they want to do? If you want a tattoo, just go and have it done tomorrow. If you want to go and swim with dolphins, get yourself off to see them."
When Kevin was first diagnosed in 2014, his doctor told him, "You might live 2 years. If you're lucky, it's 3 to 4. Don't ever think 10." Yet remarkably, Kevin has recently crossed the 10-year mark since his diagnosis—a milestone that defies his initial prognosis and stands as perhaps his most significant victory of all. Through his continued running, fundraising, and inspiring others, Kevin has not just survived; he has created a life richer and more meaningful than many experience in twice that time.
As our conversation draws to a close, Kevin shares one final piece of wisdom about human connection. "If someone phones you up and says, 'Do you fancy going for a coffee or a beer or going for a stroll?' and you think 'I could, but it's a bit cold out there, or I'm a bit tired tonight' – you never know why that person phoned you. They might have phoned just because they wanted a coffee, but they chose you to phone. It might have been a cry for help."
Kevin's story reminds us that life isn't about waiting for perfect circumstances. It's about making the most of each day, being there for others, and never creating new regrets. As he says with a smile before signing off, "It's never too late to have a good day."
Get Kevin’s book Dead Man Running at your favorite bookshop!
Learn more about prostate cancer UK here https://prostatecanceruk.org/