Every endurance athlete has a list. It might live in a Notes app, scrawled on the back of a race programme, or just floating permanently in the back of their mind during long training rides. Mine has existed in various forms for years — a mix of events I’ve dreamed about, events I’ve stupidly signed up for on impulse, and events I’ve actually done.
This is that list. Honest, unfiltered, and very much a work in progress.
Some of these I’ve ticked off. Some I’m actively training towards. Some are so far-fetched they probably belong in a different category entirely. But every single one means something to me, which is the only qualification that matters for a bucket list.

The Outlaw Full has long appealed as a UK-based full-distance alternative; a well-organised, friendly event that doesn’t require a passport. Ironman Tours, set in the Loire Valley, ticks the box of racing in France, which, for a plant-powered age grouper who grew up near Paris, carries a particular kind of weight.

I’m actually already in training for Ironman Tours, so this one is actively being crossed off the list.

There are 70.3 events, and then there is Alpe d’Huez. This race combines an alpine swim, a brutal bike leg through the mountains, and a run that finishes at altitude — all wrapped in some of the most spectacular scenery in European triathlon. I’ve watched footage of the bike descent more times than I’d care to admit. The road that Tour de France riders have conquered for decades is now a triathlon course. I need to be on it.

Qualify for the European or World Championship in Age Group.

I did the Étape du Tour Wales in 2018, which was brilliant. But the real thing — the actual Tour de France route, in France, with thousands of other amateur cyclists treating a closed public road like a religious pilgrimage — is something else. An Alpe d’Huez stage would be the dream. Cycling up that famous mountain, 21 switchbacks, with the crowds lining the road. Yes please.

Land’s End to John o’Groats (or the reverse, if you’re the type who prefers to have the wind at your back through Scotland). This is the ultimate UK cycling challenge — around 1,000 miles, typically done in 9–14 days, through some of the most varied scenery Britain has to offer. I want to do it supported enough to actually enjoy it, but not so supported that it stops feeling like an adventure. One day.

This is the one that nearly happened and didn’t. I had the entry, I had the plan, and then I discovered that the French government requires a medical certificate — a doctor’s sign-off confirming you’re fit to race. Which sounds entirely reasonable until you clock what the Marathon du Médoc actually involves: 42 kilometres in the Bordeaux wine region, with 23 wine stops, plus oysters, charcuterie, foie gras, and cheese along the course. The race has a maximum time limit of six and a half hours. The irony of needing a health certificate to run a wine marathon while eating oysters in 30-degree heat is not lost on me. I never managed to sort the paperwork in time. Unfinished business.

A 100km ultramarathon along the Ridgeway, finishing at the Avebury stone circles. I’ve looked at this race every year for longer than I can remember. The distance is manageable by ultra standards, the scenery is stunning, and there’s something about finishing at a prehistoric monument that appeals to the dramatic side of me. It’s on the list. It’ll happen.

This is not a pipe dream dressed up as a goal. I’m actively working towards qualifying for Kona as a GB age grouper, and if the progression from Challenge Roth (sub-10 hours in 2024) to Ironman Tours continues, qualification is a realistic target rather than a fantasy. Kona is the World Championship. The lava fields, the Alii Drive finish, the history. It’s the reason a lot of us do this sport. I want to be there as a competitor, not just a spectator.

The full Marathon des Sables — 250km across the Sahara in six days, self-supported — is not on this list, because I have some sense of self-preservation left. The half version, however, is a different calculation. Still a desert ultra. Still an extraordinary challenge. But one that a plant-powered age grouper with a day job and a mortgage can actually train for without losing his family. Possibly.

I’ve already done the virtual version on Zwift — 8,848 metres of climbing on a turbo trainer, which takes roughly eight hours and leaves you questioning every decision that led to that moment. The real Everest is on this list in the spirit of dreaming big rather than genuine expectation. But then again, I said the same thing about a sub-10 Ironman once.

Every triathlete remembers their first. Mine was Woburn. I have absolutely no recollection of my time and only partial memories of not drowning in the swim. What I do remember is the feeling at the finish line — the specific combination of exhaustion, relief, and immediate desire to do it again. That feeling is exactly why this sport gets hold of you.

The step up from Olympic to half-iron distance is significant. Racing in Chantilly — a genuinely beautiful part of France, home to one of the finest châteaux in the country — made it feel like more of an occasion than a test. I survived. I was immediately looking at full Ironman events by the time I got back to the car.

My first branded 70.3, on the Atlantic coast of France. The swim in the bay, the bike along the coastal roads, the run into the town. This is the race that convinced me I could go longer.

My first full Ironman distance. The Mediterranean swim, the climb up to the Col de Vence on the bike, the two-lap run back through the city. A day I won’t forget.
Challenge Roth (2024)

Sub-10 hours. That’s the headline, and it’s the one I’m most proud of. Challenge Roth is consistently ranked among the greatest long-distance triathlon events in the world, and on the day, it lived up to every word of that reputation. The crowds along the Solar Hill climb on the bike are unlike anything else in the sport — thousands of people creating a wall of noise that carries you up a gradient you’d normally dread. Going sub-10 at Roth is something I’d have laughed at if you’d suggested it a few years ago. And I was so close … Proof that consistent training and a good coach (thank you, Nat) change things.

A duathlon classic. A brutal run-bike-run on Box Hill in Surrey, designed to cause maximum suffering in minimum time. It does exactly what it says on the tin.

A 20km run, 90km bike, 10km run. That’s the Ultra Duathlon format, and it is not a gentle afternoon out. London 2022 was one of those days that tested every part of me. And finished first male overall. In the box, and proud of it.

8,848 metres of elevation gain on a turbo trainer in my pain cave. It took the best part of a day, it was monumentally tedious at points, and I would absolutely do it again. Proof that the cycling community has a particular relationship with voluntary suffering.

My first taste of the Étape experience — a closed-road sportive on a Tour de France-style route through the Welsh hills. Brilliant organisation, stunning roads, and the specific kind of satisfaction that comes from climbing something painful in a peloton of thousands.

A team cycling relay that runs through the night, with the aim of covering as much distance as possible in the allotted time. I did it in 2019 and came back for more in 2020. Somewhere between an endurance event and a cycling party. Both brilliant.

The greatest city marathon in the world, and I am not remotely biased. The crowds, the course, the atmosphere on the Mall. London is London. Ticked, treasured, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Done it twice, which tells you everything you need to know. Muddy, cold, occasionally electric, and unexpectedly good fun both times.