‘I am sorry, but the cancer has spread to other parts of your body,’ my doctor told me. ‘It’s growing fast and you may only have two years to live.’
This is not what anyone wants to hear, especially aged just 49 in 2014. Sitting next to my wife, Sarah, I immediately thought of my kids, aged nine, 14 and 16, then I burst into tears.
The next few hours were a blur, but I remember crying and thinking it must be a mistake. I considered myself reasonably fit – I didn’t smoke and had run 100k from London to Brighton earlier in the year plus a sub four hour marathon. So, it didn’t seem right.
In some ways, it felt that I was dead already, as I was then told that I had a year of intense treatment ahead of me.
In effect, my life felt like it was over.
Three months earlier – on a once-in-a-lifetime holiday with my family to Disney World in Florida – I noticed that I started getting up a few times every night for a wee. But I thought it may just be something in the water.
When I came home, however, this carried on. While I was convinced I was wasting the doctor’s time, I did what most men don’t do and booked an appointment to see him.
Sure enough, I felt embarrassed sitting there as I was sure he had better things to do than see an otherwise healthy man. But thankfully, he took it seriously and did a blood test (called a PSA test), had a ‘feel around’ and then told me to come back in a week or so when he had the results.
The blood test should have shown a score of one or two for a man my age, but it was 342 – a clear sign that something was wrong. The doctor looked at me and wished me luck. I remember thinking ‘is that what my life is now? Just about luck?’
I then had a whirlwind of scans, a horrendous biopsy that was effectively a truncheon going into where ‘the sun don’t shine’ shooting needles into my prostate and ripping samples out. This was followed by a few more ‘examinations’ with the doctor’s digit, which all led up to the fateful day when I thought my life was over.
My oncologist explained to me that prostate cancer is fed by testosterone, so they had to give me regular and hormone injections to take that away forever. After that, it was chemotherapy – six rounds over 18 weeks – then a month off, followed by six sessions of radiotherapy.
This cocktail started off well, with my PSA dropping to normal levels. However, I felt weak, tired and nauseous.
On top of that, my body hair was falling out, my tongue went black, my fingernails were cracking, and I lost sense of feel from my toes and fingertips. In my mind, that felt like good news as it meant that the chemo was doing something.
Grim as that was, it did not stop me training for and running the Brighton and London marathons two weeks apart on weeks 13 and 15 of chemo.
This surprised my doctors but it gave me a sense of purpose because I started fundraising for Prostate Cancer UK and used it to raise awareness of this indiscriminate disease.
Check your risk of prostate cancer
1 in 8 men are diagnosed with prostate cancer and too many are finding out they have it by chance – often when it has spread and become harder to treat.
Prostate Cancer UK is encouraging everyone to play their part in stopping this by donating to support life-saving research.
It’s the most common cancer in men, but the earlier you find it, the easier it is to treat.
Answer three quick questions to check your risk.
If you’re a trans woman or non-binary, your risk may be different – read our information for trans and non-binary people instead.
Finishing those marathons enabled me to dream about what may be possible, so I started running ultra marathons too.
Along the way, I was convinced that I would suddenly go downhill and die. But then I passed the two year mark.
Every day since then has felt like borrowed time, and I’ve promised myself that I must never waste a day. So I have run over 17,000 miles in total since my diagnosis – including 150-odd mile races in places like the Sahara Desert, Cambodia, Albania, and the Arctic.
In fact, what I have achieved inspired me to write a book called Dead Man Running. It offers hope to anyone who reads it to live the best life they can every day.
Of course, there are still bad days. I still worry about leaving my family without a husband or dad, how they will cope financially, and who will fix a leaking tap?
Then there are the physical things that can still flare up, like inconsistent toilet trips with little notice.
When I ran the Athens Marathon in 2019 I remember having to go for a wee about 10 times in the first half, but there was no proper toilet. So I was jumping over walls and hiding behind bushes, hoping I would not get caught.
Throughout it all, my wife Sarah is unbelievably supportive in everything I want to do because I think she also sees the good it’s doing for me and others.
Through the generosity of friends, clients and random people I have now raised over £1m for charity.
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More importantly, many men who have either heard me speak or read something I have written have got themselves tested and the unfortunate ones who ended up with a prostate cancer diagnosis have all been successfully treated as it was caught early.
It’s why I wrote my book – to both spread awareness of this disease and to inspire others to live their best life.
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Sadly some men I have got to know over the years were not so lucky and are no longer with us. Each of their passing increases my tenacity to do all I can to make a difference.
Next month, I will be 60 and will be racing across the Arctic on my birthday.
Some people have asked me why I don’t just stay at home and have a party, but what would that achieve? To me, it’s just another opportunity to make others realise what can be possible – even when the chips are down.
Get the rest you deserve
With one in eight men getting prostate cancer in their lifetime, I want to do whatever I can to raise awareness. If just one man reads my story and decides to get a test, I have potentially saved a life – what could anyone do more than that?
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk.
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