He has run 15,000 miles across the world’s toughest terrain while battling terminal cancer.
And now superdad Kevin Webber’s amazing charity efforts have earned him a British Empire Medal in the Queen’s Birthday Honours.
The Sunday Mirror columnist has raised more than £250,000 running in such inhospitable places as the Arctic Circle and Sahara desert.
Kevin, 55, says: “I am very proud to be British and I am a bit of a royalist.
“I remember as a kid looking at the Honours List, thinking, ‘Wow, I wonder what you have to do to get one of those’ – and now I have got one. When I embarked on this journey I thought I would be dead by now.”
It was back in November 2014 that Kevin, a senior banking official from Epsom in Surrey, was given the shattering news that he had prostate cancer, and that it was incurable.
A prostate antigen test showed his level was 324 – a normal reading should be around four.
When he and wife Sarah told their children – Hayley, now 22, Ben, 20, and 15-year-old Ollie – the family sobbed together.
Months of gruelling chemotherapy and radiotherapy would prolong his life and Kevin vowed to campaign tirelessly to encourage other men to get themselves checked.
And in the middle of his debilitating treatment, he set himself the target of running the Brighton Marathon to raise awareness.
Kevin says: “The day after chemo I got up and I felt absolutely rubbish.
“I looked out the window and it was an awful day. I thought, ‘I can be a victim and drink a bottle of Jack Daniel’s every day, waiting to die – or I can try to live.’
“I decided on the latter. It was unbelievably tough every time I went for a run. But then I started to visualise what it would be like to cross the finish line with my wife there.”
With a successful Brighton Marathon finish under his belt, he went on to run race after race – each one tougher than the last.
He has now completed ultra-marathons across the globe, including the Marathon des Sables in the Sahara desert four times and the 6633 Arctic Ultra twice.
He has finished other endurance runs in places including Spain, Cambodia, Albania, Jordan and Africa.
But one stands out.
“The hardest I have run is 6633 Arctic Ultra,” he says. “You start about 25 miles south of the Arctic circle and you just go due north. You are pulling a sledge with everything you need on it behind you. I did the short race of 120 miles and came second. A year later I went back and I failed at the big race, which is 380 miles. I was so cold.
“It was minus-50 and I couldn’t feel my toes, I couldn’t eat, I was being sick. And you are on your own.
“There are wolves and polar bears and you hallucinate.
“You are freezing cold pulling a sled and you have to keep going, as if you stop there is no one to help you.
“I got to a checkpoint at about 100 miles and I had no energy. I hadn’t slept. You have to be sensible with it.
“Although my heart was saying ‘go on,’ and I felt like I was letting people down, I realised though that the failure is not putting yourself on the start line – whether it’s learning a language, or picking up a guitar. If you don’t start, you are never going to learn.”
Though Kevin is determined to live his life to the full for a long as he can, he is faced with the sad reality that many men do lose their lives.
“Last Monday I went to a friend’s funeral,” he revealed.
“He was diagnosed three years ago aged 49. His kids are 12 and eight. People describe it as a man’s disease, and it might be the man who gets it, but what about my wife and kids? They are the ones who have got to go through it with me.”
Kevin is determined to encourage others not only to get checked if they have troubling symptoms, but also to grasp every opportunity that life may throw at them – whether or not they find they have a serious disease. He says: “The hardest thing is watching people waste their lives.
“I am lucky – I have had my epiphany. But I see people go around thinking they have got forever.
“There is a line in a song by Julian Lennon that says ‘What will I think of me on the day that I die?’
“I heard it one day when I was running and I just stopped and thought, ‘That is what it is all about.’
“On my death-bed, whenever that might be, I can’t look back and be ashamed by what I have done, or say ‘If only I had done that.’”