Andy Hood.

Who knew you could power a 57K ultra entirely on doughnuts? Not me… until April 2024, when I ran across London, hitting 21 Krispy Kreme stores, burning 4,766 calories—and eating far too many doughnuts to count. Nutritionists might gasp. I call it science. Delicious, sugary science.

The idea? Simple. I love running. I love doughnuts. I love attention. And as a cancer survivor, I love fundraising. Combine all four and you’ve got the kind of self-designed ultra that gets you front-page newspaper coverage and makes strangers double-take at your energy source. “Are you seriously running on doughnuts?” Yes. Yes, I am.

The day began at Westfield Shopping Centre near the London Stadium, where I performed a bizarre pre-run ballet trying to find the toilets. Shopping mall maps clearly exist to make you question your life choices. Finally, freedom achieved, I fueled up on hot chocolate and snacks—because even doughnut-powered superheroes need a warm-up. And then I was off, GPS locked, running past giant “RUN” letters outside the stadium, as if London itself was cheering me on.

Route-planned like a military operation using Excel, Google Maps, and Komoot, I threaded through London’s chaotic charm. Tower Bridge? Crowded, but majestic. Buckingham Palace? Glimpsed over the shoulder while weaving through tourists. Trafalgar Square? Fence-strewn, noisy—but secretly photogenic. The city transformed as I ran: one moment packed with people, the next a tranquil back alley that felt like a sleepy English village. London, I forgive you for your traffic lights.

And the doughnuts. Oh, the doughnuts. Liverpool Street, Fleet Street, One New Change—each store offered me a sugary slice of heaven. I accepted every one. How could I not? The staff cheered, posed for selfies, and shared their enthusiasm like I was some kind of glazed celebrity. At Putney, I ran with Danny, sharing a bench and a doughnut atop Rik Mayall’s plaque. Comedy, friendship, sugar. Perfect combo.

Markets added flavor to the madness. Spitalfields was just waking up, Borough Market fully alive, bursting with fruit, veg, and artisans’ wares. I stopped for waves, smiles, and a mental note that running through markets is infinitely more enjoyable than supermarkets. Humans are lovely when selling things they care about, and the doughnuts were taking care of me.

Victoria Station brought surprises: friends Alex and Vicky tracking me down like doughnut-obsessed secret agents. We ran together briefly, laughing, dodging pedestrians, and collecting calories in circular, sugary glory. By Waterloo and Canary Wharf, the chrome Airstream-style stores gleamed like beacons, and I was greeted with dozens of doughnuts at the finish line—well-earned, much-deserved, and totally justified.

This was more than a run. It was a doughnut-powered romp through history, friendship, absurdity, and charity. Over £1,000 raised for Oddballs, awareness spread for testicular cancer, and London got a spectacle it’ll hopefully remember (or at least Google later). Every mile, every sugary bite, every cheer—magic.