1000 miles, it can take you places. From Sheffield it’s enough distance to reach the sandy beaches of the Algarve, to watching the skies light up in the arctic circle, to Rotterdam, Liverpool or Rome, even all the way to Algiers at the northern tip of Africa which, I hear, is lovely at this time of year.

For me my 1000 miles mostly took me from my front door in Meersbrook to the bright lights of Attercliffe and back a couple of times a week. ‘Nike!’ was the final word the poor courier said after he ran with an important message from Marathon to Athens in a bygone Greco-Persian war. In my case it was just about what I was going to cook for tea after acquiring a new soup pan at Wilko’s on the way home (red lentil and butternut squash, if you’re wondering).

Or at least that would have been a nice and easy way to clock up the miles and take the applause without breaking much of a sweat. Then came the offer of lifts, sweet tempting lifts! My friend began working in the building next door and driving to work. My resistance was futile. This moth flew straight into that flame, knowing I’d get burnt but doing it to a Go Your Own Way singalong.

A rethink, then, was in order. I briefly mulled on cycling the length of Britain a few times over a week to get my 1000 miles done, but decided I might have more luck chewing up my remaining distance by running through the sky alongside a flying pig. In the end I eschewed the glamour, the self-shot adventure documentaries I was making in my head, and the Instagram sponsorship deals I was surely going to get at the end of all this, and decided just to do it…slowly and steadily.

Yes, yawn, boring, all of that, but Rome wasn’t built in a day (Brian Clough wasn’t on that particular job) and Odysseus couldn't take a flight so he inspired one of the greatest works of poetry ever written. My goals for my little personal odyssey weren’t that grand, but I donned my fluro yellow armour and geared myself up for the real grind of battle. With one trouser leg rolled up and the other tucked into my sock, I played the long game.

A little territory gained here, some more advancements there, a foray into enemy territory over here, suddenly it was done. 1000 miles and out. The relief and pride was real, but this has all been about reflecting on something a little grander than myself. Yes, if only there were some organisational parallel for a challenge that needs resilience, energy and passion to overcome every day…

In 75 years the NHS has faced a lot more hardship, has achieved a lot more brilliance and has inspired a lot more people than I could ever hope to, but from undertaking a challenge that gave me the tiniest, most microscopic parallel insight into that, I have an all new appreciation for it.

We can’t all run every day, but the NHS does. We can’t all travel up and down the country every week, but the NHS does. We can’t all keep going in the face of adversity using the power of sheer will alone, but the bloody NHS does.

So to anybody who might see people running iron distances or conquering continents and feels like they want to do that, or even anyone who feels a pang of guilt that they’re not out there taking on those challenges – I have to tell you that, in this place, you’re part of an achievement and adventure that is much, much bigger.

Here are some pictures of Mat on his adventures throughout the year: