There are moments when sport becomes a personal bridge — an access point to another dimension, one that often mirrors an inner journey, a silent battle in search of your truth. In search of change. In search of evolution. For Kori Sampson, this transition was a sharp turn — unexpected to many, deeply layered, and profoundly fulfilling.

From excess and addiction to miles upon miles of motion. From the hedonism of a modern-day socialite, catapulted into British pop-culture fame through reality TV, to the strict sense of duty — and joy — that only endurance can teach. It’s the story of a body once used for appearance and empty pleasure that becomes, first, a warning — then, a credible, universal message. A kind of philosopher’s stone capable of releasing ethical purpose, thoughts and passion, reigniting a long-dormant soul, and offering true freedom.

Appearance fades, explains this young Brit who swapped London nightlife for 100-kilometer international races. What remains, over time, is the essence of every human being — and the example they leave behind. And there is no better companion than running to reveal both in full.

Bodybuilding came first, then reality shows — and then the realization that fame, along with the lifestyle it brought, was starting to affect your mental health and feed into your addictions. How did sport find its way back into your life? And what was the transition like — from a confused life to the disciplined habits required to become an endurance athlete?

“I think I’ve always been involved in sport and fitness in some form. Even during the unhealthiest chapters—partying, staying out for days—I still made time for the gym. Bodybuilding was my first love, and it never fully left me. I still follow a push-pull-legs split every week. I still care about how I look, though now performance comes first, even if it means sacrificing aesthetics.

In a way, staying connected to the gym saved me from going completely off the rails. No matter how wild things got from Thursday to Sunday, I’d squeeze in a session somewhere—and by Tuesday, I’d be back, trying to recover.

There’s definitely a culture, especially in cities like London, of going all-out on weekends and then scrambling to find balance during the week. I’ve always had an addictive personality, which can be a curse—but also a gift. These days, I pour all that intensity into training and running. It gives me focus, and honestly, I think it gives me an edge.

I have ADHD, which I think plays a part in how I reacted to substances like alcohol and drugs, and how I channel energy. Looking back, I realize I was lacking any real fulfillment. My career was going well—I had moved from working construction in my hometown, barely scraping by, to earning good money in London, going to events that people dream about—but I wasn’t happy. In fact, I might’ve been more unhappy in that version of success. I felt lost.

Now I say this a lot: discipline is freedom. When I’m in a training process, when I have structure, I feel my best. I’m glad I found that path. The last big race I did was intense, maybe too intense—I didn’t feel great even during training—but it was a learning experience. And that’s valuable too.”

What kind of impact did your first marathon have on your mind and emotions? What thoughts ran through your head as you crossed that finish line?

“It was honestly such a cool moment. It’s funny—because now, when I think about marathons, they seem kind of small in the grand scheme of racing. Like, I know I could lace up right now and run one without too much stress. But back then? The idea of running a full marathon seemed huge. I’d done maybe a half marathon or 20–30 km tops. It felt like a monumental challenge.

I remember someone at the gym talking about a 200K, five-day ultra marathon, and I thought: There’s no way I could ever do that. But the crazy thing is how you slowly build new ceilings for yourself. You face self-doubt, then go bigger, and bigger—and that doubt starts to fade. You realize what’s possible. And that mindset shift can bleed into every part of life.

With that first marathon, I trained hard, followed a plan, and hit the time I wanted. It gave me a taste of what was to come—and it really shifted something in my head.

I was also trying to go sober at the time. I’d gone about 14 weeks without drinking during training. But two weeks before the race, I flew to Ibiza for a friend’s 30th. I told myself I’d stay chill, wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t go out. But I totally let myself down—and that ended up being the last time I drank or did any drugs. That was nearly three years ago to the week.

I remember the guilt afterward. I felt like I’d thrown away all my hard work. But I still managed to claw it back and run well. And it could have gone one of two ways: I could’ve told myself I can party in Ibiza two weeks before a race and still pull it off. Or I could say: What happens if I take this seriously and give it my all? That second thought stuck. It made me wonder what I was really capable of.

Since then, it’s been about pushing further—sub-3 marathon, 50K ultra, 200K ultra. That first marathon was the beginning of it all. It was the win I needed to step into this new phase of life.”

Your body was once a tool for personal affirmation, especially from an aesthetic perspective. Today, it’s become a tool for challenge, constant growth, and a bridge to your mental health. What’s the current state of your relationship with your body?

“It’s definitely evolved. As I’ve gotten older, I feel less pressure to look a certain way. When I was younger, especially if I wasn’t where I wanted to be in life, having something I could control—my physique—felt like a lifeline. Bodybuilding is complicated, but at its core, it’s simple: train hard, eat right, be consistent. It gave me something reliable. As long as I stuck to the plan, I knew I’d look good. And that gave me validation when I needed it.

Now, I’ve let go of the idea that I need to be 6% body fat all the time. I don’t need to keep getting bigger. That said, I’m still structured. Like any athlete, I have phases. I’ve just come off a big event, so right now I’m focused on regaining fitness, feeling stronger, and rebuilding a bit of the body I lost during high-volume weeks—because running 20 to 30K a day and carb loading takes its toll.”

You recently completed an iconic race like the Width of Britain. What does it feel like to witness your own growth as an athlete — even in terms of performance? And how deeply are you exploring the cultural side of this sport — its connection to nature, to landscapes, and to the long, solitary silences it gives you?

“That’s the really interesting part of these long efforts: your mind goes everywhere. You never know what kind of day you’re going to have. You just have to take it as it comes.

With the Wheel of Britain, we really wanted to capture that sense of journey—especially through the film and content we created. I’m English—I grew up in Devon, and I live in London now. We ran through both places. So, it felt like retracing the path between where I started and where I am now. Almost like a personal pilgrimage.

Running through Britain like that was incredible. It’s such a beautiful country, and most people who live here don’t take the time to actually go out and see it. My favorite moments from the whole race were the simplest ones—running through quiet country lanes, farms on either side, the sun rising or setting, listening to American country music, just singing to myself. There were really beautiful moments.

Ever since my first ultra, I’ve been hooked on that side of running. Road races are great—they’re fast, intense, and there’s a pain cave you enter for a couple hours. But ultras, especially in the mountains, they’re a different thing entirely. My first one was in Mont Blanc at UTMB. Even when you’re suffering, even if the weather’s bad, there’s something inherently beautiful about it.

I did one race in Africa, and the energy there was just… powerful. It made me feel more spiritual in a way. These experiences are so much more than physical challenges. They change how you see the world—and yourself. 

It’s wild to think about it, but running has taken me to places I never would’ve gone otherwise. The race in Tanzania, for example, was a five-day stage race with moving campsites—we were literally running from village to village. Kids were coming out and running alongside us. It was surreal.

When you do something like running across England or through rural Africa, it’s totally different. You see small towns, real people, and their genuine reactions—like, “Wait, what are you doing?” And I’m like, “I’ve run here from Land’s End, I’m 200k in.” And they just can’t believe it.

It makes you feel like an explorer in some ways. Now, whenever I travel, the first thing I do is go for a run. It’s the best way to experience a place.”

You have a strong social media following — a personal platform that reaches millions — and a project like the London-based club Wake Up and Move. What kind of responsibility do you feel when it comes to sharing your story and inspiring others to approach running as a tool for personal growth and life transformation?

“I feel a lot of responsibility. There’s accountability that comes with being open—especially when you’ve shared your struggles with addiction and recovery like I have.

At this point, I’ve really reframed my relationship with alcohol and the environment that surrounded it. I can go back into those environments now—bars, events, whatever—and I don’t feel tempted. It’s not even something I think about. Like, I was in Marbella recently for an event trip. While everyone else was heading to the afterparty, I was in bed by 9 PM, up early the next day to run and hit the gym.

That said, I do believe I could probably have a glass of wine at dinner and enjoy it, without spiraling. But I choose not to—because if I went on social media and said, “I made it to three years sober, and now I’m drinking again!”—that would send the wrong message.

There are young guys following me who’ve made changes in their lives because of what I shared. If they saw me go back to partying, they might think, “Oh, I guess that means I can too.” And I don’t want to be that guy.

There’s a weird trend online now too—people romanticizing smoking and drinking in the running world. Like, doing shots between races to look edgy or rebellious. And I think that’s dangerous. For me, not drinking isn’t a trend—it’s a choice that’s saved my life. So yeah, I do feel a sense of duty.

The Wake Up and Move community is huge. I get messages all the time—people asking for advice, or just saying they’re trying to make a change. One that really stuck with me was a message from a dad whose son had been struggling with drinking. The kid was training for Hyrox, really talented, but kept messing up—got in trouble, police brought him home one weekend.

His dad reached out and said his son looked up to me, talked about me all the time. So I messaged him back and said, “Come down to the running club. Meet me in person.”

That’s what it’s all about. Not just DMing someone—it’s about showing up. Face to face. That kind of human connection is getting lost with social media, but it’s more important than ever. Even offices are realizing people need real-world connection again.

That’s why we hold the club runs at 8 AM on Saturday mornings. It forces commitment. You’re less likely to go out and do something reckless Friday night if you know you’re lacing up for a run the next day. And that’s the point.”

Contemporary running culture is increasingly intersecting with fashion and stylistic exploration. Have you developed a sensitivity toward that world? Does the aesthetic side of things play a role in your athletic life?

“I’ve always cared about style, fashion, and aesthetics. Coming from bodybuilding, that was kind of the whole point—looking a certain way. But now, I see it from a broader perspective.

Yeah, there are pros and cons. Some people think the commercialization of running waters it down. But I actually think it’s helping the sport. More people are running. More people are watching races. And more people are engaging with it all in a creative, expressive way.

I used to get called a “fashion runner” early on. I was new to the sport—I didn’t grow up watching trail running or knowing the names of UTMB winners. But that’s the thing: people gatekeep running. They say they want it to be inclusive, but then they complain when new faces—especially ones from outside the traditional mold—get more attention.

It’s contradictory. You can’t say running is for everyone and then turn around and criticize people who are doing something different. I’ve dealt with a bit of that backlash myself, especially with influencer culture and my past in TV.

But I don’t see the harm in it. I’m all for fashion, all for the creative side of it. And honestly, I think it’s a great time to be part of this movement.”

You’ve had to navigate public perception, especially as someone who wasn’t just trying to become a “running influencer” but was pursuing something deeper. How have you processed those stereotypes and critiques, especially when they’ve felt personal?

“That’s a good point. I think, to be honest, I’ve gotten kind of used to it. Especially since my first steps into the public eye were through social media and TV. That world is… brutal in its own way. People aren’t watching reality TV because they care about you—they’re there for entertainment. And with that comes a lot of opinions, whether you deserve them or not.

Now, everything I share is on my platforms. So, generally speaking, the people who see it are there because they follow me and support what I do. It’s a lot more positive now—and the positive outweighs the negative, 100%.

But yeah, I think TV was the first time I really experienced that kind of public scrutiny. It’s a strange world. But I’ve built thicker skin because of it. At the end of the day, everyone’s entitled to their opinion.”

And now, what are your short- and long-term goals — both as an athlete and as a human being?

“It’s actually kind of funny because before I did the UK run, I had all these plans for what I’d do after. I had a couple races booked—including a UTMB 100-miler I was supposed to do just a few weeks later. I guess I was a bit too optimistic that my body would bounce back quickly.

I didn’t want to miss out if I was able to do them, so I booked everything anyway. But once I finished the UK run, I realized: I just needed to rest. I’d trained through the whole summer, sacrificed so much, and I kind of missed out on living for a while. So short term? I’m just focusing on recovery. Getting back into shape—not for a race, just for myself. 

Medium term, I’d like to PB some shorter distances. Get some speed back. As for long-term goals—I’ll let those come naturally. I know I’ll be back with a big challenge at some point.

I’m also launching my first podcast soon. It’s called Redefining the Finish Line. The idea is to explore what fulfillment and success really mean—especially after reaching big milestones and realizing they don’t always feel like you thought they would. I’ve experienced that with TV, with social media, with fame. You get there, and you ask: Was that it? So I want to have conversations around that.

It’s going to be a mental challenge for me, and that’s something I’m excited about. Right now, it’s less about physical finish lines—and more about personal growth.”