Marathon Man Read online

  Half an hour or so later, we arrived in Tenby – at last. He asked me where I was staying and I told him I was booked into a hotel in town, as I didn’t want him to worry about me or feel he had to pay for a hotel room. He’d done more than enough already. Those British Transport police guys are a really good lot. I said my goodbyes and thanked him for his kindness. It was just another example of a complete stranger going out of their way to help me out during the year.

  Now I had to find somewhere to sleep.

  I spent ages looking around for somewhere suitable to lay my tent down, but I couldn’t find anywhere I thought I wouldn’t be disturbed. I ended up chatting to some young women who were staggering back from a big night on the town. They were quite drunk but good fun with it. I quickly moved along and continued my search for a pitch. Eventually I found my way to the sea front and ended up throwing my tent down on some concrete between two boats parked there. I crawled inside my barely standing shelter and, though a little cold and uncomfortable, I was soon in the deep kind of sleep that only the truly exhausted know.

  Morning arrived too soon, with seagulls landing on my tent and making a whole lot of noise. I looked at my watch; I had about an hour till the start of the race. I knew I needed to eat to make sure I didn’t run out of energy again as I had done in my last marathon in Wales. I could do without that experience again.

  It was a beautiful morning and it was lovely to feel the sea breeze on my face and hear the sound of the ocean. I made my way to a bakery in Tenby and had some chocolate croissants and an orange juice. Marathoners were descending on the town in great numbers. This was the Wales marathon after all, a big event.

  If I had to choose, I tend to prefer the smaller events, with a couple of hundred people or fewer running them. They’re more intimate and it’s easier to get to know people there. But the big marathons have a different appeal; it’s a bit like a carnival and sharing that experience with so many runners, as well as all the members of the public who come out to support, is pretty awesome.

  I left my bag at the race HQ and made my way to the start line. Soon we were off and running through the town. The race was all on roads and fairly flat, with a few tasty hills thrown in, but nothing too hard. There were no great challenges or surprises out there, and you couldn’t get lost so that was a bonus, too. The way my leg was feeling, I didn’t fancy any extra miles. I’d been doing what I could to ease the pain, using a foam roller to ease the tightness in my legs, and a tennis ball on my sore heel, but I felt like I needed a professional massage to help more. Dominika would get a knock on her door later on, that’s for sure.

  The run was going well until about the seventh mile when I got to an aid station and decided to try some energy gels. I quite enjoyed the taste of them. I liked to have extra gels and food bars on me to give out to other runners who looked like they might need it. I had a few of them, but I was soon regretting it – my stomach felt awful. At about mile 15 I had to throw up by the side of the road. Somebody gave me a bottle of water and I chugged that down gratefully. I ended up stopping to throw up a couple more times before the race was over. Those energy gels clearly weren’t for me.

  Being repeatedly sick was unpleasant, but it didn’t slow me down. If anything my empty stomach seemed to make me lighter and I flew through the final miles to record another sub four-hour marathon. After a slow run the day before, I was pleased with how I’d run, especially on only one and a half legs. The sun shone and I had some fun on the course with a few people, made some connections, and had some good conversations. Tenby puts on a fun and well-organised marathon, so if you want a big marathon on the coast and can get over there (by car preferably) then this race is well worth it. You will never forget the best finishing straight of any marathon I’ve ever done. The road is lined with red carpet for about 400m to the finish line. Trust me, no matter how tired you may be, as soon as you step on that carpet it turns you into a sprinter.

  Fortunately, the journey back was easy enough and I had some sleep on the train. I wanted to go and see Joanna and Buddy straight away, but I needed to stop in at Dominika’s first to see if I could have a massage. Fortunately, she was there and she was happy to get out her massage couch and work on my legs (I did wonder quite how happy though, with me turning up at 10.30pm on Sunday night). It was a very painful session, but it felt like it was doing a lot of good. She made the mistake of putting on some relaxing music, and by the time she’d finished I was fast asleep.

  I woke up in the dark, face down on the massage table in the living room. I wanted to get up and start making my way back home, but I was just too tired so I lay there for a little bit. The next thing I knew I was waking up again, having nodded off for a second time. It was 4am. Shit! At least it wasn’t 4pm – I think I could have slept that long if I’d been on something more comfortable. I got up and grabbed my shoes and things and slipped out the door without waking anyone. I walked up the road to Richmond Park and started that day’s marathon, my 98th so far.

  I first met my godfather, Peter, when I was nearly 12 years old. I enjoyed athletics and had joined a local club, going to training at the track every Tuesday and Thursday with competitions every weekend. It was a nice change of pace from the children’s home, and a chance to get some head space. In those days I was a hammer thrower, mainly, with a bit of shot putt and pole vault thrown in, too. I wasn’t particularly big for my age, but I had quick feet and I was stronger than I looked. Spinning around in a tight circle and letting it rip was something I really enjoyed, even though I was on my own more often than not, as it wasn’t the most popular event.

  I wanted to have a go at every event at the time, so I’d often wander over to the long jump pit and try that, or run with the sprinters for a session. I didn’t care what the event was, I just liked to compete. If we went to a meet at the weekend and someone didn’t turn up for their race, I’d always offer to take their spot, whether it was the steeplechase or the long jump, the 200m or the 1500m. I once ended up competing in eight events at one meet. Looking back now, I can see an appetite for lots of exercise was always there.

  The hammer throwing area was right by the high jump, and there’d often be a session going on there at the same time. Peter was a high jump coach at the club, so he’d be down there helping them with their technique, giving advice and encouragement. He was a quietly spoken guy, but he had a good way with the kids and people felt they could trust him. He didn’t put up with any nonsense either. Over time we began chatting and we started getting to know each other from there.

  When he found out about my situation and my background, he wanted to know more. He was easy to talk to and soon I was telling him things I hadn’t told many other people. He listened to some of my frustrations at the time, mainly around my lack of education and my difficulties at school. He worked as the deputy headmaster at a private school, so this was something he knew all about.

  Eventually, he started inviting me out at the weekend to do things with him, in order to give me a break from the children’s home. He didn’t have any family of his own and we enjoyed each other’s company. I was glad to be out of the home and I liked being around Peter. He was always explaining how something worked or why it was how it was. It seemed there was nothing he didn’t know. I was hungry for learning so I lapped it all up.

  Once he came to pick me up from the home I was in and saw at first hand what it was like: the noise, the chaos, the lack of privacy and, always, a hint of menace. He could see right away it wasn’t somewhere you could be at ease. It made a big impression on him, I think, so he started trying to help get me out of there. He contacted social services and asked them if I could stay at his place from time to time. They had to do all their usual checks on him, of course, which seemed to take a long time, but eventually he received their approval and I started staying over for weekends with him.

  It was relaxing to have a quiet place where I didn’t have to watch my back all the time. And Peter’s was always
quiet. Unless there was classical music playing, there was just the sound of your own thoughts. After the noise and outbursts of aggression in the home, it took a bit of getting used to. We got on really well and spending more time with him was easy from the start. I had my space and he had his, if we needed it. We became like a father and son, although I worried it could all disappear at any moment so I didn’t rely on it. I just took it for what it was: a better thing and an opportunity to have some peace.

  By the time I was 13, Peter had applied to be my legal guardian so I moved into his house and out of the children’s home for good. That was the end of that chapter of my life in a care home. There wasn’t a single thing I missed about it.

  Peter was working on my education full time now. I’d missed so much school that there were huge gaps in my basic understanding. He taught me everything from how to read and write better, to history, geography and also moral lessons, understanding about values and how to conduct myself. It was probably a bit like being at a finishing school, except with most things Peter had to help with the start and the middle before we could get around to the finishing.

  I remember how he used to let me sleep in an extra hour on the weekend before waking me with a nice cup of tea. He had some really old-fashioned but good ways. This was how he had been brought up. I felt safe now, for the first time, in a room all to myself, with someone around to look out for me and show me what life was about.

  He taught me everything from how to set a table for a five-course meal to how to listen to classical music and what programmes to watch on TV. He liked Antiques Roadshow and Mastermind, which was fine by me as I enjoyed them, too. I remember he got almost every answer correct, before the contestants could even open their mouth. I told him he should have gone on those shows, and felt sure he would have won.

  From Peter I’d learn about respecting others and how to look after my appearance (I know it doesn’t show, so he clearly didn’t do a good job on that one). It was an intensive period of catching up on all the things I’d missed. Without those evenings, studying and learning things, under Peter’s careful supervision, it’s difficult to say in what direction my life might have gone.

  I ran my 100th marathon/ultra on the evening of Wednesday 16 July 2014, 94 days after starting out on this challenge. It hadn’t been easy, but I had reached my first really significant milestone. A lot had changed in those 94 days. I’d lost quite a bit of weight, and a few toenails. I’d raised about £10,000 for good causes. And I’d discovered a passion for endurance running.

  To be honest, I don’t think I’d ever been happier in my whole life.

  Ricky from Up & Running had rallied a good crowd of local friends and their family to come out for my 100th marathon, which I was doing in the evening after work so others could more easily join me. There was a pretty good turnout, with about 30 to 40 people there in all. Most of them I knew, but there were a few new faces there as well. I felt a bit awkward to be at the centre of all this attention, but really pleased at the same time. Quite a few children came along, some to run and others on their bikes. I liked to see kids get excited about what I was doing. That was probably the most gratifying thing of all.

  Dominika’s massage on Sunday had really helped and the pain in my leg seemed to have gone – only to turn up lower down my leg. Still, I was glad it was on the move. Maybe it would slip out through my toes and into the ground eventually!

  For the first few miles it was, as always, a case of getting my jelly legs awake and out of their slumber. I was chatting with the little gang of cyclists and runners who were joining me, and it was fun. The occasion and the support gave me strength and I felt good throughout. As I’ve said, I usually taper off in the second half of a marathon, after running a quick first half, but knowing there was cake and champagne at the finish I pushed on at pace and finished in 3 hours 26 minutes, which is pretty quick for me.

  A few more people were at the finish to see me. It was a real moment – sipping champagne, sharing all this excitement that others had for what I was doing. Physically I was hurting, although I didn’t show it, and I was disappointed about the fundraising I’d managed so far, but this made it all worthwhile. Every step. Sharing moments with others and seeing that my efforts have reached people is why I run – to make those connections and bring people together. I can’t think of a better reason.

  And I was chuffed to reach 100 marathons/ultras. I’d always told everyone about the 367 that were my goal, but the more I ran the more I realised that would require some kind of miracle. I kept my mind positive, but the fact remained my body was falling apart with the stress and the sheer mileage I was putting it through – and I was only a little more than quarter the way through my challenge. There was never any time to rest before I was back running again. How long could I go on for like this? It was hard to tell, but I knew it wasn’t going to be forever. Could I really last as long as 365 days? I told myself, repeatedly, that I could.

  I was going to need all of that positive thinking, because I had my toughest challenge to date ahead of me. That coming weekend I’d be running my first ever 100km (63.75 mile) event, the legendary Race to the Stones.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It’s All About The Times

  17 July–3 August 2014

  The Race to the Stones is a 100km race in the south of England, following a route used by travellers for thousands of years. Starting in the Chiltern Hills in Oxfordshire, it goes through two designated Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty on its way to the finish at the ancient circle of stones in Avebury. By all accounts, it was quite an undertaking. Signing up for it was a big moment for me. I knew it was going to be tough, but I wanted people to know what I was capable of, to see I was for real. Crazy as it might sound, I still felt I had something to prove.

  I’d signed up for it only the week before. People in my camp thought I was mad to do it – and with good reason – but I was sure this was for me. I was made to do this, I thought. To prove it, I was going to put extra miles all around it. I felt unstoppable.

  The weekend properly got underway at 12.20 on the Saturday morning when I met up with a friend, Samantha, who had agreed to cycle with me while I ran the 30 miles to Lewknor for the start of the race (which I count as one of my marathons). While the record I was chasing was always going to be ‘unofficial’, as not all of my marathons were run in official races, with chip timings, marshals and other competitors, it was important to me that I had my own rulings for them. I had decided a marathon had to begin and end on the same day for it to count, so I always started after midnight or finished before midnight. And when I was running a long ultra, such as this 100km race, I counted it as only one marathon, even though it was more than double the 26.2 mile distance, because it was part of the one race.

  It was a warm night and it was great having Samantha for company. We wore down the miles, stopping once at a McDonald’s for some burgers. People in the running community don’t usually have much good to say about fast food, but I feel you can’t beat it for calories intake. When you’re doing multiple marathons, you need to replace those calories. Healthy eating alone won’t get you there, so you need to mix it up. The great thing about fast food is it has lots of calories, but then you’re hungry again quite soon after. That’s the time to add your healthy foods: lean meats, rice or pasta and vegetables. If you can eat both these types of meals in balance, then you’re in the best position to handle multiple days of marathoning. I had the fast-food side of that diet sorted, but unfortunately I still needed to work on the healthy bit.

  I was pumped, as I say, and kept a nice pace up for that 30-miler to the race start. I arrived there by about 5.30am and had a couple of hours’ sleep in a quiet corner of a field there. It was warm, so I was comfortable and drifted off easily.

  There were a couple of different races: a one-day event and a two-day, more leisurely affair, for walkers as well as runners, so the start line was a real mixture. Among them were hardened ultr
a-runners, still with sand on their desert caps from their last Marathon des Sables, as well as sprightly groups of walkers, with walking canes, ready for the two-day hike. The contrast was amusing.

  There was a good atmosphere at the start of the race. Many in the group were nervous, as some were taking on the distance for the first time, and wondering what they had let themselves in for. I was tired after my morning running, but chatting with the others livened me up and got me in the mood for a race (that and the cup of coffee with nine sugars).

  Soon the klaxon had sounded and we were off.

  There was a great variety of terrain during this race which kept things interesting, with paths through fields, rutted trails and rockier throughways along the way. Although the overall elevation for the race was over 4,000 feet, there were no ridiculously steep ascents to take on – just a whole lot of undulating hills and the course was almost never completely flat. We ran through muddy ditches and across vast poppy fields, over the River Thames and through forests and down chalky hills. It was a hot and humid day, so we were all struggling with the heat as much as the mileage.

  Fortunately there were plenty of aid stations, evenly spaced out over the course, so you were never far from some refreshment and a chance to have a breather. And the marshals couldn’t have been more keen to help. I joked with them and other people on the course and there was a very friendly, light spirit among runners once it was all underway. My body was in good shape, all things considering, but I was mentally tired. The lack of sleep was catching up on me. That and the hot weather combined to make the first half of the race quite hallucinatory at times.