Marathon Man Page 15
So that was it. I wasn’t particularly fit, but my body used oxygen pretty efficiently and my running style wasted very little effort. I was like a running machine. Wind him up and off he goes – not superhuman, just super steady.
How disappointing is that?
Dominika and I left the institute that afternoon and went back to Sheen. I’d taken the day off work and done my marathon, so I had this big thing ahead of me I barely recognised: free time. It made a nice change. Now, what to do with it? She said she was off to do some hot yoga in Richmond, which sounded interesting, so I joined her.
Hot yoga is hot, I can confirm. It was quite a workout, too, and a whole different kind to the running I was doing. All that stretching and bending probably did me a lot of good – it was exhausting but also energising. I came out thinking, ‘Right, what’s next?’ I wanted to run somewhere, but Dominika told me not to be so silly and to go home and rest.
You know she’s really no fun. No fun at all.
With no official race for me on 2 August, I ran the Richmond Park marathon route in the morning before completing a 5k park run after that. As I’ve mentioned, I love the spirit of the park runs which were encouraging so many to take up exercise, and I also knew a few of the regulars, so I tried to get along to as many of them as possible during the year.
After running that, I popped in to see the boys down at Sheen Sports and then went to see Ricky Wood at Up & Running. I probably got in their way and made their busy Saturday period even more hectic, and ended up giving away free laces, though the way Ricky looked at me suggested he hadn’t factored those into his marketing budget for the day.
I went home to shower and then packed for the Dovedale Dipper race, which was up in the Peak District. I had a big lunch, with lots of chicken, pasta and salad, and a bowl of ice cream for after. I was now race ready! After taking the train up to Stockport, a taxi driver told me I was still almost 30 miles from Bakewell and the race HQ, which would cost me £60 at least. Well, that’s never going to happen, I thought.
I decided to run to Bakewell. Inadvertently, I took the scenic route too (not the best idea when you’re running through the night) after I got lost, so what should have been only a little over 28 miles ended up being almost 40 miles according to my GPS. It was a pretty eventful night all in all. I set out at about 10pm from Stockport and I was quite keen to get where I was going.
About an hour into my running I passed through a village and stopped in a pub to fill up my water bottle. While I was standing at the bar, looking a bit of an odd man out, drenched in sweat and with a lamp tied to my forehead, some guys started talking to me. Needless to say they’d had a few to drink. I filled them in on what I was doing and where I was headed. They insisted I have a drink with them, so they ordered me an Amaretto and coke. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t want to offend them either.
‘I probably shouldn’t,’ I said. ‘Seeing as I’ve got a long way to run still.’
‘Just the one then, come on,’ he said. ‘It’s Friday night, man!’
‘OK, then, just the one. Thanks.’
It’s Peter’s fault for teaching me to be so polite.
I thanked the guys and wandered outside with my bottle of water and my Amaretto and coke. I paused to get some crisps from my bag. Then I got chatting with another guy and a group of women, who said I should come out partying with them. I told them about my running, of course, and that prompted the guy to pull out his mobile and ring a friend.
‘You’ve got to meet Derek,’ he said. ‘Hold on a second. This guy’s a runner like you. A crazy guy.’
I was still 20 miles from where I needed to be and I really just wanted to get away, but in the end I went to meet Derek in another pub across the way. This wasn’t in my plan, but for some reason I was going along with it. Derek was a local soldier and we chatted about running for a couple of minutes before I decided to carry on and not get involved in some big party.
I continued on my way and pretty soon it got very dark going down country lanes with no lighting and thick tree canopies overhead. It was like being in a tunnel at times. It went on like this for a while, with me hoping to God I was going the right way and wishing my head lamp worked a bit better.
Then I heard what sounded like a woman’s scream. I heard it again, only more muffled this time. It could have been a man or a woman, I wasn’t sure. I was terrified and a cold shiver ran down my back. Now I just wanted to find a taxi and get out of there, but I was in the middle of nowhere and there were no cars around for miles.
I stopped for a second: what was out there? Unsure, I turned around and started to make my retreat. Then I stopped again: you don’t have time for this, Rob; you’ve got to keep moving. So I plucked up the courage to run into the darkness towards where the screams had come from. In the end, I ran as fast as I could, not looking back, and just put the burners on. The dark country lanes were making me really jumpy and I wanted to be at the race. Then I saw a campsite to my left, probably where the scream had come from. It all looked quiet and peaceful. I was obviously being paranoid: too much running, not enough sleep. I was shattered by now and swerving as I ran at times. I remember stopping by the side of the road and lying down for a minute. I even tried to sleep, but I was too cold, so I got up and kept going.
A few miles later, the sun came up between the hills of the Peak District. It was absolutely stunning. I was freezing cold, though, and stopped to put on all my clothes at one point. I had everything on me, including my blanket over my head. If you know the movie Cool Runnings, there’s a scene when all the Jamaican guys get out of the airport in Calgary. They’ve never been in cold weather before and they’re so cold they put on all their clothes. Well, that was me in the Peak District. I probably scared the life out of all the people driving by in their cars.
It took me over seven hours to get into Bakewell and I was glad to arrive. It was about 5.30am when I finally reached the race HQ in the little village of Hartington. I went inside the village hall and tried to warm up, then I had some food to eat, and chatted to runners as they arrived to register for the race.
The race itself was a good one, with beautiful surroundings and lots of hills, all on trails. I was starting to take that kind of scenery for granted, but sometimes you’d turn a corner and the sun would be shining a certain way and you’d just be blown away by a view. Occasionally, you’d be hurting too much to appreciate it, though. That’s the yin and yang of marathon running for you. I wanted more of it and, less than four months into my challenge, I was sure I was going to get it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
One Hundred Miles and More
4–10 August 2014
I’d kept on trying to push myself harder and harder, but now I had to get ready for the 100-mile race coming up on Saturday 9 August. That meant massage and physio, healthy eating (plus fast food) and, best of all, hot-tub breakfasts!
Hot-tub breakfasts were a treat that summer and something that really helped keep me going. Ali had a hot tub in his back garden. He and other MMUK team members (including Ben, Johnny, Paul, Dustin and Lorna) and their children would join me for the last lap of my marathon runs, on bike or by foot, and then we all went back to Ali’s for a hot tub.
Ali’s wife Lorna would make us toast and eggs and bacon while we all chatted and joked in the hot tub (she was an absolute star all year, and I couldn’t have made it without her amazing food!). The weather was usually good that summer, but even when it rained we’d still all pile in. I think we overstretched its capacity at times and I got a telling-off from Pippa and Dominika for ‘risking infection’ at one point. I don’t know what she meant. How could six sweaty men in one small pool of hot water possibly be an environment for germs?
I even did some radio interviews on the phone from that hot tub. If you can’t come across as relaxed in hot water and with jet-propelled bubbles massaging you, then you really do need a holiday.
I also saw Dr Kipps that week to have my left leg
looked at, which was still sore and had become an issue. It turned out my sore knee was because of bursitis, which meant I had a sack of fluid on my knee that had built up from the trauma of running and now that sack had ruptured, leaking fluid into the muscles in my leg, which made them swollen as well. Dr Kipps opted to drain what fluid was left in my knee in the hope that would help. He said I should have an anaesthetic for this, but I didn’t have time for that, so he just put the needle into the back of the knee and drew out the fluid. ‘That’ll reduce the swelling and should alleviate some of the pain and the stiffness,’ he assured me.
Of course, I should then have rested my leg for a few days before resuming any exercise. Maybe I could have hired a cottage somewhere, with a sea view and sat with my leg up all week, watching the ocean, while someone brought me freshly cooked food and tended to my every need. In some other version of my life, in some other corner of the universe, that’s exactly what I would have done. As it was, I had marathons to run and donations to raise.
An old friend, Adam, came down that week and ran his first marathon with me. It seemed as though almost everyone I knew wanted to run one now – even Ali had pledged to run one before the year was out. It was the summer of marathon fever and I was loving being part of it.
That was the fun side of things, but I also had a bit of a showdown at work that week. It had been coming for a while now, so it was no surprise. From my point of view, things had been going well at work. I’d been arriving and finishing on time and getting things done in between. OK, I did nod off on a few occasions, but it wasn’t often. The rest of the time I was as productive as ever and profitability continued to rise. We were taking on more work than ever, so it was a fraught time and stressful for everyone concerned at times.
My boss felt that my running was a distraction from the business. His point was that if I could do what I was doing while running all those miles, then how much more could I contribute if I wasn’t running. I believed I was still doing a good job, and the challenge of the running meant I was happy, too, so I hoped he would be supportive during this period. I felt we had become more than just employer and employee, after all. Ken was like a mentor to me, a friend and someone I’ll always respect.
On the Tuesday that week, Ken told me I needed to choose between work and running. He said I couldn’t do both. I snapped back and told him that was unfair, and we agreed to discuss it at the end of the day. As I waited I thought how much easier it would be to run without a job. I would have more time and could do more with it. I’d been living on an average of three hours’ sleep a night for a few months by then, and it would be great to get a full night’s sleep. Maybe I would be freed up to visit some schools to give talks. But how could I afford that sort of life? I could barely afford things as it was, so I needed the income from my job. Ali and I had mentioned sponsorship in the past, but realistically it didn’t look like a viable option.
When we spoke, I felt Ken had already made up his mind. I was on my way. If I wasn’t going to stop running (and I wasn’t) then that was it. He said I could work till the end of the month and that would be it. I said OK; I certainly wasn’t going to beg him to let me keep my job. But I was upset. I believed I’d helped transform that company, modernising it. It felt like I was losing my own business. What was more, Ken was someone I looked up to and someone I once wanted to be like.
Anyway, that was that. There was too much of me glad to finally get a rest from my over-filled schedule to argue the matter. I was pissed off but relieved at the same time and I knew he had a point, too.
The running came first. This was my passion. I had to turn it into a career now, somehow. This year’s challenge would come to an end, but I wanted to carry on after that, to find a way to make endurance sport a living. So here was my chance to take a leap of faith. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Joanna, though.
For the moment I had to keep focused on the running ahead of me. I had the little matter of a 100-mile race to complete that weekend, which was new territory for me. I felt confident I could finish 100 miles, but just in case, I had decided to run a Richmond Park marathon beforehand, as a back-up. I wanted to make sure I had a marathon ticked off for that day if I failed to finish the 100-miler for whatever reason. I wanted to keep my main target, at least a marathon a day for a year, on track.
Then, after the 100-miler, my plan was to get over to the Salisbury 5-4-3-2-1 marathon and run that, which would bring my eventual weekend’s running total to 154 miles, with only a few hours’ sleep – if I was lucky. It would be my biggest weekend to date and would test me to the very limits.
It all started on the Friday after work. When I got home, Joanna made me an enormous meal. I had eaten a huge lunch that day, too, as I tried to get as much energy on board as possible. After all, I had run a marathon that morning already. My feet were pretty good considering, but both my knees still hurt. Unfortunately, the swelling hadn’t gone down much since Dr Kipps had drained my knee earlier in the week, and now one of my ankles was painful, too. No doubt things would settle down as soon as I got going, I figured. I hoped.
I took a late bus to the park for my early-morning marathon and arrived just before midnight, so I had to wait a few minutes before I could start. Then I ran a quickish marathon in the dark. I didn’t want to use my head torch, as I knew I’d need it for the 100-miler and I didn’t have any spare batteries. You don’t need one if you are in the open with good moonlight, in my experience. In fact, I feel like I see better without it at night, and of course I knew the path well by now.
Not that the run was without incident; I got spooked by a couple of deer who’d come onto the path. I think they were as surprised as me. Fortunately I managed to avoid a confrontation. They aren’t aggressive so you’re usually fine with them. Then the rain came down. It was pouring and soon I was practically swimming in it – massive puddles everywhere, mud and swirling wind. I had to stop and look around me at one point and wonder what on earth I was doing: here I was, running a marathon at night, in the pouring rain, as a warm-up for a 100-mile race – a distance I’d never yet run. I’d come a long way since my 5k park run days that was for sure.
Despite all the rain, the run went fine, though I felt cold during the second half of the marathon. I was grateful I wasn’t wearing the kilt, which would have got soaking wet and heavy. I finished in just under four hours, by which time it had stopped raining. Lorna, my taxi driver for the day, was already waiting in her car to drive me to the race, as arranged. She looked wide awake, but I was tired. I towelled myself dry and changed clothes before getting in the car. She was chatting away, all excited as we headed off. I tried to stay awake and listen, but in the end sleep got the better of me.
The next thing I knew Lorna was waking me up. I’d been fast asleep and it took me a while to realise where I was. The clock in the car said 5.15am, and we had arrived at the North Downs Way 100 race HQ in Farnham. I got up slowly and gathered my things together, put my kilt on and got myself race ready. The sun was starting to rise and I was looking forward to seeing more of it. After more than an hour in a warm car, for some reason I was still really cold as well as being a bit stiff.
I registered and sat down for the briefing. I saw a few familiar faces in the room. Traviss Willcox was there and a few other ultra enthusiasts I recognised from other races, people I’d chatted to before. There was a bit of pre-race banter as usual at the briefing. Apparently a hurricane was on its way through these parts. Unless we were really quick, it looked like we’d get a soaking early Sunday morning. Or, as I liked to think of it, a nice shower to start the day.
The organisers came around to check on us all to make sure we had all of the kit required. I think I was short of a few items, but I assured them I was good to go. I had some warm clothing and enough gels and food and a head lamp. I thought the other stuff was a bit unnecessary, for me at least. I needed to travel light, but I understood why they were making sure we were properly prepared for what m
ight lie ahead of us all.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this, mate?’ the race director asked me. I looked back at him, unsure what he meant. ‘Only I hear you’ve run four marathons already in the last couple of days,’ he added. He was concerned about me, making sure I was OK to race. Perhaps I looked how I felt.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ I said. ‘I’m the last one you need to worry about. If I don’t make a checkpoint then someone must have shot me. Otherwise I’ll be there.’
It was a strange thing to say, I guess, but enough to make them give me the benefit of the doubt. It’s important to put out positive vibes even when you aren’t feeling it. Especially when you aren’t feeling it. Put out good vibes and more good thoughts and feelings soon join them, then your confidence will grow in no time at all. I ate some last-minute food – four chocolate eclairs I found at the bottom of my bag and some fruit. I also had a big cup of coffee with umpteen sugars in it.
At 6am we lined up at the start. I was nervous and excited, like this was a competitive race. I’d first dreamed of 100-mile races while reading Dean Karnazes’ book, Ultramarathon Man. His account of the Great Western States 100-miler in Colorado had given me goosebumps. If you finish a 100-mile race in under 24 hours, they give you a big old belt buckle. No ordinary prize for no ordinary achievement. Win one of those and you join an elite group of men and women. How I wanted one of those buckles.