Marathon Man Read online

  The race got underway and we were off; a field of 180 diehard runners all hoping we could reach the finish line. In the end, as many as 70 of us would be disappointed.

  We made our way through an assortment of country lanes and woodlands, across fields and up some inclines. Everyone was fresh and the early miles were no great challenge. It was cool but also humid, so by mile 5 I was sweating quite heavily. I reached the first-aid station at mile 7 in Puttenham with the leading runners. I had some big gulps of water and a banana and carried on, eager to keep up the pace.

  Weather-wise it was a picture-perfect day, though later on it got a little hot for ideal running conditions, but you can’t argue with blue skies like that and golden fields at your side. The North Downs were right up there with the very best of English countryside I saw throughout the year.

  At mile 14 there was another aid station. As I gulped down some more water, I chatted with a guy there whose ankle was hurting him. ‘Don’t give up, buddy,’ I told him. ‘Even if you have to crawl, you’re going to finish this.’ I was worried for him, because it was too early in the race to be in trouble. The next 11 miles were pretty straightforward, across some rutted paths and fields, then some steep climbs. My knee was holding up OK, and my ankle too, while my energy levels were fine. I felt in good shape.

  At Box Hill there was another great aid station, this time with everyone dressed in Hawaiian clothing. Aloha! I gobbled down some biscuits and took a chicken wrap to eat while I was going. After that it was over the river on some stepping stones and then a steep climb straight up Box Hill. From there on it was up and down some pretty punishing hills, but with amazing views as our reward. I was still doing OK and keeping a decent pace.

  I kept chatting with other runners along the way. Some of them had already got lost and had to double back to find the course again. I’d had to make a few decisions at times, where the path diverged and it wasn’t clear which way to go. Fortunately for me, I’d been lucky and hadn’t gone miles off course. Yet.

  After 38 miles there was an ice-cream aid station. How awesome is that! I had some ice cream and jelly and could easily have stayed for another bowl, but instead said thanks and got going, eager to keep up my progress. By about 40 miles, I was running along with a guy called Matthew (now a good friend), chatting about life as we moved through the rolling countryside. We then passed a field where a family was picnicking. Their two young children offered Matthew and me some jelly babies, pretzels and crisps. I took them gladly and the kindness (as well as the food) was energising for us both.

  At about 4pm, ten hours after setting off, I reached the 50-mile point. I was on track to get this done in 24 hours. And I needed to really, if I was going to get to the next race in Salisbury. Of course I was going to get slower, but still, I had some time to allow for that. The worst of the day’s heat was over now and I thought I might have been sunburnt, though I couldn’t allow that to bother me.

  Most runners I saw after that were in the zone with their headphones on, listening to their chosen soundtrack. I don’t listen to music when I run and haven’t for any of my marathons. I like to be awake and aware, present with the surroundings and fully focused on my body and my stride. I haven’t met too many others who run without music so that seems to be my unique thing, though I do sometimes sing when I’m running. I’m not sure if that counts as listening to music or not?

  We began to climb up a steep hill and my calves started to hurt, so much so that I could only walk for a bit. I’d never felt pain there like that before, and I began to grow concerned and tried a few stretches to work it through. Someone saw I was in trouble and stopped to ask if I was all right, but I told them I was fine.

  Eventually we reached the top of the hill and it levelled off. The track turned muddy and lots of tree roots made it very awkward and slow going. My calves felt OK again now that we were no longer going uphill. Soon the muddy path came to an end and we were running through open fields again, full of sheep and goats. Then we headed into the village of Otford and from there on to Wrotham and the aid point at mile 60. I refuelled and chatted to the lovely volunteers there. I had a few comments about the kilt, including that old question about whether I wear anything under it. I told them it depends on whether I can find any clean underwear that day. I wasn’t feeling very hungry, but I was glad to stop for a minute and have a chat. They told me I was looking good and that there wasn’t too far to go now. The way they said it, they made it sound as though 40 miles was just around the corner.

  As the light faded at about 9pm, I remember I went off track in the woods and ended up brushing past a wasps’ nest. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but a mile or so further on, I got a stinging sensation on my abdomen, a pain that then shot around to my back. The pain was getting worse and worse and I didn’t have a clue what it could be. I thought it might be that I’d broken a blood vessel.

  Eventually, I stopped and lifted up my top to have a look and found loads of wasps in there, some dead, a couple alive. I brushed them all away and then took all my clothes off, apart from my shorts, to see if there were any more. The skin was raised and I had clearly been stung several times on my abdomen and on my back. Another runner stopped to see what was going on and told me if it started swelling then I might be having an allergic reaction.

  Shit!

  The runner said he’d go on and tell the next aid station what had happened and to expect me. I thanked him and started walking now to get there as soon as possible. The pain was pretty bad and I was concerned they might try to stop me racing. I’d been stung by something in Cheltenham and had an anaphylactic reaction, with my throat closing up, which was awful, so I was worried that might happen again and maybe even worse, with the amount of bites I’d had.

  I got to the aid station a few miles later and they sat me down and looked at my stings. I was made to sit there for about 30 minutes to see if I had a reaction or not. It was getting quite dark now and I could feel the weather was on the change. That storm they were talking about was definitely on its way. Fortunately for me, there was no allergic reaction, so I got the all-clear and off I went again. I’d lost some time, but apart from the soreness around my belly and back everything still worked. I was a little stiff, after having sat down for so long, but I worked through that and a few miles later I was running well again. I was just glad still to be in the race.

  At the 76-mile aid station there were some pretty sorry looking runners sat down, retching or being sick, some with their heads in their hands. Words seemed pointless at this stage. Just looking at them, you could tell they weren’t going to be leaving that tent. That was a long way to run for most people and if you’ve picked up an injury then you’re pretty screwed. The drop-out rate for big runs like this is high.

  It was about midnight now and pitch black as I went through the woods. I had my head lamp on but it wasn’t helping much, and kept flickering on and off. The next few hours would be the toughest. If you got lost that would be it, I figured. I hoped that wouldn’t be me. Then the rain started coming down in torrents. It was relentless. Running in that rain in the dark seemed really dangerous. I got to the next aid station and I was completely soaked through and freezing cold. People were huddled around trying to get warm, some suffering from hypothermia. It was a bit of a disaster zone. Apparently most of the 70 runners who quit the race finished here.

  I stopped to wait out the storm. I decided to cut a hole in my foil blanket to make a vest of it and I put my head through that, then I put dry clothes on top of it. Now I felt warm and dry and fresh again. It really worked. I ran on and got to the next checkpoint at about mile 90, feeling better. People were being sick in the tent and it was all unpleasant. I told everyone how my trick had worked and that it had kept a lot of the rain off me, helping to keep me warm, hot even, and how this had raised my spirits and made me run better. But nobody else thought it was a good idea.

  I ran on and reached the final aid station, just four miles
from the finish. It was 4.45am by my watch. That gave me a little over an hour and a quarter to complete the race, if I was to finish in under 24 hours and get that buckle. Ordinarily four miles in an hour would be child’s play for me; in fact I could probably walk it. I was tired, but surely not enough for that to be a problem. I had a coffee and hoped the caffeine would help me float to the finish line.

  Four miles to go and this would all be done. My first 100-miler and in under 24 hours, too – I couldn’t help but think about crossing that line now. I got to a crossroads and the sign said straight on. I saw it, but for some reason I turned right. I can only think I was so exhausted that my mind wasn’t working properly. I went steeply downhill for a while and couldn’t shake this sense that I was going the wrong way. But I kept going anyway. After about five minutes or so I got to a crossroads, and there were no signs to anywhere I was looking for, so then I knew I must have gone the wrong way.

  A few miles from the finish, what a time to get lost!

  I turned back and started trudging up the steep hill. Now I felt sure I’d blown my chance to finish in under 24 hours, but still I would finish. I walked up the hill in the thick mud with the rain pouring down. Eventually I got back to the crossroads where I had gone wrong and was back on the course again. I started running now, but slowly. I was pretty dispirited because I’d made such a silly mistake which was going to cost me achieving my goal. Then a couple of guys came up behind me, going at pace. They stopped to speak to me. ‘Come on,’ they said. ‘We can still finish in less than twenty-four hours. We’re nearly there.’

  ‘I don’t think so now,’ I said. ‘I think we’re too late.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ the other guy said. ‘Let’s keep moving. We’ve still got time.’

  So I dug in and picked up the pace to keep with them. They kept encouraging me, telling me we were almost there and not to give up. It worked and we covered that last four miles in less than half an hour. Soon we could see the finish area, a blur of activity in the early-morning light. We had just one more muddy field to cross now. Seeing this, we all ran as fast as we could. Our brotherhood had served its purpose and now we were three competitors again, each racing for his own piece of glory. Just seven minutes shy of 24 hours, I crossed the finish line. I couldn’t believe it. I was convinced it was over, but those guys helped me to keep going. I wouldn’t have made it under 24 hours without them.

  In all, 180 runners started that race, only 110 finished, and just 36 of those made it in under 24 hours. I knew I was very lucky to be in that group. If there was any feeling of glory, then it lasted less than a few seconds. Lorna was waiting to whisk me away as I didn’t have much time before the next marathon would start. I said a few goodbyes and thank yous and picked up my buckle and a bacon sandwich. Then it was straight in the car; I would get changed on the way and didn’t have time for a shower, though fortunately the storm had pretty much washed me clean.

  We had a two-and-a-half-hour drive ahead of us to the start of the next race in Salisbury. We would just about be able to make it there in time for the start of the Salisbury 5-4-3-2-1 marathon at 9am. Lorna was her usual excitable self, full of praise and concern, offering me food when not phoning people to tell them I was still alive and in one piece. I was exhausted, though, and had to sleep before I did anything else. She had brought a duvet for me and the warmth and stillness were intoxicating. Soon I was fast asleep.

  An hour or so later I woke up with a cramp. I needed something to eat. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew I was down on calories. I’d eaten plenty of gels and other bits of food but it wouldn’t be enough; I couldn’t have a repeat of the Wales Runfest marathon where I died after mile 2 and had to drag my corpse around the course. Never again. Lorna had brought all kinds of freshly cooked food with her, so I ate some chicken and pasta, but my appetite wasn’t there. What I wanted now was more sleep.

  There was no time for that, though, and we arrived at the race HQ soon enough and I was inside registering and picking up my race number. These marathons are the hard ones. When you’ve exerted your body to the max and then you ask it to start again, without proper rest, it really isn’t interested. By my reckoning I’d had only two hours’ sleep in the last 74 hours. That’s no preparation for anything. I’d have to run this race on sheer willpower, one step at a time, wearing it down bit by bit.

  It didn’t help that the course was pretty hilly, nothing exceptional but not flat either. I hadn’t eaten enough and it was painful all the way around. I had no energy and my legs felt very tight. I met some great people on the course, though, including Vicky and Adam, a couple who were extremely supportive when I was flagging. So many people recognised me and said hello. I heard later that my responses were slurred, but I didn’t notice at the time. The support from those guys out there that day really helped me keep going and to reach the finish line.

  The course ended up being longer than described which wasn’t what I needed. Twenty-eight miles and change according to my watch, but at least I didn’t get lost. I walked quite a bit of it and dragged myself round the rest. It took almost six and a half hours, but it felt like considerably longer.

  Enough said about that one; it was not the best of memories. I crossed the line thanks to sheer willpower – and not just my own. Those on the course that day were so positive and encouraging that it gave me what I needed to get through it. What may sound like an individual achievement was actually the work of a whole group of people. I’m not sure I could have finished that one if I’d been out there on my own. I might still be running it now. So, in that sense, the race was special – it showed me how well people can work together and inspire one another to achieve what seems almost impossible.

  Lorna was there at the finish line, again. I waited to see Vicky finish, as she had helped me during the race. She came in a few minutes after me. Not many others followed her because I’d finished 234th out of 245 who completed the race. I was pretty much the last man out there. Oh, well, so much for my moment of glory!

  I was absolutely exhausted. I’d done 182 miles of running and two days’ work, all on only two hours of sleep. Lorna drove me home and I slept all the way. It was more of a coma than a sleep, really. It was early evening by the time I got home. It was lovely to see Joanna and Buddy, but I was so tired I just lay down on the sofa like a dead man. Joanna had cooked me a big chicken dinner and I got a few mouthfuls down me before having a shower and going to bed.

  My teenage years were the happiest years of my life until then. I had a good home and, in Peter, someone to give me the love and support I’d never had before. We don’t need much more than that, do we? But without it, life is a very steep climb.

  At school, I was progressing. With Peter’s expert tuition and guidance, I was able to fill in the gaps I’d missed in my earlier years, to some extent at least. I wasn’t about to ace my way into Oxford University or anything like that, but I could hold my own in a classroom without looking too stupid. I was becoming less aggressive and confrontational, too. I avoided trouble at school, rather than looking for it. Every now and again I got into something, either standing up for a friend or squaring up to a bully, but Peter was teaching me right from wrong so I knew when to make a stand. Bad things happen when good people do nothing to stop them. Bullies could never beat me, because what they couldn’t understand was that I didn’t mind being hit. No matter how much they punched me, I would always come back, grinning, for more. No bully can live with that.

  I was a bit of a school counsellor, too. For some reason, people would come and tell me their problems. A girl once confided in me how her step-father was abusing her, so we hatched a plan together and I helped her get away to her grandparents in Birmingham. She told them all about it and the authorities were informed. We lost touch for a while and I’d always wondered what happened to her, but we’ve reconnected and happily things worked out for her. She now has a wonderful family and a great life.

  After I’d finished school, I went t
o college and two years later came out with some A levels and a BTech. At that time, I wanted to join the armed forces, though I couldn’t decide whether to go for the Army or the RAF. I remember the summer I got my exam results, going to an Armed Forces Recruitment Fair in London. The RAF guys there told me it would be a six-month wait before I could join up, but the Army boys said I could be training in a matter of weeks. So that made my decision for me. I was in a hurry, I guess.

  I had an aptitude test a few days later to see what regiment would suit me best. I remember helping out the guy sitting next to me with some of his answers. He was finding it all a challenge. Once I’d finished the test, they told me they’d seen me helping the other guy but they’d let it pass. They gave me a telling off, but I could tell they were quite pleased at the same time. At least I was bothering to help someone out.

  My spelling and grammar were still pretty poor, but I was quick at solving problems and seeing solutions. As a result, my test score was quite high so I got to choose almost any trade I liked. I was torn between the police, intel or comms. Communications appealed to me, and I liked the idea of working with satellites and sending secret messages, so in the end I opted for the Royal Signals.

  Soon I was at basic training and living the army life. At that time I also started doing biathlons (run, bike, run) and triathlons (swim, bike, run) and got chosen for the GB Junior team, so the Army let me do full-time sports in the beginning. That meant I was pretty much training all the time, rather than marching and doing drills with the other lads. It suited me, as I love to compete, and though I wasn’t exactly setting the world alight, I had my fair share of victories, too.

  I stayed in the Army for five years, from 18 until I was 23. By the end, the Army had taken me off full-sports duty, so I was just doing the regular training with the rest of the lads. It was around then I started drinking with the guys a fair bit, trying to fit in, and misbehaving more than was good for me. I was going down a bad path and getting into fights. I wasn’t starting trouble, but I was quick to protect friends who were, and when you’re drinking with Army lads in local pubs it’s never too long before a situation comes up. I hated those skirmishes and how they made me feel afterwards. I wanted to be away from that world by then.