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  I don’t remember any problems during that first run, which wouldn’t always be the case. I’d come to run this route more than any other and have all kinds of mishaps and mini-adventures. The 750 deer in the park don’t always behave themselves, I’ll tell you that. It’s particularly unnerving when there’s a thick early morning mist and you can’t see more than a couple of metres away. Then the sound of the deer braying all around you can be a little intimidating. They like to pop up out of nowhere and surprise you just when you least expect it. Many a time I’d almost literally run into an angry stag on the path who looked ready to charge. But I would never actually be harmed by them and we’d grow to know each other like old friends over the coming months

  The route is almost all on a path called the Tamsin trail, which circles the park’s perimeter. It’s a complicated route: a 3.1 mile loop, followed by a 9.1 mile loop, then lastly two 7.2 mile laps of the perimeter. There’s not too much overall elevation, 340 metres in total, including a couple of small hills. You’ve got to watch your footing in parts, especially on the downhills (and in the dark). There are four or five water fountains on the course, all of which I’d need today. The route comes back past the start point at Sheen Gate four times, so leaving my bag there, full of snacks and drinks, would become my routine.

  After a couple of hours, the sun came up but I still felt pretty good. My breathing was heavy and the mileage was a shock to my system, and my feet in particular, but I was bearing up. I was so focused that my body just followed my intention. It was one of those moments when I knew I was in the right place, doing the right thing. I fitted. I hadn’t felt like that since I was cycling and even then only intermittently. The ease was only temporary, though, I can assure you. It wouldn’t last and soon I would find that pretty much everything hurt.

  As I ran that morning, I realised how bizarre the whole thing was. The idea of Rob Young the runner is hilarious to me. Let me explain why: when I was 17 years old I was a triathlete for Great Britain. I’m a decent swimmer, so I could hold my own in that, splash around with the best of them and finish up there with the leaders at the end of that first stage of the triathlon. Then we’d get on the bikes and I was in my element. I was born to cycle. Ever since I was a teenager, racing banged-up, broken-down old bikes against men on their expensive road bikes, and beating them, I had a way on two wheels. I was fast and I had the lungs to push.

  So the second stage of the triathlon was a breeze. Well, it would have been, only I couldn’t afford to just be fast – I had to be super fast. I had to bomb off and build up a big lead, come in in first place (and by some way) to have a chance in the race overall, because my running was awful. I was slow: Mr Plod, Dr Dawdle. Which meant coming off the bike was the beginning of my race. It was only a matter of time before I could hear someone breathing down my neck and then, more times than not, going past me. I couldn’t hold them off. So running was always associated with defeat and failure for me. And now here I was running around the park with dreams of world records and helping charities. You couldn’t make it up.

  The second half of the marathon was tough going; I was red-faced, sweating and struggling. I walked for some bits but soon began running again. I saw Eva at Sheen Gate, just as I was about to start my final lap and I stopped to tell her about the bet and how it was all Joanna’s fault for getting me going. The last lap was difficult. There was no ‘wall’ (the moment some runners discover when it becomes almost impossible to continue) to get over, but it wasn’t easy as I finished in 4 hours 7 minutes. Hurray! I had lost my virginity. Now I just needed more practice. A lot more.

  Joanna and Buddy turned up at the end to see me (and feed the ducks). She looked at me as if to say, ‘What are you doing?’ I’m sure she really didn’t believe I would do this, but by now it was too late to go back. I was a marathon runner, though I didn’t have the medal to prove it yet. And I needed to complete only 49 more marathons to win that 20p.

  I changed into my work clothes in the park before cycling off to Richmond to get the train to work. I was tired and hungry but still felt fresh. This wasn’t going to be too bad, I thought, though I might have to run quicker or get up earlier in future as I was going to be late.

  I worked up in Hampstead as a manager for a car parts company. My boss was a gentleman called Ken who has been something of a father figure to me. Over the years, he’d taken me under his wing and showed me a few things about life. In return, I’d helped make his business considerably more profitable. We got on, but we didn’t always see eye to eye.

  I decided not to let Ken know about my running plans yet. He’s old-fashioned and I sensed he wouldn’t want me taking my eye off the day job too much. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t understand why I was doing it. Through the day at work I felt fine – empowered, really. I think I probably grinned a fair amount, alone with my secret: I ran a marathon this morning while the world slept.

  In fact, I felt so happy about what I’d done that morning that I began to develop a new plan: maybe I should run another one after work? I knew I had to run more than a marathon a day to beat Abad’s 366 in a year, and I thought it was probably best to get ahead early, while I’m fresh. So I rang Joanna and told her my plan, saying I’d be back late that night if that was OK? There was quite a long pause before she laughed.

  ‘Rob, what are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I answered. ‘It’s just a bit of running.’

  At about 5.30, I left work and took the train back to Richmond. Then it was off to the park and into Richmond Gate where I’d arranged to meet up with Eva again. We cycled down to Sheen Gate together. I locked my bike, dropped off my rucksack at the log by the start point, and chatted to Eva. She’d agreed to cycle to various gates at various times in the next four hours to see me run past (I was ever mindful from the beginning of the need to be witnessed by third parties in order to verify my runs). I necked a bottle of Lucozade followed by a can of Red Bull and off I went again.

  I wanted to get a shift on so I could get home before it was too late, so I pushed it a bit. My body knew how far it had to go now and there was no mystery left. I enjoyed the early part of that run and initially it wasn’t as tough as I thought it would be. I could barely hear my muscles complaining, as my head was spinning with so many related ideas: I needed a fundraising page, a Facebook page, a website. And what would I call the website? Towards the end of my second ever marathon, some 18 hours after I’d begun my first, my muscles screamed for rest – it was the only way they could draw me back from my dreams. I felt a bit sick at one point and I thought I was going to throw up. But I got through it and finished in 3 hours 28 minutes – a personal best and still there was no ‘wall’ to climb over.

  It was nearly 11pm by the time I got home, exhausted. I came in and lay down on the carpet in the living room in front of Joanna. I was playing it up a bit, but of course I was knackered for real. She laughed and took a picture of me. We chatted for a bit and I reminded her it was all her fault. She told me what she and Buddy had done that day, while I lay on the floor, unable to move. Then I got up, went into the kitchen and ate everything I could find before crawling into a hot shower. I set the alarm for 3.30am and slid into bed. I was exhausted. Physically, I was in a state of shock, but in my mind as clear and focused as I’ve ever been.

  Tomorrow couldn’t come around quickly enough.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Marathon Man UK Is Born

  15–26 April 2014

  Marathon Man. That’s a good name: easy to remember and does what it says on the tin. That was my first thought as the alarm dragged me to my senses at 3.30am. I’d be lying if I said I felt fully rested. I had a couple of small blisters on my right foot, but thought they were nothing to worry about. My legs felt tired but that was the new normal. They’d get used to things soon enough – I just needed to show them what to expect and who was boss.

  I ran the marathon quickly, finishing in 3 hours 19 minutes. In fact, I had bee
n too quick and I was hobbling around all that day. I realised that if I was going to take on this challenge, I had to pace myself better; it was an early lesson for me.

  I know that for many this isn’t the case, but I should state that running times aren’t very important to me. I’m never going to be that fast and it’s not that interesting to me. I’ve described myself plenty of times as a plodder, which is what I am. OK, I have some athletic pedigree, but I’d never consider myself a good runner. I know others think that’s funny, but I think my times show I’m no greyhound. It’s the endurance element of long-distance running that interests me, taking the body to the limits, going further for longer and without much rest. When you do that, it becomes a test of the mind and that’s where I think I have the edge.

  That first week carried on like that. I ran two marathons on the Thursday, before and after work, and two on the Sunday, too. Joanna, Eva and other friends came out to watch me when they could. I was trying to get as much corroboration for what I was doing as possible, though I knew I was falling short. The thing about me is I like to dive into things. If I get an idea, I like to just do it and try to piece it all together as I go along. Other people have to keep up if they want to come along. I’ve always been like that.

  As the year progressed and a team eventually built up around me, necessary and appreciated, it became harder to be spontaneous like that, which made things a bit of a struggle for me. I’m not one to worry about the details too much, which has its good and bad sides. It’s hard to fight with your nature, though.

  Having realised that I was able to cope with the demands of running at least one marathon a day, I knew I had to spread the word about what I was doing and did some research into which charities I wanted to help. I began to use my spare time to start working on my website. Part of my job is to design and set up websites for the business, so I was at home with code though my initial effort was a bit basic. I liked how it looked: it had a chimp logo with the words ‘Beat the Beast’ on it, which is still part of my new brand, Run Wild. I love to play around with Photoshop so I enjoyed designing the logo. However, later on, we got a bit grander and a company called Terra Ferma Medi@ offered to build me a more professional site.

  When I was looking into the charities, I stumbled across Dreams Come True. I love children and still feel like a bit of a child myself. I knew I wanted to do something to help kids who needed a break, so DCT sounded perfect. It is a small UK charity that makes wishes come true for children with life-threatening illnesses. I love that idea of bringing happiness into a child’s life who would otherwise face so much difficulty. They may not have long to live, but we can make their lives better while they are here. Reading the stories on their website and seeing all the smiling faces made it an easy choice for me.

  I had it in my head that I would represent three charities, and Great Ormond Street Hospital was the next obvious choice. A friend of mine, Damo Creed, had a child who’d been in there and everyone knows what amazing work they do for children. Now I was on the lookout for a third.

  I bought the web name marathonmanuk.com and started a Facebook page. Then I started a Just Giving page and registered Dreams Come True and Great Ormond Street as my charities. Things were taking shape, offline and online. I was committing to the crazy idea I’d had, putting things in motion. There was no going back now.

  As my plans grew more concrete, I realised that up until that point something had always been missing from my life – the great adventure, I guess you’d call it. I couldn’t be that office worker any more, or at least not just that office worker. I needed to find out what else I could do, what challenges I could overcome.

  Marathon Man UK was officially born on 16 April 2014 when I started the Facebook page in his name, but he was naked to begin with. Not literally – the world’s not ready for that yet. Marathon Man UK was missing something because he didn’t yet have his kilt.

  In those early days I was trying to get noticed. I’m naturally very shy and I don’t much like meeting famous people, and I certainly wasn’t doing this to try to become one myself. But Marathon Man does. He knows you don’t raise a lot of money for charity hiding behind the sofa. You have to stand out, be seen, be recognised. Which brings us to the kilt.

  As I’ve mentioned, I’d done the occasional 5k park run in Old Deer Park and Richmond Park for quite a while before my challenge. They’re always a good experience – the social side of running is what I love, the shared experience, the fooling around and the encouraging one another. Parkrun.org.uk is an organisation that puts on free, weekly, timed 5k park runs all around the world. They aim to get regular people of all ages to take a bit of exercise together at the weekend. It’s a great concept and I love running in their events.

  A few months earlier, I got chatting to some kids and asked them what I should wear to the next run. They all said different things – fairy wings, a scuba mask, a kilt. You know kids; I think one suggested an Incredible Hulk outfit, which I am still trying to track down. Anyway, the next week I turned up in the kilt, scuba mask and fairy wings and the kids went nuts.

  ‘You can’t wear your trainers, though,’ one of them said. The rest of them shook their head in agreement.

  ‘But I have to wear the shoes. I need them to run in,’ I said.

  They continued to shake their heads.

  ‘OK, let’s negotiate here,’ I said. ‘If I give you each fifty pence then can I wear them?’

  No deal. Damn, those kids were tough. Obviously 50p isn’t what it used to be. We ended up settling at £2.06 each and I got to wear the trainers (an expensive arrangement on my side, but fun for the kids). With my eye-catching outfit, everyone wanted to talk to me. I became a celebrity in an instant and I loved seeing the smiles on everyone’s faces.

  So I remembered this and dug out my kilt on the first Saturday of my challenge, for my eighth marathon, just six days into my running. That kilt was one I’d bought and worn to the wedding of a Scottish friend of mine, Chris. It’s a big old woollen one, not exactly designed for ultra-running, but it got me noticed – as well as refreshing you in parts other running shorts can’t reach. (Truth be told, I wear shorts under my kilt when I run. I’d be arrested otherwise.)

  It’s amazing how much attention I got wearing the kilt that first time, which made me a bit uncomfortable. But it also prompted a few discussions with other runners, broke the ice so I could tell people what I was up to and why. I wore a t-shirt which I’d had printed at a local print shop to promote my world-record attempt, but it was the kilt that got tongues wagging.

  Since then I’ve had dozens of conversations about the kilt, most of which revolve around whether I’m Scottish or not, and if not what’s an Englishman doing in a kilt. I’m English as far as I know, which isn’t very far. There could be some Macintosh in me for all I know.

  I sometimes tell interested parties, or vociferous Scots, that the kilt was originally invented by an Englishman. According to Wikipedia, we can thank Thomas Rawlinson for it. Sometimes I don’t share this information, mind you. It depends on the height and build (and state of inebriation) of the Scot I’m about to educate. Anyway, I think it’s served its purpose getting people’s attention and making me stand out.

  The other thing I wore to draw attention to myself was Wacky Sox, a brand of very colourful, knee-length sports socks favoured by rugby players. They aren’t ideal for marathon performance, but I love the way they look and go for the orange ones or the green ones (as originally picked out for me by some kids in the shop, to match my running vests).

  Since starting to wear my kilt, I’ve tried wearing an ‘athletic kilt’, but they just don’t feel right, flapping about in the wind like a lettuce leaf. I like the heaviness of the woollen one and the way it feels as I run. However, I was soon to discover that my chosen piece of identifying equipment had a serious design flaw. The kilt buckle quickly began to dig into me and that, along with the rotation of the coarse material against my skin, gave r
ise to some painful cuts on my midriff. They got really bad at times and gave me some deep cuts and a couple of infections in the first few weeks. Nothing too terrible, though. If I wasn’t game for a little discomfort then I’d have been feeding the ducks instead of running multiple marathons. A little discomfort I can deal with. After all, I’d had worse.

  I was born on 18 October 1982 in the seaside town of Portsmouth, England. My parents were there on holiday so I can only assume I arrived ahead of schedule. To most new parents their first baby, a healthy baby boy, would be a cause for celebration. But I don’t think any champagne got drunk that night. Maybe a little whisky, though.

  I later learned my dad didn’t want a son, he wanted a daughter. So I was in his bad books from day one. According to my mum, he tried to push my pram in front of a car on one occasion in those first few weeks. Anyway, they named me Robert, after my dad: Robert Harvey Paul Young.

  We soon returned home to our detached three-bedroom house in a small village somewhere between Wakefield and Barnsley, Yorkshire. I don’t know the name of the place, and I don’t have any photos to remind me of my childhood, but I do have a few vivid memories.

  The Young family was comprised of my dad, my mum, me and, a year after I turned up, my sister, D. Oh, and the family dog, while he lasted. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you any stories of birthday parties and holidays, or time spent at the park flying kites. I don’t think I can remember anything really nice happening at all. I don’t recall ever getting a birthday or Christmas present, except once when my dad bought me a colouring book, though I didn’t have any pencils to colour it in with. So in effect, it was just a very dull picture book. Still, that was the best gift I’d ever had and I enjoyed flicking through it and having something to look at. My sister, however, always got presents. So many a day I would sit in the living room, feeling sad and lonely, watching her playing with her new toys.