Marathon Man Read online

  Instead, my earliest and most vivid memories from that time are of getting beaten by my dad or waiting for a beating to begin.

  Anticipating a beating was the worst thing. I remember Dad would come home from work and I’d be upstairs in my room. He worked as a fundraiser for a children’s charity, I think. I’d hear him at the door fumbling around for his keys, swearing and muttering to himself. Usually he was drunk, which meant I was pretty much guaranteed a beating unless he fell asleep first. So I’d sit in my room waiting, hoping he wouldn’t come looking for me.

  I got beaten almost daily, as I remember it, and it was just something I got used to, as much as you can get used to that kind of thing. He’d punch and kick me, or hit me with whatever came easiest to hand. Often he’d shout things at me. I was young so I didn’t understand some of the things he said, but his anger was terrifying. His raised voice would instantly send chills down my back and give me a lumpy feeling in my throat. We had an outhouse in the back garden and sometimes he’d go in there to get a big stick. And I mean a really big stick. I knew I was in for a very nasty beating then.

  There were many terrible things that happened back then and I don’t see the point in going into every last detail. But at the same time I think maybe what I experienced then is part of the reason I’m able to do what I do now. So I think it’s helpful for others to know why I am how I am and to understand my story.

  Some of you might feel I’m being overly frank or sharing too much here. I respect that but I don’t agree. I think it’s my responsibility to talk about this stuff, unpleasant as it is to hear. Kids are being abused right now and they need to know they aren’t alone and, more importantly, that there is a future for them. I’ve talked about my abuse throughout my year’s running and countless individuals have told me how much it has meant to them, and how my story has given them hope. I want children and recovering adults to know they don’t need to be ashamed. I’m not ashamed. And they don’t need to be silent. I think we should talk about this stuff more and do more to stop it. I don’t know what exactly, but getting things out in the open has to be a good start.

  Thirteen days into my running and I’d done 17 Richmond Park marathons, including two double marathons. My feet were pretty blistered, my stomach was cut and the wound had become infected, and my muscles, tendons and bones were tired and probably a little shocked. But I was as determined as ever. All that time I had been spreading the word about what I was doing through social media, but I’m not sure anyone was taking me very seriously yet. I think I’d asked for that, calling myself Marathon Man after I’d run only a handful of marathons.

  On the fundraising front, I’d had only a small trickle of money into my Just Giving account, so I knew I needed help. I needed someone with a big mouth who wasn’t afraid to use it. Lucky for me, I knew just the guy.

  Ali Parkes is an ex-England Colleges prop forward, 6 feet 4 inches tall, built like a barn door, and with a smile like a Cheshire cat’s. I’d first come across him in April 2012, when Joanna told me about an event he was organising at the local school that summer (she was nannying for children at the school at the time). A few weeks shy of the London Olympics, Ali and Vivienne Alexander, two parents at Sheen Mount primary school, were planning a fundraising event. With a team of parents around them, and a whole lot of work and effort, they invited Olympians and top sports people to a day of sporting fun and games to inspire the kids and raise vital funds to build a new playground.

  Raising money to help kids? Inspiring people to exercise? Count me in, twice over. So I arranged through Jo to meet Ali in late spring of 2012 to see how I could help with the event. Five minutes after meeting Ali, I got swept up by his infectious enthusiasm. He’s a sentimental, massive-hearted gentle lion of a man who talks like it’s a national sport and gets people around him fired up. He’d also do anything you asked him to, if he could, or he’d find someone to help you if he couldn’t.

  That year I helped Ali with the fundraiser by using some of my pro-cycling connections at the time. I drove a couple of road bikes, donated by a local cycling shop, up to the Manchester Velodrome, where I got them signed by Chris Hoy, Jason Kenny and other members of the GB cycling team. The bikes proved to be prized auction items at the fundraiser and they raised a pretty penny.

  On the day of the fundraiser, I helped at the school running a competition. I had a stall in the playground with a static bike. People had to guess how far I would cycle in two minutes on it, with the one who came the closest winning the bike. It was a great day, with David Weir, James Cracknell and several other Olympic stars turning up to show their support and engage with the kids. The day ended up raising a staggering £50,000 for the school’s new playground, which is some kind of record for a primary school fundraiser.

  I felt I could do with some of that muscle in my corner.

  Since that first meeting, Ali and I had become friends. We’d played junior rugby together, for the third team at the Bank of England Sports Club. Somehow, Ali had persuaded me to join in, even though I’d never played rugby before. It turned out I wasn’t the luckiest player in the world. In the space of a year I ended up breaking my finger in one game and my collarbone in another (we had no substitutes that day so I played the remaining 60 minutes of the game with a broken collar bone. At least I got some kudos for that – Ali couldn’t believe it). Something told me rugby wasn’t for me. However, Ali and I had become friends, and he was someone I could trust to help me with my running goals.

  So, two weeks into my challenge, I went down to the Bank of England Sports Ground to find him. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of months and when I finally caught up with him he hadn’t heard about my running at all. His chin almost hit the floor when I told him what I was up to in the park.

  ‘A marathon a day?’ he said incredulously. ‘For a year?’

  ‘At least one, sometimes two. It depends. I’m trying to beat the record, like I said.’

  ‘But you hate running. You always said you were slow.’

  ‘I like it a bit more now. It’s growing on me.’

  He was surprised and disbelieving, but also impressed by what I was taking on. I could tell he was interested in helping me; it was his kind of project. He said he’d try to help however he could. Like me, he was a big kid and loved the idea of doing something extraordinary. Something inspirational.

  I think if he’d known then that his involvement would become an obsession that would take him away from his family for most of the year, he would have made a hasty retreat, told me it sounded great but he really didn’t have the time, and wished me good luck. But he didn’t know, of course. So Team MMUK had its first recruit after Buddy and Joanna. Now it was time to take on the next part of my challenge.

  CHAPTER THREE

  To Milton Keynes and Beyond

  27 April–11 May 2014

  Having run nothing but Richmond Park marathons for almost three weeks, I was looking forward to a change in surroundings. So I started looking at the UK marathon calendar and began booking myself onto official marathons at the weekends (with one eye on breaking Larry Macon’s world record of 259 official marathons in a year). In the beginning I signed up to a couple and paid the race entry fee, but I couldn’t afford to keep paying for marathons every weekend. So I started calling and emailing the race organisers, telling them what I was doing and asking if I could get any help with the fee. Thankfully, the majority of them were happy to help me out and I ended up saving about 20 per cent on entrance fees throughout the year.

  The first official marathon I ran was the Milton Keynes marathon on the Bank Holiday Monday, 5 May. I stayed the night before in a hotel with Joanna and Buddy, which was really good fun. There wouldn’t be too many more occasions when I’d get a good night’s rest on a soft bed with my family by my side, but it was nice while it lasted. I couldn’t have been happier or more excited, except for the pain in my right knee, which had become really sore. I realised I would probably have to get it
looked at by someone.

  Registering at the start, getting my race number and being around all the runners for my first bona fide marathon was amazing. This was like the park runs I’d been to, only bigger and better. I’d run 25 marathons in the three weeks since I’d started, and though people had come out to cycle and run with me, there’d been a lot of unaccompanied miles, too. I’m not a loner by nature, as I love being around people, chatting, hearing their stories, so this was a welcome change of atmosphere. I was in my element.

  I love the moments before and after a race: the chat and the build-up, the story-sharing and the nerves, and finally the camaraderie, celebration and joy of the finish line. The running community is made up of some of the best people you could ever meet. Over the next few months, they’d come to feel like a second family to me, giving me lifts, advice and lots of help when I needed it. I’d meet up with so many of the same people again and again throughout my year, the hardcore fanatics, as well as occasional marathoners and first timers, all running for a variety of reasons but with a shared spirit of ‘let’s get through this together’.

  That’s what running is about for me, and it’s very important. There’s an unwritten code: you help each other to cross that line, sometimes sacrificing your best time to help another to finish in any way you can. And the more you help others, the more you become a part of the running community. Until eventually, over time, it feels almost like they are a part of your family.

  That first race in Milton Keynes was fairly straightforward and, after a sluggish start, my knee started to behave and I felt pretty good. The arches in my feet, particularly my right foot, were starting to bother me in the second half of the race, though. It wasn’t anything too serious, but it wasn’t ideal. I got to the finish and hung around to share a few jokes with other runners. When I can and I don’t have to dash off to another event, I like to stay around at the finish to cheer people in.

  After completing the race in just over 3 hours 50 minutes, I stood at the top of the Stadium MK and watched the streams of people finishing their race. I was happy; the empty spot inside that’s been there for as long as I can remember was filled. I have a beautiful family and great friends – all that I ever wanted really – but still it’s always felt like something was missing. That feeling has lingered and I’ve never been able to shake it. I wondered if maybe this shared experience of marathon running could be what was missing.

  That day in Milton Keynes is a good memory. The newness of the experience and having Joanna and Buddy with me to share the moment were special. But, as I said earlier, travelling to and from events with my family and staying in hotels was not going to be an option going forward, and most of my weekends away would be solo missions.

  The money side of things would become a bit of an issue for us throughout the year. I made a decent income in my job, but all the running gear, the train journeys, the hotels, the registration fees and food began to take a big bite out my wallet, and pretty soon we were surviving off savings. Getting some sponsorship to help me out was going to be essential if I wanted to continue, and I was sure Ali would be able to help out on that front, as he’s always happy to ask for things, but in the meantime I had to do what I could myself.

  The next morning, after running a marathon in Richmond Park and getting to work, I phoned Virgin Trains. I was going to Halstead in Essex the following weekend to run their marathon and I wanted to get some help with the journey. Eventually I got through to someone there and told her what I was doing and asked if Virgin Trains would help me get to and from races. To my surprise she issued me with two passes there and then for any Virgin route for the whole year. I couldn’t believe it. They were my first sponsor and I was so glad for their support.

  Although I’d use those passes several times in coming months, I ended up getting a series of coaches to the Halstead marathon in the end (it worked out quicker that way). I was beginning to find out that getting to and from marathons around the country would be almost as much of a challenge as running the races themselves. I’ve been late to a few, stranded at a few and run through the night to get to others, but I made it to the start of every marathon I set out for, which is something of a miracle. I always said from the start that I’d need a whole lot of luck for my challenge to be successful. And for the most part, I’ve had it.

  On Saturday 10 May, I slept in. And I needed it. For the last 26 nights I’d been averaging about three or four hours of sleep and it was taking some getting used to. More than once I’d fallen asleep on the train to or from work and missed my stop. My body was taking a hammering, too, and in particular my knee was bothering me. But that wasn’t all: the cuts on my midriff, caused by my kilt belt buckle digging in while running, had become infected and looked pretty bad, and my feet were pretty blistered by now, too.

  Anyone who has done much running will know the problem of suffering from blisters. However, if you’ve got a blister, don’t get down about it. Blisters, and blister management, are a normal part of the marathon runner’s journey. When you discover you have a blister, you need to think about what might have caused the blister in the first place. Do your shoes fit properly? Is there a hole in your shoe letting in stones and other debris? What can you do to avoid this happening in that spot again?

  You might find that lubricating your skin with Vaseline or skin cream will help you avoid blisters. Some people recommend wearing two pairs of socks, so the rubbing occurs between the socks rather than the sock and your skin. However, I’ve never bothered much with either of these methods. Blisters are more of a problem for the occasional runner – my feet are so used to running now that I rarely get any blisters and if I do, they’re the least of my problems. If you do get a blister on the foot it can be tricky. Sometimes you get a blister under a blister, which is difficult to pop, but the most annoying ones are those you can get under your toenail. In my experience you’ll usually lose your nail with those.

  Once you have a blister, I have found the best thing to do is pop it. It’s important you use a sterilised needle to do this and I usually lance the blister in up to three places. I then squeeze out as much fluid as possible and apply antiseptic cream to the area (I use a hydrogen peroxide based product). Then leave my foot to dry in the open air. It’s important to do all that you can to make sure your popped blister doesn’t get infected.

  With all these various niggles building up, I started to think that I’d need some medical attention and advice on how to look after myself a bit better. Ali had told me he’d asked his friend and top physiotherapist Pippa Rollitt to have a look at me and I was set to meet her the following week. I had also spoken to Dominika Brooks, a sports masseuse I knew and a friend of Joanna’s, about whether she could give me some massages to help keep me going.

  I felt good in spirits, though. In my experience the body will adapt and find a way to get through most things. I like to think if the mind is strong the body will follow. But it is certainly worth getting yourself checked out if you are suffering from a persistent problem – I know that I respond to these sorts of problems in a different way to most people.

  While everyone assumed my legs and feet would be my biggest problem areas, actually one of the most annoying things I had to contend with was my nipples. If you’d seen me finishing a marathon in those first few weeks, you’d have seen my shirt covered in blood. It all came from little cuts in my nipples, opened up by the constant movement of my shirt while running. They hurt pretty bad. It’s a common runner’s ailment and I tried putting Vaseline and tape on them, but still they bled. After a month or two, they hardened up and I didn’t have too many problems with them after that.

  On that Saturday, having slept in, I went to the Sheen Mount School 5K Fun Run. I love kids, as I’ve said already, and encouraging them to exercise and be healthy is part of what motivates me. So I decided to run with them before doing my marathon. The parents at the school knew me from the Olympic fundraiser, so it was a good chance to let them
know about what I was doing and ask for their support.

  At the end of the run, a friend of mine, Dustin, who Ali had roped in to help with copywriting for my website, got on the tannoy and told everyone what I was doing. I’m pretty uncomfortable with that kind of attention, but it was something I knew I’d have to get used to or at least put up with for the time being. I stood there like a lemon while everyone turned to look at me. I could feel them collectively wondering, ‘How on earth are you going to run a marathon every day for a year?’ I chatted to a few people who were all amazed at what I was trying to do. A few generous donations went into my Just Giving page that night, so those moments squirming under the spotlight were worth it.

  After that, I ran a marathon in the park and then met up with Ali to chat with Nick, the manager of Sheen Sports, the local high-street sports shop. My shoes were getting ragged and Nick offered me a new pair and said he wanted to help however he could. This was going to be a huge benefit to me, as I was certainly going to need a few more pairs of trainers in the course of the year (I would end up getting through a pair of trainers every two or three weeks).

  The next day was the Halstead marathon. This was probably the first time I discovered that the running community were starting to take notice of me, but getting there in the first place was a challenge, though that would become the norm for weekends that year. I woke up at 6am, after only two and a half hours’ sleep, and stuffed my running gear, half of which was still wet from being washed the night before, into my rucksack. Then I cycled to the station, got a train, two coaches and a taxi all the way over to Halstead for the start of the race at 10am.

  I decided not to wear my kilt as it was still wet and heavy from being washed the night before. At the start of the race a few people said hello, congratulating me on what I was doing and wishing me luck. Then, as we were gathering at the start line, the announcer came over on the tannoy: ‘Someone just told me Marathon Man UK is planning to run in shorts today. We can’t have that! Will someone go and find his kilt for him. It must be somewhere.’