Marathon Man Page 6

  It was good to run in the park with so many people and in the middle of the day, too. The conditions were very warm, but I got some relief on the third lap when I started a water fight with some kids I knew – they gave me a good soaking which helped cool me down. I ended up finishing in a decent time and got to play with Alexander at the finish as well.

  The fact that I can remember that moment after the race highlighted a major problem with my challenge. It had become very clear that the year was going to be pretty full-on and the thing that would have to be sacrificed most was time with my family. Joanna was already complaining that we weren’t spending enough time together, and of course she was right. I was averaging three hours of sleep a night just to fit it all in, so finding more time to hang out with her and Alexander was next to impossible.

  I’d see her in the evenings when she’d order me a curry or cook for me, but I can’t say I was giving her quality time, though. We’d regularly have a discussion where Joanna would point out that I was not spending enough time with our family, which she rightly believed should be my first priority. I tended to respond by explaining that I was running a marathon every day, doing a job, meeting charities, giving interviews and having massages to hold me together. I felt I needed her support in all of this, and that I didn’t have the time to be worrying about her and Alexander. Sometimes this conversation was light-hearted; at other times less so. I understood her frustration. Things weren’t the same as before, in any way, and I missed her, too.

  The importance of family was brought home to me even more that week when I learned the sad news that Emma, the girl who I had dedicated a marathon to only days before, had died in hospital. My heart went out to her family and I couldn’t think of much else for a few days. It made me think even more about the missing part of my own family, my daughter Olivia from another relationship.

  Six years before, I had been living with someone else and we’d had a beautiful daughter, Olivia. The relationship hadn’t worked out and I’d moved out. Seeing my daughter had been very difficult since then, for various reasons, but although I don’t get to see her right now, she is in my thoughts every single day. I love her with all my heart and soon I’m sure she’ll be back in my life again. As much as Alexander and Joanna, Olivia is what keeps me going and without her in my heart I’d be weaker.

  Family is everything to me. Joanna, Olivia and Alexander gave me strength and were the reason I could do what I was doing, but at that time they had to be patient and wait for me. Until I was finished there just was no way we’d be able to have the kind of family time that we’d all have liked. On a few weekends, Joanna and Alexander joined me at the marathons, and they were the best times. Our trip to Flete, Devon, was a perfect example.

  On Saturday 24 May, I ran a marathon in Richmond Park in the morning and then Joanna, Alexander and I got on a train to Devon. The Endurancelife Flete CTS marathon was being held the following day. Running along the coast in Devon on a summer day sounded about as good as a marathon could get.

  When we got to Devon and down to the race HQ in Flete on the Saturday evening, we started looking for a hotel or a B&B. I thought it would be pretty easy to find somewhere to stay, but we turned out to be in the middle of nowhere. After walking for a while we saw a big stately house, which I thought must be a hotel. So I marched up the drive, opened the front door and stepped into the reception. No one was around, so I just waited and looked at some of the pictures on the wall. I wasn’t standing there long before a man appeared, who looked at me rather suspiciously.

  ‘Hello. Do you have a room for the night, please? There are three of us.’

  ‘This isn’t a hotel,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’d assumed that it was.’

  ‘It’s my home,’ he added.

  It turned out I was standing, uninvited, in this gentleman’s front room. Nice one, Rob! Anyway, we got chatting and one by one his friends and family joined us in the front room. It seemed he was having a party. Pretty soon I was telling them all about my running and they were fascinated. They asked me to bring Joanna and Alexander in to meet them, we had a drink and were talking and laughing like old friends.

  John Morgan was the man’s name and he was a real gentleman. He told us he knew somewhere we could stay and walked us down to a guest house that was part of the property. It was a five-bedroom guest house right on the beach – what a result! John got me out of the doghouse with Joanna, who was a bit annoyed I hadn’t even sorted out a hotel. Goodness knows where we would have stayed if John hadn’t been kind enough to let us stay.

  The family (including John’s children, William, Sophie, Sonia and Hannah) brought us some food for dinner and milk for Alexander. After we’d eaten, we walked the Morgans’ dog on the beach as the sun was going down and it was one of those beautiful moments where you feel the world is on your side and there’s no stopping you.

  The next morning I felt refreshed and ready for anything. The view outside our bedroom was superb, the sea and the south Devon coast stretching for miles. I got myself together and walked the few hundred metres to the start, looking forward to the day’s race. I’m so grateful to John and his family for their generosity that night, which typifies the kindness my family and I were shown by strangers throughout my crazy year of running.

  It was a beautiful, sunny day and the race was amazing. Tough, but amazing. The countryside in Devon is stunning and the course was well organised with lots of brutal hills. The terrain was varied; we covered every surface imaginable, roads, grass, mud, stones, river crossings (my sopping wet kilt must have weighed a couple of stone!). We went through fields of sheep, cows (and bulls too), over gates, through gates, under gates. It was exhausting but a great challenge and I liked the adventure aspect. Some of the hills were slippery under foot and so steep they felt dangerous. It was a nice change of pace from the Richmond Park marathons that offered no threat to life and limb.

  If you’re a UK marathon runner looking for an exceptional, if tough, marathon, with amazing views that’s really well organised, then make the trip down to Devon for this one – but do remember to book some accommodation before you set off!

  The Flete ultra marathon was my 46th in 42 days. Four more marathons and Joanna would have to hand over her 20p – after that the bets were off. Literally. Running was becoming very tough by now as my knee was hurting so much that I had my doubts, at times, about how long I could go on for. Sometimes it felt like I was hanging on to a runaway train, just trying not to get thrown off.

  Having said that, it’s also true that there were other times when I felt unstoppable. I seemed to alternate from feeling like I wouldn’t be able to continue, to thinking it was all too easy. And when a friend lent me Dean Karnazes’ bestselling book, Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All-night Runner, I had fuel for my biggest dreams. Here was a guy who pushed the limits, running 100-milers repeatedly and, in the end, just for fun. He made me believe it was all manageable and helped dispel any lingering doubts about how far I could actually go.

  I spent a fair amount of time wondering what that would be like, running a 100-mile race. The best runners were able to complete them in under 24 hours, which meant theoretically I could do one during this challenge of mine. The thought wouldn’t leave me alone, so I started looking online at ultras, 100km races and even 100-mile races in the UK.

  I couldn’t tell Ali or Joanna. I knew they’d think I was crazy and that it was jeopardising my challenge, but the thing was I had to keep myself interested. I knew if I got bored on this challenge that would be the end of it. I could only keep up the feats of endurance if I felt pitted against a challenge that threatened to engulf me. That was exciting. Looking for the frontiers and going over them was what got my juices flowing. For some that was completely understandable, but those who didn’t get it thought I was taking unnecessary risks.

  At about this time Ricky, the manager at Up & Running, a specialist running shop in Sheen, got me on the trea
dmill to assess my running gait. He noticed I overpronate (which means that my foot tends to continue to roll inwards when it lands, causing additional strain on my ankles and shins as I push off again) slightly, so I tried on a few trainers he thought were a good match for me. They all felt good, so I ended up choosing the Brooks Ravenna because I liked the way they looked. A lot of my leg problems, and my sore arches, cleared up after I started running with these shoes and things got easier. It was lucky they did, because my knee was getting really sore by that point. I can’t over-emphasise how important it is to get the right shoes for you. Keep looking until you find a pair that you know are right. You’ll know them when you find them.

  On 26 May I got a message on Facebook that I’ll never forget. A week or so earlier, a woman had approached me in Sheen to ask me about what I was doing. We had chatted for a bit and she had started telling me about the sexual abuse she had suffered as a child at the hands of her father. She was very nervous and it was clear to me that this was something she’d kept to herself for a very long time. I came away thinking that it must have done her some good to share all that with me, and to realise that she didn’t have to suffer in silence.

  That day she messaged me to tell me our conversation had given her the courage to tell her partner about her past. She said she felt like a weight had been lifted, now she no longer had to hide it away or feel ashamed. Such connections re-affirmed my belief that it was important to keep talking about these things.

  At that time, Ali was trying to set me up with a sports agent and some people were telling me to drop the ‘abuse story’, that it would hurt my chances of getting an agent. I didn’t like that; to me that’s just hiding in the shadows. I didn’t think that would be helpful to anyone, so I’ve kept up my outspoken position on my abuse. It happened to me, it happened to others and it’s still happening right now to thousands of children. We need to do much more to stop it. If I reach only a couple of people and help them, then that’s worth all the lost sponsorship deals in the world.

  But I know I’ve already reached hundreds of such people. Adults and children have confided in me their stories of abuse at talks during school visits and elsewhere. People have been given the confidence to stand up and face their abusers, in some cases. It might make other people uncomfortable, but it’s really making a difference to those who need it most. If I can help them by telling my story, then I will.

  A few days later, at around 10.30pm on Thursday 29 May, just 46 days after making that infamous 20p bet with Joanna, I completed my 50th marathon. And boy did it feel good! A group of local supporters showed up to run and cycle with me and it made all the difference. It really felt like I was at the centre of something significant that the whole local community could celebrate. It was always really important to me that what I was doing was embraced locally, and I started to get a sense that I was being more and more appreciated by local people and businesses, too.

  Sadly, to this day Joanna hasn’t handed me that 20p for winning the bet. I think I earned that money, so I’m still working on getting it back. I haven’t hired a lawyer as yet, but I’m starting to give it some serious consideration.

  Fifty marathons done! I was delighted to reach the first significant milestone on my agenda. I think it’s important, when doing something epic over a long period of time, that you celebrate the little victories on the way to that final moment. You never know when the wheels are going to come off, so enjoy it while it lasts.

  That night I went onto Facebook and dedicated my 50th marathon to my daughter, Olivia. She had been on my mind through many of the countless hours of running for the last month or so, keeping me company and giving me strength. I was exhausted and emotional that night; I missed her more than ever. She was the one piece missing on my night of celebration and I knew I wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy any such successes until she was back in my life again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Climb Every Mountain

  30 May–15 June 2014

  The day after I’d run my 50th marathon was a Friday and my first meeting with Dr Courtney Kipps. Pippa Rollitt, my physio, had told him about me and asked if he would see me. I’d learned he was the director of the ISEH (Institute of Sports, Exercise and Health) in London, a legacy project from the 2012 Olympics, set up to study elite sportsmen and women in order to help improve performance as well as to prevent or manage injuries. Dr Kipps is also the assistant medical director of the London Marathon, so I was pleased that someone of his stature, on Pippa’s recommendation, had agreed to see me.

  We met in his clinic in Putney and I liked him right off the bat. We chatted for a while about the issues I’d been having with my nipples, waist, knees and arches. He listened very carefully and was quite surprised that I had managed so much already, with so little sleep and with a very casual attitude to food and nutrition. I remember him telling me that I needed to eat ‘a bit more than jam sandwiches’ if I was to keep myself in one piece and achieve my target of 367 marathons in a year, which made me laugh. I don’t think I told him about all the Doritos and curries and coke that I had used to fuel me throughout my runs. I didn’t want to get into more trouble than I was already in.

  After analysing my running style on a treadmill and hearing my stories of sore heels in the second half of races, Dr Kipps had an interesting theory. He said that my tactic of running a quickish first half-marathon followed by a slower second half was what was hurting my feet. He noticed that at the quicker pace I was landing on my front to mid foot, where I should be, but when I slowed it down a bit, I started to heel-strike. So, in effect, by putting the brakes on, slowing down to conserve energy for the next day’s exertions, I was doing myself a disservice. I needed to run faster, and that way my feet would be fine. ‘That’s easier said than done,’ I told him.

  While I liked Dr Kipps very much, and really valued his input and time, there was always this tension between us. He wanted me to think like an elite athlete, which meant getting adequate rest and recovery (which I couldn’t do), as well as to observe a very careful diet (which I wasn’t very interested in doing). He wanted me to listen to the data and to play it safe. And of course I understand that. He’s a doctor, focused on my best interests. I, on the other hand, am a plodder who will plod through the pain barrier when nobody else will plod any more. I don’t consider myself an elite athlete – just a stubborn one.

  Really, what I wanted was for him to patch me up and send me on my way, but he wanted me to rest and recover, and to avoid at all costs the risk of an injury. I knew the risk of injury was just something I had to live with and that there was no ‘safe’ way to do what I was doing. That’s the nature of extreme endurance. And the fact is I had to work and I did have a family, so I couldn’t spend all my downtime in an ice bath, sleeping or recuperating. But all credit to him, Dr Kipps agreed to help me, even though I was making plenty of choices he couldn’t condone, because he knew I’d be better off with him than without him.

  Dr Kipps recommended I visited my local GP to get them onside with my activities so they could keep an eye on me and help with the abrasions on my midriff and my sore nipples (Dr Kipps thought, possibly rightly, that using zinc tape was doing more harm than good), as well as to be there for other potential issues throughout the year. He recommended they have my blood analysed too, looking for vitamin deficiencies among other things. Going forward he recommended more sleep, better nutrition, ice baths, strengthening exercises and ongoing physio and massage, some of which I was able to do.

  Over the course of the year, Dr Kipps, Pippa and sports masseuse Dominika Brooks would be my medical team. They’d all be at the end of the phone to advise, massage or work on me, often at the drop of a hat. I never thought I’d need all that support when I started running, but it turned out they’d be absolutely essential. After that first meeting, Dr Kipps took me on as a ‘person of scientific interest’ and I’m indebted to him for his involvement throughout my year.

  The next day w
as a Saturday, but having failed to get any official marathons, I was left to run the Richmond Park marathon course again. I’ve often said that the logistics, the travelling to and from events at the weekend, has been the hardest part of the challenge, so a quiet weekend gave me some time to rest and spend time with my family, which I appreciated. But I have to say, running those official marathons on different courses, meeting new people and even the craziness of getting between marathons was something I looked forward to during the week. I could see I was becoming a marathon addict, which is hilarious when you consider just how much I used to hate running.

  Growing up in Yorkshire, we had a beautiful mixed breed dog, his fur was mainly black but with little white patches. I don’t remember his name, but I loved him. As I’ve mentioned, I didn’t have toys back then, so for me that dog was entertainment enough to last for hours. One weekend my father said he was taking us camping. We were all a bit surprised to hear that, as we never went anywhere. But we got in the car and off we went, hoping it might actually be a holiday. Eventually, we arrived at the campsite and got set up for the night.

  The following day we went for a walk and ended up alongside a race course. Then, suddenly, and for no apparent reason, my dad became irritated. I had the dog on his lead, but he snatched it off me. ‘I think we’ve had this dog long enough now,’ he said.

  Then he picked the dog up by its lead, so it was hanging by its neck, and carried it over to some trees. My mum freaked out; she seemed to know what was coming and told my sister to look away. They both walked off, leaving me with my dad and the dog.

  ‘That’s right, get lost!’ he shouted after them.

  I was frozen to the spot. My dad told me to stay where I was and to watch what he was about to do, so I stood and watched as he tied the dog to a branch of a tree and left him hanging there. Then I watched him struggle until he died, too scared to do anything to help him. I remember being frightened but also angry. I wanted to shout at him: ‘What did you go and do that for?’ I wanted to tell him he was a cruel, nasty man, but I just stood there in the end, too scared to say a thing. Inside I was full of anger and sadness. If I’d had the power to do the same thing to him, right then, honestly I think I would have.