Marathon Man Page 7

  Eventually, my dad cut the dog down and took it into the woods, put it in a bush and threw some leaves over it. Then we started to walk back to the campsite. I kept my eyes down. We walked in silence for a bit, but then he stopped in his tracks and started giving me a hiding, telling me it was my fault the dog was dead, which confused me. I was experiencing so many emotions, but all I knew was to keep quiet. I just wanted to get to the car and go home without anyone else getting hurt. To this day I get really upset if I see any animal suffering, and I’m sure that awful day had a very big effect on me.

  So that was our weekend’s camping. I knew when we set off in the car it was too good to be true. After that, we were all sad, but things just carried on as usual. We got on with the business of surviving each day and we never again spoke about the dog, even in private. My mum was pretty shaken up by that day, too, more than the rest of us. I think my dad killing our dog had frightened her. She was already a woman on the edge, facing more in my dad than she could possible handle. What it must have been like for her, watching her family suffer like that and being powerless to help, I’ll never know.

  Eventually something happened to change everything. It almost killed me, but it turned out to be just what was needed to get us out of there.

  It was June now and starting to warm up. Not that I was seeing too much sunshine, as I was running mainly in the early morning, with the occasional evening run, so sunrise and sunset were often my running companions (though I continued to be joined by more and more friends and supporters, at least for the later laps of the marathon and sometimes for the entire run).

  That first weekend in June I was registered to run in the Viking Coastal marathons on the Kent coast, one on the Saturday and another on the Sunday. I got the train down there late on the Friday evening, and by the time I arrived I was starving and went looking for a hot meal but couldn’t find anywhere open. Eventually, I found a restaurant that was closing, but they agreed to give me a meal.

  After dinner, I went to the race HQ on the seafront in Birchington to set up my tent. The best place I could find was on a bit of concrete between two beach huts. Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have been camping there and when a patrol man found me I thought I’d get moved on, but after he’d heard my story he said he’d turn a blind eye.

  I didn’t sleep great that night and woke at 5.30am and crawled out of my droopy looking tent. I put on loads of clothes to keep warm before watching an amazing sunrise while eating jam sandwiches and drinking Lucozade. Now I was ready for anything.

  The course consisted of a flat, coastal path which we had to run along and back, four times. There were no special features or challenges to it, just flat running on firm ground with the wind in your hair and the ocean always at your shoulder. The sky was blue and the sun shone a steady 70 degrees. The simplicity of the course, the pleasant conditions and the small field of about 60 runners made for a good race. What it lacked in drama it made up for in friendliness and scenery.

  This was an event put on by marathon legend Traviss Willcox. He is possibly the most respected multiple marathoner in Britain, and his was an even more unlikely story than my own. In 2009, he was a fairly unfit 42-year-old who got the running bug after struggling around his first 5k course. Since that time he has achieved, among other things, the world record for being the fastest in history to run 100 official marathons, completing them in just 688 days.

  I got to chat with Traviss at the event, though we had already been in communication by email. He’s a very likeable and modest guy who was one of the few people who had an idea what I was going through. He was full of good advice on both the physical and mental aspects of multiple marathon running, much of which has been very helpful.

  I had already taken to heart Traviss’s most enduring advice: never ever give up. The difference between those who can and those who can’t is often a question of resolve. How much do you want it? How much are you prepared to endure? It was inspiring talking to him. Here was another guy as ordinary as me but willing to achieve something extraordinary at almost any cost.

  With nowhere to rush off to after the race, I was able to fully give myself to the occasion, encouraging other runners, taking them gels and drinks during the race. I have learned that the best way to enjoy a race, and to be energised by it rather than worn down, is to focus on helping those around you. I often take extra food bars to share with other runners and if I see someone struggling, I’ll always stop to see if I can help. Sometimes it’s a question of a few words – ‘Don’t give up!’, ‘Well done, you’re doing a great job!’, ‘You’re doing really well.’ Or sometimes a bit of silliness can relieve the tension and if you can make someone laugh or be distracted from their pain it can help them get past a difficult moment.

  Many a time I’ve done a silly fairy dance on a course or airplaned past someone singing a song to take the heat out of the moment (‘I love you, baby’, the refrain from Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ being my favourite). Sometimes I’ll lie down in someone’s path so they have to jump over me – anything to make light of a situation that is becoming heavy. Heaviness is not good for marathon running. You need to keep mind and body light out there. So have fun and spread good vibes where they are needed, that’s my advice to anyone looking to do any endurance event. Focus on helping other people and your own problems seem smaller. I call it the double-reverse psychology: do or say something to another to take both of your minds away from the suffering of the moment. It really works – try it yourself and see.

  At the end of the race, I tend to stay at the finish line to congratulate runners as they arrive. I met some great people that day and swapped stories with them during and after the race. As always, they were incredibly supportive and promised to pledge money to my charities and keep an eye on my progress online, throughout the year.

  Eventually, everyone went their own separate ways and I got a coffee at the start/finish line and settled down with my Dean Karnazes book. That day I read his account of his world record 350-mile non-stop run without sleep. He only stopped running when he lost consciousness mid-stride. Running until you could run no more – wow! That sounded like my kind of challenge.

  Just as I was turning a page on my book, Dustin and Dominika turned up with their son William. They’d driven down to have dinner and camp with me for the night. They were a welcome sight. We played football on the beach and larked about. This helped take my mind off things. It was warm and soon we’d stripped off and were wading out into the Channel – well, the three boys at least. The sea was a welcome tonic for my legs. I challenged Dustin to a swim out to a distant buoy, but he wasn’t up for it so after a bit more splashing about and dunking William, we came back in.

  It was evening now and we drove into the nearby town to get a takeaway dinner. We ate our food and watched the sun set before putting up our tents, this time on a patch of grass at the race finish, just 30 yards from the beach. Weekends like this, away at marathon events with friends, are what it was all about. Being outdoors, exercising, camping – the simple pleasures are what make me happy. I wished Joanna and Alexander could have been there, too. That would have been perfect.

  The next day was more of the same, running the identical course, my 60th marathon. Dustin tried to run his first marathon that day but ended up stopping after 13 miles. He was just one of many friends and acquaintances who were inspired by my running to take on their first marathon. He’d get there in the end and run the full distance later that year with me. That day I ran the exact same time, 3 hours 42 minutes, as the day before (spooky!) and came third overall. I met more great people and the sun shone.

  Since wearing the Brooks Ravennas for a while now, my feet were much less sore and my arches didn’t ache in the latter half of the race, which was a great relief. Maybe there are a few more marathons in me yet, I thought.

  The week that followed involved five more early-morning marathons in Richmond Park. I was so busy with work and r
unning and family life that the week pretty much flew by, but one of those mornings was different, though. As I came around to Sheen Gate after the first loop of the marathon, I found a woman waiting there who had come out to meet me. We got talking and she began to tell me why she had done so.

  ‘I know about what you went through as a child,’ she said. ‘Because I went through what your mum went through and my son lived through what you had to. But you are really strong and my son wasn’t . . .,’ she paused. ‘So he took his own life when he was seven years old . . .’ Her eyes filled with pain and tears, and I took her hands in mine.

  ‘You have to understand,’ she continued. ‘You are a blessing to all of us who have suffered. You don’t know what you really mean to us. Please continue what you are doing and share your story, our story, with the world.’

  Wow! I was completely blown away. We embraced. It was a very emotional moment for us both. ‘You’re a really brave lady for coming down and sharing that with me,’ I said. ‘I feel your pain and I promise to finish my year one way or another and to keep telling my story.’

  It amazed me that my story seemed to be making such a difference to people like that, people I’d never even met before. If ever I felt like quitting, I would remember her words and they would give me added resolve to keep going.

  Soon enough the weekend had come around again and I had my biggest test to date ahead of me: the Scafell Pike Trail marathon. Officially an ultra marathon at 44km long, it takes place in the Lake District, in the North of England. (I should add that currently the definition of an ultra marathon, or ultra distance, is any foot race longer than the traditional marathon length of 42.195km (26.219 miles). But I think an ultra race is more difficult to define than that and depends on the person. For me, an ultra is any race which takes you beyond your physical capability to the point where you need to rely on your mind and whatever else you can find within to get through it. For trained athletes, an ultra might need to be at least 100 miles, but for others it could be as little as 3 miles.) It’s a serious race for serious runners, and they didn’t just let anyone turn up and race.

  And for good reason – the Scafell Pike Trail marathon was part of the European Mountain Marathon series and some of the best trail runners in the world would be racing. The current World Trail Running champion, Ricky Lightfoot, a legend of the running world, would be there. The course had over 4000 feet of overall elevation, taking us to the peak of the highest mountain in England, Scafell Pike, and over some very challenging terrain. It was, by all accounts, a bit on the tough side.

  Ordinarily, a plodder like me wouldn’t have been allowed entry to a race this tough, and the organisers had initially turned down my request to race. My lack of trail running experience made me a liability, they said, but after a bit of persuasion they changed their mind and let me run. Ali thought I was crazy for doing it. He said I was jeopardising my challenge by taking it on. What if I couldn’t finish it? What then? My challenge would be over if I couldn’t finish 26.2 miles in a day. There’d be no time to get back to Richmond Park to trot out one more of the old faithful. I thought I’d be fine, though I was a little nervous, I’ll admit. The way everyone spoke about it, like it was a monster that could swallow you up, made me a little uneasy. Surely it was only a bit of running? I’d done plenty of that by that stage.

  This was one of those occasions where I had Joanna and Alexander with me, so I was in a good mood. I think Joanna was a little nervous for me, but Alexander looked unworried so I took confidence from that. That Friday night, the three of us camped by Derwent Water, in the Borrowdale valley right in the heart of the Lake District. Borrowdale has a reputation as the most beautiful valley in England and it is breathtaking. Camping by the lake in this place, surrounded by craggy fells and lush green, was a serene experience, something to really savour.

  At the race briefing on the morning of the race, I nodded confidently when the race director spoke of the essentials we all of course, by requirement, had in our bags: compass, mobile phone fully charged, waterproof top and bottoms, first-aid kit. I did have a mobile phone, but it had no charge. The other items were sadly absent. I’d have to get myself more together, I thought.

  Ricky Lightfoot was there and I said hello. ‘Marathon Man!’ he said when he saw me. Wow, Ricky Lightfoot knows who I am! ‘We’ll find out what you’re made of today, hey?’ he joked, a big smile on his face. He was warning me this wasn’t going to be like the Richmond Park marathon today. Was it too late to change my name to ‘Half-marathon Man’? They did have the shorter distance here. It was good to talk to Ricky and I liked his attitude. He was relaxed but confident. We’d stay in touch on social media after the race and I’d rate him among the most impressive and helpful guys I came across in my year’s running.

  At the race start, I reminded myself that an elite world champion was expected to win the race in a time close to four hours, so this was going to be a long day for someone like me. Best to just take my time, feel my way around the course and, as the day went on, pick up the pace if I felt it was in me.

  I kissed Joanna goodbye at the start and Alexander slapped a dirty hand in my face as I tried to kiss him. I think it was his way of saying, ‘There’ll be time for that later, Daddy, right now go race!’

  The gun went off at the start and we were away. The majority of the 200-strong field went off like it was the start of a 400m race. I was baffled: this is a marathon, right? One of the toughest trail marathons in Europe, too. Do these guys know something I don’t? Typically, my plans went out the window as I tried to keep up with the field. We ran along the flat for a bit, around the lake and then onto woodland trails. I was in the leading pack for a while, but then we started to ascend – steeply. My super-fit companions skipped up the rocky slopes like they were mountain goats and I was left struggling to stay in touch. Then they pulled away and other runners started to overtake me. You’re not one of them, Rob, I reminded myself, but nobody likes being passed in a race, even if it’s by world champions.

  I made my way up the steep incline as best I could. The scenery was stunning, though I was struggling to appreciate it. We climbed up to the right of Castle Crag, a small, 300m hill, but a tough ascent. At the top we started to come down the other side. Many of the quicker runners who’d gone by me earlier were picking their way very gingerly down the other side. Too much caution, I thought. I can run this.

  So I almost sprinted down; I was in my element. I flew past the more cautious runners, focusing intently on my feet placement over the rough terrain. I went past two guys and heard one say, ‘Jeez, that guy’s going to kill himself!’ I think that put some doubt into my head, because the next thing I knew I slipped and wiped out in spectacular fashion.

  It felt like I tumbled head over heels a few times before coming to rest. It was pretty bad; I had cut my legs up a bit and managed to wind myself. A couple of guys stopped to check I was OK. I waved them on, ‘I’m fine,’ I said, holding my thumb up. Then the rest of the field ran past as I dusted myself off and gasped for air. Ouch! Nice one, Rob. The new boy was clearly out of his depth.

  I’m sure that wouldn’t have happened if that guy hadn’t mentioned the idea of falling. It goes to show how important the words in your head can be – that’s why I always try to give people some encouragement. Most of the words are your own, the thoughts which you can keep an eye on, to make sure they’re on your side, but there’s not much you can do about what other people have to say.

  Running downhill in races is something of an art. Ricky Lightfoot showed me a method for descending later that evening, which really helped in future races. He said you need to raise your arms in the air, to roughly ear height, when coming downhill. Then you can let yourself kind of fall down the hill, descending at speed. Holding your arms in the air helps reduce any tension as well as making it easier to steer to avoid obstacles (drop your left arm down hard to turn left, etc). With your arms down by your side, it is too easy to resist the slop
e, adding tension to your body and slowing you down. I practised this repeatedly on downhills over the course of the year and it really does work. You have to overcome that fear of falling we instinctively have, which makes us put the brakes on.

  I wasn’t too badly hurt so I soon got moving again. It wasn’t far to Seathwaite and the first feed station. I wolfed down some treats there and got some liquid on board. I was sweating more than I’d expected, the effect of all the climbing and the considerable heat, too. Getting going again, the real ascent started, up to Styhead Tarn and beyond to the Corridor, up Scafell Pike itself. It was tough going and I made slow but steady progress. Some bits were so steep I was using my hands to scramble my way up.

  The path was hard to make out at times and it was only following other runners that kept me going in the right direction. I’d later learn Ricky got lost way ahead of me, so it was clearly hard for us all to stay on route. Picking my way through vast swathes of boulders along the edge of Styhead Gill was a real challenge.

  At the first mountain checkpoint, I was surprised to see no water or supplies, just a check. Of course they couldn’t get hundreds of litres of water and food up there. Fortunately, I thought I had enough food and drink in my pack to keep me going, so I stopped to eat an energy bar. Other runners did the same, their faces grimacing with pain. This wasn’t easy for anyone.

  I got going again and felt recovered after the pit stop. There was fog on the mountain now, so keeping to the trail was a challenge. At Skew Gill a slab of rock lay ahead of me. Am I expected to run up that? Using my hands as much as my feet, I scrambled my way up. I stopped for a break at this point when a guy I’d met on the bus the previous day came past. ‘Come on, Rob. Let’s finish this together,’ he said, but he was in better shape than me and I couldn’t match his pace, so he went on alone.