by Ben Smith
It was his confidence that persuaded me, the way he talked about it in a very matter-of-fact way: ‘I am going to do this thing and I am going to be successful.’ I had a feeling things must have happened in his life to make him want to do the Challenge and after a couple of dates he told me about the bullying. I was bullied, too, but wasn’t affected by it like he was. His experience was a lot worse, and I was always able to tell myself that the bullies weren’t going to be as successful in life as me. But I’ve never known the old Ben, the Ben that I fell in love with was very different. Even when he told me the stories, it was like he was talking about a different person. But what happened to him at school made him the amazing man he is today, doing the amazing things he’s doing. It was a traumatic time for him, but he can’t regret it too much. Without that time, he would be living a completely different life.
My mum and dad met Ben after about a month of me living in Bristol and they loved him straightaway. I think they liked the fact he was just a normal man who happened to be gay, he wasn’t defined by his sexuality. He fitted into my life and I fitted into his. I went on holiday for two weeks just before he started the Challenge, and I was doing my archaeology PhD at the same time. We had to spend weeks and weeks apart, which was challenging, but we could deal with it. In fact, I think it just made the relationship stronger.
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We saw each other again on New Year’s Day and Kyle soon became my first proper boyfriend. It was all my fantasies starting to come true and I felt so relieved that it didn’t feel weird or unnatural. Remember how it feels falling in love, then imagine how it feels falling in love when you never thought it could happen. I’d never believed that old saying, ‘When you know, you know’, but you do. It hits you like a freight train and you don’t know whether you’re coming or going. You can grab hold of it and ride it, or you can try to fight it. I’d been fighting it for too many years, so I grabbed hold of it. Although I waited until the second date. As I said, I’m a gentleman.
I didn’t think he had fallen as hard for me as I fell for him, but it still felt right. Quite early on, Kyle said: ‘I’m not going to tell you I love you for the first three months.’ He lasted a month and a half. When he told me, I said: ‘I’m so glad you said that, because I’ve been wanting to say it ever since I met you.’ I’d been through all that shit and now I was rewarded with the one thing I’d always wanted in life – the perfect partner. And when I say, ‘the perfect partner’, this is a guy who doesn’t share my passion for running. In fact, he hates it. And I was about to start running 401 marathons. And he was doing his PhD at the time. And he was off on holiday to Australia two days before the Challenge started. He’d booked it before we got together, and when he said he didn’t have to go, I told him not to be silly.
All in all, it was like some weird relationship test gameshow. I dropped him off on his birthday – 29 August – and I cried when I said goodbye to him, because I was worried we wouldn’t be able to make it last. I’d finally found this perfect man I’d been looking for, and now I was pissing off for 401 days. I did feel guilty, but he could see how important it was to me. And maybe it was a blessing in disguise. We’re both quite independent, so don’t need to be in each other’s pockets all the time, and him not being there gave me the space to be able to focus on the project. He stuck by me and gave me the freedom to go away and follow my dream, and you can’t ask for much more than that.
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Beverley Smith, Ben’s mum: Once he came out, he was our Ben again – you could see that light in his eyes he used to have as a kid and his strength came back to him. When he met Kyle, he phoned me and said: ‘Oh Mum, I’ve met this lovely, amazing fella.’ I said: ‘Fill your boots, you lucky bugger!’ He’s been shining ever since. And when they’re together, the shine comes off the both of them. You can tell Kyle loves Ben, loves the bones of him. Ben said that when he first introduced us, he might be a bit quiet. But we shared a bottle of Prosecco and we’ve been best of mates ever since. Even when Ben visits on his own, and even if he’s tired or stressed, you get him talking about Kyle and his eyes light up again.
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DAY 49: My first school visit of the Challenge is in Battle, Sussex, and I absolutely love it. I could just visit schools and talk about my experiences for the rest of my life. School visits were always part of the plan, but nothing was in place before I set off. So organising the visits has become part of Tolu and Kyle’s remit (on top of everything else!). As the Challenge progresses, the visits become absolutely integral to the project, and it gets to the point where people are asking us to visit schools, rather than the other way round. I did my university dissertation on bullying, and as part of my research I spoke to groups of kids in schools. But that was very different to talking in front of a whole school. The first few times during the Challenge, I’m really nervous – especially standing in front of a room full of teenagers who all think I’m nuts – because I don’t really know what I’m going to say. But what I say goes down well, and I’ve got time to work out what has worked and what hasn’t.
I don’t have a preference between primary or secondary, it’s just two different versions of the same story. With the younger kids, it’s about putting my story into context. I don’t talk about my sexuality or suicide attempts because it isn’t appropriate for kids of that age. I get kids who want to know what my favourite pizza topping is, kids who want to know if I’ve been running with a bulldog. All the really important questions! The craziest things come out of their mouths, but they’re excited and engaged. I tell them I’ve run however many times around their playground, or from where they’re sitting to Sydney, and they can’t get their heads around it.
Then we talk about why I’m doing the Challenge. I ask if they know what bullying is and how it makes them feel, and usually they answer in one word. And some of those words are very profound – ‘suicide’, ‘depressed’, ‘anxious’. I even had a five-year-old use the word ‘melancholy’. And then I say: ‘What if I told you I was bullied for eight years and all those words you just said are how it made me feel?’ I’ve had a few kids stand up and tell the entire school they’re being bullied, which is a huge thing to do. I’d talk to them afterwards, with a teacher, to make sure they were OK. Then, I like to lighten things up again with a few stories about pizza toppings and running with dogs!
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Stefanie Beamish-Pena, an inspired teacher: I read Ben’s story on the Run Mummy Run website and found it very inspirational. At the time, I was teaching at St Michael’s Easthampstead Primary School in Bracknell, and I just dropped him an email, asking if he’d be happy to come and talk to our children and tell them what he was up to. I didn’t really know how he would be with the kids, but I guessed that somebody who was willing to do 401 marathons for such good causes would definitely inspire them. And from a purely selfish point of view, I was just desperate to meet him, as were other members of staff.
He was such a nice guy and we all fell in love with him. Some people can stand in front of an audience and grab their attention. He was one of those people, almost hypnotic. He was talking to children as young as four and a half, but you could see on their faces how excited they were. They asked really odd questions, like: ‘Have you run with penguins?’ They were also obsessed with how many medals he had, because they thought he won one after every marathon. He was able to put things into the kids’ language, like when he told them how many times he’d run around their playground. I was watching him speak and thinking: ‘He’s had such a hard life, how does he keep smiling?’ So many people just sit on their problems and feel sorry for themselves.
When he talked about bullying, which is obviously a serious subject, he pitched it just right. His message was positive: if you want something, go for it, there’s nothing to lose; work hard for what you want; don’t listen to what anybody else says. Some kids don’t he
ar those kinds of positive messages in their homes and need that confidence boost. The fact that they were hearing it from somebody who had done this amazing thing made it even more valuable. Ben wasn’t doing 401 marathons because he thought it made him sound cool, he was doing it for what he believed in.
The whole day ended on a high, everybody was just so happy. He was like a fluffy cloud of happiness floating into the school, raining glitter. All the women had a huge crush on him. And I wanted him to be my friend: ‘Please don’t go!’ It was one of the highlights of the year, for me and for the school. I hope I can be like Ben, contribute to society and bring people together. You don’t have to run 401 marathons, but you do have to find your niche.
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In Stroud, the local BBC come along to do some filming at a school I’m giving a talk at. This little kid, who can’t be more than four years old, puts his hand up and is really straining as if he wants to ask the most important question in the world. I say: ‘What’s your question?’ And he says, after a little deliberation: ‘I need a wee.’ The teachers’ heads drop and the cameraman’s shoulders start moving up and down, because it was just so unexpected and funny. That teaches me not to plan anything too much, to just enjoy it, because it will probably all go to pot anyway. But because I have respect for the kids, and talk to them rather than down to them, they engage. And hopefully, by the time I’ve finished, they’ll be inspired to do something amazing.
Secondary school kids I can be a bit more raw with. I tell them about having a pretty normal life before being sent away to boarding school, and why all that changed. I tell them about the bullying, about hiding my sexuality, about trying to take my own life, and how all that got me to where I am now. That can resonate deeply with older kids. At one school, one kid gets told off for strangling another kid, while I’m in the middle of a talk, which is darkly ironic. But I’ve had kids talk openly about being bullied; kids admit that they’ve tried to take their own lives; kids who have come out as gay; I’ve had kids break down because what I’ve said has hit home; I’ve even had teachers leave the room.
Before I give a talk, I always say that anyone is free to leave, because I never know how it’s going to affect people. You don’t always know what’s going on behind closed doors. I’m not honest for dramatic effect, that’s just the best policy, there’s no point in sugar-coating it. And if you’re honest, people can see you’re speaking from the heart. I talk to them about being chased through corridors and beaten shitless on my bed. I tell them about not being able to escape and waking up every day thinking that the only way out was to take my own life. I tell them about picking up that knife, taking it to my room and cutting at my wrists. Some people find it difficult to hear, especially if they can relate to it directly. It can open up a Pandora’s Box of emotions. But it’s not about making people feel bad or confronting things they don’t want to, it’s hopefully about gaining strength from my experiences and the fact I’m able to speak openly about them. We get a lot of messages from kids, but we’re not allowed to reply to them from a safeguarding point of view. That’s really frustrating, especially when it’s a heart-felt: ‘Thanks for coming to my school and standing up and saying what you said, because it’s given me the strength to come out myself.’
Here and now I just want to say to those kids: ‘You’re welcome, be strong.’
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I’ve never really thought about whether my sexuality is down to nature or nurture. I’m not even sure it’s a relevant question. Society is obsessed with putting a label on everyone, but I don’t think it’s helpful. I used to see myself as something different, because of what society taught me, but not anymore. Now I listen to me. I’m no different to anyone else walking down the street, just because I prefer men to women. But some people don’t get that. And because they see the difference, that creates nervousness or fear. That’s when people start asking why people are like they are. To me, it doesn’t matter why you are how you are, it matters whether you are accepting of who you are, and whether you let it define you. I don’t think I let my sexuality define me. I chose to run The 401 Challenge to raise money for Stonewall because I know what they do to make life better for the LGBTQ community. I didn’t run it for Stonewall because ‘I’m proud to be a gay man’. I’m proud to be a human being, being gay is just a part of who I am.
I get frustrated with society always wanting to put people into separate boxes – labelling is never about equality because it emphasises the differences in people. The way I see it, we all bleed and wipe our arses in the same way! Well, maybe not, but you know what I mean. So many kids are unable to accept that they’re gay because they think it means they won’t be accepted by certain groups. I understand why a lot of people find sanctuary in the LGBTQ community. But I prefer to look beyond that, partly because of the Challenge and the almost Zen-like state running puts me in. It makes you think about things in a different way. It’s not that I’m rejecting the LGBTQ community by any means, it’s just that I don’t feel my sexuality is that relevant to the person I am. Some people might think that sounds like I’m ashamed of who I am. I’m really not, it’s completely the opposite: these days I’m so comfortable with who I am that I feel I don’t need to belong to any group that is defined by the sexuality of its members. Isn’t that the definition of equality and how we want people to feel?
In my opinion, there’s still this masculine fear of gayness in some sections of society. That’s linked to another stereotype, that if you’re gay you can’t be masculine. That’s a load of bullshit! I feel, from my experience, that sexuality is on a scale, and we’re no longer living in a world of stereotypes where if you’re a camp, flamboyant man, you’re necessarily gay and if you’re a butch, sporty woman, you’re a lesbian. Although, obviously, it’s perfectly fine if you are. Those perceptions aren’t disappearing fast, but they are slowly fading. More and more masculine men and feminine women are finding the courage to come out as gay, and the lines are becoming blurred, which I think is the way it should be. That’s making some people even more nervous and fearful, because they no longer know what’s what. But how they react is completely up to them; it’s becoming increasingly obvious that they’re part of a dwindling group. There are still lots of kids going through what I went through, but I’m convinced, from what I have seen, that most kids nowadays couldn’t give a shit about other people’s sexuality. I believe that 30 or 40 years down the line, the fight for gay rights won’t even be on the radar because the battle will be won – at least I hope it will.
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IN PRAISE OF BEN SMITH
BRISTOL EVENING POST,
20 OCTOBER 2015
‘…He has taken on an extraordinary challenge. And he has not wavered. He is fast approaching his 50th consecutive run. We wish him continued, blister-free success…’
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DAYS 50–60: In Dover on day 51, I get the news that Mum has been diagnosed with a chronic form of blood cancer. I’ve just done nine and a half laps of the harbour in the pissing rain, seen the same ferry come back as I saw leave in the morning, and I’m on my way to get some massage therapy when Dad calls. I’m sat in a petrol station car park, it’s cold and dark and rain is crashing against the windscreen. Everything has suddenly been put in perspective. I don’t want to give up, but I’m ready to let it all go, because what’s happening to Mum seems far more important. I’m all set to tell Dad: ‘Cancel everything, I’ll just run around Lincoln for the next 350 days.’ But then Mum comes on the phone: ‘If you give up, I’ll kill you! Whatever happens to me, don’t stop doing what you’re doing.’
A few years ago, Mum fell down the stairs and needed surgery on her back, after which everything that could go wrong went wrong. She contracted an infection in hospital, and a lot of irreparable damage was done. Things were so bad, she even started to question whether it was all her fault. Actuall
y, it was just shit luck. But the accident and the aftermath had a profound effect on her, in terms of her confidence, self-esteem and independence. I think the accident was the trigger for everything that’s happened since. But she’s still an absolute trooper, all she’s ever worried about is the rest of the family. Being Mum, she’s just gutted that she’ll have to step back from the project. I know when Mum’s being serious and when she’s not, and when to listen and when not. And I don’t want her to feel guilty on top of everything else. So Kyle steps up, takes over most of Mum’s duties, and I carry on. There’s never really any doubt, and every marathon I run from here on in will be for Mum.
But it takes a while for the darkness to lift. Running through Kent, I miss home, I miss my friends and I miss Kyle, who is doing his PhD in Bristol while working part-time as a pharmacy technician, like never before. I ache all over and some of the driving conditions are leaving me a bit frayed. Driving down to Cardiff from Swansea, I was up on two wheels in a gale, white-knuckling behind a lorry, shouting: ‘I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die!’ This was a three-tonne van, three metres high, six and a half metres long. I found myself filling it up with water for ballast and was permanently worried it would flip over, especially when I was tired and not thinking rationally. Battling with a van is not really what you want to be doing when you’re tired and cranky and coming down with a cold. In Canterbury, on day 54, I drive all the way to Bristol, to do the Bristol to Bath Marathon, head back to Portishead to pick the van up, before driving to Sittingbourne in Kent, which is a distance of 190 miles.
I’m not super-human, I’m just a normal person, and I’m absolutely shot, completely and utterly knackered. So I resolve to be a bit more honest in my Facebook videos, to tell it like it really is. There was a temptation to keep a lid on the lows, because we thought some people might say: ‘Well, nobody asked you to run 401 marathons in 401 days.’ But there’s no point pretending everything’s hunky-dory when it isn’t, because that gives a false impression about my life, and the whole point of the Challenge is openness and honesty.