by Ben Smith
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SEPTEMBER 2016 IN NUMBERS
Marathons: 30
Miles run: 806.3 (average per day: 26.9)
Running time: 184:30.47 hours (average per day: 6:09.02)
Number of people run with: 1214
Distance personal bests: 175
First marathons/ultra-marathons: 69
Pints of cider: 15
Flat whites: 30
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Jim and Trish Divine, two of Scotland’s finest: We never had any doubts that Ben would do it. After our first day running with him, we saw him first thing in the morning and he was bouncing about like Tigger, ready to go again, and this was after he’d run 100-odd marathons. Nothing was going to stop him. We’d both done athletics and met people who had reached great heights in the sport, so we kept trying to tell Ben that he was given a gift, because we didn’t think he knew it. Not everybody can just decide to become an endurance runner, but if he put his mind to it, he could break three hours for the marathon, no problem. Not everyone is capable of doing what he did – you have to have an enormous engine, as well as the mental strength. We’d never seen mental toughness like it.
Ben was told for so many years that he wasn’t gifted at anything, but it turns out he’s gifted at a lot of things, not least communication. Ben taught people that it’s OK to have vulnerabilities, never to give up and that anyone can do amazing things if they put their mind to it. He re-energised us, reminded us that there’s much more to be done.
Nick Dransfield, Ben’s running brother: When I told people I was going to do the last 15 marathons with Ben, they thought I was mental. But I wanted a ringside seat for the end of something I don’t think will ever be repeated. It broke me, mentally and physically. But Ben coached me as to how it would feel and I gained such strength from him. I also thrived on watching it all unfold in front of me. It was like watching a film that went on for two weeks, with different characters arriving and threads unfolding at different times.
Before the Bournemouth Marathon, Ben said to me: ‘I haven’t had many male friends in my life, but you’re one of my very best.’ Thankfully, I was wearing sunglasses, because I got a bit teary and choked up. I was just very proud to think that this special man who was doing this special thing would consider me one of his best friends. From Ben, I learned that if you put your mind to something, whatever it is, you’ll do it; I learned what it is to be happy; and I learned that cider from Somerset is best…
Chapter 13
Shall We Go Home?
I don’t really sleep the night before the final marathon, and not just because I’m on a blow-up bed. I’m not emotional, it’s more that I know I still have a job to do. I’ve achieved two of the stated goals – inspiring people and raising awareness of bullying – but I still have to finish and we’re still nowhere near raising £250,000, which has become a constant source of worry. Awareness is great, but in order to capitalise on that awareness and make a difference, the charities need money more than anything.
DAY 401: The morning of the final day – 5 October 2016 – I skip breakfast before driving from Portishead to Millennium Square in Bristol, where the Challenge began 401 days earlier. It’s a crisp, bright, beautiful morning, just as we’d hoped it would be. People are already setting up, including my friends, Simon and Helena Hills from TrueStart Coffee, who have stood by us through thick and thin, and Jupiter Asset Management, who made a donation on the final day and paid for the inflatable finishing arch (which don’t come cheap!). Friends and family are congregating, the press start showing up, and already it’s clear that I’ll share this final day with more than the six people and a dog I started with.
Kyle has scheduled interviews with seemingly every journalist in the country. We’ve made some great contacts with BBC Breakfast, particularly Jon Kay, who came out to do a piece with us with seven days to go and kept the momentum going all week. Also, there on that final day are Good Morning Britain, BBC World News, Sky News, BBC Radio 2, Reuters, the Press Association and some of the national newspapers, so I find myself being dragged from camera crew to camera crew, from reporter to reporter. That’s my role on the final day, to be told exactly what to do. There’s some butting of heads between Kyle and Dad, but otherwise it’s like a well-oiled machine, just as you’d expect with those two in charge, and I’m seen and heard by tens of millions of people around the globe. It’s insane for a 34-year-old from Portishead, a man who is really nothing special at all. Media satisfied, Kyle shoves me in the van and tells me to stay there for an hour, so I can get my head together. After I emerge, the crowd has swelled to hundreds and I stand on a chair to address everybody. It’s such a beautiful atmosphere, a formal event run in a fun, informal way. Then, having already run 10,480 miles, I take my place on the start line, the klaxon sounds and I begin the last 26.2.
I’m still conducting live phone interviews while running, which I’ve done a lot over the last few weeks. The reporter or presenter can never quite believe it, because I’m never out of breath. My body has just got used to doing what I’ve been asking it to do. I sometimes think that it must be empowering for people to hear that the seemingly mad can seem so normal – ‘If this bloke can run 401 marathons and not even be out of breath, I can do bloody anything if I put my mind to it’. That day I have about 470 people running with me, plus 2100 more in Britain and elsewhere – France, Italy, Germany, South Africa, Dubai, Hong Kong, America, Australia – via The 401 Virtual Challenge, most of them raising money for Kidscape and Stonewall. It’s a mass celebration, a bringing together of like-minded people from as far afield as possible. And as the miles tick by, Twitter and Facebook start going crazy and the donations start pouring in. At the halfway point, we stop for lunch at a pub near our new flat, and somebody informs me that we’ve hit our target of a quarter of a million pounds. It’s a massive relief, because it means we’ve almost achieved everything we set out to do. Sky News stick a camera in my face and I start crying. All I can think is: ‘This is the most embarrassing moment of my life. What a wuss…’ But once I’ve wiped the tears away, I allow myself to think, for the first time in 401 days, that I might just complete the Challenge. Only 13.1 miles left, a short trot back to Bristol – pull yourself together, man…
••••••••••
Nikki Kerr, head of fundraising at Kidscape: It was so thrilling to be involved with the Challenge, right the way through. It was great going to staff meetings and saying: ‘This week we’ve had ‘x’ thousand pounds, and this many people tweeting us…’ There was such a fantastic feel good factor, which I hadn’t experienced before. The best thing I can do as head of fundraising is to tell people stories, and there is nothing as powerful as someone telling you their own story. Ben is brilliant at that. During the Challenge, Kidscape got frequent messages on social media, emails and the odd letter from people who had become aware of us through Ben. They wanted to share their stories with us or support what Ben was doing. And what he did is still having an impact on so many people. He brought a new awareness to Kidscape and I will forever be grateful for that.
Before the 401, Kidscape had had four years of being in deficit. We were okay, because we’d been careful in previous years and built up some reserves. But those reserves wouldn’t have lasted forever, there would have come a point where we would have had to think about cutting back on services or staff. The 401 brought us back on an even keel and then some, so we could start thinking about innovation and widening our reach and impact. We haven’t used all the money Ben raised yet, because it was an awful lot. Some of it has been spent on long-running projects, like our face-to-face workshops for bullied children. We’re also developing some pilot work, which will be funded by 401 money, to build resilience in young people. That fits in really well with Ben’s message, that if you put your mind to something and have the right support and right skills, there is nothing you can’t do. Ben thought it sounded fantastic
, and signed up as a Kidscape ambassador. I won’t be the first to say it and I definitely won’t be the last, but Ben is an amazing man.
••••••••••
A couple of weeks before the final day, we held a competition for a local school to run the final stretch with me. So just before the last mile, we’re joined by 30 kids from Portishead Primary School. So now there are just over 500 of us, including loads of children, and it’s like herding cats into a pen. Even at that stage, I hadn’t really thought about the end. Suddenly, my phone rings. It’s Kyle, saying: ‘Where are you?! What’s taking you so long? I’ve got the press waiting for you on the finish line, hurry up and get here!’ I was like, ‘I’m coming! But give me a break, I’ve got all these people with me!’ We end up almost having a row on the phone! When I enter Millennium Square, I can’t see the finish line, but suddenly I do. I run ahead of the kids, because I’m thinking: ‘You know what? I’ve worked bloody hard, I don’t want anyone crossing the line before me!’ And after I cross the line, the first thing that pops into my head is: ‘Oh. Is that it?’
It isn’t exactly an anti-climax, because the reception is incredible. It’s just different to how I thought it would be. This is the culmination of years of trials and tribulations and hard graft, and I think I’m strangely unemotional because it’s all so overwhelming and frankly, I just can’t deal with it. I’m surrounded by cameras and reporters and kids all chanting my name – ‘Ben! Ben! Ben!’ – before Kyle is pushed into the centre of the scrum and I give him a big hug and a kiss. Tolu, refreshed after her break and back on board, grabs my hand and drags me into the back of the van before all hell breaks loose. I want to celebrate with the people I ran with, have pictures taken with people who had achieved personal bests, just as I had done all the way through, but I don’t get a chance to do it, because I have to do so many interviews. I do get to see Kyle’s mum Pat and her mate Chez cross the finish line, having run their first ultra-marathons, despite getting lost, and I give Mum and Dad a cuddle. And if I seem unemotional, the same can’t be said for Mum…
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Beverley Smith, Ben’s mum: We were there at the beginning, when there was a smattering of people in Millennium Square and the odd 10p was going in a bucket. But on the final day, you could hardly get in the place and there were people coming up to us with £20 notes. Towards the end, we were starting to wonder if he’d ever raise all the money, so when we heard that they’d achieved their goal, I was very, very emotional. A few hours later, when I saw him coming towards the finish line, I thought my heart was going to burst. I was still unwell and in a wheelchair, so I couldn’t get to him, and he disappeared into this crowd of people. But we eventually got to the front, and when he hugged me, I just started bawling.
People kept asking me: ‘How do you feel? How do you feel?’ And all I could say was: ‘401! 401!’ I was just overwhelmed by the magnificence of his achievement. There were no other words to express how I felt. I just kept looking at him and thinking: ‘That’s our scraggy little kid, that broken young man, the one who thought he was useless, would never achieve anything, because he had been repeatedly told by his peers and teachers that that would be the case. But look at him now. He’s like this Pied Piper character, living a life that is true, and helping others to live life like him…
Pete Smith, Ben’s dad: Occasionally, I’d see a comment on the internet along the lines of: ‘How can this bloke afford to do what he’s doing? Some of us have to do a job!’ Normally, I couldn’t be arsed replying, but once or twice I bit. I’d reply: ‘I’ll explain to you how he’s doing what he’s doing: he literally stopped his old life and sold everything – his house, every single bit of furniture, his TV, stereo – so that everything he owned was in that van, apart from one small cardboard box and a picture, which he left in our back room. And he didn’t even own the van, because we paid for it. Every part of the Challenge is self-funded, he’s not on benefits and he’s not asking for benefits. But what he has done is something you’ll never, ever do in your life – gone out and done what he wanted to do, pushed himself to the absolute limit, to raise awareness and money for a cause he is passionate about.’
The number of people who said he wouldn’t be able to do it, and he stuck two fingers up at them and did it, while having a whale of a time, most of the time. When I joined the Air Force, it was all I’d ever wanted to do, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself doing it for 40-odd years. So I was so happy that after being lost for so long, Ben was finally able to be true to himself. He was a nice man doing what he wanted to do with his life, things that made him feel good. He was finally able to say: ‘Nobody is in control of me, and I can do anything I want, if I put my mind, body, heart and soul into it.’ That’s a powerful message for anyone.
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I take to the stage, because I want to make sure I thank Kidscape and Stonewall, who have made their presence felt on the final day. But most of all, I want to thank the members of the team who made it all possible. I did all the running, but without Kyle, Dad, Mum, Tolu, Lucy and Vicky, it never would have happened. I’m fine until I get to Kyle, and then I start to blub again. Everybody thinks I’m about to propose, but that would be too cheesy. But I just felt this outpouring of love for him. Kyle hates running, really can’t stand it, but he put up with me running 401 marathons, having only been with me for a few months when I started. If that’s not proof that somebody loves you, cares for you, wants the best for you in life, I don’t know what is.
After the final interviews have been done, people start to shuffle off to the pub and Millennium Square soon empties. When we’re finished packing up, all that is left is me, Kyle and Florence, sitting on her own in the dark. It feels symbolic, there is this overwhelming sense of: ‘Oh my God, look at everything that just happened. Job done, well done, but normal life still exists. Time to get back to it….’ It sounds bleak, but it’s perfect. Kyle and I climb into the van and I turn to him and say: ‘Shall we go home?’ And we do.
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Ben’s Remarkable Feet!
THE DAILY EXPRESS,
6 OCTOBER 2016
‘…He’s worn out 23 pairs of trainers and clocked up 10,506.2 miles – the equivalent of running from London to Sydney – while enjoying the company of around 10,000 other runners and novices, plus family and friends along the way. But surely Ben’s greatest accomplishment is silencing those who bullied him by crossing the finishing line yesterday having made friends and fans for life during the past 401 days…’
THE 401 CHALLENGE IN NUMBERS
Marathons: 401
Miles run: 10,506.2 (average per day: 26.2)
Running time: 2,145:58.58 hours (average per day: 5:21.06)
Feet climbed: 439,637 (15 x Mount Everest)
Calories burnt: 2.3 million
Number of people run with: 12,697
Distance personal bests: 1,354
First marathons/ultra-marathons: 575
Towns and cities visited: 292
Facebook impressions: 36 million
School talks: 101
Pounds raised: 330,000
National and international awards: 12
Pints of cider: 202
Flat whites: 396
Chapter 14
Give Me a Break
The following morning, I woke up and had back-to-back interviews for about six hours. We’d now raised about £290,000, but this was our chance to raise even more. I didn’t really know what I was going to do next – we hadn’t given much thought to day 402, or 403, or 404. We knew it would be an issue suddenly just stopping, but nobody had done what I’d done, so nobody could tell me how to ease back into the real world. I was flying blind. I came up with a cool-down plan, using my own logic, consisting of a month of back-to-back half-marathons, followed by a month of back-to-back 10ks, then a month of back-to-back 5ks. But the night after the end of the 401, I went out for a run,
managed about eight miles and thought: ‘Fuck this.’ When I got home, I felt disappointed with myself, so I dragged myself out the next day, managed 11 miles and thought: ‘Fuck this again. This ain’t happening.’ I’d done what I needed to do and now my body was saying: ‘No thanks, no more.’
We were quite naïve in our understanding of how my body would react, especially my mind, and all hell broke loose. I hooked back up with my personal trainer, Andy Davis, to discover the physical effect of the Challenge on my body, and we found that all these muscles and ligaments had been weakened. My head had completely gone, there was absolutely no desire to run any distance at all. I’d been surviving on adrenaline for 401 days, but while my adrenaline levels had been through the roof, my serotonin levels had depleted, and now I just crashed through the floor. I went through a two-month period when I wouldn’t have slept at all if I hadn’t been put on very strong tablets (which were actually antidepressants) because I wasn’t asking my body to run through walls anymore. In fact, I wasn’t really asking it to do anything. I’d lie in bed and it would feel like my heart was trying to beat a hole in my chest. It felt like somebody had stabbed me with an adrenaline needle, my body was coursing with so much energy. I started getting palpitations and when I went to get them checked out, the doctors discovered I’d lost a certain percentage of performance in my heart, although they were happy it was nothing serious.
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Andy Davis, Ben’s personal trainer: When I got Ben back after the Challenge was finished, he was a wreck again. Because he’d destroyed his back, he was hunched over, and I wasn’t sure if it was fixable. His feet were a complete mess and his balance was shot, he couldn’t even stand on one leg. He had no muscle on him, he was skin and bone, and his joints were screwed. Because of his back, we couldn’t put much stress on it, so we concentrated on core stability and single leg sets, with heart-rate elevation exercises in between, because we needed to slowly bring his heart back to its previous size. We strengthened his core as much as we could and got his body back to quite a good place. But I wouldn’t advise anyone to do what Ben did. Fifty marathons in a row, maybe, but certainly not 401. I don’t think many people could do it anyway, even some of the fittest professional athletes. Ben told me that when he was running, he couldn’t put a number on the pain. It was the mindset that got him through it. You have to be one of a kind to do something like that, completely and utterly driven.