Marathon Man

by Rob Young

  After finishing that race, I needed to get to the Halifax marathon the next morning. I was feeling in a better mood by now, though I wasn’t exactly Mr Happy, and I was still heavy-hearted. I realised it was a slump that would take a while to get through. I took a train to Halifax and went straight off to look for the race start, which was near the football stadium. Once I’d found it, I went in search of somewhere to sleep that night. I was looking for somewhere quiet and warm that I could lay my sheet down and get some undisturbed rest.

  I think I ended up in the wrong part of town, because I soon attracted the attention of a gang of locals. Three guys and a girl approached me and began asking a barrage of questions. What was I doing? Was I lost? What hotel was I staying at? What’s in the bag? Too many questions. You didn’t have to be a sniffer dog to know I was in a spot of bother. I was the prey being assessed for weaknesses. It was dark and late and I was pissed off, so I didn’t need this.

  I was close to flipping out, if I’m honest. It would have given me some satisfaction to put them on their backs right there, and to have vented some of my frustrations on them, but I wasn’t about to do that. I might have hurt one of them and I would have hated myself for it afterwards. I stayed calm and looked for a way out of the situation. I told them I was staying in a hotel in the town centre and they said they knew a short cut. They asked if I had a bank card; I suppose that was meant to be intimidating. While batting off their questions, I was scanning the area for an escape route.

  It reminded me of a similar occasion many years earlier. I was about eight years old and was cornered by three older kids in a shopping centre. They tried to steal my stuff and I just let them. A few weeks later, they caught up with me again and chased me across town. This time I ran into a dead end and there was nowhere to escape. They pushed me around a bit and called me names. I was angry but still scared. They told me to go and grab a lady’s handbag and bring it to them, then they’d let me go. I told them I wouldn’t do it. So they moved towards me as if to give me a beating, but that’s not what happened.

  I flipped. Crazy Rob appeared, and I became like my dad. I smacked two of them onto the ground and the other one ran off. Then I got on top of the ringleader, who was out on the floor, and I pinned him down and started to lay into him. He forced his way to his feet, but I wasn’t finished yet. I headbutted him and continued to kick and punch him wildly. ‘Think you can push me around? Think you can steal my stuff?’ In the end, I was dragged off by several adults and I tried to fight them, too. If you’re not for me, you’re against me. And I’m not taking it anymore.

  I really didn’t want to get into that state again.

  Eventually, I just bolted for it, running between one of the lads and the girl, figuring she’d be the least able to get hold of me. I got through the gap and I was away. I ran flat out for a couple of hundred metres and didn’t look back. Then I found a bus station, with its lights on. I darted in there and ducked down in a little alcove. A bus out of Halifax would be a good idea, I thought. Or better yet, a train home.

  Once the coast was clear, I’d had enough again. I didn’t need this, so I decided to go back to the train station and return home. Sleeping rough in the bus station was an option, but I’d lost my faith in the locals and wasn’t in the mood for any more surprises.

  I try to avoid getting into unpleasant situations such as that as much as possible. What worries me most is what I might do to someone; I don’t want to be violent, or be drawn into that world again. I hate how it feels and I worry I might get carried away and hurt somebody. I guess I’m always worried about wandering onto my father’s path.

  So I made my way back to the station, determined to head home, but it was gone midnight by now and I’d missed the last train back to London. So that was that: I was stuck in Halifax for the night. I contemplated my options before deciding to find a hotel room. Whatever I had to pay, I wasn’t hanging around on those streets any longer. I was going to be in my room for only about five hours, so I was reluctant to spend good money on it. After failing to negotiate a reduced price with the receptionist, I accepted my fate and paid up. Soon I was warm and comfortable enough in bed, but I tossed and turned for most of that night, still worked up after my unfriendly welcome into town.

  Happily, the next day I awoke on the right side of the bed. I felt like all the dark clouds had passed and I was looking forward to the day’s running. I was back. The Halifax marathon was a good one, with the route taking in a mixture of urban and rural scenery, taking us on a tour of industrial Halifax as well as through the hilly countryside. I finished in under four hours, so I was pleased with how my body was holding up. After all the dramas of that weekend, I was delighted to have got through my low period with my challenge still intact.

  It was September by now, and I was no longer working so I finally had time for other things. I had plenty of extra time to sleep and see the family, which was nice. I was also able to do a few school visits in the local area that Ali had organised, which I enjoyed. It was great chatting to kids about what I was doing – some of them practically had their tongues hanging out when I told them about all my running. They were really blown away and I could sense some of them thinking: well, if he can do that, then I can run 5km. It made running seem less scary to some, at least I hope it did.

  I don’t know how many people ran their first marathon, or did their first 5km run that year because of me, but it was a lot. Even if I didn’t raise as much money as I’d hoped to, I did help get more people out running, cycling and exercising generally. It just became infectious. Whether they did it to support me or because I was making it look achievable for the first time, I’m not sure, but they laced up their shoes and got out there. And that’s pretty much all it takes.

  Even Ali, a powerfully built rugby player, was setting his sights on a marathon. Well, he was a little bullied into that, to be fair. I did a post on Facebook suggesting he run one and said that if the post got 250 likes then he would do one. We got 269. He accepted his fate willingly, though, I’ll give him that. He really put his back into training for a few weeks, but in the end he got a nasty injury and had to stop. Or pause, as I prefer to say. I like to think he’ll run one yet.

  With that 100-miler behind me, and those few runs through the night to the beginning of races, I had got something out of my system. In September, I never ran more than one marathon a day (or race, I should say, as there were a few ultras in there, though none longer than 40 miles) throughout the whole month. I’d realised that all I needed to do now was run a marathon a day for the rest of the year and the record was mine, as by the start of September I’d run 153 marathons/ultras in 142 days. I might not have been even halfway to my target yet, but I had a few extra marathons in there just in case. As it turned out, I’d end up needing every one.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Setting More Challenges

  4 September–28 October 2014

  The Great Barrow Challenge in early September was a rarity in the UK marathon calendar – the only multi-terrain ten-day festival of running in the country. It gave me the opportunity to run ten official marathons in ten days, and I was looking forward to it. I was given a lift down to the event HQ, which was a small karate dojo/gym in a remote field in Suffolk. The event organiser, Glen Moulds, was a top karate instructor, among other things, and a bit of a character with a heart of gold.

  Those ten days were spent running morning marathons and then idling for the rest of the day. Without a car of my own, I was too far away from home to return so, between marathons, it was a case of communicating with my family and Ali by phone and getting some rest. I didn’t particularly enjoy either, if I’m honest. Overnight I’d gone from having an incredibly busy schedule to having almost nothing to do, and I wasn’t used to it. The races would be over by lunch and then it was pure downtime from there, but I was hungry for more activity, more racing. So it was frustrating at times.

  I met some great people at the Great Barr
ow Challenge, though, including a very talented marathoner called Adam Holland, who is one of the quickest in the UK. He’s become a good friend and we have big plans for future events together. There were just 15 of us who completed all ten, including the slightly bonkers Kate Jayden, one of the most prolific female multiday marathoners in the UK and a terrific character. They were all serious runners, with great stories to share and advice to give. As we were marooned together in Suffolk for the duration, we had an excellent chance to get to know each other quite well and it helped ensure there was a good atmosphere.

  To give you an idea, on one of the marathons Kate and I took a wheelbarrow around the course. We took turns to run with it and gave lifts to other runners in it. There was a bit of beer being consumed that day too, if I remember rightly. It was a lot of fun and gave me an outlet for some my surplus energy, as well as breaking up the monotony. It ended up taking us over seven hours to get around the course that day (my slowest marathon for the entire year). So if you’re looking to improve your running times, my advice would be to leave the wheelbarrow at home! However much I enjoyed being with that group, I was ready to get back home once it was over. I had been away from my family for too long, and don’t like being stuck in one place.

  People often ask me if my background has influenced me, or whether dealing with the pain I suffered as a child has enabled me to cope with extreme endurance events, and the physical suffering that accompanies them, whether those experiences enable me to go through the pain barrier and keep on going. The honest answer is I don’t know; I’m not a psychologist.

  Having lost my family as a child, I think it might explain why I enjoy the ‘greater family’ aspect of the running community. The only people I call family these days are Joanna and Alexander, Olivia, Peter, and Joanna’s parents in Poland. So I probably get more out of being part of the marathon-running community than those with all the usual parents, cousins and grandparents around them. They have become like a second family to me, for sure.

  I’ve shared my abusive past with you because it’s a fact of my life. But at the end of that day it’s just that: the past, a story that’s finished. I’m like that with my races, too. As soon as one is done, I think about the next one. I prefer to look forward rather than back. A lot of people get stuck in the past – not just those who were abused. I see people, whole nations even, getting hung up on the anger and the hatred over something that once took place and that takes over their life. I think if we were meant to look back so much, we would have been born with eyes in the backs of our head.

  That’s where forgiveness is so powerful. The best way to stop looking back is to forgive those who’ve hurt you. Then you no longer have to think about them. It doesn’t happen overnight, but it’s a journey with an end point and you can start any time. I was angry for a long time as a kid and, to be honest, ashamed, but over time I worked it out of my system.

  If you’re struggling with your past, you can try various techniques to learn about forgiveness – there are plenty of suggestions about how to go about this online or in books. Follow your own path or get help if you need it – sometimes a professional therapist can enable you to unburden yourself. Telling your story and sharing your anger and shame will help the healing process. I found it helped to get things in the open, and not to suffer in silence. The dark is where shame and fear lurk, so shine a light on them.

  The most important lesson I have learned is that if you have experienced abuse, then you have to realise that WHAT HAPPENED IS NOT YOUR FAULT. Could I have stopped my dad doing what he did at my young age? No. Could you if you were being manipulated? No. So forget that shame you are feeling because IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. You are now in the position of power. Remember that. We all have choices to make. Do we choose peace and happiness, kindness and honesty? Or do we choose victimhood and hatred, anger and resentment? It’s really just that at the end of the day: a matter of choice.

  These days I carry no anger towards my dad. The last thing I knew about him he was in prison for raping my sister. I don’t know if he’s out yet, but I don’t want to re-establish a connection with him. I’d just like him to know that I forgive him. At least he doesn’t have to worry about that if and when he is on his deathbed.

  What of my mum and my sister or anyone else from my childhood? In my twenties, we did briefly get in touch again, but that was only a disappointment, so we have gone our separate ways. As far as I’m concerned, my family tree starts with me and goes forward. I’m the creator of my life. I’m like Adam in the Garden of Eden – only with a kilt on instead of a fig leaf!

  My 170th marathon/ultra was the Equinox 24-hour race, where I ran six laps of the course (37 miles), around a lake on the Belvoir Castle estate in Leicestershire. It was here I met Sid Sidowski on my final lap, or Ultramorph as he’s sometimes known. You can’t miss him as he wears a white, full-body morphsuit, so he can barely see where he’s going. He’s raised a fair amount of money for Children with Cancer UK and we chatted about that, among other things, as we ran the last 5km of that lap together. He followed my bright green socks to begin with, as he could make them out through his spandex suit. Then, when he struggled to see even those, I took off my vest and he held on to one end while I held on to the other and I guided him to the finish of that race.

  It was good to meet Sid, a delightfully eccentric marathoner and part of what makes the community great. I couldn’t hang about, as I had to get down to the Farnham Pilgrim marathon the next day. That was a gruelling one, running (or wading) up big sandy hills in the North Downs. It was a hot day and a beautiful course, but some of the hills were very tough, both going up and coming down. It was a friendly marathon and I enjoyed it, even though it took everything out of me.

  The weekend after that, I headed up to Scotland for the Clyde Stride 40-miler and the Loch Ness marathon. The running was great and the people even more so. My kilt didn’t look quite so out of place up there, either. The biggest challenge of the weekend, apart from a sore leg and ankle, was getting between the races, which took some doing. After oversleeping on the Sunday, I needed lots of trains and taxis and a mountain of luck to get to the start line for the Loch Ness marathon in time. But I managed it, somehow, before catching a flight back to London. It was another unmanageable weekend managed, and I was back home in time to read a bedtime story to my boy, too.

  By October, I had started to do a few of my midweek runs on the Thames Meander marathon course instead of in Richmond Park, because it was the deer-mating season so the park was not a safe place in the early hours. The male deer became a little volatile at that time, to say the least. I had already noticed their behaviour starting to change, and on a couple of occasions things got quite hairy, with stags clashing antlers on the path in their bid to prove themselves the dominant male. If you keep your distance they won’t trouble you, but running right into them (as I was in danger of doing in the early morning) probably wouldn’t have been a good idea.

  My 185th, 186th and 187th marathons were all run at the VO2 Atlantic Challenge in the first weekend in October. This is a three-day event taking runners and walkers, at their own pace, along the wild and rugged north coast of Cornwall. It was a tough three days, with the wind in your face and the ocean almost permanently at your shoulder. Some really steep climbs and almost sheer descents meant you had to keep your wits about you at all times. Exhilarating is probably the best way to describe it.

  There were golden beaches and boulders, bog and muddy passes, granite ledges, coves and cliffs and fields to get past. I walked and clambered and ran and got around it. It was certainly a test, especially as my leg was hurting again, and I was struggling with it. I made a mental note to make sure I got some treatment on it later.

  Runners who slipped were in danger of cutting their legs up on the granite surface. It was very unforgiving, and you had to try to lift your legs up to avoid tripping and falling. I fell once and split my knee quite badly. I used some of the acid which I had bought
online to seal up the gash. It left a little scar, but it meant there was no risk of infection and that was more important. It didn’t make things any easier, though.

  I met a load of great people at this event and there was a terrific atmosphere among the runners. I can’t commend the race directors enough for a very well-organised event. When I finally finished in Land’s End, I was a broken man, held together by who knows what. It had been a really memorable race, though. I’ll be back again one day, for sure.

  The following weekend, I had the Lakes in a Day 48-mile race in the Lake District on the Saturday, followed by the Isle of Wight marathon on the Sunday. With 350-odd miles in between events, I thought it might almost be the case that the logistics were going to be a bigger challenge than the running – how wrong could I be? Fortunately, I did seek some help for the travel, but when it came to the first race it would all be down to me.

  But first of all, I had to get through the Lakes in a Day race. Honestly, it makes me emotional just thinking about it. Starting at Caldbeck, on the northern edge of the Lake District National Park, the route takes you along the Helvellyn Ridges, along the shore of Lake Windermere and all the way to the southern-most point in the Lake District at Cartmel. It was tough ultra and a day I’ll never forget.

  I arrived late on the Friday night. After sussing out the race HQ, I looked for a place to bed down for the night. I found a children’s playground with a big slide. Underneath that was nice and dry – that would do for my mattress – but I wasn’t ready for bed just yet. I had arranged with some ultra runners, who I’d become friends with on the circuit, to go running that evening. They had devised a marathon course in the area and wanted me to check it out.

  I called the guys to let them know I’d arrived and they picked me up from the playground not long after. After a brief chat, we disappeared across the hills into the night. Twenty-eight miles and a little over four hours later, we were back. It had been a good run with lots of banter and laughs. It must have been about 4am by the time I returned to the playground for some sleep before morning broke. My easy month in September was very much behind me now.