by Rob Young
That afternoon we camped again in the Joshua Tree National Park, surrounded by desert sand and boulders. It was strange to think only a week ago I was running in the British rain with the whole world on my shoulders; now I was in cowboy country, with new friends and nothing but the open road ahead of me. Having all that company, during and after races, and being with people who got what I was trying to do was making a big difference to my spirits.
A group of us decided hike up a hill to watch the sun set. Sitting at the top, supping a beer and taking in that view, we felt free. We chatted easily with one another and I felt among friends. It was a perfect, magical moment. It makes me well up just thinking about it. Usually when I told people I was running a marathon a day, their response was: ‘What! Why would you do that?!’ They’d react as if I were some sort of crazy person. To the average guy, I guess that’s how it looked, but to these guys I was just one of them. There was nothing I needed to explain; they got what I was doing and why, and that made all the difference.
The next day I found a cuddly toy lion on the highway, so I named him Leo. We picked up all sorts of things; it seemed this was where teddies came to die, or to be rescued by marathon runners. I was pleased to have discovered something myself, but after a couple of hours of running with Leo, I had to release him back into the wild as he was a bit of a pain to run around with. It was a shame, as I felt sure Buddy would have loved him. Thinking of him was a painful reminder of just how far Joanna and Buddy were from me, on a map at least. However, since landing in America, they kept on turning up vividly in my thoughts. Their smiling faces and the silly things we had done together may have been unremarkable memories, but they now seemed incredibly precious.
A couple of days and marathons later, we set off on a very overcast morning for our tenth marathon and our last run in the state of California. It felt great to have run across one state and now to be heading into another; we were making progress. The last part of the race was over a bridge across the Colorado river, which served as the state line. We were now in the town of Parker, Arizona.
California had been amazing: hot, dusty and empty for much of it, but beautiful, wild and epic. For the state runners it was the end of their journey, and we said our goodbyes that night. Juan Carlos, Ryan, Jack, Alfa and the rest had been a big part of the team and they had all stood up to the task of running a marathon every day. They had some truly awful blisters to show for it and a sense of pride, and in some cases astonishment, at what they had just done. It goes to show that if you put your mind to something you might well surprise yourself. Next up for the rest of us: 15 marathons across the desert state of Arizona. Bring it on!
The following day was a rest day. We got up early and some of us were messing about by the river, playing with Jup’s slack line, trying to balance on it. Then someone bet that I couldn’t sail my blow-up mattress across the river to the other side in under 15 minutes. You know me well enough by now to recognise that was a challenge I wasn’t going to turn down. Jup joined in and soon we had borrowed a paddle and were in the freezing river on a mattress furiously paddling to the other shore. There was a donkey on the other side and Jup wanted to bring him back with us, saying we’d get bonus points for that – more like a bonus kick in the eye.
We managed to get back to the shore, without the donkey, in under ten minutes, which is surely a state record (in both California and Arizona) for crossing a river on a blow-up mattress. Everyone had a good laugh and let off some steam. Jup’s a real character with an infectious way about him that draws everyone in and I was enjoying being around him.
Doing silly things like that was a lot of fun and also an important part of the long-distance runner’s survival kit. You need to break up the tedium of countless miles on the road by doing random things that bring a smile to your face, for no other reason than that. Happiness keeps the show on the road. Without those moments, your spirit will give in and your body will break apart. So keep it light out there, cowboys and cowgirls.
While everyone else continued their rest day, I had a couple of marathons to run. I needed to get some more under my belt if I was going to reach that world record of 367 marathons in a year. This time it was simple. I ran the same marathon as the day before, except in reverse, running from Parker back along Route 62 to where we had started the day before. Then I turned around and came back. It was pretty tough going, as it was a hot and cloudless day, and without the others around it was lonely. You realise at times like this how much you appreciate the support and company of other runners and crew. I managed to run the two marathons in under eight hours, which I felt was pretty good going. My body felt fine and, after a big meal, I was in good shape and ready for the next day’s run across Arizona.
Sadly, Coop had to drop out at this stage to return back to work at SpaceX. Mars’s gain was our loss is all I can say. He was a good guy and would be missed. We were now a man down, but he wouldn’t be the last to leave us that week.
Arizona was dry and straight. We stuck to the highway for the entire route, so it was just the long, empty road ahead, broken up by the occasional cactus. Though it was pretty featureless, we were still unmistakably in America and it was all very exciting and novel, to me at least. My excitement was a little dented one morning when I got hit by a rock. Some idiot had thrown it from a car, along with word ‘Faggot!’ The rock bounced off my back and made me stumble to my knees. I was only bruised, but lucky not to have been seriously injured, and just a little shaken up and disappointed that someone who didn’t even know me would do something like that.
It didn’t take me long to work out the rock was probably thrown because I was wearing a kilt. This was redneck country and there’ll always be a few idiots out there. I had a feeling that if men in skirts aren’t appreciated in Arizona, my kilt might not go down so well in Texas either, which was where we were headed. It was a worry as I could do without feeling like a target.
I was rooming with Patrick Sweeney that night and he had some really cool running shorts in a stars-and-stripes design, so I asked if I could borrow them to run in instead. He said that was fine, so now I had a new running outfit. I had gone native. From then on, I got nothing but love on the highway. Plenty of drivers honked me and waved at me on my runs, all because I was wrapped in the flag. It was sad to put the kilt away, but it was out of its element here. It was goodbye MMUK, hello MMUSA!
Things seemed to be picking up in that first week in Arizona, despite Coop having left us, but then they got worse. Patrick and Jup had some disagreements with the race organisers and told me they’d decided to pull out of the race. They both felt passionately about the 100 Mile Club initiative, and were convinced they would be better able to serve that cause by heading off in their own splinter group. They weren’t guys to kick up a fuss about nothing, but I think their departure was down to a failure of communication; sometimes that’s enough to break up a team. At the time, I was as cross as they were about a few things and contemplated joining them. However, in the end I decided to stay with the race, after much persuasion from Jup and Pat (and Pat’s support crew Vanessa and Shacky) not to throw away my year’s ambition.
Jup said his goodbyes to the group that night. After only three marathons in Arizona, he was leaving the race and starting a new one of his own. His going really hit everyone hard, as you can’t imagine a nicer, warmer and funnier guy to be around. He was really the good heart of the group and it broke everyone up to see him go. People understood the issues involved and respected his decision.
Although his mind was made up, Patrick hung around for a few more races with the rest of us. His friend Michael Miller was due to join us for four days of the Arizona leg, so Pat stayed to run those marathons with Michael before calling it a day and joining Jup. It was disappointing to see friends go; additionally, Patrick was one of the faster runners and someone I was looking forward to racing against in the miles to come.
Lucky for me, it wasn’t long before I got to see Jup
again, as he and I had a special invitation the following night. Michael and his partner Kimberly had invited us to their home to share dinner with Vanessa, Shacky, Pat and Maria Walton. Maria had been the girlfriend of the legendary ultra-runner Micah True, more commonly known as Caballo Blanco, before he died in 2012.
Caballo Blanco has become a legend in ultra-running through his starring role in Christopher McDougall’s Born to Run. The book tells how he ran with the Tarahumara tribe in the Copper Canyons of Mexico, a reclusive people who run vast distances, either barefoot or in simple sandals. Minimalist running, as practised by Barefoot Alex, for example, exploded off the back of that book. Maria was now one of the race directors of the Ultra Marathon Caballo Blanco, which Micah founded back in 2003. She is very well respected in the running community and it was a real honour to be able to hang out with her and the rest of the guys for the evening. We had some great food (though the hot sauce blew my mind!) as I listened to stories and shared my own with these beautiful people.
One story that evening, told by Michael Miller, made a big impression on me. It’s not my story but I want to share it now because it manages to capture, better than anything I can say, how profoundly running connects us to the world of nature. Michael runs where he lives in Arizona, in the foothills of the McDowell Mountains. It’s desert country, searingly hot of course, but alive with life too – snakes, scorpions, mule deer, skunk pigs and hawks, including Michael’s favourite kind, the red tail hawks.
As a lover of the majestic red tail hawk, Michael told how over the years he had enjoyed passing one particular Saguaro cactus, which he called ‘Old Man’. As an ancient cactus it was impressive enough, but what made it special was that it was used, year on year, by red tail hawks as a nesting spot. Each spring Michael told how he would enjoy running by and glimpsing a baby hawk in a nest in the arms of the ‘Old Man’. Mama hawk would be circling overhead, keeping an eye on her little ones down below and Michael would always cast his eyes skyward and reassure Mama that he was just a sweaty runner passing by, and of no threat to her darlings.
Then, a couple of years ago, he was heading out towards the ‘Old Man’ on a run, but as he approached he failed to notice its distinctive silhouette, as he usually did. As he ran closer he discovered that it had been the victim of a lightning strike, its once impressive size cut down by half. What remained was no longer a fit home for baby hawks to nest in. Amid his shock and sadness, Michael was initially concerned that the chicks might have been harmed by the strike. He looked for any evidence to this effect and was encouraged not to find any. He told us how he stood for a while at the base of the massacred cactus, with tears in his eyes and his heart full of sadness.
When he did run on, he soon saw as many as five red tail hawks perched on bushes in the vicinity. Before that day they had never let him run so close, and he had only ever seen one adult before and that was the Mama flying overhead. Now he saw five of them, all untroubled by his proximity. For him it was a special privileged moment. It almost felt like they were there to comfort him in his loss, to share their grief with him. A silent communication passed between them and it was something he would never forget.
Some months later, at an arts festival in nearby Cave Creek, he found a wooden carving of a red tail hawk, a Kachina doll. It seemed magical to Michael and somehow of profound significance, so he spoke to the creator who told him he had had the wood it was carved from for over ten years, but he had never known what to do with it. Then, he said, a few months ago (at precisely the time that the ‘Old Man’ had been destroyed) the artist suddenly realised it must be a red tail hawk and had started carving it. Of course, Michael bought the carving and it remains a treasured possession.
For me this story can mean many things, but what it says most is that running can reunite you with the natural world. By running you become a wild animal among other wild animals and get access to a dimension you otherwise wouldn’t.
That evening Maria Walton kindly gave me a Caballo Blanco badge to cover a hole in my trousers and a great buff, too (a buff is a kind of bandana, worn by runners for protection and fun). They were fantastic mementoes from my evening with Maria and I wear them with pride.
The next day I ran a protest marathon. I was annoyed about Jup and Patrick leaving and wanted to let the race directors know it, so I walked for most of it, finishing in a time of over six-and-a-half hours. My heart wasn’t in the running and I was seriously thinking about quitting myself. It was an unsettled period for us all as we struggled to come to terms with the loss of core members of the team.
I decided to stay in the end, and I’m glad I did. I just focused on the horizon and got on with running through the dry, hot Arizona landscape. Then, just as things seemed to be settling down, Chris Knodel dropped out, too. I didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. Apparently he had some family issues that needed immediate attention, so I can only hope it wasn’t anything too serious. Chris was a good guy and another face I missed seeing each day.
So, in the space of a week we’d lost a third of the core team, four out of 12. It felt like the whole thing was falling apart and we all wondered what might happen next. I guess it was one of those moments when it could have gone one way or the other. There were lots of conversations in camp, as you can imagine. For the most part the runners were committed to what they had set out to do, and while there was sympathy for Jup and Patrick, I don’t think anyone else, apart from me, even contemplated joining them.
Still, it was a strange time in camp. Like a ship in a storm, we all wondered if the next wave would come along and sink us, but fortunately the storm passed and the waters calmed. Whatever brought us to take on this challenge, helped keep us on track. The mood was subdued, but still the remaining runners carried on running, through the outskirts of Phoenix and into the Tonto National Forest, towards the New Mexico border.
I had some family issues of my own. I phoned Joanna every five days or so to chat, but always seemed to get in trouble. She felt I wasn’t ringing enough, because she obviously had little idea what was going on, while I felt perfectly happy with what I was doing. She also told me I wasn’t responding quickly enough to her texts, which made her feel stressed. The problem was that by the time I’d get them, it was the middle of the night back home and I didn’t want to wake her. Deep down, I knew she was proud of me, and I’d have liked to hear her say so, but communication can be really hard in those circumstances.
We had a rest day on 4 February, and while the others were resting I did two marathons that day, the first following the marathon route from the day before, through the Cave Creek area on the outskirts of Phoenix. Then, when I’d finished that, I just carried on running until I got to the end of the second marathon at Rock Creek on Highway 87 (the same marathon we would all run the next day). The two together took me over nine-and-a-half hours to complete, so it was not exactly what you would call a rest day.
It felt good to have done that, and in three days I would have a crack at my 300th marathon, which was pretty amazing, especially after my legs had almost given up on me a couple of months back. I was in great condition, except for a nagging toothache. Before that, I had an interesting experience after having finished my 299th marathon. We were on the outskirts of Phoenix and I’d seen a couple of gun shops in the small towns we had passed through. I wanted to find out how easy it would be to buy a gun, so I went into a store to find out. I looked around for a while before approaching the owner. As an Englishman, it’s very strange to be looking around a shop at bullets and rifles, even submachine guns and what looked to me like a rocket launcher. Eventually I spoke to the heavy-set guy at the counter.
‘I’m visiting from England, but if I wanted a gun could I get one here?’
‘Well. That all depends,’ he said.
There was a bit of a long pause as I wondered what complicated hoops and red tape I would have to go through to be able to qualify to buy one. ‘On what?’ I asked.
‘You ever
been to prison?’ he said.
‘Nope.’
‘Ever shot at anyone? Tried to kill anyone?’
‘Nope.’
‘Should be fine, then,’ he said. ‘Just need to fill out some paperwork, then we’ll get you hooked up.’
Surely it couldn’t be that simple? I had no intention of buying a gun, but it was amazing to see how easy it would be. I filled out the forms and he went out back with them. A few minutes later, he returned and said I was good to go. I could choose any gun I wanted.
‘Even the semi-automatic guns over there?’ I asked.
‘If you can shoot it, you can buy it,’ he said. I couldn’t believe it. It just seemed so crazy to me. The guy told me that the further south you got, the easier it was to buy a gun.
‘Shoot, in Alabama, they’ll practically buy you the gun,’ he said.
From about this point on the route, until we got to Dallas, we weren’t allowed to camp outside anymore. The desert nights were considered too cold in eastern Arizona, New Mexico and western Texas for that to be a sensible option, so we bedded down in a church in Payson, Arizona. I remember when some poor families came to get a free meal that the church was offering. I saw children, just like I had been once, ashamed yet grateful for a handout. It was very moving and reminded me of the problems even the richest of countries have and the need for the rest of us to do more to help such children wherever they are.
A volunteer at the church told me they gave shoes to the children, as the parents couldn’t afford them. I felt like I needed to give something, so I went to my room where I had a bunch of $5 bills and I screwed them all up into little balls and went around giving them to the kids, quietly. Seeing their faces light up when they unfolded it and realised it was money was priceless! Some of them were confused, though; they couldn’t understand why I had given them money. I didn’t know them, after all. The minister heard about what I’d done and came over to thank me. He said that was more money than anyone had ever given them. EVER.