by Rob Young
I saw one girl give her money to her mum, saying: ‘Here Mommy, this is to make you happy again.’ Wow! That really touched my heart – the little girl giving her mother the only money she had in the world. Trying to help children was exactly why I had started on my quest, and now I was seeing the impact I could have with even a small gesture. I thought: this is what I want to do – give everything I have to help others. I left that day knowing that 14 children or so had a smile on their face because of my small act of generosity, and a couple had even shed tears of joy. I spent a mile or so on the next day’s run wondering what those kids might buy. It was fun to think of them looking around a toy shop for something they’d enjoy.
For the next nine days, we continued on through the forest on the interstate highway of Arizona. We made steady progress and soon we’d finished the Arizona leg of the tour. To celebrate conquering our second state, we went out to eat that night in a rib shack called the Waterhole in Springerville. It was supposed to be the best barbecue joint in the whole of Arizona. They weren’t wrong either. The brisket and pulled pork was to die for, and the perfect end to a long day’s running.
While everyone else had a rest day, I was back on double marathon duties and so was the first to try out the New Mexico route. I ran the next day’s marathon route twice, out and then back again, in a little over eight-and-a-half hours. It took me to 308 marathons/ultras in 307 days.
The next morning we had a nice bonus as two guys, Jesse Riley and David Warrady, visited us for a pep talk. David was a former winner of the ‘TransAm’ transcontinental race, back in 1992, when he ran the 3,000 miles from LA to New York in 64 days, while Jesse was a two-time race director of the event. They were knowledgeable guys and good to chat with. They assured us that the worst was over, that all we had to do was to keep our heads on and we would make it to the Atlantic in one piece. They stayed with the race for the next few days, giving us all the benefit of their many years’ experience in such races, and it was good having them around.
I had actually met David the day before while I was out running. He’d pulled up alongside me in his car, wound his window down and asked, ‘Aren’t you meant to be resting?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘just going for a few miles.’
‘I’ve heard all about you, Rob,’ he said, ‘so I know what that means in your world.’
In New Mexico the landscape changed, for sure. Gone were the sand and scrub bushes of the Mohave in California and the cacti and grass of Arizona. Gone were the amazing views in Phoenix, looking down over the valleys and mountains and never-ending trees. Now it was empty land, with no trees to speak of, just a rolling ocean of dry grass and empty space – except for cows. This was grazing country from what I could tell, with more cattle than people, or so it seemed.
Things were certainly getting quieter, and there was more of a feeling of being out in the middle of nowhere each day. Fewer cars passed by on the highway and the towns we ran through were tiny, with just a few shops, and those usually empty. This was the quiet heart of America, and it went on forever. My toothache hadn’t gone away and was my only real difficulty at the time. It was always there in the background, throbbing, aching and occasionally sending bolts of pain into my head. It was calling out for some action and in the end I took it.
I’d already decided a dentist would be too expensive so, one evening, while holed up in a school hall for the night, I took a pair of long-nose pliers and got to grips with that tooth. It wasn’t the best tool for the job and I struggled to get hold of it to begin with, but in the end I got some purchase and starting shaking that tooth. It hurt like hell, but I knew it would be better out than in. Eventually it cracked, diagonally, and most of it came away, leaving a sharp shard behind. Shit! Not what I was hoping for. After some more clattering around in my mouth, I managed to break what remained down to a nub, so at least I wouldn’t perforate my gum while I slept.
I wanted the whole tooth out, but I couldn’t get hold of that nub now so that was that. It wasn’t a great result, but it bled profusely which seemed to relieve the pressure. While it felt marginally better that night, within a week it had stopped hurting altogether, so I think it worked out overall.
The rest of the team had other aches and pains to worry about: blistered feet, Achilles problems, back problems, cramps, the list goes on. When we weren’t running, we were icing our legs and sore muscles, doing what we could to make things better. Jessica Hardy was clearly struggling. I felt for her and let her use my Game Ready machine to help relieve her painful muscles. She was struggling to finish some races and some of the stronger guys were trying to keep her positive, running along with her at times. I was busy thinking about everyone else because I felt fine, physically. I was tired, obviously, but motivated. I didn’t have too long to go and I wasn’t going to give up easily – which was lucky because I was about to face my toughest marathon yet.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Closing in on the Record
23 February–13 April 2015
The weather changed overnight. Drastically. After a run of 38 fine-weather days with blue skies, we got up one morning and it was different. Not freezing yet, but there was a nip in the air and some scary looking clouds on the horizon. Then we got running and the snow started falling and falling. Soon we were in a near blizzard with the winds gathering pace all the time.
It was awful. It had been fun to begin with, of course, the way snow is. For half an hour we all enjoyed the novelty, but the wind was fierce, practically blowing me off my feet. We were running into the wind for most of the race and I felt like I was making all this effort but going nowhere. It was ridiculous; I was obviously weaker than I’d thought. Still, I finished first, and after Bryce and Barefoot Alex crossed the line, we decided to get some hot chocolates and take them out onto the course to help people get around.
I’ll never forget the look on Newton’s face at about mile 20 when he got a mug of hot chocolate inside him. He didn’t say anything, he was too cold for that, but his face told me it was a lifesaver. It was difficult enough for me to finish that day, let alone for a 73-year-old man. What an inspiration that guy is.
The next few days gave us more of the same, weather-wise. On one day, running through Picacho, it was the coldest it had been yet. For the first 16 miles, it didn’t stop raining and the rain was icy cold. Then it started to freeze on my face and on my facial hair. My clothes were covered in ice as the rain froze. I was really struggling and signalled to the support van that I needed more clothes, but they were in the other van. I had been leading the race up to that point, but soon Bryce and Alex caught up with me and then ran on as I was too cold to keep up with them.
I was in trouble now, starting to suspect hypothermia would set in soon. Fortunately Andrea stopped to ask if I was OK and I told her I needed my clothes. She responded fast and soon Sam arrived in the other truck. I jumped inside and got all my clothes on, my foil blanket and my sleeping bag around me, and sat by the truck’s heater. It was pumping out hot air but it didn’t feel like heat to me. I was still shivering and pains shot all the way up my arms and into my back. It was so bad I cried out, I couldn’t help myself. I yelped. I’ve never been like that before or since. I didn’t know quite what was happening.
I felt like quitting that day in the truck, I really did. But then I remembered that lady I had met in Richmond Park whose son had committed suicide, and my promise to her to continue running no matter what. I also had an unspoken promise to all the other kids I had met in schools who had shown me that my story was far from unique. I had to carry on. I wasn’t running for myself, but for every other victim of abuse whose story isn’t being told.
Eventually the rain stopped and I was able to get out and finish the last few miles of the race. If the rain hadn’t let up, I don’t think I would have finished that day, and I probably wouldn’t have been the only one. It just hurt too much. It was only thanks to the quick actions of the support team – Andrea, Sam and Gar
rett – and a break in the storm that I was able to chalk up my 320th marathon and keep on track for the race series. Thanks, guys. You kept my hopes alive out there.
The weather continued like that for a few days. It was frozen underfoot and wet and snowy in the air around us. They were tough conditions, especially for the Californians among us, who thought cold weather was when the sun goes behind a cloud for a minute or two.
Running through Roswell, there were almost no cars out on the roads because it was just too icy. The highway was like a barren desert and we could run wherever we wanted on it. We each tried to pick the best route along the road, but it was no good. There was no best route; it was hazardous and perhaps we should have stopped. Even with the best trail running shoes on, there was no grip to be had. I made the ice-skating motion with my legs at times, which was more effective than trying to run, then I slipped and fell over on my face. Ouch! My arm and hip were bruised after that. It was nothing serious, but it takes its toll when you’re freezing cold, soaking wet and going nowhere fast.
I fell a few times that day, but the worst of it was the ice in my beard. I’ve taken some videos of myself running that day and I look like Scott of the Antarctic. It was pretty hardcore, but we knew Texas wasn’t far away and I doubted those cowboys would put up with much of this weather. It was surely just a case of enduring it for a little while longer.
I was right about Texas. Even as we approached the border, the sun came out and it was back to being warm again, but it didn’t last long; soon we had freezing rain and snow again. The Texan hospitality, however, was always warm. There are countless stories from the runners of generosity from strangers throughout the whole race, but in those 23 marathons across the Lone Star State we were treated particularly well. People would stop us regularly and, on the spot, donate money to the 100 Mile Club. On more than one occasion, after chatting to locals in a diner while getting something to eat, we later went to pay for our food only to be informed that it had already ‘been taken care of’.
As well as being a welcoming one, Texas is also a tough state, typified by something a local said to Bryce one time. When he told this guy he was running across the USA, he looked mystified. Bryce asked him if he ran and he replied: ‘This is Texas. We don’t run – we’re armed!’
It’s tough country in other ways, too. Rattlesnakes were supposedly a constant threat, though I didn’t actually see one. Someone rolled down their window at one point in Haskell and said: ‘Hey, you better watch it out here. When you get up ahead, there are a lot of rattlesnakes that are gonna jump on y’all.’ Fortunately that never happened, but it kept me focused on the ground ahead, that’s for sure.
In the beginning we were running through oil country, with oil fields by the side of the freeway as far as the eye could see. At night we usually stayed in churches where we were well looked after and we were always grateful for the warm hospitality at the end of a hard day’s running. One evening I remember a local fire station offered us all dinner for the night. After a day’s running in the cold wind and a constant drizzle that was really appreciated. More good ole Texan hospitality. They entertained us with funny stories of how they raced lawn mowers at speeds of up to 50mph, and I learnt about mud bogging for the first time (from what I could tell you drive your car through a muddy pit and the fastest through it wins). And they thought we were crazy!
We reached the halfway point in the race in Texas, which was a big moment in camp. I called Jo that evening to try to celebrate with her, but the call didn’t go well. I guess she was finding it all harder than I realised at the time. To make matters worse, I was running out of shoes and didn’t have any sponsorship. Fortunately, one of my benefactors back in the UK, known as Financial Bear, stepped up to help me out and one day a whole load of Brooks trainers were delivered to camp. It had been another one of those moments when things got a bit tight but someone came through for me, and the show was still on the road. However much I wanted to focus purely on the running, there was always something else to worry about – or someone else.
On 14 March, Jessica finished in 7 hours 30 minutes. For much of the last few marathons, she’d been completing the race close to the cut-off time of eight hours. She was in a lot of pain and finally realised her time was up. She’d been trying to run through the agony, but there was no more denying it. Her body was falling apart and she was no longer fit to run. I knew exactly how she felt.
We were all really sad to see Jessica leave, but none more so than her. Scans would later show she had stress fractures in her leg and also a problem with her spine, so it was amazing she continued as long as she did, and a testament to her bravery and determination. I have no doubt she’ll be back out doing something epic soon; people like her are unstoppable. So now we were down to just seven core runners. Again there was sadness in camp, and it took a little bit of getting used to, but we all had to focus quickly on the next day’s running. If you don’t do that, you can pay the price.
I had a flight back to the UK out of Dallas aiport booked for 18 March. As I had only a visitor’s visa, I couldn’t be in America for longer than 90 days without leaving the country, however briefly. So the plan was to fly back to the UK for less than 24 hours, do what I needed to do there, and then rejoin the race. My flight was booked for the evening after the Springtown marathon. I ran that quickly, in 3 hours 35 minutes, so I’d have time to run another before catching my flight. I ran that second marathon towards the airport, 26.37 miles on my GPS watch, before Andrea gave me a lift the rest of the way to the airport to catch my flight.
By the time I got back to the UK, it was morning and I had an appointment at St Mary’s University in Twickenham for some testing, done in conjunction with the BBC as part of a programme they were doing in the run-up to the London marathon in April. Afterwards, I gave a couple of interviews in Richmond; one was with Lucozade for the London marathon and the other was for Channel 5. Once I’d done them, I ran around the park for another marathon, like old times. It was funny to be back there, among the deer and the cyclists, on the track I knew so well. My life had changed so much since I’d run my first marathon there almost a year ago.
Joanna arrived in the evening, having left Buddy in Poland with his grandparents. It was amazing to see her again. After my marathon, we holed up in the Victoria, our local pub in Sheen, where we had booked a room for the night. Unfortunately, the flight and the running caught up with me and I fell asleep during dinner, but I was still awake enough at other times to enjoy our precious few hours together.
Early the next morning it was straight off to the airport for my return flight to Dallas. When I landed in America, it was the end of the RAUSA rest day. I was picked up from the airport and was soon back in the camp with the team as if I’d never even been away. The next day I finished so quickly, in 3 hours 9 minutes, I decided to run an extra marathon for the heck of it. I was feeling fresh and didn’t seem to be suffering from any jetlag.
A week later on 27 March, I was running in our final marathon in Texas, out near Jefferson, and was well out in the lead, as was usual by then. I’d been running consistently under four hours for my marathons that week, so I was in a good place, but then I got to a crossroads on Highway 49 and suddenly everything got a bit confusing. I needed to stay on the same road, but when I saw a sign to Highway 59 I followed that instead. As Forrest Gump would have said, ‘I just kept on running.’
After a couple of miles, I realised I’d gone wrong and started walking back. I stopped to ask someone how to get back to the 49 and they told me to keep going and take a left at the McDonald’s. That sounded about right, so I carried on for a while, but somehow I felt like I was lost again. This time I asked an old lady where to go and she pointed off down a dusty path. ‘Follow this little road and then nip over the rail tracks and the forty-nine is there,’ she said. ‘You can’t miss it.’
Don’t be so sure, I thought. You don’t know who you’re talking to here, lady.
Anyw
ay, I followed her advice and ended up at the tracks as she had said, just as a really long freight train was passing. Then it stopped and I was standing there, waiting for it to move again, but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. I was in a hurry and figured that if I tried to walk around it that could take ages, so the best option seemed to be to nip underneath it really quickly and get out the other side. I thought it would take a moment to get going anyway, and so as long as it didn’t fire into gear while I was under there I should be OK.
I dipped under that huge freight train, scuttled under its rusty belly, on my hands and knees, and got safely out the other side. Mighty pleased with myself, I hopped over the rail next to it, without a moment’s thought I just rushed across it. A couple of seconds later, a train hurtled by at full speed. It seemed to have come out of nowhere. I hadn’t looked down the line properly before crossing or I would have seen it bearing down on me. That was a bit of a close thing, my second near run-in with a train. If I’d have crossed that track just few seconds later, things might have worked out very differently.
I found the 49 after that and ended up chasing the leaders to try to catch them up. I made up a lot of ground, but ended up finishing in fourth place. I was pretty annoyed with myself; I’d run an extra five miles and got lost again. Getting lost so often was starting to bug me by now, and I was feeling angry with myself. So I wasn’t in the best of moods when Sandy came over after the race and started bombarding me with questions. Where had I been? Had I run the entire course? One minute I was in the lead by a couple of miles, then where did I go? I couldn’t believe she was actually cross with me.