by Rob Young
‘I’m giving you a thirty-minute penalty, Rob. You didn’t stay on the course,’ she said.
‘That’s because I got lost, Sandy. And ended up running five miles more on top of your bloody marathon.’ I didn’t say that, but you can bet I was thinking it. Apparently, as soon as I’d finished I should have gone to tell her what had happened. Other people got lost that day, too, as well as on other days, and they hadn’t been penalised. At the time, I felt like Darren and Sandy were gunning for me, though that was probably just because I was so tired. It was true that my relationship with them wasn’t the best by then, maybe because I’d spoken my mind about a few things already, crucially when Jup and Pat had decided to leave the race. Also I felt that they weren’t listening to the runners’ feedback, be it on small things or larger issues. And I’d let them know that, too. I don’t need to get into the specifics here, but when race organisers ignore runners’ feedback then a gulf grows between them, which doesn’t make for a happy camp. I like to think I’m pretty amenable and easy going, but some things need airing or they just fester. Now I felt like my frankness had turned me into an easy target.
I was furious, so I handed in my number and said I was through with the race; I quit. It was difficult enough contending with the daily marathon without feeling like your support crew weren’t backing you. And of course your tolerance levels dip when you’re physically exhausted. At the time it felt like the last straw.
Darren approached me later back at the camp to explain the penalty, but I felt he kept changing his mind about why it had been given. Now I was told it was because I hadn’t been carrying a mobile phone with me (which wasn’t something stated as compulsory in the event’s rules). When I pointed that out, it became because I had an 18oz water bottle instead of a 20oz water bottle. I was being penalised for carrying too little water now! It all seemed crazy to me. ‘Check the others’ water bottles, too,’ I said. ‘I’m sure they won’t all be twenty ounces either. Don’t just single me out.’
It felt clear to me they just wanted to make that penalty stick. I suspected it was because they didn’t want a Brit to win the race, but that may have been because I was seething about it at the time. I was so cross I had to get away, and I had energy to spare, so I went out and ran another marathon. They couldn’t stop me doing that. The extra running calmed me down and tired me out. I got something to eat that night with the rest of the gang and watched the sunset, then I told Darren I’d changed my mind and I’d continue. They weren’t going to stop me winning that race. They’d have to slap a whole bunch of time penalties on me to manage that.
Next up we had two marathons in the state of Louisiana – Bryce pipped me in those for the overall state win. This was followed by a rest day when I ran another couple of marathons. The following week, we ran six marathons in Arkansas and I averaged 3 hours 45 minutes for each one. My body had become noticeably leaner by this stage and I was running faster and with greater ease day by day. My leg was now completely healed from the pre-stress fracture two months earlier, and no hint of that issue remained.
After those Arkansas marathons we effectively had another two rest days. On the first of those, I ran two marathons. One running back into Arkansas, the reverse of the route we had completed the day before, around Lake Chicot and down the 82. Then I turned around and came back. Once again, I finished both marathons in under eight hours, which was solid running for me.
It was a special moment. That day took me to 366 marathons in 360 days. I had finally equalled Ricardo Abad’s record, and still I had five days to go before the year was fully up. After chasing that ridiculous number 367 for almost a year, I finally stood next to it. I’d always said it would require something of a miracle to get this far and I think I’d had my share along the way.
The next day was a rest day for the group as we left Arkansas and headed into Mississippi. I decided to hang out with Bryce and Alex rather than chasing a number by running yet another marathon. I ate plenty and called Joanna just as she was going to bed. For once, it was a good phone call and the tension was gone. This year of running was almost over for both of us.
On 10 April, starting from the great Mississippi river, we set off on yet another marathon, my 367th that year – but something was different that day. Bryce had come down with the flu in the night and he was in a really bad way. I decided to try to help him get round, as he looked like he’d need all the support he could get, so I ran with him most of the way; Nancy and Linda were with us, too. Bryce felt nauseous so I tried to get him to be sick. He wasn’t keen on that, so I gave him regular sips of water and words of encouragement. Meanwhile, it was good to run with Linda and Nancy, and the three of us ended up finishing together in a little under six hours.
So I had done it: 367 marathons/ultras in the year! All those crazy journeys around the UK, the struggles with money and with being away from my family had amounted to something. I wanted to celebrate, but there was no time for that. Bryce hadn’t finished yet, so I went back out on the course to find him. He ended up taking 7 hours 17 minutes to get to the end; every step must have been awful and he was really brave to get through that day. It took a lot of guts. I think he knew how much we were all rooting for him, which must have helped, too.
That night we had a quiet celebration of my achievement, but as Bryce still had a fever it was all a bit muted. Newton, our tour poet, wrote this for me:
A world record Rob will pursue
And run marathons with us ’til through.
In spite of his feat
You should see this man eat.
’Twill be a world record too!
After a couple more days of suffering, Bryce’s fever broke and he returned to feeling normal again. It had been quite a few days, but now it was Alex’s birthday which gave us all a chance to let off some steam. Everyone got one of his tie-dye t-shirts, making us the most colourful party in the restaurant.
On 13 April it was exactly a year since I’d run my first marathon and that day I finished my 370th marathon/ultra – more than I’d ever hoped I would run. It was a great feeling of satisfaction and, more than that, of relief. I was still running, though, but without the stress now. This whole adventure wouldn’t be finished until we got to the Atlantic.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Journey’s End at the White House
14 April–3 June 2015
We ran through Mississippi and into Alabama next. Alabama was warm and very pretty – even the greens of the trees seemed more vivid – everything was lush and the weather was hot and sticky. I’d take that over snow and ice any day of the week. On the second day’s running in Alabama, there was an incident involving a dog worth mentioning. We’d had some problems with stray dogs along the way (Newton had even been bitten), so we were all wary of the possible dangers.
It happened when I was near the third aid station in the last half of the race. I was moving well at the time, feeling good, running along a busy highway. All of a sudden I heard a dog barking behind me. I stopped and looked around and saw it running towards me. Not far behind, giving chase, was a little boy no older than six years old. I watched as he tore after the dog into the road. A car swerved noisily to avoid hitting them both. The boy froze, realising where he was for the first time.
It all happened in a matter of seconds. As soon as I’d registered what was going on, I rushed out into the road, narrowly missing a couple of oncoming cars. I reached the boy, who was still frozen to the spot, and scooped him up, then I carried him back to the roadside and safety. Cars were screeching to a halt around us, one behind another. It was chaos. We were lucky no one got injured in a pile-up that day. Then the boy’s older brothers and mum turned up – I can only assume they lived in one of the houses I could see nearby – and she thanked me before turning on the boy and telling him how much trouble he was in. I doubt he got any dessert that night.
The next day we visited Talladega Superspeedway racing circuit, made famous by the Will Ferrell
movie, Talladega Nights. We had a good laugh running around the track, remembering funny moments from the film. It was amazing how steep the bends on those tracks are – you can barely even climb up them.
However, I had another focus that week: I was going back to the event that had inspired me to take up the challenge in the first place – I was going to run in the London marathon. During the week, I tried to unwind as much as possible after getting the record, while also preparing for London. Even though I was thousands of miles away, I had to do a fair amount of interviews on the phone with people back in the UK in the build-up to the race, and I was delighted that my story hadn’t been forgotten while I’d been racing across the USA. It wasn’t an easy time for me, though. It was so hot and humid during the days that running had become a real challenge, a real uphill battle every day.
The logistics of flying back to the UK for the marathon were tight, which was stressing me a little bit. I needed to get into the UK the day before the London marathon for various press and sponsor commitments, then I’d have to run a quick time in the race itself, in order to do an interview or two, say hi to a few people and make it back to Heathrow airport again for my flight back to America.
I was due to fly out on Friday 24 April, which meant I would miss the Jacksonville marathon that the rest of the guys would be running on the Saturday. Thankfully, the race organisers let me run that one on the Friday, after I’d finished my first marathon with the rest of the guys. As soon as I’d finished that double marathon (52.94 miles in total), it was off to the airport to catch my plane to the UK.
I didn’t manage to sleep on the flight, but watched several movies instead. Sitting with my legs bent for those eight hours in an economy-class seat certainly wasn’t the ideal way to recover between marathons. I’d put the word out on Facebook that I would need some help getting between Heathrow airport and central London, both before and after the race. Lucky for me, a guy called Rob Hutchings offered to give me a lift both ways – on the back of his motorbike taxi, which I thought should be interesting. He was waiting at Heathrow when I landed and whisked me off to the ExCeL centre in East London for the pre-London marathon day’s events. As well as taxiing me for free, Rob found and paid for me to have a hotel room near the race start the next day. What a guy!
Joanna had flown back from Poland to see me, leaving Buddy in Poland with his grandparents. So after doing all the interviews at the ExCeL centre, I got to spend the night in a hotel room with Joanna after months apart. Seeing her again for the first time since January was very emotional, but I was underslept and physically exhausted so it wasn’t exactly quality time. Still, it was something and better than nothing. We enjoyed a nice dinner together in town and got to bed early. It was wonderful to be with her again. We both knew this crazy year was almost over and it wouldn’t be long till we would be able to see each other all the time.
The next morning, after not much sleep, I was up early and drinking gallons of coffee to keep me awake. I ended up feeling very strange; I was so caffeinated, jet-lagged and excited at the same time, I wasn’t quite sure what I was feeling. But one thing was for sure: this was a huge day for me.
There was a problem at the beginning, as they’d given me the wrong coloured race number. The London Marathon has three starting areas: Blue, Green and Red. Blue is for the elite runners, Green is for the celebrities and Red is for everyone else. I’d been given a Red number, which meant I didn’t have access to the press area for the elite athletes, near the Blue start. I was supposed to be in there to give various interviews. Fortunately, I bumped into Dr Kipps who flashed his pass and ushered me into the right area for my interviews. Once inside I spoke to an organiser who said it’d be OK for me to begin the race from the Blue start once my interviews were done. So I didn’t have to worry about trekking around to the Red start which was a fair way away.
I met a few people before the race and everyone was really nice, high-fiving me and telling me how well I was doing. It was quite a homecoming. People I didn’t even know embraced me that day, along with many of those I’d got to know well in the running community throughout the year.
This was the event that had started everything for me, my whole crazy year. And finally I was here, running it. It was a lot to take in. As with everything else, there was plenty of time pressure. Because logistics were my number-one preoccupation, I didn’t get chance to savour the occasion as much as I’d have liked, as I was focused on catching my plane back to the USA. I had a few photos at the start and then it was time to race. I knew I needed to run really quickly so as not to miss my flight. That plus the caffeine in my blood and the 24 hours’ rest I’d just had, meant I flew to the half-marathon point. I was really moving and on target for a sub three-hour marathon.
I stopped to have some hugs with a few people, and did a couple of interviews at the press areas at miles 21 and 23, as well as saying hello to the MMUK faithful who were gathered there to see me. It was so good to see everyone and I was touched at how many had made the effort to be there to cheer me on. After stopping there for a good 15 minutes, I rejoined the race and reached the finish in 3 hours 7 minutes.
As soon as I’d finished, I immediately tried to find Rob so we could head back to Heathrow. I didn’t have my phone, though, so there was no way of getting hold of him. Eventually I tracked him down, by sheer chance rather than careful planning, and we set off. I must still have had some of that Talladega dust in my hair, as we bobbed and weaved through those corners and arrived at Heathrow in no time at all.
The London marathon had passed me by in a blur of colour, noise and excitement. I’d had my five minutes with Joanna, my five seconds with dear friends and my time with the press. Now I was moving at speed to the next race a whole continent away. It was all going according to plan, but it was a bit fast and furious to appreciate in any significant way.
At the airport things went smoothly at customs, but by the time I got through I was starving. All I could think about was burgers covered in mayonnaise, but with almost no time before we boarded, I had to make a choice: either eat or take a shower; there was no time for both. It was a tough call, but I ended up taking the shower. Standing under the hot water was worth it, and I think my fellow passengers would have approved of my choice.
I landed in Jacksonville that evening after a rather squashed and uncomfortable journey. US customs officials then proceeded to give me a tough time about how often I was leaving and re-entering the States. I chatted to an immigration officer till they were satisfied with what I was doing and why. It turned out I should have had a work visa for what I was doing. Oh, well, you live and learn. Soon I was allowed through and was back in camp with the rest of the guys, as if the London marathon was some dream I’d had.
The next day we’d all run our first marathon into the state of Georgia. I was back on track and the finish line was only a month or so away. By now the weather had started to become hotter and more humid. The eight Georgia marathons went well and I was taking it easy, enjoying the views and helping my friends get through it. There were more school visits which were always fun. Soon we reached South Carolina, and the temperatures and humidity continued to rise and we all struggled with it. We needed ice on the course to cool us down, otherwise I don’t think some of us would have made it.
It was around this time that another issue grew between the runners and the event organisers over how well we were being protected from the heat. I’ve slept in caves before, so it takes a lot to bother me, but the heat out in the tents at night was something else, and after a day’s running it was a little too much. It was 90°F with 90 per cent humidity at times, with the heat radiating off the ground. There appeared to be no escape.
However, when we heard that offers had been made to put us up in air-conditioned accommodation, which had been turned down by the organisers, we wanted to know why. We would have done almost anything for some relief from the heat at that time (I even paid for Newton and me to have an air-
conditioned room one night because he was struggling so much). So why were they turning down offers like that?
We were told the race directors wanted to honour the bookings they’d already made. We believed that the camps wouldn’t mind if we didn’t turn up for our reservations, as long as they’d been paid. Refusing the chance of better accommodation on a small point like that wasn’t acceptable. I hope the race directors look at that question for future events. We got through it in the end, just like we had overcome all the other issues we had faced along the way, through discussion and support of one another. It was a shame for the camp to become divided like that, but fortunately the show was still on the road.
There was one moment that stands out from our time in South Carolina. I was way out in the lead one day, with thick forest all around me, busily looking for a turning which I knew should have been coming up, and just starting to worry that I might have missed it. Looking around, I noticed a girl standing on a railway line about 50 metres off, which seemed strange, so I jogged over to see if she was OK and to ask for directions. By the time I got closer, I could see she was upset and had been crying. I thought she might be threatened by my running over towards her, out in the middle of nowhere, so I apologised if I’d startled her.
‘No, it isn’t you,’ she said. ‘I’m just a bit upset.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘Oh it’s nothing. I’ve just got some problems.’
‘Heck, we’ve all got problems,’ I said, trying to make her smile. It didn’t work.
‘Why don’t you tell me a bit about your problems? Then I’ll tell you about mine,’ I said. She didn’t look sure about that. So I started telling her about the race and then about my fundraising, then a bit about my own childhood.