Suddenly I’m just overwhelmed with gratitude. I don’t deserve to have such an awesome family, such truly terrific children and such a sensational wife. And I realise that giving up is not an option. I’d be letting everybody down. Whatever they say, they didn’t come to see me almost complete an Ironman.
Eight miles to go then: less than 50 minutes on a good day, and not much more than an hour even at easy run pace. Today though, who knows how long? But one thing I’m suddenly sure about: I’m bloody well going to find out.
‘How’s Andy Murray getting on?’ I ask.
‘Serving for the match!’ someone calls back.
‘What? Again?’
‘No, still.’
Blimey, I think, it must be some epic game down there.
It feels a little like I’ve been through something similar myself. Another tennis analogy, I was match point down, but I’ve made the decision to keep fighting. To refuse to bow to the seemingly inevitable and continue to believe that I might just win.
I only got lost twice on the way back to Keswick, which is pretty good, considering. Once when I was concentrating so hard on not falling over whilst descending that I missed a turning and ran all the way to the bottom of a fell before realising my mistake and having to turn around and climb halfway back up again. And once near the end, on the outskirts of a village called Portinscale, when I became over-confident, lost focus and almost ended up in the lobby of a lovely-looking lakeside hotel.
I crossed the line in seventh, but several people thought I’d won. There was such a huge gap between me and the woman in sixth that in the interim, quite a crowd had wandered into the festival grounds and congregated near the finish line. Having seen nobody else cross the line ahead of me, many assumed that I’d finished first. And later that day when I was having a cup of tea with the legendary fell runner Joss Naylor and a couple came to congratulate me on winning the half-marathon, I did absolutely nothing to correct them. Secretly, I still hope Joss reckons I won.
But I was less secretive about having fallen completely in love with what Joss does supremely, namely running in the fells. Or for me, just running in lovely, lumpy places. The notion had been creeping up on me recently: whenever I ran somewhere beautiful, new, or even just hilly, I always ran harder, freer, happier, and always finished up exhilarated. I spent the rest of the weekend, and indeed much of the following few months, telling everyone what a convert I’d become. On TV, on radio, in person. So much so that Claire Maxted, the effusive editor of Trail Running magazine, got to hear about it and invited me to do an interview for the next issue. And it seems I wasn’t the only one being bitten by the off-road running bug.
‘It’s snowballing in popularity,’ explains Claire when I next catch up with her, moments after she lands back in the UK having completed a six-day jungle ultra-marathon across Costa Rica (it’s the sort of thing she does).
‘When we started Trail Running magazine in 2011, it was only going to be a little leaflet, a supplement inside Trail. But because of the amount of interest from both readers and advertisers, we made it straight into a 148-page magazine. That first year we produced two issues, the following year it was four, and now it’s six – a full magazine every two months, plus supplements.
‘And the race listings section in particular has grown ridiculously quickly. We even produced an entire supplement recently called The UK’s 101 Best Trail Races. 101! And clearly, that increase in races is to supply a demand.’
So how, I wonder, do most people get into trail running? And how did Claire?
‘I’ve always been into the outdoors and the mountains. I used to work on Trail, which is a walking mag. So I was already into the trails part, I just had to get into the running part. And since I have, I’ve found that when I run instead of walk, I get to see more mountains in a shorter space of time! Plus I really like the idea, as a human being, of being as fit as possible. Of being able to keep going for a long time and tackle extreme terrain.
‘But most people just start in their local area, in their local woods or country park. Then they might start getting a map out, reading guide books and thinking, “ That bit looks interesting, I’ll go and explore there and see what it’s like. ”
‘Since Keswick, I’ve found myself doing exactly that. Whenever I have some free time on my hands, I love nothing more than consulting a map, getting into the car and driving – driving! – to a likely looking place to have a run.
‘It is, however, a big jump from running on roads, which is relatively easy – you know where you’re going and you’ve got street lights – to seeing a footpath sign, following it on a whim, getting deep into the countryside, going off the grid.’
It is, in Claire’s words: ‘Simply a different sport. In fact I’d class treadmill runners and road runners in the same category, but trail running off road, getting out there, you need a new set of skills, and frequently you also need a whole new set of equipment. First of all it helps to have grippy shoes, and if you’re going far you do need to carry a waterproof, food and a torch.
‘To start off, people should try National Trails, which are usually very well signposted. I recently ran from Tring to Swindon, which is essentially along the Ridgeway. The signs were so amazing that I didn’t need a map at all. Simply follow the footpath signs and off you go.’
And in Costa Rica, Claire discovered another reason the circulation of her magazine has been going through the roof. These days, people don’t want more stuff, they want new experiences. When she comes to write about it in the relevant issue, she’ll describe the Coastal Challenge she completed as ‘a beguilingly beautiful adventure that will eat you for breakfast and spit out your battered bones’. And no wonder. A marathon a day for six days, with 10km of ascent – and all in 95% jungle humidity. Harder, they say, than the Western States 100-Miler where temperatures can hit 40 degrees. It costs around £2,000 to enter.
As Claire says: ‘People are searching for moments in life to cherish. Rather than getting a Porsche for their 40th, they’re seeking out amazing adventures. That’s one of the reasons trail running has become so popular, it’s more exciting than a German sports car. You’ll go to unforgettable places with amazing, like-minded people and make memories that you’ll treasure for life.
The camaraderie is something that appeals to a lot of people as well. Trail runners – even the elite ones – are always so friendly and keen to have a chat. Elite sportsmen and -women tend to like talking about themselves, but top trail runners want to find out about you.’
She mentions fells legends Naylor and Billy Bland, who were famous for waiting around after a race they’d (usually) won, and going up to other finishers and asking – and being genuinely interested in – how they got on. And that, it seems, is typical of trail runners. Claire experienced the same thing in Costa Rica.
‘There was no separate table where the elite athletes ate. There was no arrogance, no cool set. Karl Meltzer (Speedgoat Karl, famous ultra runner and coach from Utah, USA) and Anna Frost (professional Kiwi trail runner based in Wales) both wanted to find out about my experiences every day. How was your race, Claire?’
Even Killian Journet, the best trail runner of all time, is apparently just a really nice bloke.
‘What sets him apart is the fluidity with which he connects with the trail, looking like he’s having so much fun, making ridiculous climbs look pathetically easy. And while his sheer fitness and determination surpasses everyone who’s ever gone before, you’ll never meet a gentler, more humble, or friendlier guy. And he’s not even that big. Massive legs but tiny arms.’
There’s another thing the trail running community seems particularly proud of, and that’s the fact that they ‘give back to the trail’. The Marathon des Sables, the famous six-day ultra-marathon through the Moroccan Sahara, has been at the vanguard – they give something back to every village, every community they pass through. They’ve even built schools.
All of which is a terrific adve
rt for swapping roads for trails. And for me it’s also a great relief to know that off-road, the watch is largely irrelevant – despite the recent FKT trend (What the FKT? – it stands for Fastest Known Time for a particular trail). But I think the real rise in popularity of trail running, and certainly why I fell in love with it profoundly on top of that fell in the Lake District and why I continue to love it now, is that you’ll never connect to nature in a more profound way than you do whilst running.
Allison Curbishley
Former British 400m champion, Commonwealth and European medallist. Allison has been a key member of the BBC athletics commentary team for over a decade and remains utterly passionate about the sport.
I loved the feeling of running from my very earliest memories. Anything I did had to be quick, and I absolutely had to run everywhere. Even when I became an elite athlete, even now, there’s nothing better than the feeling of effortless speed powered only by yourself.
When I was four years old, in the first year of school, I vividly remember my first ever sports day. There were four years in our junior school and on sports day only the top year kids were allowed to do what they grandly called the cross-country race, which was basically just one big lap of the field. I just remember thinking that sports day shouldn’t just be about running up and down a dirty, twisted, lined track that was only about 60 metres long. I was desperate to do this big, epic cross-country race. That was an aspiration from a very young age, just because I loved to be active.
And my first positive memory of running was winning that race in my final year of junior school. I did no training for it, and it’s not like I was doing any structured running at the time. Neither of my parents ran, so it wasn’t even instilled in me. I just remember the feeling of (a) winning, and (b) what running felt like to me, just being able to do it, being good at something. Obviously it got the competitive juices flowing even back then. I knew I was good at running, and I knew I enjoyed it.
So then during the long summer holiday between junior and senior school, my mum signed me up for a six-week, council-run athletics course – just to get me out of the house I think. This was a Monday to Friday job, 10am until 3pm, and it was down at Middlesbrough Clairville Stadium, which is now no longer there. They closed it in 2014. We did absolutely everything during that course, gave everything a try. In those days we were all obsessed with the Daley Thompson Decathlon game for the Commodore 64. You used to run by waggling the joystick from side to side as quickly as possible – and people used to get through a lot of joysticks! Anyway, during that course we were given real-life experience of every event in the decathlon, every event in athletics basically, even the pole vault. We were looked after by a couple of coaches and it was one of those guys, when my mum picked me up one afternoon, who said, ‘Look, Allison has got some talent. You really want to consider bringing her down to one of the clubs.’ So I began badgering and badgering my mum and dad from that day on. And from the age of 10, going on 11, I was a member of an athletics club. While I was in senior school, that’s where it all became a little bit more structured. Essentially, running became my life – training every Tuesday night, training every Thursday night and racing every weekend.
But being fast, it’s really something. Running at speed is amazing, and I know because I was more of a sprinter than a middle distance runner. When I started, and when I was in school, I was doing 800m, 1500m and cross country, and that gave me the base strength when I started honing in on which was my best event. My first big, national success was an English Schools victory in the 300m, which is what they made the under 15s do before moving up to 400m. So once I’d won English Schools, I knew I was the best schoolgirl at that distance and I also knew that I’d found my distance. And then it was just a case of working with the right coaches to build on my base and my talents to make me quicker and stronger.
And ironically, while more and more people are running now, competitive athletics is dropping off – not at the very top level, but at grass roots level. We used to be an iceberg-style sport: a huge base of runners and only the very best would make it to the top. Now, that base has got smaller and smaller. Meanwhile there are 5k races and 10k races every week, with thousands of people taking part. Add to that the fact that parkruns are getting bigger and bigger... But the actual competitive side of the sport, the top end of track and field, that has fewer and fewer people taking part in it. And I’m extremely worried about that because I really, desperately, don’t want my sport to die. It can give you so much.
Everybody always asks, ‘Do you miss it?’ Well, I do miss the competition, and I miss the travelling and I do miss the people. But most of all I miss that feeling of being able to just turn it on. Almost like a racehorse. When required, you can lift yourself up and you’re up onto your toes and really, it’s the most natural form of exercise; running on two legs, that’s what we were born to do.
20
Imelda May, Road Runner
‘Outlaw’ Ironman Triathlon, Mile 20
‘Has Andy won yet?’
‘YES!! Just now! He’s done it!’
Wow. WOW! A British man has just won Wimbledon.
Murray has battled his demons. He’s beaten the best player in the world on the biggest stage of all. He’s come back from the crushing disappointment of losing the final and crying during his on-court interview, to making sure that this year, he’s last in line to speak to Sue Barker. And he’s looked 77 years of history full in the face and calmly overturned it.
I look down at my watch and realise I’ve miraculously got faster. I’ve just completed a mile in under eight minutes. Inexplicably, despite all the hours of hurting, I’m Popeye after a can of spinach.
Back inside a plane, back with my cousin, back for more marathon punishment – this time in Norway. This is back when road marathons were a mutual obsession. We stopped talking for a moment, paused our earnest discussion about race times, strategies and preparations, to stare out of the window and marvel at the spectacular array of islands below. The approach to Bergen airport is magnificent: hundreds of rugged islands dotted around a deep blue sea pass underneath until, all of a sudden, the runway appears and you’ve arrived.
At which point, straight back to our race chat.
‘Are you going to try a negative split*?’
‘Hoping to, yes. How’s your taper† been?’
‘Nightmare. With full on maranoia‡ to boot.’
‘Yep, me too. I think I may have over-cooked my final LSR§.’
‘I’m worried my Yassos¶ have been getting slower.’
‘How many tempos** have you done?’
‘A few. But I’ve been doing loads of fartleks†† with not enough recoveries‡‡.’
OK, I’ll stop now, but you get the idea. And we must have made quite an odd couple. Here were two Anglo-Greek men, similar-looking, both called Vassos, both talking animatedly as they disembarked from a plane and both obsessed with running a marathon in under three hours. And both convinced that Bergen, finally, was the place.
We’d been given to understand from various websites and emails that Bergen was the ‘European Capital of Marathon Running’ and as such, we were expecting the whole place to come to a standstill for the big race. We’d been a little surprised not to see lots of other likely looking, lycra-clad fellow runners on the flight from Heathrow, but assumed when we landed that the whole town, including the airport, would be abuzz with excitement. We cleared customs and eagerly walked through to the arrivals hall.
Nothing. Nobody looking remotely like they were arriving to run a marathon, and nothing at all, no posters or signs or officials, to suggest that a marathon would soon take place there.
Curious.
We went in search of a taxi to the hotel. Surely the driver would know about the race tomorrow – he’d need to after all, what with all the road closures about to take effect.
‘We’re here for the marathon,’ we explained.
The driver couldn’t
have looked more surprised if we’d told him we were in Norway on safari.
‘But surely you know about which roads will be closing?’ we insisted.
He shot a look of mild pity over his shoulder, shrugged and jabbered into his radio in rapid Norwegian.
‘No marathon tomorrow,’ he announced with a finality that suggested he was already tired of our charade. ‘And definitely no road closures.’
Very curious.
Cue two cousins in a state of high confusion and consternation frantically looking back through our email correspondence with the man from the marathon organising committee to make sure we had the correct dates. We did. The marathon we’d flown to the small town of Bergen to run in the following morning, did indeed appear to be taking place in the small town of Bergen the following morning. Only, nobody seemed to know anything about it.
Extremely curious.
The hotel was our final hope. This was situated between the airport and the town, apparently miles from anywhere, but we’d booked it specifically at the email recommendation of organiser, Asmund, who claimed it was the official race hotel (not that we’d received any discount or anything) and extremely conveniently located for the start line.
The receptionist, predictably by now, knew nothing about any marathon taking place in Bergen that weekend. We begged him to phone around to check and he did so, but further conversations in Norwegian later, and we were still none the wiser.
Our traditional pre-marathon gluttony that night was a little subdued. We didn’t know whether to tuck in with our usual abandon, to gleefully order most items on the menu in the spirit of early celebration, or whether to take it easier, fearful that the following day would be spent going for a lonely run, perhaps doing a spot of sightseeing, and otherwise killing time before our flight home.
Don't Stop Me Now Page 17