soulchaser

 

When I decided upon the idea of running 6 marathons in 6 months to prove something to myself, I chose to make it as hard as possible by doing the six toughest marathons I could find. I made it tougher still by refusing to train or eat properly, or even organise myself before runs. The predicatable result was pain, injury, and disappointment. This is a problem I have endured since I can remember, going over the top without thought or preparation. I swing between bouts of total paralysis and overexertion. My dreams are so far fetched as to make them unattainable to the point where at times I don't even start trying, and often give up after spending more money than I have on the kit I think I'll need.

 

Oscar wilde said that anyone who lives within their measures suffers from a lack of imagination, so at least I can take heart from that. And I do. But nonetheless, after 5 painful lessons, I was still trying to find my campsite at 2am the night before this last and hardest marathon, after almost running out of fuel in the middle of nowhere on the north Devon coast, praying that I'd come across an open garage sooner or later.

 

Lady luck favours the brave, and I did find that garage and make it to bed that night. I ate a bowl of pasta before sleeping for 4 restless hours in gale force winds and torrential rain. I woke to bright skies but the usual dark, menacing clouds gathering on the horizon. I put on my running gear and began walking down an impossibly steep hill toward the start. By now I didn't even raise an eyebrow at the prospect of struggling up such a monster. Anyway, I knew that worse was to come.

 

The Exmoor Marathon is billed as the hardest in Britain, and I think that very few people would dispute its claim to that title. I was coming into the race utterly broken. It would be my third in just 4 weeks. The strain of that level of stress on my weak little body was too much to handle, and it broke down half way through the 5th marathon, making me walk for the first time. There was no way I could get round Exmoor alone after such a battering. I needed drugs!

 

So I came prepared, popping ibuprofein on a pharmacist's advice to stop the pain and reduce the swelling in my knee which had stopped me running before. 200mg every 2 hours was the plan, and 200mg before the start to be safe!  

 

Drugged up, lubed up, and revved up, I joined the familar bunch of athletes and wannabies at the starting line and waited for the start gun, which duly went off as  I was tightening my laces. My first thought as I passed under the start/finish banner was how it was going to feel when I passed under it again. I wave of emotion went through me, I could feel the finish already. This test had taken me beyond my limits already and I was still running. I wanted it to be over so badly, but I wanted to finish well.

 

Within two minutes of running, however, my camelpack broke! I jogged along the wooded path with the other runners, fighting with the strap, trying to tie a knot into it to fix it. That done, I got back on with the race, hoping that would be the last of the dramas.

 

Over a stream and round a bend and we saw the first hill, and my god it was huge. I passed a guy who was explaining to friend how it is inefficient to run up these hills, and better to walk them. I laughed to myself as I watched the leaders clambering up using their arms like fell runners, and had to stop myself asking how the hell he knew, like he'd ever be able to actually run up one of those things himself. There is no need to take yourself seriously on a run like this unless you are an athlete. The very fact that you are there at all is serious enough.

 

Finaly the hill leveled out onto a coastal stretch that almost immediately turned inland, and then back down again. A fast paced, joint smashing descent, back into the woods and along the stream, past the start/finish line. We had done the first 10k and it had been a sincch. I'd have felt short changed if that'd been my run. That was the warm up. Back up again, on roads now, roads that I'd been driving around all night, burning vapours on the way up and coasting the way down. No vapours here, my body was warming up, but no chance of coasting on the way down either.

 

We were runnng north now, slightly inland, before doubling back along the coast to the finish. The hills kept coming as I knew they would, and I was counting the massive ones as they came. I was expecting 5 monsters, but between them were hundreds of smaller ones, still giants compared to the other races. But the drugs were working, holding back the pain that was present but not debilitating, and for the first time in the whole challenge I actually felt like a runner. More than that, I was getting stronger as the race went on.

 

The sun was out as well, and I was enjoying every step. I was holding back, running smarter than I had before, controlling the urge to sprint on the downs, but using other people to keep pushing. I wasn't letting anyone else past me, and was aiming my sights on the person in front, racing them, convincing myself I was playing with them and would pass them as soon as they tired. 

 

Brimming with confidence we made the turn back toward the finish. A long way to go still. A long. long way. We ran on the cliffs for a while, with the coastline stretched out before us. It helps not to be able to see that your finish is actually out of sight, but the views were spectacular. We ran down into a coastal village, along the front were people were having ice creams with their kids. That sedentry life is so easy and welcoming and I fall into it as though I were born for it, but running through it with 15 miles behind me and 11 to go, feeling stronger than ever before, I wondered just what the appeal was. When had I felt more alive? Every muscle in me was taught but moving freely, every sinew charged, every synapse firing.

 

On the other side of this town a parked car had obscured the waymarker, and three runners in front of me almost missed the turn up the steepest hill of the day. I rescued them but not before taking pleasure out of passing them! This hill was practically vertical, and a chain train had been built to take the rest of society up. At the top we were back to coastal paths, running round bays, wondering which headland would be the last before the home stretch. There were too many, they just kept coming. I was amazed at how well the drugs had lept me going, but was starting to wonder how long it would last. I knew from the the last checkpoint that it would only be a couple of miles to the finish once we turned inland, and so I kept pushing, my body now doing everything it could to get me to stop. Fighting that urge at this stage is crucial, because as soon as you do everything stops working, your body justs shuts down to make you stay still and stop punishing it.

 

Finally I rounded the last headland and made my way down into the valley that I'd run up the other side of that morning. Back into the woods, and then another checkpoint. How far to go? 4 miles! They'd done it again! This marathon would be more like 30miles than 26, which was typical of these guys at Endurance Life! I sucked it up and carried on. 

 

It is so hard to be told you've got another hour to go when you think you're at the finish. You've pushed yourself as hard as you can for 5 hours to make it to that point, and you find out you've got to carry on beyond that. It's easy to break down. I did break down last time that happened. You're achievement has been taken away from you and you've left nothing in the tank to carry on. How can there be anything in the tank? You've just run 26 of the hardest miles in the country for gods sake, and you did it well, and now there's more!

 

But I was stronger this time. I took it with a wry smile and started running faster. That was a mistake, and soon I was tiring and 2 or 3 people passed me for the first time in hours. Luckily most of it was flat at this stage, with some downhills, but on and on it went. The scenery was magnificent though, and I started to imagine the finish line again, and the same sensation passed over me. Strengthened I pushed on, and an old timer walking his dog told me I was 10 minutes away. 

 

Elated I relaxed and started to enjoy and feel every step I was taking. Scattered sunlight dappled the muddied track  and the river ran in the opposite direction to me on my right. I ran against it, up small hills, over tree trunks, getting stronger again, pushing into a full blown run after jogging heavily for so long.

 

Soon I spotted the banner in the distance through some trees. My tiredness left me and I flew along, over a hill and then back down the path I had started up that morning. I was sprinting beautifully now, tearing through the air with butterflies churing my stomach in anticipation, and then a crowd cheers as I sprint past, on their feet spurring me on to the end, and then I'm there, and it's over, and I've done it, and I fall to my knees and cover my face and the joy and happiness and sheer and utter and beautiful relief swim through me. I had run Britain's 6 hardest marathons in 6 months, through injuries in both knees, and I had finished the hardest of them all in the kind of style I could only have dreamed of.

 

 

 

 

<<< Back to Exmoor Marathon >>>

<<< 6 Marathons : 6 Months >>>