Last year i entered the marathon again, another great opportunity to get running again after Race to the Tower. This time I had Jules and Tim for company. I did complete the marathon. We didn’t run much of it together as my pace was slow and laborious. But that year I finished it, in the wet and the rain. Still on anti-depressants, weight rising steadily. But job done.
Well, this year I entered the Ultra - why not get the complete set? Great training following the Wall (which obviously I didn’t do) and the perfect distance in advance of the Half MDS in September. Except, we all know how this year has been going for me. Mostly filled with DNS - one DNF at Bewl and mental torment that sees me up and down like a yo-yo. Plus I started back at work 5 weeks ago and although it has been okay, it hasn’t been great. Work have been super supportive but the minefield of restructures in Local Government and not being sure what I’m meant to be doing hasn’t made it the return I’d hoped for. Which led to a collapse in my recovery just as we approached my nemesis in Salisbury!
What to do? I hate making decisions in case i make the wrong one, in case i regret it and spend the entire time wishing I’d done something else. Or blaming myself for being so foolish. I simply didn’t know - I ran 15 miles the week before, plenty within the pace for the cut off. But later that day I bent over to pick up something and my back went into spasm. Co-codamol prescribed by the GP and the words ‘keep moving’ all seemed to indicate I could still run. But did I want to? My wife, Keeley, had been entered by mistake (by me!) into the 20 mile walk - the plan had been for her to walk the Half Marathon having walked the 10k last year. Despite my mistake and trying to convince her not to walk 20 miles with a bad knee, no training and no point she was determined to stick at that distance. Should I, I pondered, do it with her instead of the 50k?
When you don’t know what to do what else is there to do but ask Twitter. So I did. And you answered in your droves. Almost all pushing me to drop down to the walk and have some fun with my wife over 20 miles. She had promised me a scotch egg picnic on route too so I could feel the gods drawing me in, but I still wasn’t sure. Decisions. I hate making decisions that I can’t stop myself regretting. Which then helped that two people made it for me. First Whiffers - well you just don’t argue with Whiffers and second my therapist. Both told me not to run and to do the walk. That was it then. 20 mile walk with 10 hours to complete it in was the plan. My back was still sore and it just seemed to make sense. But once again Salisbury 54321 had defeated me before I’d even reached the start line. The race that has inadvertently become like a marker in the year for when my mental health finally completely failed me. There would be no triumphant return saying “I’m better” - and I can promise you there will be no return to Salisbury again.
If you ever get the chance to enter Salisbury 54321 then I would. It’s a masterpiece in organisation. You can run 21, 33, 42 or 50k and you can walk all of those too as well as a 10k and a 5k fun run. Everything is colour coded. There’s bread pudding on route (for the longer distances), great marshals, beautiful scenery, no chance your watch will match the distances (always well over) and the weirdest ending along the river dodging tourists and shoppers who have no idea you’re in a race.
20 miles in 10 hours seemed very doable for Keeley, we had mused about potential pub stops, picnics. Plenty of fun to be had. Except she hated it. From about 2 miles in - granted she’s in a lot of pain with a ligament damaged knee strapped up. Likely arthritis too. But her physio had seen no reason why she shouldn’t give it a go. And she did. Mile after mile. Hill after hill. In pain, I kept her dosed up like smarties with paracetamol, ibuprofen, some of my co-codamol. She navigated stiles, fences, main roads, off road, yew trees, tarmac (most of it is actually not trail) oh and hills. Lots of lovely hills. Her message to me “just keep talking” - so I did for 9hrs 30 minutes. I went through my entire repertoire of bollocks. At first I was questioning whether she actually wanted to do the entire thing. But her inner stubborn was not about to give up - or at least when it wanted to we were in the middle of nowhere with no checkpoints and no chance to just drop out and Uber it home. Which meant we walked. I sang (those who run with me know my love of Nolans), I chattered. I texted Jules to give me inspiration on what else I could do to help motivate her. We had cheese straws, we did stop and eat the scotch eggs. We took selfies. And she swore. A lot. But she bloody did it. It took longer than we had hoped which makes it harder as that’s all just extra hours on your feet. But she kept going. She dug in. She walked 20 miles.
And me, I walked it too. And I realised I could walk it, easily. 20 miles did not seem scary to me at all. But I guess having run 13 marathons and a few ultras it wouldn’t. But I had never realised this before until Sunday. I just kept going. And it felt good to be able to give support to Keeley. The one person who has been a constant over those last 2 years of deep darkness, it’s not been easy for her (at all) and in some little way I could give her something back. This was what I did. Stick me in a race or on a route and I will keep going. I won’t be fast. I won’t be pretty. But I won’t stop (well other than in Bewl in the pouring rain!). It was like an eye opener for me. At one point Keeley asked me why did I do this and it’s something my therapist asks me too. Why? Why push yourself over crazy miles. Simply because you can. You can switch it all off. All the pain. All the voices in your head. And just put one foot in front of the other - usually with beautiful scenery and snacks and friendly folk to cheer you on. It isn’t real life. It’s as far from real life as you can get and it turns out, I can achieve something doing it. I can get to the finish. And in real life I’m never quite sure I’ll get to the finish.
