044 RUNNERSWORLD.CO.UK JUNE 2018
They just follow me limply about
attached to my waist but utterly
incapable of independent action.
I haul myself where I need to go.
That first night I f lop onto the
mattress with my legs hanging
over the side. And thatâs how I stay
sleeping in the shape of a twisted
right angle. The prospect of having
to sit up and force my legs into a
position where theyâre not making my
lower back ache is worse than the
pain I already feel. Iâm thankful that
Iâm too dehydrated to need the loo.
The following day I muster all my
remaining energy and crawl to the
bathroom slither over the edge of the
bath and lower myself into the water
head first. It takes an hour to get
washed and dressed and Iâm proud
I manage it so quickly.
I need wheelchairs to get me
through the airports. At Heathrow
my children are somewhat taken
aback to see me so incapacitated.
I suspect my wife is too but sheâs
better at hiding it. Iâve never been
happier to see them.
We head straight to hospital where
I'm given a walking frame. Over the
next few days life slowly begins
seeping back into my legs.
Meanwhile goodness knows what
Iâm sweating out. I spend the first
week sleeping on the sofa (the stairs
being a challenge too far) and wake
up every morning with the cushions
soaking wet. We end up having to
buy a new sofa.
And itâs while I am researching
the sofa purchase online that it
happens: my browser search history
changes from âLondon sofa shopsâ
to âworldwide ultramarathonsâ.When you run silly distances the
question âwhyâ pops up a lot. Why
run for five hours when you could
stay in shape in 20 minutes? Why
push yourself to extremes? Why
isnât a marathon enough?
Why choose a sport in which
blisters are a badge of honour and
suffering is mandatory? Why when
thereâs little prize money on offer?
Why when even the very best
endurance runners are not well
known and most have to work
proper jobs just to get by? Why
when training requires so many
hours alone on the trail?
Why arenât you normal?
Thatâs the heart of the matter.
Are we really âmadâ like so many
people seem to suggest?
Many years ago I was told the
following tale by my grandfather
as I sat on his knee one sweltering
summer afternoon in the house
he built by the sea. For a long time
I believed it was ancient Greek
wisdom passed down from
generation to generation. I liked123