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The real darkness came in the section between miles 164 and 176. Fucking HORRENDOUS. I have never, ever been more fearful on an event. The terrain was a mix of bogs, fields, bogs, fields and bogs and monsters. It was dark and bleak. I couldn’t look up for fear of seeing giants, complete with bleeding pigs heads instead of human ones.
I had spent days feeling like I was a fucking loser and I wanted to disappear – something I used to do a lot when things weren’t going my way. I’d fought it, I had really tried. Although I was convinced it was the right thing for me to do at the time, writing about this brings with it an enormous amount of shame and of course little sparks of regret and what ifs. I quit voluntarily. There was nothing wrong with me, I was tired, my shin was being a bastard but really I just didn’t want to do it anymore. At the time my thoughts were ‘I am not the person people seem to think I am. Maybe I am not the person I thought I was. Maybe I have never been that person at all.’ Now of course, they are a little different.
I have been waiting for the opportunity to do LEJOG for most of my running life – it’s a really big deal to me. I want to complete it. I want to run the whole thing. I want to show people that the impossible is actually possible. I want to show people it’s OK to be a little bit broken and that your past does not define you. I want to show people what the possibilities are.
You are MADE to feel uncomfortable about being you. You won’t be good enough unless you do this/buy this/look like this/run this fast. That is fucking ludicrous. You are enough. Getting comfortable being you is the single best investment you can make in yourself and will save you a million tonnes of pain. It’s hard, hard fucking work, believe me, but it is so worth it.
The years I spent ignoring my own needs and pushing on when I was breaking, both in running and in other aspects of my life almost destroyed me. Was this decision to stop before I was timed out actually the ultimate example of me finally showing I have some level of self-love and self-respect? Like I said, it’s a wrestle.
“You have done and are doing your absolute best. You deserve to have an epic time – a huge adventure – one you won’t forget. You’ve done the hard work, and this race is the party at the end. Suck up every second of it, feel the wind, battle the weather, feel alive and fucking go out there and get it. I have total belief in you, and know that whatever the outcome you aren’t letting anyone down.”
People passed ice to me through car windows with gloved hands. People offered ice pops and food, their voices muffled by masks. We were doing this. We were making it work. It was the opposite to everything we have seen in the news and on the TV during this pandemic. It was love. It was care. It was just incredibly beautiful to be a part of it.
See this blog as a record of how I went about doing something I honestly thought was impossible to do. I’m as surprised as anyone that I managed to run 575 miles in a month. Maybe I am more capable than I thought, but remember I’m not a professional – nowhere near professional. I’m learning all the time, just like everyone else. And in May 2020 I learnt a fucking lot.
“Life is not a film. It’s precious because you can’t watch it again. Once you realise you’re not going to be around forever, I think that’s what makes life so magical. One day you will eat your last meal, hug your friend for the very last time. You might not know it’s the last time, and that’s why you should do everything you love with passion. Treasure the few years you’ve got, because that’s all there is.”
Anya Madhvani had no idea she was suffering with TB when she stood at the start line of the 2018 Marathon De Sables. This is a story of triumph over severe illness, fear, confusion and isolation. It is a story of hope, survival and the reality of what highly contagious illnesses really mean from a woman that is as inspiring as she is badass.
I asked people to send me stories of hope, how running has helped changed their lives, and some examples of the hope that we all need to hold close to us right now. The first one comes from Paul Dukes, and nearly made me do a cry. It’s a story of patience and consistency in times of crisis. And we could all benefit from that right now.
This is a story of real human endurance from each and every participant. It is about acceptance, courage and adaptability. It’s a story about triumph in the face of adversity and it’s a story about the effect that those people in that desert had on me personally. At the end of the five days, I was profoundly humbled by all of them, their achievements, their attitudes and their kindness.
