OK, I admit it; I am on a crusade. This is the year that I
reach 50 years old, the magic half century of life and the psychological
turning point for the vast majority of the population into a decadent decay
period which is characterised by long years of poor health, one that ultimately
leads to a premature, unpleasant death; that is if they haven’t turned before.
My work is with young people; I am a teacher and these
youngsters look to us adults for inspiration and for guidance on how to conduct
their lives. It is an incredibly influential period of their lives and the
philosophy that embeds in their heads is essentially that by which they will
live the remainder of their lives. But how many times to these youngsters hear
the message to eat healthy, do some exercise, not to smoke only to look at the
person delivering the message who is overweight, visibly unhealthy and who is clearly
not ‘walking the walk’? And then they look around themselves and see a society
where all the older people are actually getting old, looking old and suffering
from poor health. Such is the extent of the poor health that they grow up
thinking that it is indeed normal and that the message they are hearing is just
an extravagant lie. All the youngsters see is hypocrisy and they become cynical
and reject the message.
So then, what better way to spread the message than to do
both Badwater and Spartathlon in the same calendar year that I reach 50. I
finished Badwater this summer and that has been written about in another blog
post.
In the 4 previous attempts at Spartathlon I had failed twice
and finished twice. The score was even and this was the decider. The stakes in
my mind were high; all the students at school were really interested in this “old”
guy running this insane distance in this ridiculously short time. The news was
published on the school website and the pressure of putting in a solid performance;
so as to demonstrate beyond any doubt that I practice what I preach to these
adolescents was at a maximum. Maybe for people outside the teaching profession this
may seem a little strange, indeed, it will seem strange to many of those in the
profession too but as I said earlier, I am on a crusade and if I leave a
legacy, however small it will be that we can live a healthy and active
lifestyle right up to the point that we die. At 50 I am still young!
The Spartathlon race feels very familiar now. The arrival at
the London Hotel, the pre-race tension, the daft jokes with Rob Pinnington and
the general banter with all the other runners is just great fun. I have been
playing this game for some time now and this was a time to meet up with many
old friends. James Adams and Robbie Britton who I had trained with in Spain
just a few weeks ago were buzzing, James as the British Team captain and
Robbie, who was determined to “smash it”. Both inspirational guys but I had my
focus purely on the finish. I had to beat this beast just one more time.
At the start of the race I spent some time talking to the
Argentinians. I have written a lot in Spanish and many of these people know me
from my writings. I met Gerardo Re in Badwater this summer and we had a lot to
talk about. Nico kierdelewicz lives very close by and we had trained a few
times together before the race. Like I said, I just love the pre-race tension
and the nervous laughter but my laugher wasn’t nervous, it was simply childish
joy at being surrounded by like-minded nutcases.
So at 7 in the morning we left the Accropolis and started
our journey to Sparti. The race developed well, Rob Pinnington quickly hooked
into my pace, using me as a pace setter so that he didn’t go too fast. In this
race pacing is everything and starting out too fast is paid for by failure. But
after some 5 hours of bad jokes and a lot of laughter Rob fell behind as the
heat of the mid day sun started to bite. Then I was on my own for a long time,
casually passing others or being passed myself. I came across Paul Ali, I
overtook him. Then he overtook me, so I overtook him again ….. and on and off
like that until about 20 kms to the finish! Paul is true a warrior, of that
much I can attest, and although he was having obvious difficulties with the
race he just kept at it until he finished. Respect!
On the other hand I was on a roll and felt just so strong. The
kilometres fell away and I simply flowed through those ancient mountains where
so many warriors have fallen in the past. The connexion was complete and I was
just completely in the zone and running was just so easy. That is until about
150 kms. At this point I was having difficulty with eating and keeping the food
down. This isn’t at all unusual as it coincides with the small hours of the
morning and my body shuts down. The mountain came and went but I had slowed
down quite a lot at this point and the 2 hour margin that I had accumulated
started to be lost.
When the sun came up I started to feel a whole lot better
but my legs were heavy and I couldn’t recover the pace that I normally do after
the night. I was eating again but the legs weren’t responding, they were like
planks of wood and it took all my mental effort to move them. They did move,
and the moved sufficiently but they didn’t flow. No matter how hard I tried I
just couldn’t connect to the beast within and every step was a struggle. But
there’s the point. I knew I would finish. There was absolutely no doubt that I
would finish. I had a comfortable margin and all I had to do was to hang in and
move towards the finish. That’s why the beast stayed hidden, he knew I didn’t
need him.
The finish is Sparti eventually arrived and the Union Jack
flag was thrust into my hand as I approached the finish line. The tunnel of
people leading the way to Leonidas’s statue was lined with the carnage of
runners that had failed, including many from the British team. They cheered me
on all the same and then I remembered why I was here. Finishing the Spartathlon
is always emotional. It takes so much out of you to get here that the ecstasy
of touching and kissing leonidas’ foot are simply overwhelming, and of course
the crowd goes wild every time someone finishes. The Spartathlon finish is
simply the best finish in the world. Woolley 3, Spartathlon 2. Game set and
match, and at 50 to boot!
Reflexions
The Spartathlon is the greatest footrace on Earth. This year
I actually found Badwater tougher with the 55ºC heat but Spartathlon is still
the greatest. Why? Because it just is, that’s why! It is impossible to explain
and the only way you will ever know is to take part …. And finish. And that’s
the rub. Most don’t. The physical demands on your body are enormous but the
mental stress of the race is greater still. The race unleashes ancient demons
that haunt the runners right from the very start and that do their very best to
derail them. They usually win. It’s the battle with the demons that makes the
Spartathlon so difficult and that make the finish so special as it means that
you have beaten them in battle.
Many people have asked me what it takes to finish the Spartathlon,
now that I have had 3 successive finishes. Well, that’s easy: Be like a Spartan
warrior. No retreat, no surrender and be supremely fit. You will either return
on your shield or with it. It really is as simple as that and any compromise on
that philosophy will result in absolute failure. The only prize in Sparti is
the finish.
As far as my crusade is concerned, I hope that I have set a
good example to the students at school. I hope that they are starting to see age
as a mind set issue rather than how many years you have been on the planet.
Remember, you don’t stop running because you get old, you get old because you
stop running.