London Marathon Weekend: A Little Trip Down Memory Lane

"The only person you should try to be better than is who you were yesterday"

Comparison is the thief of joy, as they say, but there are exceptions to every rule. 

As I'm writing this, it's London marathon weekend and I'd like to take you back a little: a trip down memory lane, if you will. 

London Marathon, April 2009

Imagine a spritely and youthful Ben, mid-twenties and gearing up for his very first marathon. Filled with excitement and nervous energy, the anticipation is all too much as I wait for the starting gun. 45 minutes until the official start time and, with time to burn, in my infinite wisdom I decide to embark on some heavy and sporadic stretching. I am not much of a stretcher but on this occasion it feels like the perfect preparation - a perfect way to distract myself and create the illusion of progress. A few minutes into this eclectic mix of poorly executed body poses I feel a sharp pang in my right calf muscle. This feels like a good time to stop and I try not to think about the resulting consequences and move my focus on to my trainers.  

"What would happen if they were to fly off mid-run?", I ask myself. This is, of course, a common sight at the London Marathon - running shoes shooting around the course with hapless, one-shoed runners trying to be reunited with their footwear. So, I take extra precautions and spend a good 5 minutes tying my shoelaces as tightly as I can to my squeezed, already acutely distressed feet. 

Finally, after 45 minutes of mental torture and nonsensical prep, we're off. If you haven't experienced the magic of the London Marathon then it's one for the bucket list - whether watching or participating, it's truly special, with carnival vibes and the most supportive, energised atmosphere I have experienced in my lifetime. After months of prep, I have gone from a "non-runner" to an aspiring marathoner. At this point, I have never run further than 20 miles and the idea of reaching the full 26.2 miles is a lofty ambition that I am not confident on achieving but I am hopeful and have set myself an ambitious marker of 4 hours. Anything under that and I'll be a very happy man. 5 miles in and I am smiling to myself feeling like I am in a dream; the music, the crowds, the sense of unity and community, and the shared goal of marathon glory.

10 miles in and my calf reminds me that it's unhappy. A little pang of pain every other step and it's building nicely. I am also starting to get pins and needles in my feet which is a new one. 

Mile 15. The magic has faded and I can no longer hear the music with survival being my sole focus. My legs and feet are beginning to revolt.

Mile 20. I have never been in as much pain in my life. I have lost all sensation in my feet and it feels like someone has shot me in my right leg. The course is now like a war scene with various runners being administered first aid from medical volunteers. It's a balmy 20 degrees in London which is positively exotic for us Brits. 

Mile 23. I move from a slow run to a lopsided lurch, dragging my right leg like it's a log. Someone dressed as Gandalf strolls past me carrying a staff. 

Mile 25. I begin to see black and white spots and my legs lose the ability to bend resulting in a slow, stilted march.

Mile 26. On the Mall and the noise is at fever pitch. 0.2 miles feels like a very long distance and my lurch is now a crawl - vision and senses now as finely tuned as an all day drinker at last orders. 

Mile 26.2. 4 hours and 2 minutes of pain and I have done the impossible. I crumple on the finish line and, after a couple of minutes, I am placed in a wheelchair and wheeled off to the medical tent: my home for the next 2 hours. 

After some rather odd body convulsions and receiving VIP treatment from several medics - one person administering a drip, another popping blisters and another massaging my aching body - I am discharged and take the long walk to my friends and family, who have now descended into full panic mode after I have gone AWOL. It's a grand total of about 100 yards to meet them but it takes me the best part of 15 minutes and I look at other finishers strolling past, on the way to the pub or hopping onto the tube, with envy and distain.

The aftermath wasn't pretty and I literally couldn't walk the following day. For the next week I lost the ability to climb downstairs so I picked up a bottom shuffling technique which, whilst effective, was not dignified. Due to the tightness of my shoelaces on race day, I managed to lose 7 toenails and my right calf took about a month to get back to normal. 

Following my first marathon experience, I began espousing the rhetoric, with whole-hearted gusto and belief, that the human body is not designed to run a marathon and your body starts to physically break down after mile 20. My experience was nothing to do with my own fitness levels and was clearly due to the limitations of the human body. 

Present day

I'm in Liverpool with my girlfriend, Becky, visiting family and I am trying to balance being a real human, honouring family commitments, with my horrific, time-consuming training plan. On the menu for today is an "easy" 4 hour run with a weighted pack - the very same backpack and weight that I'll be using in the jungle at around 8kg, which is heavier than it sounds unfortunately. I have almost no desire to run this Sunday morning but I manage to muster the mental strength, setting off at a few minutes before 9am. I mentally settle in and my mind immediately turns to the main event in London with over 50,000 runners setting off for the London Marathon. 

I won't bore the reader with full details of my training run but the short of it is that I take a whistle-stop tour of Liverpool, taking in the sights and a few snaps along the way. With me, I have an apple, a satsuma and 2 bottles of squash and spend most of my run listening to a podcast. 3 hours and 57 minutes later, clocking up just shy of 43km, I have made myself to the family pub lunch and I have worked up an appetite. My legs are a bit sore and I could do with a nap but, that aside, I am mostly focussed on what starters we are having and whether they can get me a large jug of tap water to myself. 

Now I am not one to blow my own trumpet but at some stage over that day, it dawned on me that I have made a little progress over the last 15 years. Every now and then, it's good to look back and remind yourself that progress is real and that, however indiscernible at the time, the little victories all build towards something tangible and meaningful over time. 

It feels like human nature to see things that haven't happened yet, or indeed, things that have but haven't happened to me, as "impossible". 

A lovely example from history: in October 1903, The New York Times published an article that said “to build a flying machine would require the combined and continuous efforts of mathematicians and mechanics for 1-10 million years.”

Just 10 weeks later and the Wright brothers achieved man’s first flight by airplane, stunning the world. And, of course, the rest is history with air travel now part and parcel of every day life for some. Which I think is the point of this blog. Sometimes, we can normalise and minimise our achievements, perhaps not intentionally but slow progress can creep up on you and, without a big bang, it can quietly sit with you and not receive the recognition it deserves.

Yes, as Bill Gates stated, "most people overestimate what they can do in one year and underestimate what they can do in ten years” but I think we also forget to acknowledge those little wins and celebrate the good times.

So, today I'm comparing myself to yesterday - or indeed 5,475 days ago - and I'm giving myself a little pat on the back. Progress happens and sometimes we just need to sit back and take that in.