The morning of the event had arrived. Emotions were on tender hooks and were flying around the tent like a bull let loose in a china shop. The heart was thumbing, like it had done all night, and it was hard to say if it was because of nerves or the lack of oxygen at 5360 metres. The sun had yet to climb over Everest as I thought about preparing for the run ahead, my breath which was clearly visable had made me linger a little longer in the warmth of my sleeping bag. I thought about what I had let myself in for. Did i truly believe that 6 months ago when i committed to this event, I would seriously be in a tent at base camp freezing my butt off to run what can only be considered as one of the craziest marathons around. The only thing what allowed me to believe what I was doing, along with another 51 foreigners was normal, was the two Irish lads in the tent next to me. Mark and John. If you were to speak to them over the phone you would just think that they were 2 ordinary blokes. Yet this was far from the case. If I hadnt seen it for myself then I would have found it hard to believe. Mark Pollock was about to run down from base camp, over boulders and across ice to finish the marathon, all without the aid of his sight. The only assistance he would have was his friend John, who would guide him down like he had guided him all the way up. A 12 day trek which was a massive task in its own right.

Morning tea was all I could stomach before the start but I decided to force myself to eat one cliff bar along with taking an imodium pill. A few days before I had the unfortunate experience of getting a mild dose of giardia, a parasite which lives in the intestine caused by drinking bad water leaving you feeling very low. This was one of the biggest worries leading upto the event. Many of us by this point had or were still experiencing a rollercoaster of a ride. Each day people would feel differently, illness came and went only to reappear on a daily occasion. We all thought ahead to the 29th and had our fingers crossed that we would be alright on the day. One slip, some bad water or food and it could have all been over. It was like playing Russian roulette. Injury or illness would have prevented us from taking part and it could have happened at any point during the trek or even the weeks leading upto our departure to Nepal.

6.45am and the sun finally hit the glacier where we were all huddled together close to the start line. The roll call of runners were being shouted out and when I heard my own number 41 being called I knew that all the hard work and dedication I have put into training for the last few months was about to happen, there was no backing out now.

The whistle went and the Nepalese and foreigners as one went every direction. The good path was only wide enough for a few runners so many made paths of their own to try to get a good position. I went with the flow, causing me to be pushed down a path which lead to a river of ice and a two metre boulder of ice. Causeing me to try to slow down and hurdle the wall of ice. It almost ended my run before it even started, thankfully I was fine and although i went over on my ankle. The initial feeling was one which i could run off.

It didnt take long to find my own speed and the first 5 km I started to enjoy and believe that my goal was a fair taget. This feeling would change. But during the first stages of the race, no boulder hopping or hills could change my enjoyment. The first 5km out of base camp was all boulders. After that it became a little easier to get into a running pattern. I was soon to find out that i was the second foreigner and the efield became spread pretty quickly. Knowing that Antoine, a french international runner was in front I knew that my target was never going to be accomplished but I was still aiming to hit the 5.30 time set by myself. I also knew that there was some pretty fit lads behind and I knew that i had to find a pace which I knew I could sustain.

As time went on I found myself running with a couple of Nepalese. One was like myself, slow and steady. I would go slightly faster down the downhills but he would catch up on the uphills. Surprisingly there was a lot of uphills on a downhill event. The other runner, well he would be like a tasmanian devil going downhill, if anyone has seen chase the cheese in the UK, an annual event where people from all over the world come and line up at the top of a very steep hill. There only aim is to beat the cheese from reaching the bottom before them. Generally ending in broken legs, arms and other similar injuries. Well this guy was finding his own route down the mountain, several times flying past me like a snow leopard on the hunt. It wasnt long before we went past him as he would walk the rest.

Later in the race, if it could be classed at this point as a race, I was to leave them behind and join with another Nepalese who was to help greatly. The final part of the event is suicidial. Imagine starting at a top of Snowdonia or a similar Mountain in the world at 1000metres. Imagine running down the mountain then turning back around at the bottom and running straight back to the top. Then imagine that you had to do that distance at 4000metres 4 times higher than the mountain itself. At mile 20 we were confronted with this task. I had to use every last energy reserves I had and once the tank was empty, all i had lift was my desire to finish in a good time.

Somehow I made it back up and with the finishing line insight, all I knew was I had one last killer down hill to Namche Bazaar. I stumbled in pain all the way down and with the last leg of the race through the streets of Namche I realized that second place was insight. A quick glance over my shoulder made me kick into some kind of run. Tom the fittest out of foreigners, not counting the winner, was in touching distance. All be it ihe looked like he had been in a war. I managed to kick to the finish, to fall to the ground in a bundle. Tom came in 30 seconds behind with a broken finger and cuts all over his kness and elbows.

6hrs6mins15seconds. my first marathon and a great PB. To compare with other times from past years is impossible as the route changes each year. This year adding a little more distance to make the official 42km and it also included an extra 400metre ascent at the end. Killer. Would Ido it again? Yes.

The Training Endured Leading Upto The Big Day

For the last 3 months I have been running and cycling to work, 10 miles each way. At nights and weekends I have been getting as much hill training in as possible. Most weekends I aim to run for around 4 to 5 and a half hours. Along with improving the core strength through strengh exercises. I am glad to see that the time is almost upon me to start tapering my workouts and reserving my energy for the big event.
You may ask how I have been training for the attitude, which is clearly going to be the biggest challenge on the day, along with the conditions under foot. It is clearly my biggest worry, that and getting dehli belly. It takes 3 months for your blood to acclimatize properly to altitude, the same time infact for you to loss what you have gained when returning to see level. Although I have experienced training and being at high altitude on more than one occasion. Hiking the Annapurna circuit anti clockwise and successfuly climbing Huayna Potosi at 6088m at the end of last year to name a couple. I am aware that each time can effect you differently. I am confident that my training and experience in South America running at high altitude during the later part of 2006 will pull me through. Tagged with the experience gained in Annapurna I believe I have enough knowledge to see me down the Mountain in a good time.

Below is a brief article/story about a morning on the road to work
Beep, beep, beep, beep. The sound of my alarm clock thunders through my bedroom, sending shivers down my back once more. I am sure that my head had only just hit the pillow. Midweek and already I feel I need a day to recover. Rest is far from coming as I rip open the curtains and peer out onto another frosty Southern English morning. With a long yawn, I roll away from the safety of my warm blanket; I throw on my dirty shorts and a stained t-shirt. Attaching my light to the back of my camelbak, I continue on stumbling in the dark through the hallway towards the bathroom - only stopping momentarily to brush my teeth. My trainers are still damp from the previous afternoon run as I wearily pick up my feet to take the first achy unsettling steps down the pebbled drive, trying my hardest to float across the ground, so as not to wake my housemates and neighbours. Unfortunately, I have yet to succeed in my mission to be as quiet as a mouse, all I can imagine is that I am what the beeps are to me, annoying. I am also aware of the fact elephants probably move quicker and quieter than me. The first mile is mentally draining. With the passing car headlights blinding my stride, I pray that the weather holds off for another hour before the skies open once more. I prefer the mornings when I had to run to work in the snow, than the rain and wind. A sunny day would be wishing for too much in Hampshire… As I approach the section of the run I call ‘the never ending road’, passing farms and meandering down country lanes, I begin to ease into a smooth rhythm; my mind drifts from one subject to the next. The sun at this point begins to rise, as a smile spreads across my face, I begin to realise that it’s another promising morning, of which, I have a lot to be thankful for - more than most people I know or have met. I arrive at work alive, refreshed and ready to go about another day in an office job leaving me frustrated and impassionate by the end. I understand now more than ever, that it is a means to an end. Soon I will be studying development studies at university and challenging myself in a career about which I am interested … I made good time this morning over 11 miles arriving in Andover TSB from Shipton Bellinger, so I have no need to rush like other mornings to eat breakfast and shower. If I could call it a shower, a sink wash before working in an office dressed in a shirt and tie is hardly considered sanitary. The hot steamy oatmeal stops my stomach from making noises similar to the deepest part of the Amazon, as I ponder the reasons why runners put themselves through pain whilst flicking through an article written by Lance Armstrong on his pain running the New York Marathon in the February edition of Runners World.

Why do runners put themselves through such ordeals? What drives runners to wake up before dawn, when they are still tired from the previous day and put on their running shoes? What forces runners to push themselves that extra mile time after time. To struggle through pain when they could simply stop running and ease their strains. Is it for a personal ambition, to run from their troubles or simply to look good and feel healthy? Everyone has their own reasons, below I would like to tell you my own personal reasons for pushing myself to the limit and beyond - until I can no longer feel the pain.