The longest month – part 1


May 2014 is the first month that I’ve clocked well over 1000 miles, not just during the world run but not at any other point in my life have I run 4 x 400km weeks back to back!It wasn’t through planning but rather necessity. My visa expired June 4th and I had to leave Australia then, or become an illegal alien. If this happens, your passport is flagged as having been in breach of a visa restriction. That would mean I’d have no chance of being allowed into North America, and the run would have been over. Simply not an option!

All in all it took me 12 weeks to run 4000km across Australia. My visa allowed me three months in Australia but it took me a week in Perth to get over jet lag, assemble my cart and prepare my kit for surviving in the desert, alone.

Twelve weeks isn’t bad to cover that distance, but I should have arrived in Sydney 10 or 11 days earlier, had I not been knocked over by a careless driver in Perth. Being knocked over cost me two days for repairs, two days through injuries to my left leg, two weeks running slower than planned where I lost 1-2 days miles each day due to the injury, then four days lost to couriers as I arranged to have the cart replaced with the stroller after the desert crossing. Finally, a day was lost disassembling the cart and transferring kit to the stroller.

I left Ceduna knowing I would have to average approximately 60km a day for 5 weeks to ensure I left Australia before my visa expired. Every Australian citizen I spoke to declared “surely with what you’re doing immigration will give you an extension – no worries mate.”

They were wrong. It took me two weeks to finally get through to immigration! Not once was the phone answered, eventually an email was answered which completely ignored my circumstances and the reasons for my request to extend my visa by 10 days.

I explained I’m wearing a satellite tracker, not only will I not be trying to hide, but for my own interests I have to keep my whereabouts public and proven at all times –  the very opposite of someone trying to hide/stay in the country illegally!

I showed them my website which publicly declares my desire and motivation to leave Australia as fast as possible. Not that it isn’t a fantastic place, but I’m trying to run around the world as fast as I can! Both common sense, and space age tracking devices made it abundantly obvious I posed no immigration risk to the country, but they ignored all of this!

The first two and a half weeks of this mileage was a slog. It’s much more taxing ‘having to’ run 20% further every single day versus running up to 30% extra just because you ‘feel like it’ and you felt strong that particular day.

This run is tough enough even when averaging 50km a day even though I do love running. However if it becomes reframed in your mind as a chore rather than a pursuit, I discovered that the abundant motivation that coursed through my legs suddenly ran drier than the red sands beneath my feet.

I found my eyes closing while running, so tonnes of coffee became the order of the day. Even when I drank a coffee on the hour, every hour, throughout the day, this was the first time in my life I’ve been able to fall into a deep sleep in mere moments.

I’ve always taken 30-40mins to get to sleep and then slept very lightly. Running back to back 400km weeks changed that – it became difficult to finish eating my dinner and I sometimes woke to realise a quarter of my meal sat in the camping pan, stone cold on the tent floor.

All day long I daydreamed of sleep……

“The Needle And The Damage Done”

“Needle And The Damage Done”

I caught you knockin’
at my cellar door
I love you, baby,
can I have some more
Ooh, ooh, the damage done…

….I sing the song
because I love the man
I know that some
of you don’t understand
to keep from running out…..

….I’ve seen the needle
and the damage done
A little part of it in everyone
But every junkie’s
like a settin’ sun.

These are the lyrics to the song ‘The needle and the damage done’ by one of my favourite singer-song writers Neil Young.

Some argue the existence of ‘positive addictions’ and I’ve heard many an obsessive athlete, runners in particular, labour under this explanation for their compulsive training.

I know runners who run away from painful or shameful pasts or who run to validate themselves. I know runners who have pushed their God-given talent to international competitive levels and now fight depression and anxiety over fear of not performing to their best or no longer feeling part of the gang, of feeling worthwhile.

Sometimes even positive addictions can go too far.

But there’s a line between compulsion, obsession, and addiction and that of genius and determination that’s a foggy one at best, and for the most part a transient one. To be the absolute best you can at something requires more than a ‘healthy’ level of commitment. You must go too far in order to know your limits and then stretch them.

I have a very addictive personality by nature. If I hadn’t used running to silence my demons when overcoming suicidal depression and anxiety I would have turned to alcohol.

Before being saved from the care system by my (adopted) parents, I’d lived through the effects of an alcoholic in the home. – it’s not pretty. Some might silence their demons with alcohol but some just become their demons. I lived through the latter.

I knew alcohol and I would have a strained relationship from the very first time I had a sip of beer at a friend’s party – I loved the stuff!

I later learned that most of my mates hated the taste but thought it looked cool and so were pouring most of their beer down the toilet. Apparently for the majority of people booze is an acquired taste, not me!

Perhaps there’s truth in the old adage that the apple doesn’t fall to far from the tree. If you’re born to alcoholic parents, chances are your brain has developed a liking for the stuff a long time before you’ve ever seen daylight.

The apple might not fall far from the tree but if you remember where it is you came from and the pain that being a certain way can cause people then perhaps ‘that apple’ might just look up at that tree and exclaim “I’m never becoming that”, grow a pair of legs, learn to run and never stop – a fool proof way to distance itself from its genetic-inheritance.

At university I partied with the best of them, dancing almost every night, but for 18 months straight I chose not to drink a single drop of alcohol. It might seem extreme, some would proclaim it a waste of student years, but I was determined to destroy the link in my brain of needing alcohol to have fun. I did it, I now drink occasionally because I enjoy a beer usually with friends. I never feel the need to drink in order to feel comfortable enough to socialise.

I also no longer have an addictive relationship with running, I run on the whole out of choice, not compulsion.

Sure, there’s days it’s hellish to be here. In fact there’s been whole weeks during this world run that I’ve run when not feeling like it.  But I’ve continued through  dog-eared stubbornness,  determination and ambition to finish what I’ve started, not by a ‘need’ or compulsion to quell an anger in my stomach.

There was a two year period where I was running solely on anger and aggression –  2.5-3hrs of running every single day. Fast, aggressive running over the toughest terrain I could find – sand dunes, the relentless steep climbs of the coastal path and the boggy unforgiving landscape of the wild moors. The tougher the better!

I literally attacked the ground.  If I spotted a steep incline or a hill that wasn’t even on my planned route I’d stare at it and think, or even say aloud, “you can’t stop me, you can’t even slow me down”, then break off and ‘take it out’.  I was fighting the ground beneath my feet everywhere I could find it. Often I’d literally roar/scream as I powered up the crest of the steepest hills, an instinctive, primordial sound often heard by those in martial arts, (and strangely women’s tennis!) but not so common amongst runners. We’re meant to ‘pace ourselves’. “BS”, I wanted to destroy those hills, own them, not merely cruise up them.

When you run that hard everything is silenced, there’s no anxiety, no questions, no feeling awkward, no fear, NOTHING: just tunnel vision and the deafening sound of your pulse beating so hard it seems as though your heart might explode out of your chest. Every fibre of muscle in my legs, and most of my body was repeatedly torn and forced to grow back anew, stronger, I found glory in the agony.

Snow, hail, rain, mud, storms and the dark – I relished the all-consuming dark, often running a marathon through the night, 2-3 times a week under head torch. I used headphones with tunes blasting through my ears to push the tempo for the first half to make me run faster, then I’d silence the music, purposefully making the second half much tougher to maintain the pace and face the silence. With nothing to hear and nothing to see you can’t distract yourself from the pain, you have to embrace it and realise it’s of your own making. Whining is not an option.

I was trying to make myself ‘bulletproof’ when it came to endurance running.

But more than this, I was burning my ill-founded but very real, self-loathing and guilt as fuel, I used lactic acid and oxygen debt to corrode them and starve the hatred that sat in my guts and needing purging.

It was a strange time of my life. I’m pretty sure I came out of it for the better but I was absolutely riding the razors edge of self-destruction through addiction, albeit a “positive addiction”, constantly flirting with injury and almost super human endurance. It’s safe to say I lived in my own world for a while.

I was working 50 – 70 hours a week at the same time but work was just something to pay the bills. I was a runner and trying to push my genetic limits.

Eventually I got a grip on the compulsive side of the running, I must’ve burnt through enough of the negative crap I’d been carrying around to control my running instead of have my running control me.

I sought trainers, coaches and top sports physiologists to advise my training and it jumped to a higher level. It was that year that I ran what was arguably the toughest endurance run in UK history, the first person to run off-road from Lands End to John O’Groats solo and self-supported, the longest Mountain Marathon ever run in the UK.

I can’t really tell if this blog has a coherent thread to it or of I’m just clutching at fleeting thoughts, I’m exhausted and my speed of thought is noticeably impaired.

This is being written, on the road, raw – during the event not through hindsight. I’ve run 20 marathons in the last 2 weeks alone, most of the time spent in overwhelmingly oppressing solitude, thoughts swim in and out of my head all day long , I’m trying to pen some here, so forgive me if it at times it seems a ramble.

The connecting thread to that time of my life and this current stage of the run is there’s a lot of damage being done, and a lot of pain at the moment.

For reasons I explained in my previous post, the left hand side of my lower body is being placed under incredible strain.

I listen to a lot of music out here, Neil being one of those artists who sings to keep me company along the endless roads.

The ‘Needle and the damage done’ is a fitting soundtrack to this leg of the journey, if it wasn’t for that addictive stage of running I wouldn’t have the resolve to stick through this now. I know that pain

To prevent ‘damage’ being done (as in permanent injuries) I’m using acupuncture needles to treat the near constant trigger points forming in my left calf.

“I’ve got this run” I know at my core and I will finish what I started. I won’t be stopped.

But for the moment, every day I stick the needles deep into the damaged part of my legs the old lyrics to Neil Young’s “The Needle and The Damage Done” drift through my head.

This sure is a crazy adventure.

The good the bad and the wobbly!

The Good, the Bad and the Wobbly 29 APRIL 2014



Good news is I’ve worked out why my left calf is constantly on the verge of being strained.

Bad news is, I can’t do anything about it for the next 6 weeks!

Wobbly news is that my cart is all out of whack, skewed only ever so slightly, but it’s not running straight.

The arms that hold the front wheel in place must have been bent slightly when I was run over and the front wheel was crushed. The replacement wheel no longer sits perfectly horizontal and it always wants to pull off to the left – straight into the way of oncoming road trains and any other passing traffic!

It’s been so heavy that I’ve had to use two arms to push it most the time, whereas I prefer to push with just the one arm, my other arm swinging freely – as close to natural running as I can make it while pushing my kit. Now that

I’ve almost worked my way through 23 kg of food and was running low on water (as planned) it’s light enough to push with one arm. However I can’t control it with just one arm as it wants to pull off to the side. To test this I got up to speed pushing it along the white line at the edge of the road, then let it go. It should have rolled on in front of me until slowing down until I caught it again.

Results? After running just 20 steps my cart was no longer in front of me but half a foot to my side!! So in 20 steps forward it’s moved 2 steps sideways! Or to put it another way, since Perth I’ve run over 1000 miles forward, but my poor left hip, ankle and knee have pushed that cart 100 miles south at the same time or I’d be well north of where I am!

That’s a very unnatural thing for the body to do, running with two arms locked is weird, and strains the back, but I could handle it for a few days each week while water weight was high, but running diagonally for thousands of miles is asking for injury, even without the cart! I don’t see any way I can set it straight, I can’t even work out if it’s the arms which hold the wheel, or the box that the arms attach to or the axle of the back wheel or the angle that the arms come from for me to push which is out of shape. Or perhaps it’s a small combination of each.

Sadly, it’s certainly not a case of whack it with a hammer and “that’ll do it”. It seemed weird that after running millions and millions of steps at a far heavier weight, without complaint, that my calf would now begin protesting at running along when I weigh over 15% less than when I started.

Hence, it’s also receiving 20-30-% less strain (depending on speed) with each foot strike. I’ve turned to using self acupuncture to control the trigger points which are constantly building in the left calf. It’s very tough to shove needles in yourself, let alone deep into the belly of your muscles, but it works well, and it might keep me from becoming seriously injured. All the muscles around my left hip are constantly tightening like piano strings and need to be stretched every few km to control the pain and move normally.

When I reach Sydney I will be putting the cart into retirement and picking up my buggy again, which I sent ahead from Perth. It’s such a shame as I love my cart! Also I don’t really want to have to run 10% extra in a country as large as Oz – those miles won’t even count towards the total!!

The true meaning of endurance

There are the high places and there are the dry places.

For a certain breed of men these are the two arenas we voluntarily pit ourselves against, both present their potential risks and rewards.

The details of each expedition may vary greatly but the narrative, the underlying structure is always the same:

“Can I withstand the challenges of this environment, endure the levels of discomfort necessary to keep moving forward no matter what, fight against the pain, the urges to retreat, until it’s seen through, or will I break?”

All expeditions offer challenges, most being physical or mental; internal obstacles, questions of confidence or self-doubt, fatigue, fitness, strength, sleep deprivation and  lack of energy etc.

The great expeditions have all of the above of course, but they go beyond merely challenging ourselves; these also challenge nature, climbing or traversing terrain and environments where man cannot naturally survive.

Frozen deserts, hot deserts and the thin air atop of the highest peaks; save from using technology, man does well to keep away from these places, he has not nor never will he belong there; that is unless he wishes to suffer, to be tested. In these circumstances it’s still a question of withstanding rather than surviving, on a short timeline over exposure to either of these elements will cause death.

For the majority, keeping a safe distance from such bitter domains is a no-brainer, the idea that some would want to experience such harsh conditions voluntarily, is incomprehensible . To a few however, there’s an inescapable lure, part of their self-identity is interwoven with the experience of overcoming such challenges. It’s how we feel truly alive.

This isn’t suffering for suffering sake, far from it. There are far easier cheaper and quicker ways of inflicting pain upon ourselves if that’s what we were solely after.

But this is about endurance, the true meaning of the word.

Forget VO2 levels, body fat percentage, lactate threshold watts/kg ratios and all other ‘scientific measurements of endurance fitness’.

Endurance is a measure of one’s ability to withstand. Literally how well can you endure?

Where better to find out than crossing the Nullarbor Plain, a 1200 kilometre treeless desert.

Wish me luck!

“Run over” in Perth

When I landed in Perth I was excited to be reunited with ‘Supertramp’, the original trailer that I set off with from Haytor back in July of last year. It has since been remodelled and sent out to me for this next part of my run, the entire 3950 mile width of Australia.

I took a few days in Perth to reassemble my trailer after it had been dismantled for transit, equip myself with any extra items of kit I needed, and arm myself with plenty of supplies before heading off.  It is essential that I am well prepared for this leg of the journey as I will be crossing the famous Nullarbor Desert; the name comes from two Latin words ‘Nullus’ and ‘Arbo’ which literally means ‘no tree’. It stretches for 1200 kilometres across Southern Australia and I will need to be able to carry enough water to take me 200 kilometre stints with absolutely nothing in between.

Forty-two kilometres into my first night of running in Australia, I was hit by a car. I remarkably didn’t have a scratch on me although I was badly shaken and felt pretty dizzy having been tossed in the air and the trailer flying over me before slamming into the road below (quite amazing as it weighs over 60kg). Unlike me, ‘Supertramp’, was badly bruised; the front wheel had folded in half and one of the carbon fibre arms was split. Luckily I managed to find the only person in Western Australia who can fix carbon fibre only a few kilometres away!  So after a day recovering from the shock, and essential repairs for the trailer, we were back on the road again. It could have been a lot worse, I try and block out the frightening image of the car hurtling towards me. The following day I made my way back on the road where I had been run  over and slightly nervously carried on.

Whoever said Australia is as flat as a pancake hasn’t ever run the 13 kilometres uphill out of Southern Cross and definitely wasn’t pushing my cart which had 30 litres of water in it as well as my kit and a decent supply of food that was to keep me going for the next 120 miles of nothing! The following morning, having run 27 miles, I reached Yellowdine Roadhouse which I was expecting to be closed (as most roadhouses open at 10am) but amazingly it was open and the owners invited me in for a few hour’s kip as they were concerned about me running through the storm that was brewing.

The next day was tough, the electrical storm hadn’t subsided and there were strong head winds of 15 mph with gusts up to 25 mph as well as rain, something I hadn’t felt on me for quite some time! I needed to carry on but didn’t do quite so many miles that day.

Thankfully a few days later I was rewarded for my efforts in the bad weather with a 41.2 mile day of running a gradual downhill stretch, it was much needed relief!

I am currently 355 miles outside of Perth, heading to Norseman, the last town before I embark on what is probably going to be the toughest part of my run…

I look forward to sharing this experience with you in my next blog.