4am Saturday 24th November 2014
I was about to hobble onto a cobbled section of pavement near the sailing school on Monaco's Port Hercule, the Principality a picture postcard of twinkling lights. The drums of the band behind me were fading, drowned out by the thumping bass of the Rascasse nightclub which was still going strong even at that unearthly hour. 

I was hobbling because I had already covered 300km since the previous Saturday at the annual No Finish Line event in Monaco. The 1.37km circuit was open 24 hours a day for 8 days, and was a race - the "Race to Nowhere", a phrase coined by my sometime coach, ultra running mentor and friend, Dr Mike "Mad Dog" Schreiber. With Mike's support and encouragement the No Finish Line had become a highlight of my running calendar - an ultra marathon with a twist. I had been running it for about 10 years, but this year my team that had gradually snowballed into a 100 strong behemoth were going for a record. Local business and donors had agreed to give Euro1.15 per kilometre covered during the 8 days, and there was healthy competition for age group trophies, team ranking and overall placings. 40 people had come from all over the world to contest the elite category, napping for a few minutes at a time in hastily pitched tents, but often spending all 24 hours per day running, walking or shuffling around the circuit. My friends, family and I would nip down to the course in the morning before work, at lunchtime and after work and put in a few laps whenever we had a few minutes in between family and work commitments. 

I checked my phone for the millionth time that day, staving off boredom and fatigue. It had been a long week with long hours at work and my youngest's 9th birthday party to contend with. I had slept for only 4 or 5 hours a night, putting in as many km's as I could, with the personal aim of top 50 overall, and a marathon a day over the 8 days. From 7pm the previous Friday I had been lapping almost solidly, stopping only to sip a sports drink and have a handful of nuts, or to use the "fragrant" porta potties that lined the seaward end of the port. 

My phone blinked with a new post and I received the news that I was dreading. Mike's brother, Marc, posted on Facebook that his elder brother had "shaken off this mortal coil".  I was stunned. Only a few days' previously I had been happily exchanging emails about the progress of the race, our team Pussy Footing Around and Adrian, another of Mike's proteges from the UK that had entered the full 8 day event and was aiming for a top 20 finish overall. Although I had never met Mike in the flesh, we exchanged daily emails about life in general, photos of my kids growing up and anecdotes about his life and running experiences.  The previous Monday I had received an email commenting on the pictures of my daughter's birthday party, and the great progress I was making with my goal of a marathon per day for the entire length of No Finish Line. It was all I could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other as the fatigue and emotion got to me. I struggled to breathe and tried to continue as best I could, knowing that Mike would not want me to give up. 

***

7pm, New Year's Eve 2008 
I put down a book Mrs R had given me for Christmas a few days previously "Life on the Run: Coast to Coast". I had been running the odd trail run off and on since late 2007, and I was doing more and more marathons. Matt Beardshall, the author of the book, was a trail running fanatic and had written a diary of his experiences training for - and running - from one side of the UK to the other on the fabled Coast to Coast route. His was not an organised race, just a group of friends with a car in support, some running, some cycling, just out for an adventure. I couldn't put the book down and finished it in a few days. 

I wanted to start pushing the boundaries of my running experience - I knew I wasn't going to trouble the Kenyans at the front of the big city marathons, so I needed to find new challenges. I had read about various events such as the Marathon Des Sables (MdS) - a 250km trek over 7 days in the Sahara desert where competitors carried all their kit, but I thought I needed to build up to that before tackling something so extreme and I had entered a 55km trail race. This was the Neander Trail, held at night over the mountains, and was to take place in late June 2009.  I was not overly sure how to start training for such a challenging event, but Matt, in his book, mentioned a legendary ultra runner that had advised and helped him through his training to overcome injury and complete the Coast to Coast. 

A simple Google search later and I had tracked down the legendary Mad Dog.  To say Mike's resume was extensive would have been an understatement. As his website stated he was the former:

Editorial Consultant on Endurance Training for Weider’s “Sports Fitness,” and “Men’s Fitness” magazines.
Asst. Professor, Biomedical Communications, University of Texas Health Science Center at Houston.
Vice-president, Super Nautilus Sports Training Centers of Houston.
Author of scores of articles on all phases of running, endurance, strength training, aerobic conditioning, and weight loss.
Author of the best selling books:
“Training to Run the Perfect Marathon”
“The Art of Running”
“Die Kunst des Laufens”
ASICS/TIGER said “From the beginner to the marathoner, the best training program any runner could have.”

He was still running and competing in all distances from 5km to ultras, and had signed up for the Kalahari desert race, similar in format to the MdS.  Semi retired, he was happily answering ad hoc emailed queries from runners all over the world, and would occasionally take someone under his wing to train for a specific challenge, for a very small fee. I eagerly emailed Mike with details of my current running programme, what I had done and achieved since my first marathon in 2004, and had my fingers crossed that he would accept me as a member of his online training team. 

My family had adopted a stray puppy six months earlier, and Lucera, a Spanish Water Dog, had grown into a keen runner as she grew up with us. This struck a chord with Mike. He immediately shared stories about his training runs with upwards of six dogs, years before, bounding through the snow or fields in one of the many different places he had lived. 

In 2009, with Mike's guidance and support, I entered 2 marathons, beating my Personal Bests in both. I completed the Neander Trail ultra marathon in the dark, and came in the top 15% of finishers. My love of ultras had been cemented when I descended into Sospel just after midnight surrounded by fireflies, and arriving at the beach in Cap D'Ail as the sun was coming up. After a quick swim in the sea, a text to my wife, I sat down with my back to the sea wall to cheer in the rest of the finishers and to write extensively of my fabulous adventure to Mad Dog Mike. Later that year I entered my first triathlon, a half Ironman, and finished it injury free and smiling. I also participated in the No Finish Line and for the first time exceeded 100km in the 8 days, crystallizing an idea that had been forming in the back of my mind for a while at the same time. I gathered a group of 5 or 6 friends and we entered as a team, Pussy Footing Around, for the first time.

Flushed with success, and buoyed by Mad Dog Mike's enthusiasm, my confidence to enter new and increasingly challenging events continued. I found that not only did I have confidence in my own abilities as an athlete, but I also gained confidence in myself as an individual. Over the next few years I was entering 7 marathons a year, plus an endurance triathlon, and at least 3 of the marathons were ultras of various lengths. I picked up qualification points and in 2011 I completed the fabled Marathon Des Sables 157th out of around 850 entrants, my first and to date my only multi day ultra other than the No Finish Line. The pattern was always the same - after chatting to my family the next email would be to Mad Dog with a detailed review of the race, my experience, what I had found worked and where I could improve next time. 

As the years passed, whilst I was still notionally on the Mad Dog Training Team, I found that my experience grew such I knew what Mike was going to say before he said it. The banter we enjoyed was terrific, and I loved hearing stories about how he and his wife had crossed the US on an old Vespa one way, and made the return journey in a VW Camper Van. Or how he never found Barbecues as enjoyable as the ones he attended when he lived in Italy. Or how he had been too young to go to Korea but too old to go to Vietnam, but that he had loved the military life and used to go out for extra runs in his Army boots when the compulsory Physical Training sessions were over.  I shared his grief when Sparky, his faithful canine companion, died, and his happiness when he adopted a new pup, Molly the Rottie, followed swiftly by Susie the neglected Collie, and latterly Marcie, another underfed stray.

Mike had as diverse a professional life as he had a personal one. He had spent time as a jeweller, a trainer to the stars in Hollywood, a University teacher, a push bike racer, amongst many other things. He was an ultra running legend before Dean Karnazes was out of short trousers, sponsored by Asics and cleaning up at races over distances that made me wince.  We shared many common interests outside of sport and stray dogs, including battered vintage cars and motorbikes of any description. He had built himself a country house (the Castle) in Mexico, and seen the land around him go from the plancha to a built up suburb of the nearby town of San Miguel. He enjoyed walks into town for his espresso and triannual haircuts, accompanied by one or more of his dogs and we lamented the build up of traffic on both sides of the Atlantic which necessitated having our dogs on leads. He would occasionally fly to various locales to race, but the rest of the time would sit at home directing his racing team to personal glory - whether it be the cancer survivor building up to walking to the end of the road and back, or the Ironman champion participating at Kona. Or little old me, a stockbroker from Monaco desperately trying to stave off middle aged spread and see exactly what I was capable of. 

A day after the email exclaiming how big daughter #3 was growing, and how great I looked as a clown at her party, I received an email from Mike that he was going into hospital, and not to reply to the email, but that he would email back as soon as he was able. That was the last I heard from my friend and mentor, Dr Mike "Mad Dog" Schreiber. 

Saturday 24th November 2014
Reading Marc's words, the only thing that persuaded me from stopping, as I fought back tears, was the thought that Mike would have wanted me to push on and exceed my goals. The fatigue and pain were made that much worse by the grief I was experiencing as the day wore on, but I "channelled my inner Mad Dog" and managed to cover 120km in the 24 hours, allowing me to hit my target of 8 marathons and more in the 7 days. I went home that evening for a cold bath (another of Mike's tricks for speedy recovery) and collapsed into bed exhausted and devastated.

The next day, I had set no alarm but #3 daughter wanted to head back to the track and push to win her age group, so I accompanied her, encouraging her and supporting her much as Mike had done me over the years. She did not make 1st place but gained 2nd, and had covered an immense 101km in the week. In the meantime I had covered 382.25km in total - just over 9 marathons in the 8 days, placing 39th overall. My team, Pussy Footing Around, almost doubled 2013's km record with 9836km, and came 5th overall out of 260.  We had grown from a few buddies to about 100 or so friends with enormous shared purpose and team spirit. We had many podiums in the different age group categories. I was so proud of my own and everyone else's achievement, and I knew that Mad Dog would have been too. 

I got up on Monday morning and wrote my own training schedules for the next two weeks, a recovery schedule now so ingrained I hardly have to think about it. But write it I did on my training planner despite being tinged with sadness at my loss. The loss of a very good friend, coach, mentor and confidant. I worried about his dogs, and the other members of the team that he had introduced me to over the years - how would they find out the awful news, and who would coach them in the future? Who would I write my race reports to and be filled with pride if they were deemed worthy for distribution to the rest of the team as a motivational tool? I felt a big hole, but Mike had given me the knowledge, confidence and experience to continue alone. Perhaps I'll finally be accepted into the Monaco running club, having been rejected a few times in the past few years.  Or perhaps we will formalise Pussy Footing Around into some sort of endurance club. Life and running will undoubtedly go on. 

Despite the apocalyptic forecast, and plethora of corny marathon slogans, I took the scooter the short journey down to the station from home and considered how much warmer I was - even on the scooter - than I had been the previous Sunday on Staten Island. The rain was holding off, no real wind, and it was a balmy 15 degrees. 

There was a "platform malfunction", resulting in several hundred runners in various brightly coloured lycra and a cloud of Deep Heat fumes running down the steps, under the tunnel, up the steps and diving through the automatic doors on the train just as they were closing.  I am considering writing a letter to the SNCF authorities to get them to reconsider their platform labelling at Cagnes Sur Mer - There are 2 platforms - 1 and A. I have no idea either. Mind you, there was noone manning the ticket office and the ticket machine was coins only - of which I had none, so I am not complaining too loudly. 

I jog / walked the 1.5km from the station to the drop bag trucks, coincidentally bumping into David Gebbie and his friends Louise and Gretchen en route. I managed to dump all my gear and disappear up to David's rented accommodation to use the facilities before the start, which was a significant improvement on the portapotties at the start!

Within a few minutes the gun went off and I discarded my bin liner wind stopper to ease into the run. This was very familiar territory - my 7th Nice to Cannes marathon, and I was just hanging back looking after my breathing and heart rate as much as possible, per the usual strategy. A few spectators were cheering us on loyally as the pack thinned out, and I zoned out, only stopping to avail myself of a handy tree about 4km in to the race. 

As I had run the NYC marathon less than 7 days previously, travelled back from the US, suffered jet lag and had a pretty poor NYC marathon I had no clue what my body was going to do. So I took it extra easy in the first half of the race, stopping to pick up energy drinks and the odd sip of water. 

I was aware there would be a few undulations in the 2nd half of the course including Old Town Antibes, the Montee de la Garoupe, and then a railway bridge between Juan le Pin and Cannes, which leads to a series of undulations which can really take their toll. To top it off, just after half way, before we got into Antibes, the wind picked up (I could see a few kite surfers in the distance indicating the winds would be very strong) and it started to absolutely pour with rain. And hail. And then torrential rain again. Super.

But my tactics paid off - I seem to recall negative splits for the first 30km, every 5km. At half way I was caught by the 4hr bunch with pacer - but I was able to put the hammer down a bit. I started to nibble away - with excellent success, at people in front. I did not stop at aid stations but blasted through - sipping water, and taking the energy drink and nectar from heaven Coke at a couple (too rare though!). I fought the wind successfully - paced slow up the hills and quicker down, tucked in behind someone for the exposed headland with the kite surfers and hopped from person to person when they tired! At about 35km I caught up with a friend, Steve Gale, and we ran together for a bit. I encouraged him along as much as I could but when he dropped back I had to carry on with my race. More nibbling and ticking off the km's using family members as inspiration - dedicating a km to one of the girls, and gritting my teeth. I really wanted to exorcise the demons from NYC and was determined to beat 4hrs.

 Finally I was in the last km, and the track narrowed with crowds both sides. The path home was too crowded to do anything other than cruise over the line rather than a last minute sprint, but I crossed in 3hr 59 mins and 17 seconds (chip time)! I was chuffed to bits!!!

 I picked up my medal (you see the runner on the medal is running through a puddle? Coincidence? I think not!) and grabbed a satsuma, apple, nuts bar and Poweraid - basically everything on offer. I drank the poweraid, ate the apple, satsuma and nuts bar as quick as I could, but it was still pouring and I was freezing and shivering.   As quickly as I could I hobbled to get my drop bag and put some more clothes on in a shop doorway. Then I went straight to the station but bought a can of coke and panini en route, and ate whilst I queued for my ticket and then the train. As I was climbing the stairs to the platform both calves cramped up - the first time I have had that issue - perhaps the rain...? However I was able to keep moving, awkwardly, and this loosened them up a bit.  A cold bath at home helped, too. 

This week has been another recovery week and has gone very well, but who knows how this week coming up will go at the No Finish Line. I have set myself a target of 340km for the week which is just over 8 marathns in 8 days. If I can do it, that will take me to 10 marathons for November, and hopefully a top 50 finish at the No Finish Line (out of more than 10000 entrants), despite having to work every day. Fingers crossed! I am hoping the team can crack the top 5 out of 250 or so teams. We have a great showing already, with some very motivated people and will be doing the 24 hours as ever on Friday 21st November. If you have yet to sign up, please go to the kiosk on track at any time from Saturday morning and sign up for Pussy Footing Around!  Look forward to seeing you on the circuit!

Reading this article from the BBC on pension age ultra athletes I was reminded of something someone said to me in passing on Monday - the day after my second marathon in a week "It will shorten your life". Unfortunately I did not have the presence of mind to retort that I was doing pretty well at 42 for someone who was told he wouldn't see 40 (aged 31 in a routine medical) unless he changed his life; tied up as I was with the extremely high stress breakfast / dog walking / school run routine on a Monday morning.  I remember being told after my first marathon that I should not do more than one in a year. This by someone that had never even attempted a marathon, and was not long after given an ultimatum by his GP that I had been given a couple of years previously.

A lot of publicity is always given to the negative aspects of running and endurance sports - the one person in 50000 that keels over during the Great North Run or London Marathon every 5 years or so; or the perceived damage to one's joints. This is despite the evidence that running, when properly trained for and distances appropriately built up to, actually strengthens joints and extends the life of the cartilage in the knees (compare the cartilage of an amateur runner to that of an obese computer games addict and I suspect you can see the difference) according to some reports I have read of late. 

The BBC article is an interesting and (finally) a well balanced essay on the perceived dangers of endurance sports.  It quotes a scientist at Liverpool John Moores University.
""Although you can’t account for exceptions, George thinks that people who train appropriately should be safe. “You can’t normally run yourself into a heart attack if you don’t have a pre-existing disease,” he says. Nor do the regulars seem to show a significant build-up of long-term damage – like scar tissue in the heart’s muscles or excessive wear and tear to their joints – that some had expected.""

I'll be pointing out this article to everyone and anyone in future to refute certain well held preconceptions about endurance sports, and I shall continue to endeavour to push back the perceived boundaries and society imposed limitations. 

Rant over - onl

A popular t shirt slogan is "A bad day on the ... is better than a good day in the office" (insert preferred hobby accordingly - fishing, skiing, cycling, etc).  And it is true. Sunday for me was pretty humbling to be honest, for a variety of different reasons. 

The whole family were blown away when I registered for the run - I have registered for a lot of runs now, but the NYC Marathon was by far and away the most efficient and impressive expo I have ever seen. The t shirt was awesome, and then some retail therapy - mainly for me (unlike the rest of the trip when the girls gave the Amex a decent hammering) which saw me get some runners, gloves and socks with NYC Marathon branding, and a jacket for Mrs R. A new custom pair of Oakleys also found their way into my bag complete with engraved "Pussy Footing" on the lens! Awesome.  The amount of volunteers was staggering - I am always amazed that so many people are prepared to give up their time so selflessly so that I can go out and pursue my hobby. 

I was blessed with an extra hour's sleep due to the clocks going back, on race day, although the alarm was still painful at 4.30am. Having eaten and drunk my tea, I jog/walked the 12 blocks or so to the bus stop. I have never seen so many buses in one place. There must have been over 200 up every street for 10 blocks and lining both sides of 5th Avenue. It was quite a sight - this army of buses ready to take a steady stream of wrapped up runners out to the start. I started chatting to a guy as I walked - Kevin the Geordie; it was his first marathon and was running it solo for a kids hospice charity. The organisers had warned us it would be cold and windy, and I had prepared with 3 jumpers, a beanie, some gloves and a plastic bag to sit on. Due to security we really weren't allowed to take much in with us. The bus to Staten Island went smoothly and quickly. As we got off the bus the cold wind (I later found out up to 45 mph) went right through us, and I swiftly put on my 3rd and final top but within seconds was shivering uncontrollably. We queued for the airport like security checks, with "counter terrorism" Police everywhere. Dunkin Donuts, a race sponsor, gave me another beanie which I put on and actually kept on through the whole race! 

I grabbed a Dunkin Donuts coffee and bagel, and then just chilled out - literally. The start was an example of logistics management. We had different colour bibs on - either green, blue or orange. There was a "village" allocated to each colour. Each colour village would have 4 waves of runners according to time, and corrals A through to F. I had been allocated to the Green village, Wave 1, Corral F, but Kevin was in the Blue Village so I went with him for the company and hung out for a bit chatting away to him and some other runners. NYC Marathon veterans were seated on cardboard or even better in sleeping bags or trash bags - something I wish I had brought to keep out the cold. I alternately walked, ate a bagel, took a coffee to warm up and did some star jumps. I was covered in goose bumps and shivering the whole time.  After a bit I went to the green village, and tried to keep warm which was impossible as it was even more exposed to the wind, being right under the bridge. I ran about and did star jumps but was still shivering uncontrollably, so I queued up for some hot water to warm me up, and kept sitting in the portaloo to keep the wind out. It was horrendous.

I was with the 1st wave of runners but because of the wind we were a bit late setting off. I later found out the delay was to allow the wheel chair runners to start on the opposite side of the bridge as it was deemed too dangerous for them on the exposed bridge.  It was nice to be in a group of other tightly herded runners though, as we were able to use body heat to keep warm! Time passed quickly as we prayed the multiple helicopters flying overhead would not crash into each other as they bobbed and weaved in the high blustery winds. After a bit we moved up to the start just before the Verrazzano bridge.  A few seagulls flew backwards overhead and then we were off to multiple shotgun blasts. I was peeling off layers as I queued to cross the start line, but kept my beanie, gloves and a sweatshirt on as my feet were still numb! Some of the volunteers were shivering as I started my run, and it struck me that even though they had dressed appropriately they were the unsung heroes of the event. 

We crossed the start line a few minutes after the delayed gun, and started to head up over the bridge. It was so windy my left foot (upwind) kept hitting my right, and I was actually a little scared, dizzy and disorientated by it all. I tried to focus on the race, not tripping over anyone else and my own feet, and not to get blown off the bridge. Not to mention the discarded clothing. After 10 minutes or so I discarded my sweatshirt and was down to race gear of t shirt, shorts, beanie and handwarmers still in my gloves (they did not go until about 30 mins into the race)!

I was so relieved to be over the bridge although I had enjoyed the view of Manhattan and the skyline from a great vantage point. From the minute we hit Brooklyn the atmosphere was amazing. People lined both sides of the street 5  deep. Bands were competing against each other every 50 or 100 metres. The noise was so loudyou couldn't have even heard an iPod if you had one on! I started high fiving people and didn't stop for the whole race. It took me a lot longer to settle in and slow down than normal - whether it was the weather, excitement, or whatever, but my breathing and heart rate were - I know - too high for quite a while. I was relieved to fall into a rhythm long after I would normally, and concentrated on enjoying the day. There were Gator-Aid stands every 2 or 3km, with water too, and people giving out tissues for my runny nose which was awesome. The hand warmers went, as did the km's. I was wearing a Diabetes UK top and I got a lot of cheers and support for that. A fellow runner came up to me and shook my hand to say thanks for the support - he was Type 1 and had been for 38 years. It was his 14th marathon. I found him a huge inspiration - here was he thanking me and I did not have the condition but he did. He was "fighting lows" all day and soon dropped back, but I remained humbled by his battle. I chatted with another UK ex pat runner for a bit, but he was too quick for me and I let him go.

Half way came and went - generally I was pleased with how things were going, with negative splits for the 1st and 2nd 10km. I sped up a tiny bit as we left Brooklyn for the 3rd 10km and was going ok, still engaging with the crowd, although the wind was starting to annoy me. One thing I had not bargained for were the relentless undulations of the run. I had for some reason assumed it was all pretty flat, but the bridges and just undulating straight roads were a bit of a surprise. However, I went slow up and quick down as per training, and habit ingrained from years on the Mad Dog team (5 years this year I believe!).

At around 31km we went up another bridge - maybe into Queens? and it was then that I started to struggle. I was trying to play the nibbling game, and would often find someone that I could eat into their lead for a little bit, but they would then stop and walk. I was also hoping to see Mrs R and the kids but they had evidently found it too hard to get to the part of the course they had planned to, and I was a little disappointed and let my head go down. I gave myself a stiff talking to, and concentrated on nibbling with limited success. The wind and relentless undulations took their toll as we hit the top end of Central Park, although this was familiar to me having run round it on business trips. I kept my chin up and tried to ignore the zombie apocalypse around me, and when I could I ditched the nibbling game to try and tuck into the wake of someone bigger than me to shelter from the wind! It was just a question of ticking off the km's to the finish!

Eventually of course, I did finish, although my last 12km had been a little slower than the previous which was annoying. My finish time was 4.08, easily my slowest in years. For some reason it had taken everything from me, and as I was taken to one side by a photographer to record my finish with my very nice and hefty medal for posterity, I could summon nothing more than a grimace. I won't be buying that photo!

Very quickly I was freezing, and I got a heat poncho which was given to me on the exit from the Park. I was also given a protein bar and shake which I quickly devoured. I had ticked the speedy exit box so had no drop bag, so there was nothing for it but to hobble the 27 blocks back to the apartment where I grabbed a very quick shower, change and literally headed straight to the airport. We pretty much got straight on the plane for the 8 hour flight back. 

I am really pleased to have ticked off NYC from my bucket list, but a little disappointed in my time. The atmosphere was incredible, but I didn't race the best race - a veritable "tough day at the office!". I have been shooting 3hr40's for a few years now, and therefore expected at the very least a sub 4. I have been given an important lesson - humbled in fact, by the distance. Not to mention humbled also by the tens of thousands of inspirational participants, organisers, volunteers, public servants, and especially the crowds. What a day.  

This sunday I will be in more familiar territory - the Nice to Cannes marathon. I have no idea how I will get on, given the fact I have a marathon in my legs already, jet lag and a clear lack of form. A finish is a finish, though, and that remains the goal.