I failed to finish the marathon. And I’m proud of it.
So many people say that they’d love to run a marathon, but I think of myself as a man who knows his weaknesses. As part of ✓ Project Bucket List, I decided to embrace my limits and walk a marathon instead.
A Marathon Hike is exactly what it sounds like: you hike 26.2 miles (42km) through the countryside. Every year, charities across the globe partake in a series of organised treks, often raising thousands of pounds for good causes. It’s easy to find one, and in my case, I chose Macmillan Cancer Support’s Mighty Hike.
I rallied Kymberley to join the cause too. She enthusiastically dived in, and we started to fundraise, putting up posters, spamming social media, and generally begging friends and family. In total, we both raised £280, between us, we raised £560 for Macmillan Cancer Support.
Macmillan sends out a training schedule to make sure you can actually finish the thing. If you’re going to do anything like this, I wholeheartedly recommend that you actually follow this training. I, in my infinite wisdom, decided that it’d all be fine and that I’d just deal with the consequences after the hike. Plus, we’d had a busy few months, and finding spare time to go out on hikes became less of a priority. “It’ll be fine“, we lied.
So, fast forward to the day of the hike. We get up at 5 am and hightail up to Bakewell, where the hike starts. The atmosphere is electric, everybody is kitted out in the same shirt with Macmillan proudly flashed across the chest. There’s a merch tent and glitter face painting. The whole thing gives off the vibe of an exciting festival. 20 minutes before our wave, we head into this pen where we take excited photos in front of a big backdrop, and a gentleman walks us through a stretching routine.
Then, we approach 7:50, there’s a 15-second countdown, and the gates open! 2000 people walked that day, an amazing turnout. Almost immediately, we came across the first uphill battle. For those unaware, the Peak District Mighty Hike is known for having the harshest quarter at the beginning. It’s a bad sign when, 30 minutes into the hike, you start to feel your legs feeling a little sore.
We laughed, “When was the last time we actually walked anywhere?” Spirits are high, jokes are made. People spoke around us about who they were hiking for, what they had put in their water, and how their fundraising had gone. I hear all about their mighty hike training plans, and about other Macmillan marathon walks people had done.
We’re a couple of hours in, and I start to realise I’ve been doing math as a way to keep going. I’m sure you’ve encountered this before. “If we’ve done 4 miles now and it’s a 26-mile hike, that’s 15% of the hike” soon becomes “but the first pit stop is at 8 miles, so we’re actually halfway there.”
We reach the top of the final hill. This is the moment when I realise how out of shape I’ve managed to get into over the last few years, and the term “wake up call” springs to mind. I don’t think I’d realised how much of a problem it had become. Sure, some of my old clothes don’t fit, but I haven’t really done anything about it. After this, less ice cream. That’s the promise.
It’s another few miles before we reach the first pit stop, where Kymberley swaps her plasters out, and I eat 6 flapjacks. Resolve dissolves fast when flapjacks are involved. At this point, it starts raining properly, and we set off for the next stretch.
Oh, look, it’s time for a rest and a little bit of a backstory. When I was 19, a much more excitable, younger man, I was rushing to catch a train carrying a load of camera equipment. My right knee collapsed underneath me, and I fell. Ever since then, I occasionally get a bit of pain.
In the lead-up to the hike, I’d had a bit of an ache in that knee, and in preparation, Kymberley insisted we get a brace. Good shout, Kymberley. That brace might’ve saved my knee, because at mile 12, it started hurting, and it started hurting bad.
Each step is accompanied by a short jolt of pain just below my kneecap, and occasionally, a larger burst of pain throughout the rest of my joint. The blisters are the least of my concerns, but because I’m avoiding stepping on them, my leg is at a weird angle. A bad thought begins to form in my mind.
“I can’t imagine doing another 14 miles like this.“
You take one step, then you take another; you have to keep going. You laugh at something funny that was said, and stop for a drink of water. You imagine the finish line and the massive meal you’re going to have later tonight. But then, there’s that thought again:
“I‘d be letting everybody down.”
Thoughts about my own health and fitness levels begin to circulate, and before long, there’s a solid feeling of shame lingering over me. We stay optimistic. Kymberley does an amazing job of keeping things upbeat. She’s wonderful, but before long, I can see her start to worry more as my leg starts to trip over itself more often.
It’s humbling to stumble through the mud as others pass you with ease. The feeling of shame and impending failure solidifies in my mind. But then, after 6 hours of hiking, we arrive at the lunch stop. Where those aiming for the full marathon stop for a quick bite to eat, and those completing the half marathon pass through the finish line. We beeline for the medic tent.
The medic examined my knee a little, asked if I’d dislocated it, then told me that if I was in that much pain, I should ask around and see if anybody could give me any painkillers. The alternative, she said, is that she’d have to fill out some paperwork. I felt embarrassed and deflated. She didn’t seem to see it as a problem, and I felt as if I was overreacting.
We had lunch to decide what to do, and ended up agreeing that, as long as it didn’t affect the money we’d raised, we’d end the hike at a half marathon. We agreed that potential longer-term damage to the knee was not an option. At the information tent, they show us a long list of people who started the full marathon, but decided to stop at the halfway point, and I’m reassured that I’m not alone.
And so, we head back to the half-marathon gates and step through. It’s emotional. Pride replaces failure. The music swells and they call our names as we pass under the finish banner, and we’re presented with a warm congratulations and a bright medal. I feel the edges of my eyes well up as we’re given a glass of nosecco and I turn to see that Kymberley is experiencing the same thing. Her eyes wet, and her smile wide.
For many of us, fear of failure stops us from starting the things we want to start. If you never initiate something, there’s a zero chance that you’ll fail. Had I known that I wouldn’t have completed the marathon, and had I known that I’d’ve struggled so much, I can imagine that I’d’ve put off doing it in the first place.
I didn’t finish the hiking marathon. But I started it. And that’s what matters most.
If you’re able, sign up. Raise money. Go hike. But for god’s sake – train first.
Supporters Who Made It Happen
(In order of donation)
- Kymberley Cochrane
- Russ Allcock
- Alex Radford
- Sue & Frank Davison
- Wyn & Dave Cochrane
- Eili & Andrew Dugan
- Jack Brooks
- Kassie McDonagh
- Iain Garbett
- Robert Spencer
- Charlotte Ford
- Pinch
- Jack P
- Will Lomas