For sale throughout the US and available online from major bookstores and Amazon.com. Also available as an e-Book. For autographed copies write to Malcolm: runplacesmalcolm@gmail.com

“I really don’t like running much” said Englishman Traviss Willcox. It sounds very odd coming from someone who, in 2011, completed 114 officially sanctioned marathons. Yes, that’s right, 114. Just the month of December was busy for someone not liking running much too; 19 in 31 days on two different continents.

Traviss is the first to admit he’s not likely to beat the Kenyans any time soon. But if you asked the elite Kenyans to run 100 marathons in a year you might not seem them in a rush to tie their laces up and get cracking either.

What’s more amazing is that Traviss, in his mid-forties, still worked his full-time job as webmaster for Golf Today throughout the year as he completed his 114 marathons. And another amazing tidbit is that, in total, Traviss has only completed 150 marathons at this point.

Which, of course, is way more than most of the world. But in the world of 100 Marathon clubs he would still be considered a relative newcomer. In fact, he said that just a few years ago he couldn’t even run 100 yards. But he’s a newcomer who simply gets on with it. No fuss; has his sights set on specific goals and gets on with it.

In 2007, as with many others who enter their forties, he felt he was getting out of shape and had to do something about it. His girlfriend Rachel started running 5 Km races and was keen to run the London marathon. Naturally she would look to Traviss as her training partner and he said “yes”. To say he got the bug would be an understatement of massive proportions. Traviss ran his first race – the 5 Km Pants in Park in 2009. He said “I wasn’t last but it was an awful struggle, but I finished and rewarded myself with a huge Burger King meal.”

The trajectory is familiar. Their distances increased from 5 Km to 10 Km …10 miles … Half marathon … and then the full marathon. He and Rachel joined the Maidstone Harriers, a British running club, and the social dimension of distance running became more and more prevalent in their lives. They also met members of the UK 100 Marathon Club and, as stunned as he was that people could run 100 or more marathons, he decided that that was something he could try and do. So with determination, resolve, patience and some incredible planning he set about the goal of completing 50 marathons, with his first marathon – the Thunder Road Marathon – successfully being completed in 2009. By the time ‘50’ came around, the 100 marathon mark seemed quite doable and was clearly in his sights.

In a recent interview with Golf Today Traviss commented on his first marathon: “About 50 yards in, I felt “something” ping in my left knee. By about 8 miles I was falling back rapidly, by 14 I was hobbling and having to walk. By 17 it was screaming when I ran so was just shuffling and by mile 25 I could barely move. But at the back of a marathon there is a great sense of camaraderie, no one is having a good day back there, and you kept getting jollied along by other runners, and you jollied them along and passersby would give you some encouragement and so on. If I had been sensible I would have quit, I finished dead last with motorcycle outriders for company 2 minutes under the time limit. I took 15 minutes to creep about 400 metres from the finish line to the car, my knee really was screaming.

Fast forward, but not too far, into 2011. In addition to the World Record for most marathons in a year, Traviss also notched up the following achievements:

Most marathon events completed in a 365 day period: 115 (World Record)
Fastest to first 100 marathon completions: 688 days (World Record)
Fastest to first 100 different marathon events: 720 days (World Record)
Fastest completion of 100 marathon events: 284 Days (World Record)
Fastest completion of 50 marathon events: 114 Days (World Record)
Most UK & Ireland marathon events in a calendar year: 82 (British Record)

Of course it wasn’t all run, run, run. He and Rachel managed to squeeze in a two-week holiday to New Zealand and Tahiti in August, which no doubt his body was grateful for. But apart from that break, Traviss averaged more than two marathons every week.

The body, as we all know, needs to be fuelled, and constantly, in order to run the long distances. Traviss is no poster boy for sports nutrition, however, but it doesn’t seem to matter that he’s focused mainly on McDonald’s, Burger King, Dominos Pizza, Cheesecake and protein for his energy. Given the calories expended in 2011, he’s been able to eat pretty much whatever he wants.

Injuries? You bet. Over the year he had problems with his ankles, blisters and shin pain, as well as various knee, quads, calves, and hamstring issues. As he commented when interviewed “My criteria for doing a marathon wasn’t “could I run to the finish”, it was “could I walk to the start”. In fact Traviss said he had doubts about whether he could do what he set out to do pretty much every time he lined up for a race. At times he would run 500 yards and think there is no way he can complete the distance. But he kept on; that resilience and tenacity we know of well in distance runners, and eventually the finish line would be crossed.

And so in a 12-month period Traviss ran 99 marathons and 15 ultra-marathons. He ran multi-day marathon challenges on six occasions. He ran 82 races in the United Kingdom and Ireland, 6 in Europe and 26 in the United States. And all the while, he had a full-time job.

Traviss has been able to complete in one year what most people, including most runners, would consider to be close to impossible. More people have climbed Mount Everest than run 100 marathons. Traviss has done that and then some. In one year. It’s a remarkable feat, or feet, blistered, but it truly attests to the fact that anything is possible.

Traviss is a Messenger for sure. We wish Traviss the best of the best for 2012, and hope he can enjoy his running, and enjoy reflecting upon his incredible accomplishments of 2011.

Malcolm Anderson, January 2012
For more on runners who have completed 100 marathons visit this runplaces bookstore and review ‘The Messengers’.

The book goes on, in tedious detail, to share with a reluctant reader every run and race for that particular year, with a stated goal of running at least one marathon a month. The only good thing is that, unlike the nouveau runner in person, who can push you into a corner and give you a cauliflower ear by relating every step of every run, you can either put a bookmark in the tome or you can consign it to a dark corner of a closet.

Enough already. Let that tree live, brother. Don’t pulp it for yet another such book.

Every once in a while someone stumbles along who manages to fashion a readable first-person running book, typically by leavening it with several factors above (below?) a step-by-step compendium:

The book covers more than that runner’s runs and races, often taking on the whole phenomenon of running…or, in this case, marathoning, giving its history as he goes along, thereby making the book of interest to even non-runners.

The author fashions stories that he inserts, either to make a point or to break up the narrative, and by so doing, entertain the reader.

The guy has a serious sense of humor, which permeates the book, and which assures the reader that, yes, this guy is serious about his running but, no, he doesn’t take himself too seriously in the process.

Some people can do this juggling act, others can’t come close. Some can keep this act going for a dozen pages or so, while others manage to go to marathon lengths and still not lose the fun along the way.

Such a book is A Marathon Odyssey, Malcolm Anderson’s tale of his personal quest to run a meager three marathons in two months: Athens (the course closest to the marathon’s origin), Cayman Island (can you say “destination marathon”?), and Disney’s Goofy Challenge (the “Donald Duck-inspired” half-marathon on Saturday and the Mickey Mouse-inspired marathon on Sunday).

Anderson peppers the book with numerous sidebars, everything from a study of the growth of marathon running to the rise of running for causes. He also inserts pages of photos from his adventures, with sometimes off-the-wall captions that further lighten the mood.

A light yet informative read, one with real legs.

The book is available as an eBook and through the bookstore link at runplaces.com

Rich Benyo is the editor of Marathon & Beyond, a bimonthly magazine devoted to the marathon and to ultrarunning. He is also the author of more than 20 books, most of them in the areas of fitness, health, and running.

In 1948 Ludwig Wittgenstein ran from his Philosophy Department at Cambridge to Connemara. Later, he wrote “I can only think clearly in the dark, and in Connemara I have found one of the last pools of darkness in Europe”.

I headed there too, in March 2009; but instead of running to think I was coming to run – In the Connemara International Marathon. It was one of those opportunities that don’t come around very often. I had run with the Race Director– Ray O’Connor – the previous year. The idea of developing a marathon event in Connemara came from Ray, who himself has now run over 50 marathons.

Tourism Ireland also knew that I’d just finished a book on marathon running. It offered to pay my expenses to come and run in the event as well as see some of Ireland while I was there. How could I say No? You can squeeze a lot into one week of visiting Ireland. And if you want to run a marathon there’s few that can compare to Connemara. The Connemara International Marathon has grown rapidly from just 72 entries when it began in 2001, to over 3,500 by 2008. Over 1,000 runners came from outside of Ireland in 2007, and the trend continues. It’s no wonder Tourism Ireland is interested in the event.

My journey began in Vancouver, Canada on March 16th, where I was doing some research work at the time. Magically, I would be arriving in Dublin on St. Patrick’s Day, early morning, on a red-eye flight. Even more magically, Tourism Ireland arranged an entire week’s itinerary for me to meet and see many of the people and places that make this part of the world what it is. I wish I could’ve stayed longer.

***

My first flight is to Chicago, where I wait for a few hours to board an Aer Lingus flight for Dublin. I’m pinching myself. I’m quite excited, to be sure, but I’m well aware that I’m woefully unprepared for this marathon. Since the middle of January I’ve been subsumed almost completely by research work in British Columbia hospitals. Long, late hours, a multitude of different expectations to respond to, and, and …

Well these, you’ll recognize, are excuses, of course. But when you have to make some hard choices among work commitments, sleep and running, running has taken, in most cases, third place. Given the volume of work it’s amazing running got a look in at all. It’s now March 16th, and to date this year I have probably run about fifteen times. Of those, I’ve ran two hours once, and managed four one-hour runs. All of these have been outside. The rest of the runs have been for about 30 minutes on one of three different treadmills in the three hotels I’ve stayed at since mid-January.

I’ve probably maintained some level of fitness, but I doubt it has been the sort that strengthens my endurance. Deep down, I’m hoping the experience of running previous marathons will carry me through the Connemara marathon. I even dare to think, maybe, possibly, sort of, perhaps, that I might do a good time. The reality is much more frightening than this dream state. Simply, no real long distances to speak of in any part of my training. Not good.

I board the red-eye flight that arrives in Dublin at 6:30am, after having traveled through several time zones. There is no sleep on the flight for me. I’m met by a driver, Colm, who takes me to my Hotel where I have the fastest shave known to civilization, and without cutting my head off. I put on some fresh clothes in case you wondered. No time to look for Leprechauns just yet, because the St. Patrick’s Day festivities are gearing up. Colm drives me downtown to my meeting spot and I’m given ‘International Media’ passes for the day, complete with clearance for various activities. I’m hoping I can find, perhaps borrow, the luck of the Irish and also scoot around the Connemara course in a good time, and stay injury free over the coming weekend. More immediately, I’m hoping the Irish luck will help me stay awake today.

For the rest of the day I’m engrossed in the festivities, meeting other journalists and enjoying a beautiful sunny day. As the parade begins and we get seated, I see I’m sitting just a few seats away from the Irish President – Mary McAleese. I could easily walk along and chat to her. “Will you be running in the Connemara marathon”, for example? More importantly, to my teenage son anyway, I meet the voice of Bart Simpson and get her autograph. The producers of ‘The Simpson’s’ are also in Ireland with the first screening of the episode on the Simpson’s family Irish origins.

The St. Paddy procession is long and not necessarily that spectacular, but there are thousands and thousands of people lining the streets watching. Green and orange are the colors today. I’m people watching and trying to take it all in. I’m sitting in the front row, right on the street itself, and doing my best to stay awake. I’ve been awake since Vancouver yesterday on the other side of the world. My head is beginning to fall off. It’s bad form when an international ‘media person’ falls asleep in arguably the best seat in the house.

I feel myself nodding off, just in time though to prevent a full head-first dive into one of the procession acts coming by. This happens three other times. Close calls. After brilliantly not falling asleep completely, or out of my seat, but less brilliantly still managing to spill my coffee, it’s with a huge sigh of relief that the procession finishes and I can get up and start moving. I make my way back to the Hotel but have to take several detours as some of the streets are simply packed like vertical Irish sardines. People are everywhere, celebrating. For about an hour it feels like I’m in a Rod Sterling marathon at Mile 25, never to get any further.

I find my bed. Not surprisingly it’s in my room where I left it earlier. I collapse on it, hoping to sleep until the marathon in a few days time. But I’m overcome with guilt. The Guinness Brewery is just a couple of miles away, and the tours close shortly. I find it hard to believe it closes on St Paddy’s Day, but that’s what I’m told. Dilemma. Sleep and miss out; or hold that thought of sleep and make the most of the opportunity.

I go for it. I’m running on pure Irish-infused adrenalin now. The Guinness Brewery is one of ‘The attractions’ in Dublin. A must see they say, so I must go and see. I’m glad I did. Not for the free pint, but rather for the whole atmosphere – thousands of partygoers; 7,000 had gone through the site the previous day, a record, and I was one of 5,000 on my day. The Guinness site is famous for its seven-story Pint Shaped tour operation, which on the top level offers a 360 degree floor to ceiling glass-encased panoramic of Dublin. I arrive on the floor to a sea of green, a circular bar – the Gravity Bar – in the middle, and a rockin’ band belting out Irish music. I pinch myself again. And again when I’m offered the complementary pint. It’s really fresh, so fresh, in fact, that you wouldn’t think you were drinking Guinness. It’s Guinness’s 250th birthday year as well, so it’s all the more reason to celebrate. And buy the souvenirs if Guinness has done its marketing right.

Wow. I’m really here.

Oh, to run a marathon, that’s right. But as much as I’d like to stay on top of Dublin, I can’t, as I’m expected at a dinner for the media. It’s a whirlwind day; I’ll be looking forward to relaxing at the marathon. Did I really say that?

But the day is not over. Sleep? I don’t think so. Instead, three of us are taken by one of our hosts, to real Irish pubs, not the ones that are real Irish pubs in the touristy area of Dublin known as Temple Bar. It’s still St. Patricks Day remember, so there is plenty to celebrate, plenty to forget, and plenty of fun people around to take your mind off running 26.2 miles in a few days.

The next day – Wednesday –feels like I’m getting up as soon as I’ve got to bed. You don’t see that in the marathon training schedules. I’m off to pick up a rental car, then make my way out of Dublin. At least I give it a go. They drive on the other side of the road of course, and that’s always fun. As the rental car is about the size of my suitcase, I’m wondering if it would be safer to pick it up, tuck it under my arms and catch a bus to Galway.

But that’s beginning to sound a bit too Irish really, isn’t it. Instead, I drive as if I know what I’m doing. It’s a kind of Mr. Bean-drives-around-Ireland sort of drive. I eventually find Galway, right where it’s supposed to be; cities are good like that. It’s the third largest city in the Republic of Ireland, with about 70,000 residents, and known also as Cathair na Gaillimhe. It was first a Fort built in the Year 1124, about 652 years before the United States Declaration of Independence. It’s really old.

But it’s a nightmare trying to find the House Hotel where I’m meeting Ciara O’Mahony, the Tourism Development Officer for the region, for lunch. The angst grows as I discover there are no parking spaces available in all of Connemara at this particular moment. I spend more time driving around Galway than I do getting here. But I eventually find a spot. We have a wonderful lunch, after which I meet Michael Lynch who takes me on a walking tour of Galway. Michael has an encyclopedic knowledge of the place and his family figures in Galway’s history as well. With over a thousand years of continual settlement there’s history on top of history with almost every turn. And stories upon stories.

An older gentleman corners Michael and I in a bookstore and tells us his stories for half an hour. We escape, only to be captured later by the same man down a cobblestone laneway. But Galway is a wonderful place if you’re thinking of coming to run the next Connemara marathon in March. Galway is where most runners and their families will stay if they’re not from the area.

I was thinking I’d go for a run after dinner but it’s been a long day and I’m still on British Columbia time. My body has almost given up on me. If I throw a run into the mix it may decide to take things into its own hands. Sleep, that thing I used to have one time, is high on the agenda now.

Next day I’m on the road early again. I’m heading to Clifden via some must see places along the way. First stop is about 8 miles out of Galway at Cnoc Suain. It’s not a typo. There are several stone thatched cottages at Cnoc Suain, some of which date back to 1691. On 200 acres the hosts, Dearbhaill Standun and Charlie Troy, who are musicians and natural scientists, have painstakingly restored these cottages and the landscape. They’re wonderful friendly people who I met and who gave me a tour of Cnoc Suain. Their vision is to create a cultural and natural heritage centre that is a unique and authentic experience of the past and the present in Western Ireland. It was the Connemara Heritage Award Winner in 2007. Visitors can come and stay in the cottages at various times though the year. Perfect for writers, researchers, artists, marathon runners…

But unfortunately I can’t stay Cnoc Suain too long. I need to drive along the coast to catch a Ferry over to the Aran Islands. If you travel all the way to Connemara for the marathon, a visit to Aran Islands is a must. Specifically, I’m visiting the largest of the three islands – Inis Mor (the Big Island). It’s spectacular. Like stepping back in time. They say there are so many stone walls on this 8.6 by 2 square mile island that, put length to length, they would span about 3,000 miles long. I’d believe it. There would be another 3,000 miles easily if you picked up the rocks that are still lying around. There are more rocks than you can throw a stone at. There’s only six inches of topsoil on the island though, which partly explains the harsh living conditions experienced here over the centuries. Thank goodness for fish.

Still, the islands have been invaded by just about everyone you can think of over time. These days, it’s the turn of the tourists, who in peak season, vastly outnumber the locals. Today, there are about 800 residents, 250 of which are children, and five pubs. Most of the younger residents leave school and leave the island searching for a new life or to experience what the rest of the world offers. Some return later.

I’ve been set up with a tour guide at the local hotel but as I sit and wait the hotel Receptionist works out that there’s been a slip-up, and there is no-one actually to take me. Anywhere. So she calls Mike and we spend the afternoon together; crashing around in his Van. Mike is a local and it seems that he knows everyone on the island. It would be a great place to run, or bike, I think, and I know I’ve got to come back one day.

I’m awestruck by the massive fort of Dun Aonghasa. It’s a stone fortress/settlement built over 3,000 years ago. There are three semicircular concentric circles of stones about twenty feet high; impressive in itself, especially given when and how it was built. But on one side there is nothing but a cliff’s edge, 285 feet high above the crashing ocean waves below. There are no barricades like you would have in North America to prevent you from falling off, or pushing someone else. People are quite welcome to go over to the edge and peer down. And, if they choose, fall or jump off. Today, several visitors are sitting on the edge, dangling their feet over, taking pictures. I’m fairly close too, but it’s a gale force wind, and I can’t take any chances; it will be hard to write a story about the Connemara marathon if I’m being tossed around in the Atlantic Ocean.

It’s always a good sign when you leave a place thinking you’ve not had enough time. I’ve not fallen of the cliffs either. But I’m quickly falling in love with Ireland. I’m also experiencing the luck of the Irish as it’s a spectacular sunny day yet again. I fold myself into the car and drive to Clifden, which will be my base for the remainder of the stay. It’s not too far from the marathon start line, which is pretty much in the middle of nowhere – they call it Maam Cross – about halfway between Galway and Clifden.

I‘m staying at the Abbeyglen Castle Hotel. Looks and feels a bit like a castle too. It was built in 1832 but spent over 100 of those years as an orphanage. The Hughes family took it over in 1969 and it has become one of the top hotels in western Ireland. One of the owners – Brian – is a runner too, and we end up having several conversations over the days and nights. There are a large number of marathoners from around the world staying here over the weekend as well. It’s a great spot to relax, and each night the owners entertain the guests, singing and playing piano into the small hours.

My room is about the size of most apartments in North American cities, complete with a poster bed and a great old bath that I could probably go diving in. It’s a perfect bath, I’m thinking, for that cold water experience after the run. It’s Thursday night now. I talk with the Race Director, Ray, over the telephone and somehow, the word is already out, lost in translation, that I’ll be in the Race Director’s Invitational Race held the day before the marathon, as well as the marathon on Sunday. I feel every organ inside me quiver. I don’t even feel prepared for the race on the Sunday. It’s going to be an interesting weekend.

Friday arrived predictably after Thursday. I hoist my body out of bed and go for a run – out of Clifden down the harbour towards the coast. A loosener of a run at 7am to get my body into the concept of running once more. The run doesn’t feel very encouraging. Felt great on the flat roads as I ran out to the sea, but the hills coming back on the high road reminded me how out of shape I’ve become. It appears I packed the wrong set of legs for this visit to Ireland. But I’m not silly or macho or anything like that. I walk parts of the way back, remembering I have 26.2 miles to run the next day. My breathing is labored too. The loosener run is better labeled, perhaps, as an awakening. It’s brought everything into perspective. I’ll have to run smart and well within myself. We’ve heard that before. I especially don’t want to injure myself in ways that will prevent me running for any long period when I get back to Canada. I remind myself I’ve got a 100 mile race in September and I’ll need to be in top shape for that. That, and the other races this year.

Later in the morning I look around Clifden and pick up some supplies and touristy stuff to prove to people, that in fact, I’ve been to Ireland. After lunch I head over to the Connemara National Park Headquarters. It’s not far from Clifden. The Park covers about 2,000 hectares of mountains and scenic countryside, rich in wildlife on the slopes of the Twelve Bens. I tempt myself into thinking I could climb one or two peaks, and then slam myself for being too big feeling the day before two marathons. It’s a shame though, because it’s a spectacular part of countryside. Next time.

Already the day is disappearing on me, but I still have time to visit Kylemore Abbey, built in the 1860s. It started as a family residence, but was bought for almost nothing by the Benedictine Nuns in 1920. Aside from simply being ‘a castle’ it has an 8.5 acre Victorian Walled Garden, 6 acres of which are completely surrounded by a brick and limestone wall.

It’s yet another great sunny day here. I’ve been spoilt. I meander around Kylemore for a while and try to imagine living here. I’m sure the sun is conjouring up a false sense of ease with life because it is well known how much suffering occurred in Ireland over the years. I almost feel guilty with these historical thoughts as I drive back to the hotel for a fine dinner, which quickly leads to bed and an early night. My body is in a constant state of re-calibration. It’s not sure if it’s hungry, tired, feeling alright, peckish or all of the above. My guess is it will eventually work things out on the plane going back to Canada.

Saturday 21st March – The Invitational Run from the Race Director

4am. I’m wide awake. Not by choice. Plenty of time to get ready then. The time zone thing predictably ensures I wake up well before ‘early’. I’m running a marathon today. And tomorrow. At 9:30 this morning I’ll meet up with nine other runners who will be in the Invitational. I will be running a marathon around Connemara – a spectacular place for the scenery and the people. Hard to believe. At this point my gut feeling is it will hurt, a lot, and I’ll finish in a time around 4:30-4:45. It may take longer, especially if I feel a showstopper injury developing. We’ll see!

The marathon course runs through a truly dramatic ‘big-picture’ setting of mountains, lakes, and rugged green-brown landscapes that are filled with bogs and farmland. We’re continuously provided magnificent views of the Twelve Pin mountains. We’ll also catch a view of the ocean as we run alongside Ireland’s only Fiord, about a couple of miles from the halfway point in the sleepy village of Leenane.

It’s another sunny day. Ten of us line up, sort of, at the start line for the marathon, just down the road from Maam Cross. It’s very informal. We all seem to know several of the other runners. I’ve run with some of them before in England, and others are from the UK 100 Marathon Club who I’ve interviewed for a book I’m writing. It’s great to see them again. We’re standing alongside a small lake in the middle of the big, spectacular countryside, laughing and chatting away as if we’re waiting for a bus to come and take us on a tour.

“Drinks along the way anyone?”

“Sure”, we say.

“OK … we’ll have a car going around checking up, seeing if you need anything”.

All sounds rather informal, and to a certain extent it is. Truth is, we’re all fairly experienced at running 26.2 miles and we’ll all be doing it tomorrow again as well. I’m thinking I may be able to get out of tomorrow’s run. But everyone else is of the opinion that if we’ve come all this way to run, we may as well run two marathons. Peer pressure at its finest.

I feel like I’m an imposter. There’s the lack of training for one thing. A major thing. But its really great to see several folks – friends now – Steve (460+ marathons), Teresa (Nurse and pivotal role in coordinating the Brathay 10 marathons in 10 days Challenge last year), Selina (250 plus marathons), John (running his 299th) and Jim (two time veteran of the 10 in 10 Challenge with over 150 marathons to his credit). There are a few Irish runners, and me, the imposter.

Keep quiet, muddle through this thing. Maybe no one will notice me quietly dying along the road somewhere. Can’t believe I’m here. Pinch me again. But not too hard, because I’m fragile. Oh, and now I have to run 26.2 miles.

No Gun. No horn, nothing. Just … “Okay … lets go …”

So we go …

I’m not moving backwards, but not far from it. I decide, brilliantly, to “run my own race”, a great theoretical concept, which never actualizes itself. But for 800 feet it’s like a dream come true and I’m on my way. Not long now. Then, out of nowhere, Pete runs up alongside me for a bit and asks what time do I hope to finish in. I’ve never met Pete before. He’s a serious runner, I can tell. You know, he has that look. I’m thinking he’s serious so I say 4:30, figuring I’ll be way too slow for him. To my surprise he says that’s the time he’s looking for as well, would it be okay if we run together?

Oh crap. I’ll be sharing my suffering with someone else. He’s a good guy though and as we talk I feel increasingly inadequate running at all, and wonder if I should stop, sell my running gear, melt any medals I have and give the glub of melted metal to charity. Pete, from Northern Ireland, has an MBE he received from Prince Charles for his charity work raising hundreds of thousands of dollars from running for cancer. He’s run 300+ marathons, with just under 100 of them under 3 hours. He’s run many 100 mile races and a 620 mile race (1,000 km) (e.g., The Sahara Desert 150 mile Ultra, Mount Everest Himalayan 100 mile Ultra). He hasn’t run for a while but figures he’ll take it east today because he’s running the Connemara Ultra (39 miles) the next day.

I will likely redefine the word ‘easy’ for Pete today. Do I feel like I’m holding him back? Absolutely. Pete tells me we’ll run to my pace, and if I want to walk, he’ll be there for me. While I take it easy and look for any excuse not to run, Pete continues as if he’s ready to run around the world today. Another runner joins us. I look for a place to pee, being careful not to be doing so as one of the women close behind runs into view. The new runner on the other hand, hangs it out and pee’s while he runs. Impressive, I think, sort of, I suppose, maybe, but I keep my distance.
He soon disappears. Pete and I continue … slightly faster all the time than what I want. But the company is great, the scenery – valleys, fiord, mountains, quaint villages … spectacular. And I’m still in that romantic pinch me mode. The wind is strong most of the way, although the sun has been out the whole time. I know I’ll suffer later in the race, but in the meantime we hit the halfway mark in 2:05, well within my hoped for 4:30 time range for completion. But I know I’ve run to hard.

At about Mile 20 we’re quite low on water. Pete suggests we go into a small pub on the side of the road to get our containers filled. Sounds good to me. I’m hoping the locals will invite us to stay for a Guinness or two and I’ll call that a reasonable excuse for a DNF. I’m tired, my back is hurting, and these next few miles seem like they’re what the devil conjured up. In fact there is a long two mile stretch that is uphill, which is unfair at Mile 22-24ish. The five locals are stunned into almost silence, their mouths wide open, as Pete tells them a little bit about what we’re doing and some of his running career. Clearly, we are out on day passes.

With the containers filled, we push on. It doesn’t seem fair that I’ll keep going while they sit back and relax in the Pub. Not much has been fair in Connemara’s history, especially with the rule of the English under Oliver Cromwell. Although I don’t have the space to write about it, if ever you’re looking for an interesting, in fact, great read, cast your eyes on Tim Robinson’s ‘Connemara’, an amazing book that will make you feel you lived here even if you’ve never seen Connemara.

But as much as these thoughts are mildly interesting, my back really hurts, and as we climb up what is known as Hell Hill I gesture to Pete that he really needs to go ahead of me. Eventually away Pete goes and I feel some euphoric drug invade me, figuring maybe I should walk my way in, even after this hill. What I realize though is that the running is actually giving me less pain than the walking. I work it out, I think. Because of the strong winds earlier, I had been tensing up and leaning too far forward as I toughed it out. Now, as I come to Mile 25, my back feels like it’s been sawn in half but hasn’t quite fallen off yet. Well this is fun.

But I get through this. We all do. All it is, is our context. It’s highly unlikely I’ll keel over in the bog and become an archeological wonder a few thousand years from now. I’ll finish, it’ll hurt – in some places more than others, and life goes on.

And so it’s with a huge relief that I cross the finish line – in 4:31, which shocks me, but which for the other invitational runners it’s as if I’ve pretty much walked my way around with cups of tea and plenty of sandwiches, perhaps immersing myself in a dazzling game of chess while I was out there.

Well that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I’m Ireland. There are still a few marathoners behind me. But the only competitive part of running marathons for me is about competing with myself. Long distance running teaches you humility, and when you run with those who have run hundreds of marathons, humility comes very easily.

Pete’s there at the end, ahead of me of course, perhaps just back from a 10 mile loosening-up run. He offers to give my legs a quick massage; he’s a qualified massage therapist. Cool. Wish I knew how to do that. I’m feeling fine, but Pete has me lying on the roadside as if I’ve just been involved in a tragic head-on collision.

I figure the head on collision will come tomorrow, if I decide to run, that is. I’ve got a night to work it out.

We all have a few laughs and wait for the others to come in. The sun’s still shining and everyone is in good spirits. I’m still walking and talking, so I’m feeling great about that. My back problem has begun to disappear – what a difference it made when I thought more about my form later in the race. It’s been a fun and rewarding day, but now I’ve got to head back to Clifden and pick up my bib and chip for tomorrow at the Race Registration. Equally important is the fact that the Irish rugby team is playing Wales tonight in the six nations tournament. If they win they’ll win the Grand Slam, having defeated every other nation in the tournament. It’s the biggest sporting event this year and much more important to the Irish than St. Patrick’s Day. The pubs will be jam-packed. I’ve got to experience this.

First though, it’s a cold bath, a warmer shower, and refueling with vegetables and fruit and pretty much anything else that looks like food at this point. Feels good.

Soon after, I find myself in a local pub full of Irish folks watching the TV above the bar. Better still, it’s across the parking lot from Race Registration. It’s an electric atmosphere. Standing room only. Although I’ve just run a marathon it’s the last thing on my mind. I want the Irish to get that Grand Slam. A pint of Guinness for me please. Why not?

It’s a great game. Edge of your seat stuff, if you had one. At half-time Wales are leading Ireland 6-0. Half the pub disappears at the break as we go over to pick up our bibs and chips. We’re back to watch the second half, which must rate as one of the best 40 minutes of rugby I’ve ever watched. It’s dramatic! Ireland pulls ahead over the half, but with just five minutes to go Wales gets the lead. With two minutes to go Ireland score again to regain the lead, and then, in the last seconds, Wales misses a penalty kick which would’ve given them victory. The pub goes crazy; people are jumping up and down, screaming and yelling, and hugging anyone with a pulse. There would have been hundreds more celebrating through the night if it were not for that small detail of a marathon the next morning.

It was a great night all the same. I went to bed knowing that all of Ireland would have a smile on its face the next morning, despite some if it feeling the worse for wear. As for me, I’m seriously wondering if I should run tomorrow or not. Something’s just not feeling right. Maybe a good night’s sleep will help.

Sunday 22nd March – The International Connemara Marathon Day

There’s an old Irish saying that goes “You may use your feet to run fast, but if you’re mind doesn’t keep up, you’ll get stood on, and that’ll hurt.”

No chance of me running fast today; if at all. I’m still not feeling good – tight in the chest, genuinely lethargic, and aches and pains from yesterday, despite Pete’s fine work. But it’s the overall feeling that concerns me the most. So much so that I take the extraordinary option of jogging around the parking lot while waiting for our Start-line buses to pick us up in central Clifden. Just to see how it feels. I’ve never been this unsure of running a race before.

And so it goes, right until I line up at the start line with everyone else. It’s a bit cool this morning but the sun is still ‘there’. I eventually decide to run. I’ll take it ultra-easy, enjoy the views, take my camera, meet lots of runners and embrace the experience. No-one will care whether I break three hours, or can’t even break five hours. But they will care if I seriously hurt myself. So I start running feeling good with my decision. And now I’m simply out to enjoy everything the day offers.

Before the start gun goes off we all wait for the first of the ultra-marathoners to go by. These runners have already started further back, about an hour earlier. It’s inspirational to see the leader as he passes by the thousands of marathoners about to begin their own race. We slower runners will be passed continuously during our own marathon runs today.

It’s a great day. When time is not important everything else becomes much more so. All the runners are extremely friendly, and not just the Irish either. We share our stories, laugh a lot, wonder at the sun and the landscape, and are critical of the Race Director for putting the slopes on the hills we run. I’m stopping at different spots to take photos; others are doing the same. My body seems to have forgotten it’s covering 26.2 miles today.

I glance at my watch now and then because I can’t help myself. Despite the numerous stops I see that I’m not that much different from the previous day. I see all the sights I saw yesterday but they still look new and fresh to me. I don’t go into the pub Pete and I visited yesterday, and each time I see an Aid Station it’s almost a surprise to me. I don’t have any pains or aches, and that chronic condition I felt last night and this morning has gone. I’m feeling that I made the right decision running today, and that just makes the occasion feel even better.

Part the way through I get a tap on the shoulder – its George Russell, running in the ultra, who I’d run with in the Brathay 10 Marathons in 10 Days Challenge last year in the Lakes District of England. It’s the first I’ve seen of George since that time. He speeds past me but still has time to bring out his camera and take a couple of pictures. I do likewise. These are great moments.

I’m running up the Mile 22-24, Hell Hill. And I have plenty left in me to run briskly to the Finish Line. Dozens, gulp, hundreds, have got there before me, but that doesn’t matter. First home is Simone Grassi in a time of 2:40:42. The first woman to finish is Shirley Coyle in a time of 3:10:11. Malcolm Anderson finished slightly off the leading pack in a time of 4:38:45, but surprising himself immensely, and with no show-stopping injuries.

I’m delighted. I’m relieved. Hugely relieved. Yes, it certainly feels like I’ve done the distance, and I’m in that euphoric state we all get. It’ll last for quite a while this time. There is a continual stream of buses taking runners back to the main towns from Maam Crossing, where the race finishes. I’d normally mull around for a while and enjoy the moments, but I’ve got to get back, take a cold bath, shower, get some food and get on the road myself to head to Galway, where I’m meeting up with friends; runners and family members who had been at the Brathay Challenge last year. It might sound busy but I’m still on a high, so traveling the ninety minutes doesn’t seem like a burden at all. Hard to believe I’ll be flying back to Canada the next day though.

One of the striking things about driving in rural Ireland are the road signs, if you see any. And if you do, you’ll see they’re written in Gaelic (Irish), and it’s not your eyesight playing games with you; if you’re mesmerized by Greek you’ll enjoy Gaelic. The signs are not terribly accurate when they do appear, may not tell you what you need to know, and if they do it will be in Gaelic, so you better brush up on it. They’re also about 3-4 feet high and written in 20 font size text. By Leprechauns perhaps. Apart from all that there’s nothing wrong with them. But by now I’m used to it. I know my way back to Galway – we’ve planned to meet at the Marriott Hotel. Surely, I reason, it won’t be hard to find the Marriott in downtown Galway.

I’m proven wrong. It’s my first Galway experience all over again. It’s dark now and that doesn’t help matters. I pull up alongside an older gentleman who has that knowing look about him. I ask if he could tell me the way to the Marriott hotel. He looks in the sky, not unlike Stephen Hawking would do to give you the answer to the meaning of the universe, and looks back and smiles. “It’s right around the next corner”, he says, all smiles, and wishes me well. ‘What luck’, I think. I drive around the corner and sure enough, there’s the Hotel.

Only it’s the Meyrick Hotel, not the Marriott. Well, it was close, I suppose, don’t you love accents. But I’ll not be able to instantly conjour up 10-12 friends there. Instead I find a Hotel, any hotel really, book a room, and ask the receptionist where the Marriott is located. I could walk to it, she says, it’s only about a mile away. At this point in the weekend it’s a mile too far, so I get a taxi and arrive, still in time to meet up with everyone.

And that, as it so often happens, is one of the most rewarding moments associated with marathon running. The race is over. It may hurt, but it’s a time for sharing. A time for enjoying each other’s company. A time with old friends. A time with new friends. Common goals, shared experiences. And we’re also celebrating John Dawson’s 300th marathon. Whatever does hurt can hopefully take a back seat for a while.

***

My final day see’s me up early driving via ten or so roundabouts to Dublin to catch my flight home. At each roundabout I’m hope I’m heading in the right direction out of these things. It’s yet another fine day, unusual to have my whole week this sunny. And then, just outside the airport, it starts to drizzle some rain. Time to go home I guess.

I drive around the airport as if it’s the Galway experience once more. I contemplate putting my car/suitcase on a pick-up truck, but feel that will be a hard one to explain to the rental company. Instead, being quite rational and fearing my flight will take off without me, I drive the wrong way down a road in the faint hope that it will create the place I need to be. And it does just that. Luck of the Irish again?

And so ends my Connemara Marathon experience. Unforgettable on so many different levels. Excellent marathon, well organized, spectacular scenery and wonderful people. But we don’t go to Ireland just to run a race and return home straight away.

It’s everything else that makes the experience so much more complete. Looking back, even though I saw a lot in a short amount of time, I only brushed the surface of what is possible. As a destination marathon it has everything. I’ll be going back in 2010. And I’ll be taking some people – hopefully runners, friends and families – with me.

In The Messengers, author Malcolm Anderson offers 150 inspiring stories of perseverance and dedication from people from all corners of the world who have accomplished the feat of completing 100 or more marathons and ultras, an astounding achievement that very few people have ever successfully undertaken. Each of the 150 runners profiled are certain to inspire any marathon runner or marathon runner in training, truly making them “messengers” of motivation and truly remarkable individuals who have accomplished feats that others might call impossible.

The Messengers is, without a doubt, one of the most inspirational books on marathon running on the market; however, it provides inspiring stories to all who read it, whether or not they are runners, indelibly touching their lives. Each “messenger” has a meaningful story to offer, whether it is about overcoming adversity, perseverance, dedication, commitment, or passion. Some of the stories will teach its readers a lesson, some will make its readers laugh, some will make its readers cry, and all of the stories will inspire readers to conquer whatever their goals are, proving that nothing is impossible and that human beings can accomplish anything that they put their minds to.

Ultimately, each of Anderson’s “messengers” teach us “we all have an opportunity, and a responsibility, to inspire others… And we may never know the extent of our own influence. We can all be messengers.” Anderson’s profiled runners offer readers the opportunity to grow within their sport and within themselves, bringing them great happiness, a ripple effect both throughout the running community and throughout society, as readers are encouraged to engage in their own pursuits that will similarly motivate others, passing the torch of inspiration from runner to Anderson, from Anderson to his readers, and from his readers to the world.

Contact:
Archer Anderson
BookReviewerList.com
1501 Broadway – 12th Floor
New York, New York 10036-5601
646.571.2246

Visit runplaces bookstore to order a copy.

You can see a promo video at this link:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/262-Beyond-A-Marathon-Journey/254827564561386

Running a marathon is always an accomplishment, but how about running 100 marathons? In The Messengers, author Malcolm Anderson interviews 150 athletes who have truly gone the distance, having run anywhere from 100 marathons to 1000 or more marathons. Anderson’s “messengers” are passionate about long distance running and inspirational to read about, motivating us to set and conquer our own seemingly impossible goals.

The Messengers offers readers amazing stories of challenges, adversity, transformation, courage, commitment, and success from around the world. The books distance runners who were interviewed includes runners from South Africa, the United States, Australia, the United Kingdom, Canada, and New Zealand, among others.

Anderson became intrigued by these committed and passionate marathon runners when, on one of his own marathon runs, he encountered a man who was on his 200th marathon run, a figure that boggled his mind and piqued his curiosity. After discovering that there was an entire “tribe” of people who had completed over 100 marathon runs, Anderson was compelled to collect and tell their stories in order to entertain and inspire marathon runners and readers everywhere, showcasing the power of the human spirit.

Anderson refers to these runners as “Messengers” because “they have many messages to share. The messengers are passionate about long distance running and what it means to their lives.” Each of the stories in the collection offers a unique perspective on commitment to running, adversity, and triumph, from stories of those who run well into their eighth decade to stories of those who run in spite of personal hardships and health issues.

The stories in this collection prove that we can do anything that we set our minds to and that there is no goal to high. For anyone who is a marathon runner, is training to become a marathon runner, or simply loves inspirational stories, The Messengers is truly a must-read.

Contact:
Archer Anderson
BookReviewerList.com
1501 Broadway – 12th Floor
New York, New York 10036-5601
646.571.2246

The music is brilliant. I’m forgetting I have to run a marathon in a few hours. It’s close to 11pm when Natalie Cole finally comes on. Her music blasts me into the back fence. Her voice makes sure I stay there. It’s an explosion of sound that sets car alarms off in Cuba. I’m increasingly conscious of the fact that I have to get up around 3:30am. It’s almost midnight now and I still have to walk back to the Hotel. If I stay too long I’ll also go deaf, which may mean I’ll miss my 3:30am alarm when it goes off.

I wave good-bye to Natalie but I guess she’s busy. And unlikely to be running tomorrow. Better chance of seeing her at the Ritz Carlton buffet. It’s been quite the day. Quite the experience. I listen to the concert all the way back to the Hotel. I’m pleased to finally be in bed, but realise as I turn the light off at 1am,
that in four hours I will start running 42.2km.

Hmmm.

Life is an Odyssey; some have marathons in them Excerpt: “A Marathon Odyssey” The Long Run

Throughout the run I think long and defensive. Yet at the same time I want to test myself – specifically with the distance, but to also include as many hills as I can find. I know where they are of course; I just have to run to them. I quite like hills, perhaps because I grew up with them around me in Dunedin, New Zealand, which has the steepest street in the world as well as several others for which you need climbing equipment and oxygen masks.

Growing up on these hills as a kid, a close rival to the life-changing seconds of a bungee jump was hurtling down the street uncontrollably on a trolley with dubious brakes, or none at all. Especially if your friend promises he’s fixed the problems from the previous crash. If the speed wobbles or our faulty mechanical work hadn’t already thrown us off into Mrs Birtles hedge, or into a passing car at the bottom of the street, we’d emerge as heroes. It was a badge of honour, worthy of a medal, to fall off and carry your badly beaten body back up the hill. Even if you had soiled your pants in the process. Running 30kms seems tame in comparison.

Life is an Odyssey; some have marathons in them Excerpt: “A Marathon Odyssey” Athens marathon

Also, on my ‘things-to-do’ list are: pack as if I’m going to Greece for a week, make sure someone can feed the horses, cats, hamster, fish and chickens, remember to drop Fred off at the kennel, clean the fridge, finish up my work as best I can, don’t worry about the several hours difference in time zones, and remember, for the 100th time, my passport and running shoes. And make sure I get plenty of sleep. Daylight saving kicked in today as well; we’ve fallen back an hour. Thank God I don’t have much on my mind otherwise I wouldn’t be able to focus on the race.

It’s getting exciting. In one week I will be running the marathon from Marathon. The Marathon. Just being
there will be a thrill in itself. Actually running it will be incredible. I hope the Kenyans are ready for me.
I think one of the riskiest things I’m doing is the red-eye flight to Europe from Canada. As a precaution I call Air Canada today to see if I can get an aisle seat. I could’ve walked to Athens in the time it takes to reach a real person. I cry pathetically about running the marathon and needing to be able to stretch out my legs. It works. An aisle seat. Buoyed by this success I ask about First Class. We both have a good laugh and wish each other luck in life.

Life is an Odyssey; some have marathons in them Excerpt: “A Marathon Odyssey” Athens marathon

About 200 complete strangers disembark from buses and head for the boat. I make an immediate impression by smashing my head on the door frame as I step onto the boat to enter the lower level indoor dining area. In fairness to myself the height of the doorway was about five feet – most tourists are smaller I suppose – and I wasn’t expecting to do the limbo at 8am. I’m in a daze from the collision but within seconds I’m ushered over to pose for a photo with a girl in traditional Greek costume. I’ll be able to purchase this photo later in the day for 5 Euros. It could be a good one, but at this point I’m not sure whether my forehead is bleeding or not.

I take my concussion over to the nearest seat I can find. It turns out I’m not bleeding, but my head is throbbing. In part that’s also because the saxophone and synthesizer ensemble has seen the audience and started playing North American and British music from the 1950s. It’s a very surreal moment right now, made even more surreal when people get up and start dancing. It’s not even 8:30am. We haven’t left the port yet. An accordion makes an appearance. It’s all on.