This one hurt. I mean proper hurt. Not the hurt that fades within a few hours like a mild hangover. No this one is like a 7 day hangover with blurred vision and shit.
My legs are still like stale baguettes and I'm walking like I've been f**d senseless. It's not a good look. It really isn't.
All week I've been travelling around London on the tube, sliding up stairs sideways and going down backwards. My carefully styled image has taken a battering. The only slight mirth I have experienced is seeing other people across the stairwell doing exactly the same. Sharing that knowing glance. Brothers and sisters united in lactic acid.
Not all are like this of course. I've met several annoying bastards who ran under 3hrs 30 and look as fresh as a Virgin's quim. They were best avoided as I wrapped myself in self hatred and pain.
I'm grumpy. I didn't enjoy this marathon, ( my seventh London ),for many reasons, mostly self induced. But I wanted to share with my experience, my head and the outcome to help you get a handle of what it's like to be a recovering alcoholic, 14 years sober and still as mad as a box of frogs.
I ran it for Action on Addiction because the disease is close to my heart. Not only has it killed members of my family but i'm one too. Part of the reason for writing my blog is to lift the lid on the alcoholic mind so people can try to understand the disease a bit more and make it more acceptable in society. I like to think it's my little bit for educating and 'normalising' the disease.
I'm an addict. I'm 15 years into recovery, but i'm still an addict. I still think like one, have tendencies of one & behave like one. It's in my DNA.
The personality and character of an addict is prone to bouts of self hatred, self destruction, anger, intolerance, self obsession, high ego and low self esteem. I know everyone has these to some lesser or greater degree but I have them in bucket loads which makes normal rational thinking somewhat elusive sometimes. This contributed heavily to my marathon experience.
There were other factors of course, normal human reactions, my own stupidity, male pride but there was a large sprinkling of good old fashioned alcoholic thinking
Oh, also, before I forget I have food issues and body dysmorphia. These don't help either.
So that's the disclaimer out of the way. It's important you know all of that before reading what i'm about to put. It doesn't mean my thinking or perception is right. You may shake your head and think, 'for God's sake Nick' but I wanted to be honest and open.
It gives context to my Marathon experience. Ok? Ready? Here Goes;
Preperation.
Most standard marathon advice encourages you to book your space well in advance and do a solid 16 weeks of training for the big day. As a veteran of 6 London's you would have thought I know the drill by now. Well you'd be wrong. Underneath this largesse of tan and quiff lays a deeply stupid man.
I got a text from a pal in February/March, saying "a friend of mine can't run the marathon for AOA, can you?" I thought about it for a few minutes, remembering all the pain and suffering and how I shat myself in 2013. I remembered the blisters and torture. How little training I had done over the past 6 months. Only an idiot would attempt to run the marathon with 8 weeks notice and no training. I texted back, "sure". See what I'm dealing with here?
My attitude was, "fuck it I've done 6 of them i'll be alright." and, most crucially, it was an opportunity to run around London with 1 million people applauding and shouting my name. What's not to like about that? It's like the equivalent of 1,000 likes on Facebook or 50 shares of a particularly good picture. A self obsessed alcoholics' dream. I'm in!
I thought having completed Wales Ironman in September which was without doubt the longest and most painful day of my life. 14 hours and 19 minutes of sheer purgatory. This would be like a walk in the park compared to that. London Marathon? Piece of Piss!" - That arrogant disrespect of 26.2 miles was to prove costly.
The Marathon Gods heard my folly, 'That Nick Evans is being a bit lairy isn't he? We best fuck him up on the 24th April. I'm not having anyone take the piss out of me." The Marathon Gods had spoken. My fate was sealed.
Training
Part of the fun of participating in the marathon is the training throughout the long winter months. The long runs at the weekend, short sharp runs on cold, dark winter evening's. Even the gym sessions are interesting as you build towards your goal. It's part of the journey. Experienced marathon runners will tell you it's important to get the base fitness in the winter, add some speed and strength during the spring and slap in a couple of shorter races to tune up for the big day.
Me? Well I spent the winter gorging on processed meat and slamming as man silk cut and diet cokes down my neck as possible. The weekends consisted of staying up late pursuing non spiritual activities and the only thing short and sharp I did on winter evenings was a sauna. Its fair to say I entered into the marathon late without much in the way of base fitness other than the deluded part of my mind that thought, 'fuck it i'll be alright'. The Marathon gods laughed at this continued madness.
Don't get me wrong, when I did agree to do it, I did do some training. Dear Lord i'm not that mad. I slapped in a few hill sprints, did a few lap's and a bit of Richmond park (10 miles) and entered a half marathon. All too little too late though. My pal who's a serious sub 3 hour runner with a coach and plan and a goal and everything advised me to do a couple of long 20 mile runs before the day, 'just to get some miles in your legs Nick.'
I nodded at his wisdom then departed thinking, 'fuck it i'll be alright'. I heard a slight guffaw, thinking it was my pal. It wasn't it was the marathon Gods taking the piss. "Have you heard that? He's not even going to bother doing a long run. We're going to have some fun with him on the 24th."
April soon came and I completed my (non) training plan with a 6 day cycling camp in Spain. It was superb. 100-130 KM a day in a peleton climbing large mountains and being in amazing scenery and sun. I fell in love with cycling up mountains. Only trouble is it absolutely fucked my legs. Plus on the last day I got rather excited and joined the quicker second group and managed to crash on a descent. My own fault for being a tit (there's a pattern emerging here) but I smashed my knee and dislocated a finger. 1 week out from the marathon and I was hobbling around with a knee the size of a grapefruit. Such drama!!!
Not even pictures on Facebook got me enough sympathy and attention. Most responded, 'man up', which obviously got my back up. I did my best. Well as much as a man with died blonde hair in tight Lycra can indeed 'man up'.
The only saving grace was that I came back with an ultra powerful tan. Always good for attention on marathon day.
Marathon Week
Most people are anxious and nervous. All the training is done, the sponsorship collected and now it's all about the final preparations for the big day. Eat, rest, short runs, stretch, focus.
Me? Well, it was still touch and go. The world was waiting. Sky news ran a ticker tape on my progress with daily bulletins. Will he run or not?
On Thursday I decided to run. 'Fuck it i'll be OK' - didn't you hear? I've done 6 of these i'll be alright." Suddenly all those Facebook 'Man Up's could go and fuck themselves. Have they ever run a marathon on one leg? (Despite my knee being mostly better) I boiled.
I hadn't run in over 3 weeks. I hadn't done anything other than cycle, crash, ice, rest and eat. One of the joys of the marathon is indeed eating. Unfortunately my body dysmorphia and self obsession about weight meant I couldn't even eat loads as not running and eating would mean putting on 1 Kilo in weight. Disaster!!!!!! I was already 4 above my Ironman weight and wasn't as cut as usual. I would be running in Lycra in front of 1 million people with my head telling me 'fat cunt'.
I simply couldn't afford another Kilo so I avoided eating much all week. Yet another mistake.
My final preperations were completed with a sunbed to top up the Spain tan. I may not be the quickest but i'd definitely be the most tanned. That plus the quiff would get me through.
Expo & Registering.
The expo is exciting if it's your first time. However if it's your 6th it's a massive pain in the arse getting to Excel. But at least I wrote a heartfelt message on the marathon wall that would look great on Facebook. Job done.
I duly registered and escaped the Expo without adding to my collection of compression socks even though I was sorely tempted. Kind of like re-arranging the deckchairs on the titanic at this stage buying performance kit.
I got my knee strapped in bright blue rock tape. Another product that marketing makes everyone believe aids performance. The only thing that was going to aid my performance by now was about 10 litres of EPO, but I had to make do with flapjacks instead.
The blue rock tape strapped on was to keep my knee solid, but more importantly it was a visible sign that I was carrying an injury to extract more sympathy and attention. Plus it would be a great excuse in case I did a shit time. Shameless.
Marathon Day
So the big day arrived. I woke up to sub zero temperatures and gusty wind and that was just me. The weather was shit and yet another reason to feel grouchy. I ate porridge, bananas, guzzled coconut water and a protein shake. Limited my tea to two cups and silk cut to just three. I was serious about my prep.
I got the train and got chatting to a guy who was doing his first one. As a seasoned performer I left him with the sage advice, "whatever you do, don't go off too quickly." I could hear the Marathon Gods laughing.
Greenwich Park is a buzz. packed full of expectant runners, families waving off their loved ones, lunatics attaching horses heads to their costumes and pretty little things in Lycra taking their final selfies before the off. My personal favourite was a group of large hairy Army boys applying vaseline everywhere. There's nothing like seeing 8 hairy arsed guys oiling themselves up of a morning. Grim.
I disrobed, went with my AOA vest, lycra shorts, chunky trainers for support, arm warmers, gloves and compression socks. The quiff was extra large and I actually felt OK. I felt pretty strong and relaxed.
I forgot about my lack of training, crash and knee. I felt good. I thought to myself, 'I've done a 3hr 37 and 3hr 50 before. I'll be fine if I take it steady".
I nestled in the first quarter of the throng (35,000 of us) and noticed the dude with the 3hr 45mins flag on his back. I had never run with a pacer and I thought, why not. 3 hr 45mins is within my grasp. Even if it's too quick I can always ease off in the last few miles and do 3hr 55mins. 'Yes good idea Nick. Don't worry about your lack of running, pacing, miles in your legs and the fact you did those times years ago. Stick with this guy and then hang in there for the last 8 miles." The Marathon Gods popped a rib laughing.
Then 10am. The hooter went and we are off. Well, we were off at 10.10am by the time we got through the start. I dropped in behind the pacer dude along with several other people, mostly women with great arses in leggings which was a bonus.
The course was packed, he overtook lots of people, weaving in and out of runners so you had to concentrate and keep your wits about you. I got my head down, didn't engage with the crowd or notice too much to save myself from colliding and falling over. I felt good. This was fun!!!
The first 6 miles were comfortable. Quite strenuous at times when he put on the gas to catch up with his pace, but manageable. I was going quicker than I usually would, totally against the sage advice a gave the newcomer earlier, but I thought to myself 'fuck it, I've done 6 of these I'll be Ok."
My first grouch came at Cutty Sark 6 Miles in. The crowds are huge and the path narrows which makes running through slower runners difficult. People were slowing down taking selfies of themselves running or listening to music and I got annoyed.
I maybe totally self obsessed and a pantomime dame attention seeker but I NEVER take a phone when running a marathon or listen to music. You can't take in the crowd and the occasion and the atmosphere or be engrossed in the course. It's a matter of respect. If 1 million people have taken the trouble to come and support the day then the least you can do is not block them out with headphones and music. At least my blocking them out was natural. Pure self obsession, pain and hatred.
People were stopping to take pics which caused a shunt like you get on a motorway and I caught myself getting my first grouch of the day. "Fucking morons, even in the marathon." 'uh oh Nick, there it is' - my little alcoholic head was already nipping away.
We moved on and got through SE London. Getting to 9 miles before I felt myself struggling a little. The pace was beginning to hurt so I decided to let the 3hr 45 crew go. I witnessed them slowly pull away into the distance, rationalising that if I did a slow pace now I was already ahead of the game to do a sub 4 hour marathon.
They say people who do under 4 hours Ran the marathon and anything over 4 hours is a jog/walk. Well, not sure if I told you but having done 6 of them, anything over 4 hours was not acceptable for me. Male pride and ego wouldn't allow me to feel any satisfaction for anything over 4 hours no matter what circumstances.
I got to 12 miles and wasn't overtaking people anymore. I settled into a slow run as Tower Bridge approached. Tower Bridge is an iconic part of the marathon. It's packed and there is so much noise. It's a real buzz. I ran on the left to see my support team who had agreed to be there but couldn't find them. I found myself getting annoyed and alcoholic head kicked in, 'where the fuck are they??!!! I grumbled.
Over I went, a small wave to the Action on Addiction crew and onto Limehouse. I passed halfway in 1hr 55 mins and thought, 'that's not too bad, if I churn out a slow 2 hour half marathon i'll get home in 3hr 55mins. I'll be happy with that." And that's where it all started to go wrong.
Turning into the Isle of Dogs I slowly felt my power fading. The legs started to seize up and my pace dropped from slow to very slow. I got to mile 16, pretty much where the marathon starts and thought, 'fuck i'm in trouble here'. I took solace that back in 2013 at mile 16 was where I badly needed to shit myself. This time I was all good. The only problem being was that I had gone off far too quickly and was starting to hurt badly.
The Marathon Gods had a meeting and decided now was the time to show me who was in charge.
I told myself several times 'don't walk Nick, don't walk, keep going'. I got to Canary Wharf, mile 19 and had a stretch and a walk. I was fucked. There was no dressing it up, I was in a world of pain.
People were overtaking me by now but I had no response. A horse, someone running backwards and the man with the washing machine flew past me. My humiliation was only just beginning. Thank fuck I kept the Rhino out of reach. A small crumb of comfort for my ego.
By now the pace had slowed from very slow to the marathon shuffle. Neither walking nor indeed full running. Mobility scooters seemed a great idea at this point.
I got to mile 20 and a woman also running for AOA pulled alongside me, 'how's the knee Nick'. She is so lovely and wonderful and inspiring. Older then me and less fit but doing 4 marathons in 4 weeks, she's not what you would describe an athlete, but she found the time to ask how I was doing. "Playing up a little, i'm struggling, you go on, well done." I replied, but inside I was dying.
"fuck, now I'm getting overtaken by middle aged women." My ego was taking a battering and full alcoholic grouch head took over. "you failure." I couldn't respond. She pulled away (slowly) and I saw her gradually go well in front of me.
It was like seeing your wife run off with a guy with a bigger cock. I was devastated. All my marathons, Ironman's, all that sense of masculinity and self esteem from extreme physical challenges. All that machismo and pride were shot to pieces as she pulled away. I was effectively rendered cock-less and there was nothing I could do about it.
I walked a couple of times, got to the Embankment where the noise is deafening and support huge and thought, 'oh why don't you all fuck off with your 'Come on Nick' 'Keep going' - Jesus I was grumpy.
I couldn't engage with the crowd. I couldn't get involved. I couldn't enjoy it. I just wanted it over. I was locked in self induced pain and misery. It was a dark place (again)
Not even the attention I got was working. Every shout about my tan made me more self conscious and hate myself just a little bit more. I got one 'great lid' with reference to my hair, someone shouted 'go on big lad' which was horrific to my body dysmorphia as it made a mental note to lose 6 kilos and look like a refuge (only people with food issues will totally relate to that) and not even getting a 'oh look at him he's gorgeous' satisfied my crushed ego.
I saw my support team at mile 21 which was lovely and I could have happily had a cup of tea and silk cut with them but you have to plough on don't you?
The final straight was purgatory. Like a long slow descent into hell. 5 miles seemed like years. OAP's were passing me. Any semblance of time or sub 4 hours had long since gone. Any hint of respectability or satisfaction gone. My pride was battered, my ego shattered. The marathon had spoken. 26.2 miles had taken me.
I shuffled into the Mall and finished anonymously in 4 hours 20 mins. There was no Josh to save at the end and carry someone across on my shoulders heroically. There was no BBC camera crew interviewing me. I finished alone, in isolation, in my head, in pain, in alcoholism but at least I didn't shit myself.
I couldn't walk properly. The legs had seized up, the knee was hurting but I felt genuine joy it was over. Never again. Ever!
I met my team and we went to a restaurant a pal of mine who ran it in 2hrs 50, ( I know mad isn't it?) had kindly booked to raise more money for my charity. As we struggled up the stairs, I saw a girl who basically saved my marathon day. She couldn't even get up the stairs. So we helped her up and got chatting.
Pippa was a rower and had done her 1st marathon, was 25, eltite sports woman, was a great girl but was totally fucked and couldn't walk upstairs. Yes!!! Someone younger than me, prettier than me, more sporty than me, who was slower than me and couldn't walk aswell as me!! I know I shouldn't compare and despair but her pain made me feel so much better about myself! Thanks Pip.
We took her to the restaurant, saw my pal and some friends, he looked as fresh as a daisy and is a proper marathon runner and a big inspiration. Difference between me and him apart from around 1hr 45 mins? Well he didn't nip out for a silk cut during dinner. That may explain a lot.
We went home, I had a sauna and massive burger and that was it. The glow lasts 2 days as everyone asks you about it but then it's over. It's done. No more attention. No more allowances. I've used all that up now until the next thing.
And that was my marathon in 2016. I raised nearly £2k for Action on Addiction which is what it's all about really isn't it? I didn't get the time I wanted but who cares really? It's not exactly world shattering news. I learnt an awful lot about myself and preparation and my character.
You cannot piss about with the marathon. It finds you out . The distance is brutal if you don't give it the respect it's due. There are no half measures and I found out to my cost. I didn't train enough, I didn't put in enough work and I couldn't just wing it. It totally broke me this time.
It's exactly like recovery from alcoholism/addiction. If you don't follow the 12 step programme to the best of your ability, your disease moves in and you become locked in the head and pain. If you don't do the daily actions then self will drives you and life becomes painful. If you don't do the work it will claim you.
Just like the marathon, if you don't put in the training, if you don't do the work it will find you out on the day and make you suffer. No difference to the disease of addiction.
Both should be treated with respect and I learnt a valuable lesson. Wise people learn from it, The Nick Evans? Well I wouldn't quite call myself wise just yet. Diet Coke anyone?
At least I did 'Man Up' in my tight lycra shorts, power tan, great 'lid' and gay boy vest though. I know I look camper than someone from the Bee Gees but don't be fooled behind this metrosexual image lies a deeply stupid man but also a warrior who endured that pain, did the marathon despite not being in a shape to do it and raised some money for people who need it.
Just for today I give credit to myself and others who ran it. I did it. I actually did something that years ago when drinking I would never dream of doing. That is the gift of sobriety. Yes I may fuck it up with my self will, ego and issues but the bottom line is a did it and I salute everyone who sponsored me, supported me and I salute anyone who actually did the marathon and helped others.
It's important we recognise good traits and success aswell as errors. I am long enough around not to beat myself so badly as I used to. I wrote the piece to take the piss out of my head. To show you that you can do things despite yourself and that it all comes out good in the end. We are all warriors.
This is for all who have walked before us or never made it. I salute all my brothers and sisters and I love you all very much.
Oh and marathon Gods, I'm really sorry. I'll never take the piss out of you again.
www.actiononaddiction.org
www.aa.org
Nicholas Evans
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