Edward Jones is a friend of two tCI directors and has written a most lucid account of his extraordinary feet running 145 miles continuously. You will also get some fascinating insights into his (and your?) day job.
I recently toed the start line of the Kennet and Avon Canal Race – a 145 mile ultra-marathon from Bristol to London. If you want to know why you will need to read on! As I ground out the miles it occurred to me that there were perhaps some useful lessons for my ‘day job’ working on major projects and programmes – so here follows the story of my race, together with those lessons.
Firstly though… a few ‘FAQs’ that inevitably crop up. Yes, that is 145 miles, on foot, in one go. There are check points with food and water every 15-20 miles – so you only need to carry enough to get you between these. You are not allowed to be stationary for more than 40 minutes, so while you can sit down for a rest, and possibly a very quick nap, it is a continuous event. It started on Friday at 06:00 at Bristol Temple Meads station, and followed the Kennet and Avon Canal along its entire length to join the Thames at Reading. It then followed the Thames as far as Eton, before cutting through the middle of Slough and joining the Grand Union Canal, which was then followed to the finish at Paddington, where there was a ‘cut off’ time of 03:00 on Sunday morning (45 hours total).
I caught the train from London to Bristol on a gloomy Thursday evening. As we raced through the darkening countryside, following much of the race route, it slowly started sinking in that 145 miles is a really really long way. Even on a train. I’d think twice about driving it. An overwhelmingly long way. The only way to deal with this is to ignore it. “I’m going to run to the first check point – that’s only 15 miles – then I’ll worry about the next bit”. Later on the race it becomes “I’m going to make it to the next bridge”. And then eventually “I’m just going to put one foot in front of the other”.
Lesson 1: Looking at the big picture is not always helpful. Focus on the next achievable goal
Obviously it’s quite important to look at the big picture when planning, but when a project gets tough, focus on achieving the next deliverable or making it to the next meeting.
After a reasonable night’s sleep at a cheap local hotel, curtailed by a 4:45 alarm, I headed over to the station for the start. Here the 75 other runners were nervously assembling under a grey sky and in a blustery wind, handing in their bags for transport to the checkpoints and signing the usual waiver form (which I’ll admit I didn’t read as I suspect any suggestions to amend the drafting would not have been particularly well received).
We were set off on the dot of 06:00, and soon left behind the urban sprawl of Bristol for the more picturesque Avon Valley. I settled into a steady comfortable pace, picking off a few other runners. After a few miles I became aware of what felt like a bit of grit between my toes. In a ‘normal’ race you’d just ignore this, but that would be a very risky approach for an ultra-marathon as after a few hours that piece of grit could have scoured your toes into race-ending bloody mess. Fortunately it did sort itself out without needing to stop, but I continued to watch out for other niggles that risked becoming worse.
Lessons 2: Deal with minor irritations before they become big problems
Is a particular stakeholder being difficult to engage? Find out what’s going on now – don’t ignore it, only for them to shoot you down in flames when you present your final report to the programme board.
Through Checkpoint 1 on the outskirts of Bath, and then on through more beautiful scenery and impressive engineering as the canal clung to the hillsides or crossed over the river on the valley floor far below. The first marathon (only four and a half more…) came up in about four hours, and I was surprised to find myself in ninth place – which suggested I was going too fast. Through Checkpoint 2 and then on to the imposing Caen Hill Locks – where 29 locks raise the canal 237 feet in two miles. Checkpoint 3 brought us into the Vale of Pewsey, with the downs of Wiltshire looming either side of the canal. While focussing on not accidentally falling in the canal or tripping on a mooring ring there was a danger of not appreciating these natural and engineering wonders – so I did make a conscious effort to look around and enjoy the view.
Lesson 3: When you are ‘heads down’ in delivery, don’t forget to take a step back, look up and admire the view
While you may not feel like it when you’re stuck late in the office for the fourth consecutive evening, do take a step back and appreciate the really important work you’re contributing to and what great colleagues you have (hopefully…).
My pace was beginning to slow now, with more walking breaks, and my knees getting a little sore at the base of the kneecap, but I was through 50 miles in just over 9 hours, and halfway in under 15 hours. The checkpoints were staffed by a fantastic set of volunteers who were happy to run around fetching bags, topping up water bottles, preparing hot food (I’d already had hot dogs, noodles and soup by this stage) and being generally supportive – despite being met with a stream of tired, irritable, smelly runners. I always try to make a point of being cheerful and thanking the volunteers, as it seems to give me a bit of a lift to do so. There’s also a very supportive atmosphere between the runners. Although it is a ‘race’, for everyone except a few at the sharp end of the field the goal is to finish, and positions are really not that important. People therefore tend to hold gates open for each other, call someone back it they’re seen heading the wrong way, and pause for a chat and to check everything is okay when overtaking.
Lesson 4: Be nice to each other. It’s not a race
Even when you’re tired, grumpy and having a rubbish day, still say thank you to the cleaner – he or she may be the one who finds your phone under the desk. And don’t compete with your colleagues – try to help them out where you can. It will make you and them feel better.
Beyond half way and evening was starting to draw in. And the drizzle was turning into more persistent rain. And we were approaching the outskirts of Reading… The field was also becoming really strung out (to the extent that I would only see one other person for the next ten hours). My mood was starting to dip a bit here, and I was looking for excuses to quit. Suddenly in the dusk I caught an electric blue flash, and a kingfisher darted from some trees, and flew along the canal. It was a magical moment, gave me a real boost and made me resolve not to give up.
Lesson 5: Rejoice in the moments of brilliance
Every now and then one of your colleagues will do something just amazing. Rejoice in those moments, and use them to inspire you.
I safely negotiated the late night revellers of Reading, and picked up the Thames Path, heading into the dark of the countryside. Some people find running overnight difficult, and really have to fight against the desire to sleep. 17 years of staying up late finishing off deliverables seem to have made me relatively immune to this, although the night does bring other weirdness. A combination of the darkness and fatigue leads to hallucinations. I always see bridges across the canal which turn out just to be overhanging trees. And the usual suspects are branches and logs that look like snakes or crocodiles (and in an isolated exception to the norm for me on Friday night, a pair of copulating iguanas). The temperature by the water plummets, which combined with the diversion of blood to muscles, lungs, stomach and brain, can create some alarming shrinkage ‘down under’.
Running through a wooded section near Shiplake I stubbed my toe hard on a tree root. Fortunately nobody was around to hear the torrent of expletives. I then did exactly the same thing thirty seconds later. In a race of this length it’s inevitable that bad stuff is going to happen – be that treading in dog poo, missing a turning or receiving feedback on your running form from the local ‘yoof’. It’s very easy to take these personally, particularly when you are physically and mentally exhausted. But you mustn’t. It just happens. And setbacks make for a more interesting story in the pub afterwards.
Lesson 6: Let it go
Bad stuff is going to happen, probably at the worst moment. An hour before that final report is due in the document template will do something unhelpfully creative with your paragraph numbering. The fire alarm will go off in the middle of that important conference call. The printer will jam as you try to print the handouts for the programme board. Somebody else will get the credit for your killer insight. Just roll with it.
I reached Henley, the hundred mile point, just as dawn was breaking – bringing with it a welcome clear blue sky. It was nice to get the scenery back, and this was some of the nicest of the whole race as we followed the river with the wooded slopes of the Chilterns rising steeply on either side, interspersed with picture postcard villages and towns. The pain in my knees was making running difficult now, and I was having to work hard to make myself even do short bursts. Everything else was feeling okay. Under the circumstances. My feet were a little sore, but I had no blisters or other chaffing. My head felt reasonably clear. And mercifully I was free from any stomach issues and eating and drinking well. Keeping fuelled is really important, but the constant motion and fatigue can make it difficult to keep things down and your sense of taste can change. Once you struggle to eat and drink it can lead to vicious circle that spirals towards retirement. I arrived at Bray, 110 miles, at about eleven on Saturday morning – just as the crew there were cooking some bacon. They offered scrambled eggs as well. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything better.
Lesson 7: Eat!
When you’re up against it, it’s really easy to overlook the basics of looking after yourself, like eating and drinking. This is a false economy, and a short break to have some food is likely to boost your productivity and mood.
I took the opportunity of the food stop to change into some dry shoes and socks, although by now I had pretty much given up on the running. Running wasn’t appreciably faster than my walking pace, hurt a lot, and I was wary of causing more damage – so resigned myself to ‘death marching’ the final marathon and a bit. At Eton we left the Thames, and headed up through Slough. This was tedious as there were lots of roads to cross, none of which I was in a fit state to nip across. After a couple of miles we reached the end of the Slough arm of the Grand Union Canal. Or it may have been a rubbish tip. It was hard to tell. My family had kept asking for an ETA at the next and final checkpoint – and I had a suspicion that they were going to meet me there. Having been up for nearly 36 hours now I was struggling with my mental maths, and calculating an ETA was really hard, particularly with my slowing pace. I crossed the M25 with less than 20 miles to go, and as the afternoon drizzle turned into more persistent rain soon reached the final checkpoint – where sure enough my wife was waiting, together with my mother and younger daughter. It was lovely to chat to them while hoovering up a bacon sandwich. They then demonstrated their unwavering support by adjourning to the nearest pub for steak and chips while I trudged on in the rain through the somewhat grim industrial landscape of Yiewsley, Hayes and Southall. They did meet me a bit further along, and my mother walked with me for a few miles. Possibly the only time in my running career where I am going to be paced by my 73 year old mother. A few more miles on my own, in what was now torrential rain (which was as least keeping the muggers and drug dealers away), and then my daughter joined me for the last five miles. It was lovely having some company, and she chatted away while I stumbled along muttering at the cyclists who seemed to want to use the entire path.
Lesson 8: Draw on the support of others
As night fell for the second time in the race we reached Little Venice, and finally the right turn into Paddington Basin, and the very low key finishing line. I summoned a shuffling jog for the last fifty metres, and finally crossed the line at 21:24, nearly 39 and a half hours after starting. Keith the race director handed me my medal, and I sank into a chair and let the previous two days sink in. I had finished 21st of the 76 starters. I learnt then that 34 people had already dropped out, and learnt subsequently that only 36 actually finished. If you want a comparison, the famed Marathon de Sables, self-styled “toughest foot race on earth”, has a percentage completion rate up in the nineties.
People inevitably ask “why?” I came across these words from Neal Donald Walsch last year, and they do as good a job of explaining as anything else: “The voice of caution knows nothing of real joy. What joy is there in doing what there was no doubt you could do? Try something you could fail at … that just could be living”. I think this applies to our working lives too – which would be very boring if we only did the easy stuff. Just make sure you’ve done your risk assessment!!
