The Loch Ness Dream

The Barcelona Marathon had left me with an optimistic outlook on my future marathon running. It had gone so well. The running calendar started filling up again. Milan in April, Leiden (Netherlands) in May, and Loch Ness at the end of September. My only worry was what marathons to do in June, July, and August. Until a pedestrian stepped in front of me cycling along London Embankment, brought me to fall, on my left hip, which cracked as a result. Ambulance, hospital, surgery followed. I am now enhanced with a titanium nail all through my femur and was discharged within four days, and was told I can put 100% load on the hip from day one (depending on pain management, of course, hahaha). I played tough, said stoically good-bye to the Milan and Leiden races, and asked the question about Loch Ness. How realistic is it to run a marathon six months after a hip fracture? The health professionals around me shrouded themselves in vague comments. Probably not to mentally destabilise me by taking my delusion away. 

So my recovery journey began. Balancing pain with what was possible at each point in time. Things improved quicker than most had predicted, and ten weeks before the Loch Ness Marathon, I felt I had a real chance of doing it. I carefully built up the distance over four weeks until something felt wrong. Not during the running, but during leisurely walking. Overload of the hip, risk of failure of the “metal work” (in my femur). I had to take load off my hip, which meant walking with a crutch again. I was devastated. By that point, there were only five weeks left, and I was back on crutches, the risk of needing a hip replacement looming over me, if things wouldn’t get better. So I also said good-bye to completing the Loch Ness Marathon. Less stoically this time. 

Things got better, very slowly though. How long does it take to walk a marathon with hiking poles? I checked the Loch Ness cut-off time. Seven hours. That means I need an average of sub 10 min/k. I did trial distances. Impossible. But I could not let it go. Not fully. I knew it wouldn’t happen and I was completely delusional even thinking it could. I did not cancel the planned Scotland trip with my friends. One week Highlands, then the marathon. My friend Michael did not break his hip and would, of course, still do it. I tried to defer my place to next year. Not possible. Now a week before the race, walking and hiking a bit through the Scottish Highlands, I felt I can cover more distance again. But not in sub 10 min/k.

I allowed myself to dream about it. My whole marathon running is a result of doing something I never thought would have been possible. I joined Michael picking up the race number the day before. The race organisers were very encouraging, saying they support everyone to participate. The worst thing that can happen is I have to stop. There are seven water stations spread out over the course. At each of them, I can easily decide to stop and there would be a shuttle to the finish in Inverness. So why not just get myself to the start and see how far I can get briskly walking without putting the hip at risk?

And that’s what happened. I made it to the start, knowing I don’t really belong here. The Loch Ness Marathon is perfectly organised. How to get thousands of runners to the start in the middle of nowhere? They somehow did it. There was rain forecasted and coming down while we were waiting for the go-ahead. But it was only a light drizzle and I felt appropriately acclimatised by having spent a whole week in Scotland already. I put together a plan: just to focus on getting to the next water station, reassess then and decide to continue or abort. The seven stations split the course into eight parts. My eight stages to manage, maximum. 

The race started. Naturally, I stayed behind and started in high spirits with my brisk walking. Even though I did not feel like I belonged, I was so glad I could participate. The drizzle stopped, the amazing landscape unfolded in front of me, and the runners that formed the rearguard of this race were exceptionally nice and encouraging. Spectators cheered and encouraged you all the same. No matter if brisk walking or running, you earned “well done” and high fives all the time. It was such a moving experience. And then there it was, the first water station, 5 km into the race, and I felt completely fine. I continued. 

When finishing the second stage, I still had high energy levels, but felt a bit more that I had covered 25% of a marathon. But still, no hip-related issues, so I carried on. And then came stage 3 when Mathilde overtook me. I loved her cautious by feel approach to this race, and we started talking and sharing stories. I felt in a bit of a trot next to her, and before I realised stage 3 was completed. A new decision point. I did feel the hip a little bit. And decided to continue brisk walking, not running. By that point, I had already a time buffer to finish in 7 hours, even if I would get slower for the rest of the race. 

After the more cautious completion of the fourth stage and the half point of the race I still felt fine. Actually better than at the check-point before. I continued walking. Met more other walkers, Mathilde had moved on a bit, I couldn’t believe that three and a half hours had already passed, and things did not in the slightest feel dour or grim, but exciting and energetic. The weather had also improved. Stage 5 was completed, I still felt ok to move on, the hip did not cause issues and I thought for first time I have a chance completing it. I fell back into a slow trot and thought, maybe I can catch-up with Mathilde. Stage 6 was completed before I could even realise it. During stage 7 I caught up with Matilde and experienced the energy and good vibes you get from running with a friend. Even when it came to the last stretch and you lock-in and don’t talk, when after entering Inverness heavy rain finally started and you got soaked, running in good company feels like this extra energy source you tap into. 

We managed to stick together until the finish. And what a finish it was. People were still cheering, encouraging, telling us what an achievement it is to complete a thing like this. When I crossed the finish line it did not really sink in. I completed it!? Against all odds!!? Against even seriously trying to not risk damage to my hip!!!? I must be dreaming. Am I dreaming? No, I don’t think so. Mathilde and I fell in each other’s arms. She was equally emotional about having completed her first marathon. For me it was my 80th. But what does it really matter? To me it was just a cherry on the top, that my 80th was such a special experience. I was given the medal and never felt more like I needed it. Had to see it. To believe it really happened and wasn’t just a dream. I feel it stil will take a while to fully sink in and be reminded that some dreams really do come true. Really!