A lesson in accepting that life (and running) does not always go to plan

I write this on the eve of what should have been the last marathon of my 8 in 8 days. Instead of triumphant, I feel deflated and broken. However I spin it, I feel like I’ve failed. I set myself the target of running 8 marathons in 8 days and I won’t be able to complete it. I completed 5 and a bit, and then my leg gave way. Number 6 was finished on a bike, but then I was told in no uncertain terms to stop. I will run the final two marathons, but it will not be until my leg is healed. Here begins my attempt to dissect what I have achieved and what I have learned, in a rather self-indulgent effort to make myself feel better about a challenge gone wrong.

I had two reasons for taking on this challenge, or three if you include childish curiosity! The first was to do something to help raise the profile of the Yoga Mission and the work done by my friend Lucy in Varanasi. Lucy is the type of person that you come across only once or twice in a lifetime – someone totally inspirational and driven. 18 months ago the school she runs almost had to close when their water supply was contaminated by sewage. It was going to cost only £1500 for a new water supply, but they simply didn’t have it. Lucy appealed to her friends and family, and the money was raised quickly enough, but it struck me then that there was someone so busy doing all the work, that she had neither the budget nor the time to tell people what she was doing, or to ask for help. I wanted to raise enough money to make a difference to the work she does, and enough publicity to get her noticed by the media, and that was when I came up with the idea of 8 marathons in 8 days. I could just as easily have been five (ah hindsight is a wonderful thing), but 8 fitted neatly between the London Marathon and the Three Forts Challenge. From the point of the view of the Yoga Mission, Lucy assures me that the challenge has surpassed all expectations, and the BBC picking up on the story and associated coverage has made an incredible difference, and has generated a huge amount of interest in the work they do. I set out to raise £5000, which I thought ambitious. As I write this, the total stands at just almost £7500, a truly staggering amount. Regardless of whether or not I drag my probably broken leg around the last marathon, I think I can feel satisfied that this has been a success.

So why do I feel like a failure? I think the answer lies in the other, less obvious reason, which I hadn’t really admitted, even to myself. In a world where there are increasing pressures to achieve perfection in all aspects of our lives, especially for women (or maybe it just seems like that to me because I am one), it is easy to feel a little inadequate. I frequently do. My house is not clean, I do not have a flat stomach, my hair does not stay bouncy and shiny when I run. I could go on. I think, in some small way, this was an effort to show myself that even if I sometimes leave a big pile of washing up by the sink when I leave the house, I can make a difference and do something amazing. I suppose in a way, I wanted to prove that an ordinary person, an ordinary runner, leading an ordinary life, has the scope to do something extraordinary and, I’d like to think, to inspire others to do the same.

I was sure that there would be people who would tut and shake their heads and tell me it was foolish attention-seeking and I would never complete it. Much as it pains me to admit it, they were right. I so desperately wanted to prove them wrong but I’m beginning to realise that even if these people exist, they don’t matter, and nor does the fact that I haven’t completed the challenge. What matters is that I had the courage to start, and I can honestly say that I gave it my all. If my leg had held up there is no doubt in my mind that I would have crossed the finish line tomorrow. The demons are in my own head: the enthusiasm, encouragement and support from everyone – from people I know well, people I hardly know, and even complete strangers - has been completely overwhelming. It has made me realise that the only person being hard on myself is me.

When I think of it in rational terms, the only reason I can give for dragging myself round the final marathon would be because I said I would do it. I would be causing potentially very serious damage to my leg, (with all associated consequences to my life and family) just to make a point that doesn’t need to made.

Therefore I must convince myself that making a sensible and necessary decision to stop does not equal failure. When I look back on this challenge in years to come, years that I hope will be filled with injury-free running, I hope that I will feel proud of the six marathons I completed on consecutive days, the money raised and the goodwill that was generated. Having said all that, I am not finished, I have just paused the challenge until I am able to continue. Those last two marathons will be mine!