Paul Tonkinson - 26.2 Miles to Happiness: A Comedian’s Tale of Running, Red Wine and Redemption

To Ra

Contents

Before I wrote a book I always fantasised about the acknowledgement section. What a great thing to be able to do, to thank the people who have helped. Too numerous to mention but Ill give it a go. So thanks to

Matt Gilbert, who gave me my first column at Runners World , an essential part of my running resurrection. Then, of course, the team at Runners World Andy Dixon, Kerry McCarthy and Joe Mackie. Apologies for the consistently late submissions.

George Eden, my first coach, for the inspiration. The miles we shared! In my heart, literally.

The clubs Ive run for: Scarborough Harriers, Thirsk and Sowerby, Richmond and Zetland, and latterly to all the London Heathsiders who inspired me so much during the period of this book. All members but specifically Sarah Swinhoe, Dominic Jackson, Gavin Evans, Daniel Johns, Mario Cadete, Chris Hartley, Rob Shulman, Hoggy, Edward Adams, Richard Hewett. They were just going about their normal business that winter, but little did they know how important they were HEATHSIDERS!

Its worth noting that since the sub-3 marathon, normal service has been resumed with Dominic. He soundly thrashes me over every surface and distance. Also in dispatches, Gavin recently ran a 2:52 marathon at the age of 59, in the process of winning an England vest! Hoggy was last seen scuttling around a training camp in Ethiopia.

Roisin Conaty thanks for the inspiration. It would be remiss of me not to mention that this was the year Roisin wrote and starred in the brilliant Channel 4 sitcom Gameface , which I urge you to watch. So, despite the odd fall from grace, she had a far more productive year than I did.

Nick Walters, my man at David Luxtons, who encouraged me to dig deeper while writing the book and also gave me a lesson in how to write a decent synopsis.

The champion team at Bloomsbury. Matt Lowing who gave me the initial Yes and offered invaluable support and expertise at key moments during the process, always cheerfully expressed. Copy editor Caroline Curtis thank you, I wish I had you on my shoulder at all times when writing and to Sarah Skipper for all her help gathering the photos.

To my podcast partner, Robert Deering, without whom quite simply this book wouldnt have happened. It was he who showed me the way back to regular running all those Mondays when Id meet you hungover on the parkland walk. So much has changed! Let us have many more running adventures.

To the funniest unknown (but not for long) comedian in the world, Nick Dixon, currently smashing a comedy club near you. Thanks for having a look at the initial synopsis and pointing out it was Jeff Goldblum whod forgotten his mantra. I hope one day you can forgive me for this oversight.

To Helen Ryan and Carrie Longton, thanks so much for reading the book in the early stages and providing valuable feedback and encouragement.

To my dear friend The Mac, who, though I support him onstage, gives me more support offstage than perhaps he imagines, Hello mate.

To Dad, with love always. I didnt get time to talk about all the running we did together in and around Scarborough. I remain inspired by your performance in the Harrogate 16-mile road race circa 1985.

To my family George, Bonita, Rudy. The dogs, Calypso and Billie Jean, and of course, last but not least, dearest Rachel. Thanks for the love and laughs. You couldnt possibly understand how happy and lucky I feel to walk among you in that noisy house on the hill. (If I could urge you all one last time stop slamming the door. If everyone keeps slamming the door the lock will break again.)

In memoriam. Dashy, Tiger and Angelo. Gone, but not forgotten.

And finally to all the runners Ive met or come into contact with over the years through the podcast Running Commentary or the column in Runners World . Thanks so much for the inspiration. Good luck in all running endeavours. Enjoy every step.

Hopefully well meet in person, perhaps in a race over trail, roads or cross-country. I wish you all the best but be aware, if were still together and its 200m from the finish I will be trying to beat you.

So, lets sprint.

The dawning of the New Year saw a plan percolating in my mind. A faint notion that possibly, just possibly, this could be the year I would run a marathon in under three hours and write a book about it.

The last few years had seen me running more and more. Id also been doing a lot of writing, thinking and talking about running, both in my column for Runners World and on the podcast Running Commentary. Id joined a club and had found much fun and inspiration within the running community. I was feeling grateful and wanted, as they say, to give something back.

There are a great many running books around, often inspirational tomes detailing epic adventures, which Ive devoured hungrily. I noticed a pattern had emerged within their pages, almost a formula mapping the startlingly transformative qualities of the running life: the author as protagonist changed beyond all comprehension. These books, which I love and constantly return to, would typically start off in the middle of an epic adventure...

Its Mile 45 in the Cross Antarctic Ultra Midnight Challenge. The temperatures 5, with a wind chill of 17. Ive been running continuously for 37 hours and I cant feel my face, legs or feet. In fact, I should say leg Ive just sawn my lower right limb off and am licking it feverishly for nutrition. Having long since broken through all the notions of normal human behaviour, I am soothed by the taste of my own flesh. Breath freezes and shatters in front of me with every step across the lunar icy floor, it dissolves in front of my eyes, blending into the thousands of stars above me, which festoon the jet-black sky... I am lost and, due to extreme fatigue, vision is fading fast. Is that a bear in front of me? Its hard to say; I am suddenly rendered blind. I hear a blood-curdling roar, my nostrils are seared by hot bear breath. I turn and run, as best I can, blind, on one leg through the snow. Will I live? Will I die? As my one remaining foot smashes through a sheet of ice into the freezing waters below, a barbaric yawp escapes me up and away into the cold, unforgiving Arctic night.

Suddenly swallowed by a gigantic shadow I dimly sense the bear approaching, its like the eclipse of my soul. My frozen hands desperately claw at the ice like clumps of dead meat.

Is this my final moment?

For a second, I ponder: How did I get here?

Cut to : Two years earlier.

If ever there was a more unlikely runner, Ive yet to meet one. As an overweight, chain-smoking, meat-ingesting alcoholic, the only running I ever did was to the burger stall at half-time. More of a waddle, really.

This gently parody is not delivered to deny the power of these epic journeys. I love these books and thrill to the stories. The truth is, I couldnt even attempt to tread on the same turf, never mind compete. For me, there was no real before and after. Id always loved running, even as a child. If I see a space, I imagine myself running through it; thats just how I see the world.

My effort was to be a humbler affair, a fairly simple detailing of my attempts to run a marathon in under three hours, intended for the fun runner and serious runner alike. I have been both and, in fact, see no difference. Rather unusually for me, the notion became a reality the book youre currently holding.