Sam Boatwright - Smile Big Run Hard: Fifty Miles Every Day for Fifty Days

To Mum and Dad.

Thank you.

You made me the man that made it round.

Before I even tell you about my stupidly long run, I need to make sure that I thank a lot of different people as there were so many people that got me to the finish line. I got all the plaudits for the run, but without the support I received, I would have never have made it. I couldnt decide the best way to do this, as there were so many people that went in to making this happen, so I thought a big list would be the best way! So here goes.

A massive thank you goes to: Mum, Dad, Trev Boatwright, Luke Boatwright, Sara Wellock, Harriet Boatwright, Uncle Ian, Aunty Glen, Emily, Brian and Kath Wellock, Ian and Dianne Wellock, James Wellock, Jane Peggs, Tom Mayfield, Matty Wilson, Matthew Speres, Jonathan Richards, Tony Phoenix-Morrison, Kate Dinsdale, Sam Stonnell, Gayle Sharp, Jo Kenny, Kev Green, Rachel Capstick, Paddy Capstick, Skipton RFC, North Ribblesdale RUFC, Andy Jackson, Nick Magooligan, Julie Beck, Kirstie Ingham, Chris Sharp, Paul Lacy, Shaun Barraclough, Matthew Hosier, Gary Mayfield, Alex Rogers, Robin Hargreaves, Christa Baldwin, Amanda Robinson, Louisa Titorenko, Neil Foster, all the local Primary Schools, Marcus Peel (Malsis), Andrew Rex, Jan Michaels, Phillip Green, Theresa Slater, Adam Oldfield, Mark McGlinchey, Alison McGlinchey, Liz Leighton, Kev Greaves, Chris Carniss and Helen Carniss.

There are so many people to thank and I have no doubt forgotten someone. If I have missed you off this list, I am sorry; your support was no less appreciated. You all made the run a great success and we all contributed to a great cause. Out of this list, I must single out the Wellock family. Every single one of you has my gratitude and I might never have said it enough, but thank you without your contributions, the run would never have reached the start line.

Smile Big, Run Hard by Sam Boatwright:

50 Miles Every day for 50 Days.

Epic Run.

Sunday 27th May, 2011.

Hey Mate, I said down the phone which was fairly usual after a Saturday night in town. This phrase usually carried with it the questions of, How are you? How pissed did you get last night? Are you alone? And what are you up to today? The reply, as usual, was:

Yeah, Bru, Im alright. We out today? I should probably have mentioned that Matt is South African, hence, the Bru.

I fancy doing something stupid pal, something that we have never done, but will remember, and something that will push our bodies and minds to the absolute limit. I could tell by the silence that Matts mind was working overtime. Not only was he hung over, I was not.

You want to meet at the Castle about 2, Bru? He finally replied through a gravelled voice. Matts reply suggested he had not really understood what the hell I was talking about. The Castle is a local pub, often frequented after a tough rugby game or on a Sunday afternoon when the sun is out. The pub, like its namesake, stands at the top of Skiptons High Street and is great for people-watching on a lazy summers day. Unfortunately for Matt on this summers day, the pub was not what I was planning.

I am 30 next year mate, I began, though not too sure Matt knew what the hell was going on.

I want to do something hard. Something that might push us so hard we might not be able to take it. Maybe Everest?... Or Kilamanjaro Actually, scrap that. Chris Moyles got up Kilamanjaro and if he can do that, I dont think it will push us hard enough. Everest would be good, but I think even that might be expensive. The conversation was very one sided. So much so, that I was answering my own questions, not even sure if Matt was still awake on the other end. I was reasonably confident that whatever my suggestion, he would go along with it, if for nothing else than to just get me off the phone so he could continue with his hangover. There are a number of other reasons why I would choose not to go up Everest:

1. I am scared of heights

2. I dont like camping

3. I have never been climbing

4. I dont like been cold

5. I moan.a lot!

I know! I said in an almost cartoon, light-bulb-above-the-head idea kind of moment. We can run! Enthusiasm and excitement was pouring out of me now.

We can run around the UK. I have just read a book about some woman who ran round the world, so the UK cant be that hard?! Yeah. I could run a bit and then you could run a bit? .Like a relay???!!! The idea was placed. I was full of ideas.

Like many of you that know me already, I am very good at ideas, but the actual planning and execution is something else entirely! This was going to need a lot of planning and preparation. Although at this moment in time, I really didnt care; that was not what I was thinking about. I was thinking about all the amazing things we would see and the unbelievable achievement our bodies would feel when we had finished. I thought nothing about the pain the run would cause me, or about the finance it would take just to get the idea off the ground.

Sailor, Pot Washer, Waiter, Ice-Cream Salesman, Market Stall Owner, Barman, Telesales, Gym Instructor, Fitness Instructor, Marketeer, Salesman, Employment Coach, Slaughter House Knifeman, Warehouse Operative, Shelf Stacker, Teacher, Fruit Picker, Cleaner, Builder, Electrician, Joiner, Painter, Driver, Personal Trainer.. Ultra-Marathoner and Writer? Why not?

I am 29 years old and I guess from the jobs listed above, you might call me a quitter. I dont really class myself as a quitter, rather I have just never really found anything that I like doing. I love staying in shape and pushing my body to the limit. This has been the same since I was young. The jobs listed are not really in any order, although the last three are my most recent. I always wanted to be a writer, but as an ex-girlfriends Dad once put it, You have the imagination of a potato! So, writing a fictional novel was never going to be my forte. The only part of a novel I could get to was, Once upon a time, or In a galaxy far, far away, and I am fairly positive these have been used before. My only option left for writing was to write about something real, something that I had done. I have travelled quite a lot and I have seen different countries and experienced new cultures, but throughout my teens and twenties, I might have been classed as a yob. I was your typical Brit! I went to places to see how drunk I could get within the first three hours of stepping off the plane, and so a book about being drunk in Australia, America and Europe, with the odd game of rugby thrown in, probably wouldnt appeal to most people.

Even during these years of what you might call excess, I was still always wondering how much my body would take. This was why I was the one that at the end of the night that was a dribbling wreck; I am the one you didnt want to invite to your wedding, but always came as someones plus one. I was as Peter Kay might put it, Uncle Knobhead.

I grew up in a tiny village in the Yorkshire Dales called Malham. Growing up in Malham is hard not hard like growing up in the ghetto or some poverty stricken third world country; it is hard because you are so isolated. Everyone in the Dales works hard for what they get, whether they work the land or they rely on hospitality and tourism. My Dad worked in the family business a beautiful country guest house called Beck Hall. It sat right on the bank of the River Aire and my brothers, cousins and I spent most summer afternoons playing in canoes on the river. Once we were old enough, we worked for the family business. Like I said, everyone in the Dales works. Its this work ethic that pushes me now, through the pain barrier. Never stopping.