How much can you endure? It’s a question we all want to remain metaphorical. But sometimes life isn’t that kind.
“Your son is one of the sickest kids we’ve ever had in intensive care,” was what the nurse said to me after we had arrived in an ambulance, 20 minutes from Kingston Hospital to the Evelina in Westminster. The journey was the longest of my life. I had been told that my six-month-old son, my friend, my idol, my whole heart, was going to die. And I spent the whole time in the blue-lit vehicle wondering how on earth I would lift my wife from the black hole she was about to be plunged into.
The nurse who gave me that dreadful news was to become a great friend. She told me that the noise my son was making in the back of the ambulance – a dreadful, low moan – was the sound that babies made before they died. There were many more horrible words and terms; “brain damage”, “unresponsive” and “coma” to name a few. But my son survived. His ability to endure the most dreadful pain still dazzles me to this day.
It wasn’t just George who endured. In the three weeks of his hospital stay, I slept 20 hours in total. My wife, barely a wink more. I lost over two stone in weight in the five days he was in intensive care. And we’ve been treating him for three years now. I have collapsed 20 times – the adrenaline fuelled A&E trips, the fear, the anxiety and savage exhaustion. Even now, we wake at least five times a night, often staying awake to treat him for as long as an hour. It takes its toll, and it’s definitely not the best training regime.
My son has Type 1 diabetes. It’s a little known condition. George had a simple, everyday virus. It caused his immune system to attack his pancreas. Now he needs constant insulin to stay alive. I wanted to raise awareness for George’s condition. I wondered how I could do it. I’ve run a couple of marathons. But a marathon was never really going to get people’s attention the way I hoped. Two marathons, back to back? Maybe three? Could I do it? How much could I endure?
I started running at the age of 19 when I thought my heart was broken. I couldn’t cope with the pain and I went for a run. I kept on going for a run. Each time I came back, it would hurt a bit less. It wasn’t so long before I had completely forgotten about my shattered heart. But I couldn’t stop running. I found that any stress, frustration, anxiety would diminish when I went out on the road. It’s been 18 years and I’ve broken kneecaps, torn hamstrings, had operations and the longest I have been without running is two weeks.
When we finally brought my son home from hospital, my wife told me I had to go for a run. She knew that I had not allowed myself to show the emotions I’d been feeling. I fought very hard not to break. It was my worst nightmare playing out, but it was also my wife’s. And my very frightened little boy. I did not want them to see the fear that I was feeling. When I got back from that first run, my wife simply said “Better?” and it was. A little.
I’m often asked how I motivate myself for running such distances. They assume I think about my son. But I can’t really. If I did, I would weep the whole way round. And I’d be a dehydrated, exhausted wreck within about three miles. So I try not to. The hard part of endurance running is mental. It’s odd to choose an event that you will never win. The race will always be larger than the individual. And if you don’t respect the distance, you will pay for it. The biggest mistake any long distance runner makes is to think about the finish line. Each time you do, the body falls apart. Actually, the brain falls apart – despair creeps in, the desperate need to pull the trainers off, to fall into the shower, to devour the feast that awaits, or just to fall down to the ground is overpowering.
I know I can run two marathons. I also know that the third marathon will break me. And I will be staring at another sort of black hole. It will be then that I think of my son. And all that he endured and continues to endure every day. I know that I will start to think of giving up, the pain will be so great. My brain will fall to bits and my body will too. So I will picture my son. And I’ll remember that he didn’t give up. He never gives up. Why should I?
Simon Vinnicombe is running 78.6 miles on Thursday – the eve of World Diabetes Day – to raise awareness for Type 1 Diabetes and raise money for jdrf.org.uk. His story can be found here www.runfortype1.org
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