Beyond the Finish Line: The True Motivation Behind My Runs

In the scorching heat of August 2016, my life took an unexpected swerve as my girlfriend, Rachel, and I decided to embark on a spontaneous adventure to The Big Smoke. Fresh out of the academic cocoon, Rachel had a shiny new master's degree in Anthropology, and the world lay at her feet. Canterbury had become yesterday's news, and London beckoned with promises of excitement and opportunities.

Now, on the flip side of the educational spectrum, I stood at 26, clutching a recently acquired college diploma after a series of misfires. I never entertained thoughts of a future; my life philosophy was more of a day-by-day affair, where the only constants were the unpredictable highs and lows. Amidst this turbulence, my sanctuary was a ragtag punk band I 'sing' in, known as The Half-Wits, a refuge for my sanity amid life's chaotic barbarism.

As the calendar pages flipped to moving day, my mother assumed the role of chauffeur, navigating the winding roads of destiny with all our earthly belongings crammed into the back of her car. Ealing, West London, awaited as our new home, a place I had never laid eyes on before. The term "flat" seemed generous for what greeted us—a room where a bed asserted its dominance over three-quarters of the space, a modest fridge stationed by the entrance, and a pint-sized oven hob combo and a smattering of cupboards posing as a kitchen. But there was a silver lining—a balcony, our slice of urban tranquillity overlooking Ealing Broadway tube station.

I awoke to the first day of my new life. I was alone for the first time since moving. What have I done? I thought to myself. People like me, small-town folk, can't survive here. Side note: The Half-Wits played their biggest show to date, which was the weekend before the move. A festival called Rebellion in Blackpool. Naturally, we stayed for the whole weekend, drank gallons of beer and took loads of drugs. It was not the smartest move for me, considering I was about to embark on the most significant move of my life. A classic Tadhg move. I was in a terrible state when I arrived home. The comedown was horrific. Coupled with my growing anxiety about moving to one of the world's biggest cities, it was a cocktail of disaster.

Merely days after making my new home in London, I immersed myself in the fast-paced rhythm of a demanding role on the city's busiest shopping street within the confines of one of its largest stores. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Reflecting on it now, that first stint was quite the initiation. At the store entrance, welcoming customers amidst the chaos of jarring tunes, the relentless hustle of Regent Street, and the perpetual urban symphony of London—it hit like a sensory overload.

I felt like I was in a personal hell, with anxiety coursing through my veins and imposter syndrome haunting my every thought. Surviving those first few days felt like an accomplishment, and on my first day off, I sought solace in the serene surroundings of Walpole Park. Sitting on a grassy bank, staring into the calm waters, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Why was I constantly anxious and lacking in self-confidence? I questioned my state of mind, wondering if others felt the same way. As I lost myself in introspection, a runner's reflection in the water caught my attention, triggering a flashback of Prince Harry discussing Heads Together, a mental health charity associated with the London Marathon.

The epiphany hit hard – what if running was the antidote to my struggles? The idea of training for the London Marathon emerged as a potentially life-altering journey. I conjured up the iconic montage from Rocky 2, envisioning myself as the gritty protagonist, pounding the pavement as Rocky and the triumphant contender crossing the finish line of the greatest race on Earth.

A barrage of questions flooded my mind: How the hell does one snag a spot in the London Marathon? Can my wallet handle it? Is it possible for me? Going after this goal lit a spark of hope, offering a potential escape from the inner turmoil that had taken residence within me. Driven by my anxious impulsiveness, I somehow secured a spot in the 2017 London Marathon within days. How I snagged the last spot on a charity team involved a bit of creative storytelling and a dash of exaggeration, but I made it happen. My life depended on it, and I attributed my success to the universe rewarding my determination.

I won't bore you with typical running clichés or extol the well-known health benefits – for that, you can turn to the Rich Roll podcast. Instead, I'll share my unique experience. No training plan or time goals guided my marathon journey; I dove headfirst, relying on my arrogance as a supposedly fit 26-year-old.

My perspective shifted just five minutes into my first run. Running around Walpole Park, I covered a modest 3km, but it transformed me. Plugged into blaring music, my thoughts became remarkably clear. A river washed away negativity, and for the first time, my mind felt rational. The perpetual storm of dark clouds and adversity that clouded my thoughts seemed to dissipate. Am I a runner now?

In the subsequent months, my mental well-being underwent a remarkable transformation. Running became my sanctuary, offering respite from the stress, challenges of life, and the chaos within my mind. From the moment I laced up my runners to the point of removing them, running became my unparalleled escape. It marked a stark departure from my previous reliance on the conventional crutches of drugs and alcohol to escape the monotony of my existence. It became evident that those substances were not sustainable solutions for my struggles.

Fast forward to April 23, 2017, and I stood at the starting line of one of the world's premier races, unaware that humility awaited me by day's end. With my 'predicted' finish time of approximately three and a half hours, a respectable estimate given the marathon's 42.1-kilometre stretch and my longest training run reaching only 28 km, I felt confident. Six months of consistent running had convinced me I'd done my due diligence. What could go wrong? Envisioning a delightful jog through London's streets, basking in the city's carnival atmosphere, waving at cheering spectators, and joining the exclusive London Marathon club, my optimism remained until mile 19. Until then, the experience had been thoroughly enjoyable, and my time was good. However, around mile 17, reality set in—my legs felt leaden, and dehydration crept in despite religious sips of Lucozade. A side note: I believed my only necessary sustenance was a pack of Medjool dates, a tidbit gleaned from a forgotten YouTuber I once followed.

Unsurprisingly, reality hit me like a freight train around mile 19, dismantling my delusional 3-hour and 30-minute goal. My jog had devolved into a stumbling walk, my energy depleted, and my legs seemingly disconnected from my brain's desperate messages. Panic set in; my internal dialogue screamed, "I'm in trouble with an empty tank and no reserves left. Will I quit and fail to cross the finish line?" The thought of my parents waiting for me intensified the shame of potential failure. Now well-acquainted with 'the wall,' that dreaded nemesis of distance runners, I had mistakenly believed it was reserved for the 'unfit'—a misconception swiftly shattered that day. The cheers and calls of my name, which had fuelled me earlier, now felt burdensome. No longer fuelled by their encouragement, my mindset had shifted; I wanted them all to fade away as they were about to witness my imminent downfall. I veered to the roadside, yielding to those still pushing to complete the race before Christmas. Exhausted and defeated, I gripped the railing, my mind a void and my body aching. Though surrounded by well-meaning voices offering encouragement, their meaning eluded me. Suddenly, amidst the crowd, Rachel, my enduring girlfriend, emerged. Her voice pierced my dismay as she called my name, jolting me from self-pity. How did she find me?! I learned she had been tracking my progress on the race app, growing concerned when my marker stalled. She battled through the crowded streets of London; she located me and brought much-needed supplies—my beloved Clif Bars and water. More importantly, she brought hope and love. Reflecting on that moment still makes me emotional. I consider her actions that day the most heartfelt gesture anyone has ever made for me.
Revitalised by the nourishment of the Clif Bars and inspired by Rachel's selfless support, I forged ahead toward the elusive finish line. The last 10 km of the race unfolded as a gruelling ordeal. I moved with the grace of the undead, a mere shadow of my earlier vigour, ultimately staggering across the finish line after 5 hours and 45 minutes—a significant deviation from my anticipated time, yet inconsequential in my newfound sense of accomplishment. As I approached the finish line, I spotted my parents in the stands, giving me the' took your time' look; I chuckled to myself, too tired to care.

Here are the five main reasons I run, each significant in my daily life. Although they're presented without a specific order, the first reason is the driving force behind my early morning routine, my sober lifestyle, and my entire existence.

1. Mental Health

Running is my sanctuary, my anchor in a chaotic world. Whether happy, sad, anxious, or angry, lacing up my running shoes and hitting the trail is the most impactful way to maintain my mental well-being.

2. Physical Fitness

As someone who values physical appearance and well-being, regular running is the cornerstone of my exercise regimen. Feeling good in my skin is vital to my confidence and overall outlook.

3. Solitude

I never run with other people. Running is a space for self-reflection and recharging my social battery. In a world filled with constant stimuli, running allows me to disconnect and find solace, especially as an introvert who appreciates nature.

4. Exploration

The allure of exploration drives me to run and discover hidden gems within my local area. Whether navigating city streets, running through fields or along the coast, each run is an adventure that deepens my connection to the place I call home.

5. Gratitude

Sometimes, during a run on a hill climb, when it gets a bit tougher, I must push a little harder. My mind starts to wander, and I think of the many people who can't run but would love to; I often think of dead people (morbid, I know). I'm reminded of how lucky I am to be able to run and have the ability to escape from the pressures of modern life, put aside my worries and experience life in a very organic way. I do not have the words to accurately describe the importance of running to my existence. Perhaps, one day, I will find the words. For now, I will say if you have been lucky enough to experience 'runners high' in your life, you will know what I'm talking about.