~ Field Notes ~
What it's like to walk the London marathon carrying a 100-lb backpack, to set a world record
So it just happened. The idea. It kept on coming back to me, over and over again. Like I could just reach out and touch it. If he could carry an 80-lb. pack for 26.2 miles – then maybe I could do it with a 100-lb. (45.36kg) pack. I was surprised no-one had ever done it – I've had one or two podium places in low level Taekwondo competitions, but nothing quite on this scale. Nothing that would put me the best at something in the entire world!
It's daunting when you say it out loud: The; Entire; World.
Traversing the nadir: 2 years on from catastrophic injury
Ever since I almost died on the Matterhorn two years ago, my approach to physical risk has changed.
As a young man, I had an entirely different risk appetite to what I do now. High risk adventure sports – like mountaineering, climbing, racing mountain bikes down hills, skydiving and riding motorbikes were a regular part of my life before a big fall that also finished me.
Now, my appetite to take the same risks has been sated, but for how long – I don’t know for certain. I still dream of big mountains and that feeling of elation when you’re stood on a summit after months of planning and the hours spent plodding uphill.
Relearning to paddle my own canoe: Regaining independence after a complex injury.
One of the hardest things I experienced during my recovery from a mountaineering injury, was to be physically and spiritually supported by my partner, family and friends.
I was in a wheelchair when I first left hospital. My partner had to push me around when I wasn’t strong enough to go more than a few metres on the crutches. Whilst I had completed ultramarathons like the Marathon des Sables the previous year; my fitness had utterly deteriorated from the 3 months in a hospital bed – so I had to rely on her to help in almost all daily activities.
On the other side of life
I have been thinking a lot about time recently.
Somehow, I always perceived time as being linear. Everything having its own beginning and ending. Its own past, present and future.
But it was the evening of the accident when I felt the true meaning of time. I have heard it being described before, in books, in films, by other people with remarkable stories - that in certain moments in life, time can stop.
Stand still.
Cease to exist as it did before and change your life forever.
The night I received the message about the accident was the moment when life and time truly stood still. I can still remember some of it, how alien time felt. I remember my knees getting weak and shaky. The outside world disappearing. The truth is, it is a feeling like no other, one that I hope that you would never experience.
And yet, it was once of the rarest moments of my life when I felt time as raw as I ever have.
What 3 months in hospital taught me about isolation (by a former-Royal Marine and ocean rower)
Late last year, I had a big fall whilst trying to climb the Matterhorn mountain – tumbling fifty metres which put me in coma for eight days and hospital for almost three months. After spending a week in a coma, I woke up with a traumatic brain injury. The Italian doctors had found three lesions (damage in the brain) which affected my short-term memory, speech and vision in one eye. At first I didn’t recognise my girlfriend, family or close friends whom had all flown to be with me throughout the coma. But as time went on, I started to become more like the person I was before – but some perspectives had changed.
It was undoubtedly the hardest period of my life, but these basic principles helped me to endure it and come out stronger.
Knocking on the door of ‘Rose Cottage’
In September 2019, my tiptoeing the tightrope between life and death went the wrong way. After trying to summit the Matterhorn mountain in Italy, I slipped and tumbled a long way down.