Paul's Epic Challenge

"Awake at four in the morning for this one. Brilliant! Nothing like a minimal amount of sleep before a major physical challenge to make you feel good and ready. Oh, and a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea should pretty much get me through the two and a half mile swim, one hundred and twelve mile cycle followed by a full marathon. What on earth was I feeling nervous about?

The event was based at the National Watersports Centre in Nottingham so what better place to start the swim? The lake stretches as far as the eye can see, and to be told that we were swimming to the end and then swimming back made me wince - but a lot of that day made me wince.

A thousand swimmers started the event, very daunting and I was nearly out of the race in seven minutes. Claustrophobic and swallowing water, a panic attack ensued affecting my breathing. I wanted to stop, but I thought of so many wonderful people who had sponsored me and I remembered our patients with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder who fight to breathe. I found myself repeating the mantra "COPD, COPD" over and over again. Not a nice mantra, but amazingly, by stopping, chanting and taking stock my heart rate came down, calmness returned and within 5 minutes I was swimming normally. At least the worst is over; I chuckled to myself, never thinking to check the meaning of the word "irony" in the dictionary.

So, one hundred and twelve miles on the bike, that's about seven hours of cycling for me - that's nearly an average working day in the office. Just me and my bike. Oh no, just me and my bike and my head full of thoughts. Just the idea of seven hours talking to myself made me want to give up. I decided to look forward to lunch and my very un-Ironman snack of peanut butter sandwiches. Most athletes have macho energy bars with names like "Ripper" and "Grointhruster" and making butties to eat during an event isn't normal. But it's always worked for me, and I carry on my tradition. Very nice they were too.

Now it was just the marathon. Well no worries there, then. In the past I have plodded inexorably forwards and eventually got to where I needed to go. I set off feeling good - "Don't stop me now" I sang for the first four miles. BUT at five miles, I ground to an abrupt, exhausted halt. I didn't want to run another step. I hated this stupid event, hated this stupid hobby, and hated the futility of the mid-life crisis that had led me here. For the next ten miles I hobbled from feed station to feed station, grabbing drinks and oranges, dribbling, muttering oaths to myself, generally scaring small children who were spectating. I realised that if I didn't pull myself together I would never finish. So I did something very sensible. Instead of looking ahead of me, I focused on the ground in front of me and just watched my feet as they began to run properly. I was merely putting in to practice a philosophy I try and use - just live day by day. Don't look too far ahead, because you can never really project accurately and, in the case of running a marathon as in life, if you look at the immensity of the whole thing you can't comprehend it. You have to run it in small segments. And I ran this one in very small segments, never looking further ahead than the end of my training shoes. I can tell you a lot about how they stitch those trainers together, though.

Much, much later, I found myself heading down the last straight to the finish funnel. I was so, so tired, that I didn't think I could feel any emotion. But as everyone started to cheer I found myself grinning from ear to ear and even managed a small celebratory jump as I went through the finish tape. I appreciate the support I have had from so many people, I did this for our patients who no longer have the opportunities that should be their right. And it's in memory of you, too, Dad. Is it only a year ago that we sat outside as I told you about my last Ironman and you beamed with pride at how preposterous your boy had been. Glad it made you smile. "