A year ago this weekend, I ran the New York marathon, two months before I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s.
This was the culmination of a target I had set myself a decade earlier to complete all six marathon majors. Having run London in 1998 and Chicago in 2006 I had narrowly made the qualifying time for the prestigious Boston marathon, which I completed in 2008. I followed this with runs in Berlin (2013), Tokyo (February 2017) and finally New York (November 2017).
My rush to complete the series last year was strangely prescient. I think I subconsciously knew my body was in rapid decline and was spurred on to get the remaining physical challenges in my life out of the way.
In truth, I was not a very good marathon runner. My best time was 3:12 in Chicago, decent by most standards, but I should have been comfortably a sub 3-hour runner in my day as I had a best half marathon time of 1:20 and I was consistently a 35/36-minute 10K runner.
I really struggled to make the distance in New York, completing the race in 4:18 which was way below what my training had suggested and over half an hour slower than in Tokyo only a few months earlier. The crowds, particularly in the last 3 miles around Central Park, were incredible, the loudest of any of my races. But even they couldn’t lift me from my painful plod to the finish line.
During the previous
two years, I’d had a string of injury problems: mainly in my foot, but I
also had problems with my hip and my Achilles tendon. Always on the right-hand side. I went for a number of sports massage and
physio sessions but the problems kept recurring.
Of course, now I know
why.
It’s odd to think
that I was running a marathon with Parkinson’s.
Ironically, I had been tempted to raise money for Parkinson’s as my
mother had been recently diagnosed at the time, put I plumped instead for
Alzheimer’s Research in support of my mother-in-law, bringing in over £3,000
thanks to the generosity of friends and colleagues.
Despite my struggles on the streets of Queens, the Bronx and Manhattan, I
was proud to have completed my odyssey and proud to have raised a decent chunk
of money for a good cause.
I am now back to
running twice a week (and I try to use the exercise bike at other times). The Professor and the Parkinson’s Nurse have both stressed to me the importance of
exercise. Although you will find many other anecdotes online, I’m told that
exercise is the only thing known for sure to slow progression of the disease.
These days I can only
manage 5K, but in some ways running 5K reminds me of running a marathon. During
a marathon, you go through phases and have good and bad patches. When I run my
5K round the local park, it’s a similar feeling.
The first two
kilometres are relatively smooth and steady as I am energised and my legs feel
good. In the third kilometre, I start to
struggle a little with a tightness in my chest and a lame feeling in my right
leg. The gentle hill in the middle of the park feels much steeper than it actually is. In the fourth kilometre, my right
foot starts to trouble me and my breathing is heavy but I push on. And in the
final kilometre I force myself to the finish, but it is now that I also have to
be very careful. My right leg is
sluggish and I can easily twist my ankle on a kerb or trip on an uneven
pavement.
I have completed my
mini marathon and treat myself to a bath and a snack.
On a good day, I can just
about manage 25 minutes, but more commonly I run 26 or 27 minutes. Again, to some people this might sound quite
reasonable, but for me it is a world away from my 5K best of a little over 16
minutes.
Occasionally I can’t
manage a full 5K and I just run a 3K loop close to home. Fortunately, I have
come to terms with my new limitations and am no longer disappointed at being
overtaken by faster runners.
Although I now get
minimal pleasure during my runs, I feel better for them afterwards and I know
my efforts each week are good for me, both physically and psychologically.
I make a promise to
myself to keep running, whatever the pace and whatever the distance, for as
long as I can still put one foot in front of the other.
