The Power of Team

So there I am, running for the first time that morning, around the Cutty Sark. Already I was knackered. I could feel the cobbles hurting my feet and the sheer energy from the crowd, cheering and shouting support. All the cameras were on us as we turned the corner around the stern of this impressive ship. It was a truly inspiring moment.

As we turned the corner again and slowed back down to a fast, “power” walk, I realised that this was already becoming really tough. My lungs were burning gasping for air. My legs ached and I wondered how on earth I was going to get through.

Vince had said to me earlier on that morning as we stood amongst the 35,000 other contestants down at Greenwich Park that he would walk with me for the first part as he had a problem with one of his legs. I hadn’t realised at that time how much I was going to rely on him for support during the course of the day. We had walked hard, just short of a jog and tough nevertheless.

As we left the Cutty Sark and got back on the main road, he offered me a glucose tablet. He said that it would help give me energy. Somehow it seemed to work and I carried on as hard as I could go.

We talked a lot. He shared his experiences of running and raising money. He talked about all the people that used to come from the ships and support the event he was involved in over at Herne Bay. He provided me with more energy tablets and I could see the packet getting smaller and smaller wondering what was going to happen when we ran out.

We eventually reached Tower Bridge, the halfway point, and just before we left it, he told me that he was going to leave me now and try and run the second half of the race. A photographer snapped a picture of each runner as they came off the bridge and as I turned the corner I had the sudden awful feeling of “oh my God, I’m now on my own”. We were going down towards the Isle of Dogs and the “running crowd” had already started to thin out quite considerably. On the other side of the road however, were thousands of other runners all heading towards us. They had already been around the Isle of Dogs, which put them somewhere around eight miles ahead of me. This was another serious moment in which all the self-doubt came back. How on earth was I going to make it?

It is on the Isle of Dogs that you encounter the infamous 18 mile marker, the place where we runners are found lying on the ground, attended by medical staff having hit “the wall”. I was in no danger of getting to that point. All I need be concerned with was the state of my feet and the friction burns between my legs from my shorts. However, passing this place reminded me of the commitment people make to achieving the goal of completing the famous London Marathon. It was at this time that I realised that I was going to finish it, even if it did take me all day.

The crowds continued to cheer as I passed the pubs and bars at Tower Hill. As I struggled over more cobbles at The Tower of London, hundreds of onlookers carried on shouting their words of encouragement as they read my name on my shirt. By now it was even painful to raise my arm and wave back acknowledging their support but I knew I was going to finish now.

As I passed the boat moored at the Embankment on the Thames, where we would be celebrating our success all our own supporters came out to cheer me on one last time. Capt. Jack jumped in front of me, took a photograph and said “just a couple of miles to go Simon, keep going, you can do it”. I’ll always be grateful for that one last cheer. I knew the finish was two more miles but I was there. I could feel it. I knew I was slow. By this time even the street cleaners were out, sweeping up the thousands of discarded water bottles, and there was just a couple of hundred “runners” fighting their own personal battles to get to the end.

As I entered The Mall, I could sense the enormity of this street. I recalled the parades I had watched on television with the Queen at the Trooping of the Colour and so on. And finally, at last, I turned the corner and could see the finish post with all the colour coded lanes for different types of competitor, the elite runners, men, women, disabled and children. I broke into a jog for just the second time that day as I passed the post and the photographer took another picture. Someone came up and put a medal around my neck and I suddenly felt so alone. The crowds had all but gone. The lorries which would have been once full of competitor’s bags with their clothes were lined up almost empty. Support staff were clearing up and I realised I now had to make my way back to the Embankment, to the boat, and walk through Trafalgar Square in my running gear, with my medal around my neck, 7 hours and 19 minutes after I had lined up with 35,000 other people ready to experience something that many can only dream about. I was so proud of myself and yet so lonely and I knew I could not have made it without the support from Vince, from the crowd, from the many nameless people I had spoken to on route.

Six years on and that same pain is back and this time it’s worse. Ben Nevis is named so appropriately, Ben meaning mountain and Nevis derived from the Irish word “neamheis” meaning terrible and another Irish word “ni-mhaise” meaning no beauty. Whilst I don’t subscribe to the idea that it has no physical beauty, it portrays an accurate description of what climbing it is all about. Every step is exhausting. The first 650 metres took it out of me before the sun had even arisen. The uneven surface made up of rocks and boulders. We were lucky as the weather was kind. God knows what the experience would have been like in real rain or wind or severe cold.

I kept telling myself “one step at a time, one step at a time. Don’t look up, just one step at a time”. I reminded myself of that old joke “how do you eat an elephant…one bite at a time”. I was determined to achieve this as I had the London Marathon. I knew that I could achieve anything I wanted to, if I really believed in myself. It’s just a matter of perseverance.

It wasn’t long before I was dripping with sweat. The brief had recommended layers of clothing so I had two t-shirts on as a starting point. They were both dripping wet by the time we reached “the junction”. My rucksack was beginning to rub the bottom of my back and I was regretting packing all that we had been instructed to pack. By this time, I became aware that my breathing was difficult already. Every breath was painful on my chest as my body struggled to get the oxygen it required. Each time we stopped I focused on the beauty of the area. The surrounding mountains, the trees, the mist around the summit and at these moments I enjoyed being there. Then the group would start off again and I would come back to the reality of the task in hand.

It wasn’t long before I began to doubt myself. As we crossed the first bridge I guess I knew it was not a case of whether I would have to let myself be beaten but more a case of when. Then I got back into “one step at a time mode” and found a new inner energy. I was going to make it whatever it took.

We got a little respite for a short while on “Lochan Rise”, just after “Windy Corner”. There were far less rocks and boulders and it was almost like a hard walk in the park for five or ten minutes. I didn’t know it then but that would be the last of it. It wasn’t long before we were back to the hard uphill struggle over rocks and boulders again. My breathing continued to be so difficult and I had become aware that I was falling behind. I was concerned with a young girl who also appeared to be in trouble with her breathing as she kept stopping to take some air. I used these opportunities to take 30 seconds break for my own body. These short but frequent breaks helped tremendously and I knew that I would make it if they would just allow us to make our own pace.

It was shortly after “John’s Wall Corner” that I heard the rear guide radio ahead for Wayne, the Chief Instructor, to drop back and I knew that the guides had been discussing my breathing. Wayne stopped me to ask how I was, asking if I had any undisclosed condition that he needed to be aware of. I responded that I hadn’t and I was OK, just needed to take it “one step at a time”. It was then I really knew that I would not be making it to the summit.

Shortly after this, we reached the “Red Burn Waterfall” stopping for lunch. This was halfway and I used the opportunity to rest. I couldn’t eat and I felt no inclination to have a hot drink. I was hot, dripping with sweat and by now we had our coats on as well to fend off the rain. My back was burning from the rucksack and my chest continued to feel so heavy. Every muscle ached and I reflected on what else Wayne had said – it wasn’t that I wouldn’t make it up the mountain that he was concerned about but I had to remember that I had to get back down again. Had I known how tough that was going to be I probably would have said “ok, enough’s enough”.

So we started off again and I kept thinking “one step at a time, just one more step”, but the pain in my chest returned. I just couldn’t get enough air in and this time it came back even harder. I looked up at the summit which was still covered in cloud and asked my Mum to give some guidance and it was then I knew. She would have said “you gave it your best, don’t kill yourself for me, you have nothing to prove” and I knew. This was the moment when I had to look up at this beast in front of me and accept that this time my sheer determination was not going to get me through. This time, we had a time barrier. This time the finish line was not the end, it was just halfway because you had to get back again. This time, I didn’t have the friend on my shoulder and the crowds to cheer me on at each turn. This time I had created a task where I was on my own. Yes, there were guides to support us and show us the way and there were 150 other people making the same trek, but this time I had set out on the trip on my own. I had wanted to use the time to meditate and reflect on my life. I wanted to be with nature and spend time thinking of my mother and I had deliberately not tried to participate with the wider group so that I could just have some time to myself. And this was likely to be my undoing.

I swore at the mountain. I swore at myself for being beaten. I just didn’t want to let go but I knew that it was not going to be. The guide radioed down and told them I was on my way and I turned around and watched the group disappear past “corner 1”. And then I was at peace for just a moment, just me, the mountain and my memories of my mother. I lit a cigarette for her and just soaked up the beauty of this place. The view was breathtaking. I seemed so high up and yet above me was the top of this enormous challenge and I knew that someday I would have to return.

Thank God I made the right decision. Thank God I had sought guidance from Mum. The journey back was worse than the climb. True, my breathing eased although it was still very hard but what I hadn’t appreciated was the stress going down these rocks and boulders would create on my knees and legs. Every step was now sheer pain.

Fiona, who had been waiting for me at the waterfall, had been feeling ill. She waited for me to reach her and guided me back to the junction where she stayed to wait for the rest of the group to come back down. We talked about her job, her family, what it was like to live in such a beautiful part of the world. I realised that the guides and the people from the organising company were all living their dream. I recalled reading about there being three types of people at work: those that simply turn up for the money, do the job and go home again; those that have career aspirations and give it their all for the money, the power, the status that goes with climbing up the corporate ladder and those that do what they are passionate about, serving their purpose and not seeing their role as work at all. I figured I had been in the first two places and now at last I was in the space of living my dream because work was no longer work but more a purpose, a fulfilment of my real place in the world.

I finally reached the “Nevis Bridge” again. I looked back at the mountain and felt I’d let myself down. I swore again at this bastard which had treated me so badly. I knew that I could have made it eventually but nature doesn’t care about personal challenge. I might not have made it back before dark and that would have caused all manner of problems. It was right that I turned back. It was right that I gave this mountain the respect it deserved. I had underestimated it. I had believed that sheer determination alone was enough and in this case it wasn’t. I reflected back to the London Marathon and had a sudden sense of the power of support from others. The sense that when faced with adversity having others around you to provide guidance, emotional support, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, could help you get yourself through so much. I thought of my mastermind group and Howard who had said “just visualise me running alongside you” and I had laughed because I knew that there was no way I would be running anywhere. I thought of all my sponsors and the faith they had in me. I thought of my wife and my daughter who had both dipped into their savings. Kim had not wanted me to do it. She worried about my fitness and she had been right in that respect but she supported me nevertheless, in the same way she always has.

There is so much to be said for the support others can give you. I had wanted to make some space for myself this weekend and I had achieved that. I had spent some time thinking about my mother. I had spent some time thinking about my life. I had raised much needed funds for a worthy cause and I had climbed Ben Nevis and given it my best shot.

You can not underestimate the power of team. The “team” had got me through the London Marathon. The “team” had not been present for me on that lonely mountain because I had not wanted them there. I won’t know what the end result would have been had I let them in or sought the team support. It’s not important now. I will return one day and I will take with me my “team” and know then that I will beat the mountain that beat me…this time.

About the Author

Simon Smith is a coach, trainer, speaker and author. Having been involved in corporate life for 24 years in a variety of senior commercial and operational roles, and after relocating to Northern Ireland in 2004, Simon discovered his passions were focussed on supporting people in being who they really are. He is certified as a Master Practitioner in Neuro-Linguistic Programming, Master Results Coach, Performance Consultant, Advanced Neurological Repatterning and an Accredited Inspired Coach with The Institute of Human Development. In addition he is a Certified Facilitator of The Passion Test, a member of the Chartered Management Institute and the Institute of Hospitality respectively. He has trained with some of the world leaders in transformational leadership and personal development, including Jack Canfield, Chris and Janet Attwood, Hale Dwoskin, Adrian Gilpin, Marcia Martin and Christopher Howard.

Simon’s passions include “giving and contributing to others in a way that makes significant difference to their lives” and “being around like minded people passionate about their own journeys of discovery”. He uses his skills as a coach, trainer, speaker and author to ensure he stays aligned with his passions on an everyday basis.

For more information on how Simon Smith can support you to Step Up to Success and create the results you or your business are striving for contact us at:
www.simonsmithcoaching.com or call +44 (0)28 9048 8673

Sign up for our monthly free teleseminar at www.AskSimonSmith.com

The Hidden Cameras, ‘Golden Streams’ live at St Leonard’s Church, London (18 March 2010)