#276: I can do hard things

50km Mountain Marathon and my last 6 months.

Apr 24, 2025

I’m on the ferry back from the Isle of Man.

I completed the Manx Mountain Marathon on Saturday. 31 miles, covering the island from North East to South West. 12 peaks. Wet, windy, cold and hostile conditions for the first 18 miles. Endless ascent and descent.

It was tough, but it got better. Just like my last 6 months. Life’s been tough but it’s getting better.

I am learning that I can do hard things.

I dug in and did it. I’d love to say I saw the whole island in a day and it was a beautiful moving experience filled with stunning landscape. I got about 5 miles of scenic coastline with knuckles of land jutting into the sea. Before that it was bog, heath, gorse and muddied wet feet for 7 hours. Strong winds whipping across your ears and no visibility.

For the first half I was wondering why I was even there. Why suffer. Why enter deep discomfort. Why push the body from the gentle green and amber into the dark orange and blood red of the comfort zone.

On peak 6 or 7 I keeled to the floor with both legs cramping. 11 miles in. Thinking I can’t go on. I can’t do this. I’m pulling out. I can’t keep going.

But I did, wearily march on. As I approached the checkpoint at 18 miles where I knew I’d get some food and a hug, I said to myself “you can fucking do this mate” and I felt a lump in my throat.

That felt like a hand on my shoulder from some wiser, more confident side of me that had seen me get through the worst of it and knew I could finish. The side of me remembered we’d lost a baby and had tasted what it was really like to endure. Had seen Sarah endure way worse than a silly little marathon in the mountains.

That’s why I was there. To discover ridges and gorges inside of me - internal mirrors to the landscape I was bundling across.

What a storm the last 6 months have been. Bloody hell. Wet. Windy. Brutal. Inhospitable. I’ve not enjoyed the last 6 months of my life. How could I? Just like I did not enjoy that first 18 miles. It was hell up there.

I can’t say I’ve enjoyed the majority of this marathon. I could barely even say I’m pleased to have got through, because I wish the weather had never been that bad. I’d never have wished for us to lose our baby Teddy in the circumstances we did.

With some distance, and some sunlight creeping through the clouds - I am grateful for how I came out of it all. For what I learned. For what I experienced. Who I became through it.

I didn’t enjoy watching both quads contort with cramp whilst sat on a windy mountain side in the middle of the Irish Sea. But I’ve taken something from it. I found something within me that I might not even be able to discern just yet. Perhaps I don’t need to - I can let the experience live inside me and flower when I need it to.

I believe as we live more manicured lives we need wilder challenges to reach down and access deeper feelings. And as we frazzle our brains 18 hours a day for the majority of the year - we need sharp contrasts to blast through the dopamine slur we mindlessly drug ourselves into on a daily basis.

People say getting out in nature is a break. Like a holiday. Not really. Getting out in nature, or in touch with the wild in some form is us actually being fully in contact with real life.

I can get through hard stuff. That’s what I’m taking from this challenge. Simple as that. And I’ve been through some hard stuff recently.

5 miles to go I took out Teddy’s knitted love heart that went with him in his coffin. I held it between my fingers, and the soft touch of the fabric took me back to the hospital room. I sobbed like I haven’t since I was deep in that well.

I was touched again by another hand. One that said - “you’ve been through a lot mate”. I gave myself a hug.

Around two minutes later I rolled my ankle. A recurring injury that usually results in me feeling very sorry for myself and I’m sure the pity adds to the swelling. This time I sat down on the floor and said “oh dear”. I took two ibuprofen and resolved that it wouldn’t stop me and I’d still enjoy the next undulating 5 miles. “We’ll just have to go on” I explained to my ankle. Days later and I don’t have any swelling which is rather curious. Does the body listen to thoughts?

Now I’m on the ferry back. Leaving this special island. They say there are fairies and giants here and I agree. We put a lot of pressure on ourselves to heal what’s wounded within us - we could all be a bit kinder to ourselves and trust that some places will do the work for you.

An arduous day deep in the hills, ambles down the glens, the smell of wild garlic and sea air. That’s a full body massage for the soul - all you have to do is breathe it in.

Now I’m pulling into Liverpool. Docking back into the place where my day to day life plays out, down the M62 and M6 (S). The normality, the comfort and routine. Home. I’m carrying a bit of the Isle of Man inside me. I’ve picked up a magnet as a souvenir and a coaster as a marathon medal. Trinkets to commemorate the experience and capture the feelings that are coming home with me.

I can do hard things.

Ladies and Gentleman, we will shortly be arriving.

Cheers,
James x

p.s I am looking to work with 2 more mission-led founders to guide them in growing their business. Have more impact, don’t burn out, keep the energy and grow.