Ernest Ellis' marathon

Ernest Ellis used to play football for the Scottish team Hearts. In 1914 he "volunteered" along with ten of his teammates to serve his country in what was at that time labelled 'the greater game', which several decades later came to be known as World War 1. Seven out of eleven players, including Ellis, never made it back home and died, along with millions of other young men, fighting the war games of a handful of megalomaniacal dictators.

Close to a century later I was proudly wearing Ernest Ellis' name on my race number at the start of the 'In Flanders Fields marathon', in which every year hundreds of runners run from Nieuwpoort to Ieper (Ypres) in West Flanders, Belgium, in support of peace. Ellis and I were twinned across 9 and a half decades, and in spite of nursing a long-standing injury in my left hamstring I resolved that Ernest Ellis would run this marathon, in the region where he died.

My twelfth ever marathon had been planned for 18 months earlier, but it didn't happen then because of the injury. After a forced break of seven months, treatment involved stretching, massage and so on, plus a gradual resumption of jogging. The pain had subsided a bit, although it never went away completely. But my running distance was increasing, until I was doing long distances, with the natural consequence that I contemplated going the whole way to a full marathon.
 
Which is how I ended up at the starting line in Nieuwpoort, sporting Ellis' name, on the blustery morning of Sunday 11th September 2011. A moderate to strong wind was blowing from the SW, generally against the direction of our run. I didn't have much expectation for an exceptionally fast marathon, and this wind put an end to any such wild hope. But I did try to mitigate some of the effect of the wind by catching up with a large group of runners, who happened to be going at about my target pace of 5 minutes per kilometre, and staying behind them for shelter. It's called drafting and is illegal in cycling, but in running it's allowed so that's what I did.
 
From about the 5th to 22nd kilometre I stayed behind the group. We ran along well-kept country roads, with large fields on both sides, then next to a river, underneath bridges, entering small villages, back to fields with grazing cattle... It was so peaceful. There's something about grazing cattle and sheep that exudes such serenity. It was hard to imagine how it was, in these very same fields, during the worst fighting at the Western Front of WW1. I remember thinking: 95 years ago many thousands of young men were killing each other here. Today here we were, people from different nations running a marathon, with farm animals quietly grazing in fields on both sides. It's the way it should be!
 
We passed underneath a bridge, where the first ever poison gas attacks were carried out. Today there was a crowd of Flemish locals cheering us on. Just after the half-way mark at 21.1km, my adopted group of runners started to disband. The leaders went on at their own pace, and soon I found myself practically on my own. I realised that I couldn't possibly hope to achieve 3h30m, not this time with my precarious hamstring condition anyway, so I concentrated on advancing without too much unnecessary effort.
 
The In Flanders Fields marathon isn't one of those large mass marathons. We were about 320 finishers, and in the latter parts of the race we were spread out widely. The final stages of the marathon were characterised by long, lonely straight stretches on a smooth road next to a river. I concentrated on keeping a good rhythm, while being careful to avoid cramps by shortening my stride. By the quick, short stride method I overtook several rivals. Every so often a brief spasm of cramp in the calf would be quickly neutralised by a flattening my step. And so it went on. 36km...37... 38 ... 39... Suddenly we left the parkland and entered the town of Ieper. I have to say it was an anticlimax here - just the marshall showing me the way, and the next rival up ahead. I slogged on, turning corner after corner, another corner, a straight, another turn. It seemed like it would never end, but finally we entered the Grote Markt of Ieper, full of spectators here, including the organiser, André Mingneau, who was at the finishing line to congratulate and greet me personally by my name.

I'd made it! 3h39:10 wasn't a great finishing time, but I was still happy for achieving my 12th marathon. I'd had no choice. I was representing Ernest Ellis, and I certainly didn't want to deny him his marathon run, In Flanders Fields.