Virgin Meets World Champion Personal Trainer

I get to meet Sir Richard Branson, just after breaking the world record

On 17th April 2011, I smashed the world record by over forty minutes for the fastest-ever marathon carrying a 40-lb pack over the 26.2-mile course of the Virgin London Marathon. Legendary athlete and former “Red Beret” Parachute Regiment soldier Paddy Doyle had set the record, unbroken for twenty years, with a time of 4 hours 42 minutes. My quest to obliterate that, aiming for a time of sub-3 hours 30 minutes, was the product of twelve months’ training after my 150-mile charity run with pack across the Pennines. I wanted something to follow of Olympic standard, a challenge of a unique standing. I realised I could meet this challenge, on my own, outside of the armed forces and to push myself to find new limits. I tried to adhere to military discipline. My preparation included shorter races, increasing in distance from 10 kilometres in November 2010 to 20 miles at Stafford and, more-or-less half-way through, I broke the world record for the 13.1-mile half-marathon with 40-lb pack at Stratford Raceway with a time of 1 hour 36 minutes and 56 seconds. The build-up was to race the London Marathon with a pack as my first marathon, aiming to peak on the day. 

The main differences between Marine-style yomping and marathon-running is in the pace, apparel and terrain; at the London Marathon, the pace varies according to other runners but you don’t have to wear military boots or face much by way of hills. Nothing in my extremely varied time in the armed services, even my training with the Special Forces, could adequately have prepared me physically for running that sort of distance at that pace with a pack in the oppressive heat and the crush of other runners.  There are many independent variables in a marathon but I left as few as I could to pure chance. I was facing strong competition from Capt. Barry Stoddart, a parachute regiment-trained Physical Training Corps officer who was however carrying half my pack weight, and from 39-year-old intelligence officer Tim Artus, a lightning-speed RAF marathon champion whose personal best was 2 hours 35 minutes. Nobody could have wanted this record more than me. From the start, there were thousands of people lining the route chanting my name or “Packman” every few seconds as I passed yet I could not take my mind off the race, or my eyes off the course, for a moment for fear that the pack-carrying competition might pass me at any time. That thought didn’t leave until long after the race was over. It was win or nothing.

At 16 miles, I hit my wall in Millwall. I had to think in short distances – go the next ½ mile, the next mile, all the time trying to pick up speed. In my head, which felt as if it was about to detonate, I was roaring to myself “Once a Marine, always a Marine” and songs from my favourite band Queen as my glycogen level depleted to near-zero and body parts started being consumed for fuel. Running those next few miles was the most difficult personal challenge that I’ve ever faced. The twenty-mile marker passed, still over six miles to go but by now my mood was lightening. The crowds were becoming louder, making an almost tangible roar as we passed and impelling us on. I realised that my legs were now pumping away quite efficiently on automatic pilot. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. I had passed three hours thirty on the Embankment, which I was desperately hoping to beat but I needed to hold something back for strong finish. Four hours loomed on Birdcage Walk. I sprinted the last 400 metres. One life, one shot. I had broken the 1991 record but had marathon champion Tim Artus beaten me to it?

I put my green beret on as soon as I crossed the finish line, slowed to a halt and sat on my Bergen pack, utterly exhausted. It was all over. I’d done everything I could. This was a new level of the Commando test – the fifth level. I drifted into the Guinness World Records tent for perhaps the most surreal incident of the day. I asked about my time – 4 hours 1 minute and 17 seconds. Capt. Barry Stoddart had come in at just over 4 hours 20 minutes. Then I asked about Tim Artus’s time. He had finished in 4 hours 34 minutes 59 seconds. Not even that close – and I had been in mortal fear of him sprinting past me for the past five hours. I jumped up and down like a demented Rottweiler, yelling and punching the air. The GWR staff continued to operate their computer terminals, utterly oblivious. They’d probably seen it all before.

Sir Richard Branson met me to present my certificate. I thanked him for sponsoring the Marathon telling him what I had achieved there. I told him that I had read all his books – he replied “Lee, I really look forward to reading yours”. He lifted the Bergen pack and was dumbstruck. I walked away with my pack, to continue my journey elsewhere. At the post-marathon party, it was an honour to receive congratulations from Major-Gen. Sir Evelyn Webb Carter, the CEO of The Soldiers’ Charity. Paddy Doyle, record-holder since 1991 and a former Red Beret, sent gracious and warm congratulations on my achievement of breaking his long-standing record. A great compliment from a great man.

For today, Job Done.

I continue to support the amazing work of The Soldiers’ Charity and am actively seeking corporate and advertising sponsorship for future high-profile fitness feats and challenges. My next dream is to run the supposedly-impossible sub-five minute mile with 40-lb pack, for which the present record is 5 minutes 35 seconds. For this, I might need to build up from other potential records such as 5k and 10k races with pack; and I will need to call upon other strength and core fitness training resources, including nutrition and sports science, from my practical fitness regimes. This will develop my and the Riley Fitness team’s knowledge further to evolve the innovative personal, team and sports training techniques of Riley Fitness for your benefit.