I think it was 2002 although not sure. ‘Help for Heroes’ had just been invented and we were all struggling to see our wounded servicemen coming back from war. Liz decided we needed to have a really difficult challenge to take on as she was worried about the size of my gut and she reasoned we could turn this effort into something positive by raising some money for this new charity. Like all these things I suspect the decision was made after a glass of wine. The only thing I do know was one night, late in November, our on line application was accepted and we were in ‘The Mont Blanc Marathon’. The clue is in the title a full 26 miles but all uphill around Chamonix. Well not actually as the course allows competitors to ascend up to the circling ridge of the place before descending back to the valley floor, twice, before sending them back up for a final time a special piece of torture- the last 3 miles are up a 25% grade hill that is normally the preserve of skiers.
Any way it was hell on earth. It was mid summer and the temperature in the mid thirties for a start. I was not as well prepared as Liz and I held her back. She kept on nagging me and telling me how lucky I was compared to the soldiers. I kept on going as we had promises of around £10,000 conditional on our finishing.
As we pressed on all around the course supporters encouraged on. We had our names on our numbers and people called our names. ‘Allez Elizabeth Allez Dennis.’ ‘Bon courage allez!’
Well as we went along we got into a sort of sub group. Sometimes we would overtake sometimes we would be overtaken but a group we were. One man took my interest. He was Latvian. He had thin white wiry legs. He had a wispy moustache that was curled at the ends but so thin as to be pointless. He wore retro silky shorts. Brown no less with a cream stripe and a sort of string vest covered his thin but bony white body. His hair was reddish in colour, long and badly cut. I encouraged him. He encouraged me in broken English. I was fascinated by him and soon I realised why. He was probably the ugliest man I had ever seen. Not in a bad way just factually speaking.
After about 20 miles I was all but done in and I again encountered my Latvian mate. ‘Hows it going’ I asked. ‘Bad’ he said. We were united in our quest and I decided to provide some mutual encouragement. ‘We will have a beer at the finish’ I said. He seemed delighted. Indeed he scurried off as if energised. As I climbed those last few miles of the race I needed all the resolve I could muster. Liz waited for me and slowly slowly we arrived at the final few yards and our names were called as we crossed the finish line. 8 hours 23 minutes!!! A medal placed around our necks. I was stumbling around working out what to do when I saw a large tent which was a recovery area providing food and drink for the competitors and also a bar. Walking towards me with a smile from ear to ear was my Latvian friend with two beers in his hands. He gave me one we toasted each other and for the first time I was able to see him fully face on. Yes I thought this really is the ugliest man I have ever see. Our stilted conversation in broken English was interupted because the man announced he wanted to introduce me to his two sons who had also done the race and were sitting in the bar. I saw my mistake instantly as soon as I saw his sons. This was not the ugliest man in the world, his offspring were comfortably worse. Thank God I did not meet his wife the boy’s mother. He and they were a delight however so ‘cheers’ to all things Latvian and of course to my wife Liz and those soldiers bless them.
Tales of a Life Well Lived 