One Year Ago I Ran My First Marathon... In Tunisia... With The Hardest Geezer

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One year ago this week, l I flew to Tunisia to be on the news.

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I'd been following Russ Cook's run from the bottom of Afrrica to the top on Youtube for months - it was even one of the inspirations behind my cycle across Europe that summer. I'd finished that cycle six months ago, and now Russ was finishing his run. I felt I had to be there for it.

He'd posted on Instagram in March that anyone who'd been following the run and wished to join him at the finish line on April 7 was welcome to. Almost immediately I booked the weeks off work and invited a friend to join me. I went online to find out if anyone else was planning to be there.

I could find very little.

Eventually I stumbled across a single post on Reddit asking if anyone was planning to take Russ up on the offer. I created an account and commented that a friend and I were going. That evening I got a notification on my phone - "I've DMed you." That got me added to a small group chat. There were eight of us in there when I joined. Over the following week that ballooned to fifteen.

My friend dropped out. I booked flights.

In March 2024 I was working on a deli counter in a supermarket. On the 17th Russ posted that he'd be booking a hotel in Bizerte, northern Tunisia, and the first people who got in touch with a picture of their passport and tickets would get free accommodation.

I heard the notifications blowing up the chat as I was putting a dripping rotisserie chicken into a greaseproof bag. Once I understood what was happening I frantically searched my phone for a passport photo. No luck.

I abandoned my post and ran upstairs to the bulk chiller where I called my mum to have her send me a photo. No answer. I called my dad. Nothing. Crap. I ran back down, then back up again. I paced alone in the cold through metal crates stacked with food. I wanted this free hotel.

Frantically I checked my photos again and there it was - passport photo. I added it to the email and sent it off...

Nothing for hours - then an update on Instagram. "All the places have now gone". That was the first time I realised there might be more than fifteen of us going.

Two days later, while I was at work (at a different job) behind a bar, I got an email from camera man Stan.

That was the start of my good luck.

As the weeks went by people began to trickle into our small Whatsapp chat. First a few, then a few more, then hundreds. By the time I went to Tunisia there were almost four hundred people in the chat.

The Friday before I flew out I decided to run a half marathon from Bristol to Bath.

The furthest I had ever run before was twelve kilometres. It was a struggle, but I'd bought a new CamelBak which didn't leak. I ran through puddles and hail - but I managed it.

I could manage a half Marathon in Tunisia.

I was the second person in the Whatsapp group to arrive in Africa. I finished a Tuesday shift at 9pm, went down to the station, caught a train to London, flew to Nice, then to Tunis. I arrived on the third of April, pretty tired.

I caught a taxi from the airport, and as he drove me through the winding markets of the city he stopped to allow a friend to lean through the window and offer me weed, then dropped me a mile from my hostel. It was a lovely day.

I got lost in the medina, was mildly scammed into buying some perfume and ate free couscous and chicken by the side of the road with a local. It was ramadan after all.

I spent the next few days hanging out in Tunis and meeting people in the group chat as they trickled into the country one by one. The first person I met was an American called Blake.

"Wanna go get a beer?"

This was easier said than done in ramadan Tunis, but we found a hotel willing to serve us stale half pints. Blake remarked that the group chat was full of crazy people: "I heard one of them cycled across Europe."

The next day I met Fabio, an Italian geologist, and he, Blake and I drove south into deep Tunis to reach a spot of geological interest - where you can see the layer of rock which was present when the asteroid which killed the dinosaurs hit.

We couldn't see it, but took photos nonetheless.

From right to left: Fabio, Blake and I pointing at nothing in particular.

On this journey we ran into the Youtuber Zac Alsop in a supermarket near the Algerian border. He had run a marathon with Russ the day before.

That evening we met some other runners - a few Brits including Ollie (who had met Russ before), Pearse (an Irishman) and a couple of Tunisians: Lou and Fouda. They took us to a night time food market. There I ate an essentially raw egg - a Tunisian delicacy.

On the sixth of April Fabio drove us to Bizerte. He was also in the free hotel. The rooms were basic and I'm pretty sure there were insects in my bed, but I wasn't complaining. The atmosphere was electric.

I stepped out of my door and met Jared, a cameraman from the running Africa Youtube series, along with a few others. One of them - an Englishman named George - came in the sea with me and, while there, convinced me to run an entire marathon the next day, rather than just half.

"You're only here once. Come on man, you're British". He was right.

The next day I ran the Marathon.

Part one: The Start Line

The day began at 7am. I met Fabio for breakfast but foolishly didn't eat much. Fabio had offered Blake, George, Ollie and I a lift to the start of the run.

Someone in the group chat had independently organised busses to take people to and from the start lines. I had had a much coveted place in one of these to take me to the half marathon start point, but my plans had changed so I gave that spot away.

George, it turned out, had also offered space in Fabio's car to Jared the cameraman. This meant there were too few seats in the car and, as is customary in many parts of the world, one of us ended up in the boot. At first it was George, then it was me. What a great way to prep the legs for a marathon.

We arrived at 8:30 to a petrol station in Ghezala. There were a few runners already there, with more arriving every second. News crews wondered about. Blake was interviewed by Reuters.

There were also a few familiar faces from the Youtube series. I chatted to James the editor, and Harry - a camera man who had suspiciously disappeared from the videos after the Congo kidnapping incident.

Perfect-Ted, who sponsored much of Russ's run, were handing out energy drinks and merch at the start line. I took a drink for myself and gave a branded green cap to Lou. I had a project Africa bucket hat from the hotel already.

There was only one toilet for the over one hundred people who were milling about, and who were due to be running for the next six or so hours. The queue was long. While in it I met the people from Friday Night Lights who would be running the latter half marathon carrying speakers. Nuts.

One wee later, then a few more in a building site, and we heard the distinctive choking rumble of a van on its last legs. Nelly, Russ's support van, rolled to a stop on the street. With it were the last three faces of the project: Camera man Stan who had been there almost every step of the way, editor Jamie, and logistics madman Guus Van Veen.

I filmed as Jared picked Stan up in a bear hug and slammed him against the van door. Then the announcement came that Russ was arriving. I wondered away from my friends towards the end of the street. Around the corner the ginger stomper came, and I took a video. Consequently, I am in almost all of the footage of Russ beginning his final marathon.

He came to a stop near the van and said, "Alright boys and girls. Everyone ready to run a marathon?

"Alright... let's go".

Then he turned on his heel and headed back the way he had come.

"Alright F***" said I, and the marathon began, with me right at the front.

Part Two: The First Half Marathon

We pounded out of town through dusty streets and bemused locals. Very quickly I got to the front of the pack and began to listen in to conversations Russ was having with the other runners. All of us were high in energy and spirits.

Timing my moment I swooped in for a chat and a selfie. I had a ginger beard around my neck - a few of us where wearing them - and along with the long ginger hair I was sporting at the time Russ and I could have been brothers.

"Look at that ginger wig", he said. "Do you want to cross the finish line for me?"

A BBC reporter and camera man emerged onto the path and began to interview Russ on the go. I dropped back. I was impressed by the interviewers ability to keep up, but even more by the cameraman's doing so while filming and running backwards. I'm in the background of this footage too.

Russ was setting a very fast pace for a marathon. 6 minute kilometres were too much for me and I let my self slip back into the crowd, seeking out people I knew.

Lou and Fouda, the Tunisians I had met, were running while fasting - that includes no water. Lou did 10kms, while Fouda did a half marathon. These Tunisians are made of strong stuff. At times I kept up with them on the road, at times they and their friends passed me in cars, whooping and cheering.

Soon I had found Pearse - the Irishman - running with Blake - the American. We ran together for a while. It was then that I noticed that in all the excitement I had failed to start my Strava. Those first four kilometres are lost to time.

We jogged through alternating green countryside and small villages. In one I was overtaken by a man wheeling a suitcase. I later found out he was the sound guy for Soft Play the band who would be performing that night. The band themselves were running too, and I unknowlingly ran with them for a while.

At this point there was a real community atmosphere. As Pearse and I ran, and lost Blake to the mass of people, we were passed by locals and Youtubers leaning out of cars. The Perfect-Ted guys drove next to us for a kilometre or so and played tunes through a borrowed I-phone cord. Nelly and the other support cars trundled past in a cloud of acrid smoke. Stan ran by the roadside filming one handed. Zac Alsop waited by the road handing out water to people.

The temperature hovered around 29 degrees Celcius, but with very little shade the heat became oppressive. There were no official water stations so we took what we could get. As the hills approached I gratefully accepted a bottle from a passing car and slowed to fill my CamelBak. This caused me to slip even further behind - but not for long.

As the group stomped past a fork in the road at great speed I heard a distant yelling and turned to see Guus screaming and waving next to the parked 4x4. Russ had gone the wrong way. I turned towards the desperate Dutchman and in doing so over took Russ himself. The group realised their mistake and changed course towards Guus. Stan the camera man was there filming and, concerned about being mistaken for the big man himself, I stopped to let the group catch up.

Then we reached the hills. This is where the run, for me and many others, became a walk. The hills were long and the heat was unrelenting. My jog slowly died beneath me and soon I was hiking through the Tunisian countryside largely alone.

The condensed pack of people around Russ dissolved until only the proper runners were left. They grew further and further away, then disappeared over the rise. Those of us who had only ever run a half marathon or, like Pearse, no more than ten or fifteen kilometres in one go, allowed ourselves to become a long snaking line of hangers on, weaving through the green and brown hills of northern Tunisia, challenging ourselves to just make it to at least half-way.

The only tree in sight

At a normal marathon, on flat roads with regular water stations, usually in cool weather - most of the runners have done some training, or qualified in some way. Here ultra-runners were rubbing shoulders with casual joggers, or people who simply watch too much Youtube.

The dangers of this kind of casual marathon in fairly tough conditions became clear as I reached the top of a hill. A small crowd were gathered by the roadside. I saw the Pefect-Ted guys along with a few other drivers and runners crouching over a prone shape lying in the ditch. They were offering him water and shade. Later he was taken to hospital. I decided to take it easy from then on.

The hills continued and the heat grew as we passed through mid-day. I'd walk for ten minutes then jog for five, taking it easy up the hills and letting gravity help me down them. I walked with editor James for a bit and talked about the mission.

Pearse had given me a sachet of electrolytes at the start of the run, and I had been planning to save them for half-way, to give me the energy to complete the marathon. But as the countryside continued to open up around me and the half-way point was nowhere to be seen, I admitted defeat and emptied them into my CamelBak. Running a half-marathon in Tunisia is not the same as doing it in the West Country.

Energised a little by this I picked up the pace, but as the kilometres passed with less and less people in sight my mind began to wonder to the Perfect-Ted energy also in my bag. Again I had been saving it, but I began to admit that finishing the marathon didn't appear likely. I caved and cracked it open. Almost as I did so I rounded the bend and saw the crowd gathered at half-way.

Half way

Part Three: Halfway there

It was 13:00. People lounged in the shade of the first large trees I'd seen in hours. The checkpoint was on a bend in the road in a shallow valley. A small river ran nearby surrounded by red clay banks covered in a sheen of grass.

I did not sit down. My half marathon experience the week before had told me that resting my legs if I intended to continue running was a bad idea. Instead I milled about and tried to claim some of the rare shade. As a ginger I needed it more than most. I had brought one snack with me - a small strawberry waffle. I wolfed it down and wished for more.

I met Lou and he told me Pearse and I were the only people he knew who had made it so far. I had been feeling, for the last hour, that I had dropped out of contention, but this news cheered me up. None of the people who had egged me on to do the whole marathon had made it there yet. Maybe I could manage it.

I stood with Pearse and half of Soft Play in the shade for a while. George arrived. He'd come out with hardly any gear and I was amazed he'd made it this far. He appeared to be running in an oversized T-shirt and swimming trunks while holding a huge water bottle in one hand. I went off to explore near the river to see if I could unload some weight from inside my stomach. No luck, everywhere was too exposed.

I found Ollie sat in the shade of the support van, then Blake arrived - in a car. He had a dodgy hamstring and the run had caused it to play up again. Originally he planned to do only a half and I felt guilty for partly influencing him to do a whole one. Perhaps now he wouldn't see Russ finish the run.

In the end Blake spent much of the rest of the day driving around with the crew - which must have made up for it a little. Fouda also arrived. He'd skipped part of the run in a car, but had not broken his fast. What a legend.

Russ emerged from the van. He gave us a rousing speech, but warned us not to push ourselves too hard. The man passed out by the road had been a wake up call.

"We don't want any-one dying. Terrible look for us."

Guus gave a speech much along the same lines.

"Please keep your eyes open for each other... if you notice someone is doing bad, take care of them."

Then Friday Night Lights turned on their speakers, and the second half of the marathon began.

Russ Speaks

Part Four: The difficult 10km

Hills again.

Yells of "To the right" - the standard way of letting us a know a car was passing. Nelly roared past up the hills in a cloud of black smoke. Later she had to be pushed.

I walked with Pearse and Otis - a man from San-Francisco (who is currently running the length of California for charity). They kept up a decent pace and I dropped behind. Stretches of running and walking followed as the hills grew higher. I caught up with Ollie and we walked and ran together for a while.

Eventually we passed a shop atop a hill. It was the only one I had seen since Ghezala, and it had been swarmed by hungry runners. I joined them and bought snacks, water, and a coke which I downed. Ollie didn't want to wait, so he left and I sat with George, recovering my strength.

Soon he and I rejoined the run. Again I wanted to run/walk but he was insistent on running every step - "I've walked the distance of a marathon before. I want to run it!"

I liked his thinking and tried to join him, but he ran at walking pace, and I could not get into the rhythm. After a while we settled into a pattern of me walking and allowing him to gradually pull ahead, and then me jogging to catch up. We passed some cactuses and stopped in the shade of a half-built mosque where we stretched - then we walked/ran up a sandy path towards trees.

Much needed shade

Woods at last. As soon as we got into the trees and the shade I felt a second wind grip me and, without even saying goodbye, I zoomed off up the hill. Sorry George.

There was another checkpoint at 10km to go, where Russ and the rest would be waiting. I was determined to reach it before everyone left.

The people at the front of the pack had been waiting in the sandy woodland for an hour. I missed them by five minutes. I came across a solitary car parked by a road junction. In it were two YouTubers who gave me some water and told me the news. Without them I would have been lost (and thirsty). Thanks very much guys.

The next checkpoint was five km away. I refused to miss it. I'd been following Russ for a year. I would be there to see him finish his journey.

Part Five: The fast five km

I ran properly now, for the first time in hours. Water, shade and determination are a formidable combo. I averaged six minutes a kilometre for the next five kilometres, egged on by those I passed.

Though the woods offered shade the ground underfoot became more sandy and more unstable with every step. It was a struggle, but it showed me the coast was approaching.

I sped out of the woods and onto a tarmac road up a hill. Halfway up I finally caught back up with Pearse. He'd pushed himself to the limit and his legs were cramping madly. He'd take it slower to the end. After a quick walk with him to catch up and recover strength I sped on.

I reached the 5km to go point at 4pm. There was no water here, but I found Fabio and he shared his. Here I was able to take ten minutes to rest. This time I sat down.

People were exhausted now. There were very few there who I recognised from the start-line.

Some people decided to set off early down the road so they would not miss the end. This was a mistake.

Part Six: To the end

The music began again. Russ emerged from the truck and immediately crossed the road and plunged into the trees. We jumped to our feet and followed.

This was barely a path. The crowd surged and weaved through bushes, twigs and dangling branches, feet sinking into sand as we struggled to keep the leaders in sight. Eventually we converged onto a sandy path which led out of the shade of the trees and up coastal hills.

I fell back into a pattern of walking and running. This time I managed to keep myself firmly in the middle of the pack.

Eventually, after passing fields, flowers, and donkey drawn carts, we crested a hill, and there was the sea. I began to run again.

The sea

For the final three kilometres I ran two and a half of them at full pelt (or as close to it as I could manage). I had to see the end.

I sped down a hill, along a road then onto a path which became sandier and wider until it emerged onto the coast.

There was the truck, and beyond it was a high orangey brown rock. The northernmost tip of Africa. I ran with ragged breath, hat clutched in hand, towards the crowd that had gathered there.

I had missed Russ crossing the finish line, but as I approached he began descending the rock towards the sea. I followed him at a walk, caught up with the crowd. My new running shoes were infused with salt water and sand as I leapt over coastal puddles and stood in the shallow surf.

I filmed the moment as Russ waded into the Mediterranean sea.

Russ in the water

He had done it. I had done it.

I saw him emerge from the water, embrace his girlfriend and drink his strawberry daiquiri in the shade of a tent. Then he left the beach.

I sat by the water and looked out towards Europe. I teared up. It had been a hard year.

Then I went for a swim in the beautifully cool sea. It was 5pm.

I drank some of the strawberry daiquiri.

Part Seven: The After-party

Photos and celebrations later we got on the bus back. Pearse sat on the floor to rest his writhing legs.

Back at the hotel I showered and joined the afterparty. The band performed with the energy of two people who had not run a marathon that day. Many of us ended up in the swimming pool. There was a lot of booze and a mosh-pit whirlpool. I watched Zac Alsop drink two shoeys out of Russ's trainers.

Sleep came late and I awoke early the next day. I saw Russ be interviewed on the beach. I had breakfast with Soft Play. I met a few other YouTubers. I took photos by the sea with my friends.

Two days and a cumulative eight hours of sleep later I flew to Rome to meet some friends from home. My right knee had been destroyed by running a marathon without training, I was so tired I passed out at the colosseum, I had contracted salmonella and campylobacter.

Tunisia was one of the best trips of my life.

Part Eight: Now

It's a year later as I'm writing this. Much of this was drawn from the journal I wrote about the trip on the plane to Rome, the rest comes from videos and photos on my phone (and the GoPro I took) and my memory - which feels as fresh today as it did a year ago.

Tunisia was an odd trip. It was a unique way to travel. All of us who went feel it.

The group chat which was used to organise the trip is still active. People post in there every now and then about the crazy projects they're undertaking. Otis is running California, a German called Aleksander ran 61 marathons in 61 days across every region of Germany - people run ultras, they climb mountains, they catch coal trains across Mauritania. All of it goes in the chat. Because these are the kinds of people who will care.

These are the kinds of people who will drop everything and, on a whim, fly to Africa to run a marathon with no training in the middle of nowhere with a man they've never met before, for no other reason than "just because". Just because he inspired them. Just because he invited them. Just because they can.

Why run Africa? Why climb Everest? Why run any marathon? Because you can, and because its hard. You can do it for charity, or for fame or money. But really what it comes down to is: why not?

In Tunisia there were many Europeans and Americans. Some Tunisian legends joined us, some people Russ had met in Namibia and Angola made the trip. But we from wealthy countries are uniquely privileged to be able to decide, on a whim, to do something like this. That does seem wrong, and unfair, but for me it only makes me want to do it more.

I can do it. I am so lucky to have been born where I was, when I was, and to have had the life I've had. To not use that luck to experience everything the world has to offer, and to meet every person and every culture it can produce, seems almost criminal.

There is very little that compares to doing something hard, just because its hard. This sort of experience bonds people together.

These are comments written in the chat today:

"Such an epic trip, remember how quick it went from ‘imagine if we flew out’ to ‘we could fly out’ to ‘how much are flights’ to ‘see you there then!’"

"As if it's a year now - I'd never run more than a 10k before Tunisia and since have ticked off a mara and have two ultras booked this year, I wonder just how many people he's inspired to take up running for real"

"I planned to come with my ultra running friends. But they all couldn’t make it. So I solo travelled. What a story. Russ the legend. Couldn’t believe how quickly so many of us just uprooted to Tunisia for this run. But there was something very special about it."

There was something special about it. The people I met then still feel close.

I knew Lou and Fouda, the Tunisians who joined us, for one week, one year ago.

Last month Fouda invited me to his wedding.

This is the power of doing something "just because".

It's how I'm going to live my life.

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