At least you never had to eat your shoes

Like many things in my life, my runs tend to be overly dramatic, life-and-death struggles to be overcome, narratives filled with suffering, despair, joy and triumph.

I am fully aware I can be a drama queen.

This is not unusual for people with mood disorders. We tend to feel lows (and, in the manics among us, highs) more keenly than those whose moods purr along at an even keel most days.

Engaging in more self-inflicted torture

Some days I think that's okay because it allows me to experience things on a deeper level than I otherwise would. When you have been to the equivalent of the Marianas Trench in terms of black moods, you appreciate those moments of joy life can throw at you unexpectedly: a sunset, a cool breeze off the water on a hot day, the giggle of your daughter.

I was thinking about some of these things when I recently completed my furthest run of 30K. It took me about four and a half hours to run from my doorstep to Shanty Bay and back. To put it into perspective, it's the equivalent of running from the base of Yonge Street on Lake Ontario to 19th Avenue in Richmond Hill. While still 12.2K short of a full marathon, it's a long distance to run, especially in -10C weather.

And, predictably, I overly dramatized it in my head as I was running, going through a list of mantras to get me through the hard parts.

But then, about halfway through it, I started to smile and realize how silly I was being. Because, in the final analysis, running 30K is not that big a deal when you compare it to some of the great feats of endurance throughout history.

I'm a sucker for stories about how far people can push themselves in a given situation, particularly if that situation involves danger. History is full of them.

I'd like to share a few of them with you so the next time you find yourself faced with what seems to be a difficult task, you can say to yourself -- as in the case of Sir John Franklin -- 'Well, at least I've never had to eat my shoes.'

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Pheidippides 

Any serious runner knows the story of Pheidippides. It was his run, after all, that gave birth to the word 'marathon' being used to describe an unusually long run.

Pheidippides displaying excellent form

For the non-runners, here's the rundown...


The traditional story relates that Pheidippides (530 BC–490 BC), an Athenian professional-running courier, was sent to Sparta to request help when the Persians landed at Marathon, Greece. He ran about 240 km (150 mi) in two days. He then ran the 40 km (25 mi) from the battlefield near Marathon to Athens to announce the Greek victory over Persia in the Battle of Marathon (490 BC).

He managed to gasp "nikomen!" ("We have won!")

He then keeled over and died.

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"The sea! The sea!"


The March of the 10,000 occurred after the treachery of Artaxerxes II killing all of the senior officers of the mercenary Greek armies at a feast after the Battle of Cunaxa.

Huzzah! Three cheers for Xenophon!

The young officers, mostly Spartans and Athenians, took over and decided to march to the nearest friendly haven, the Greek Black Sea colony at Trapezus, more than 2,000K away across the mountains of Armenia. They fought the entire way against raids from the barbarian hill people who were upset at an army of 12,000 men crossing their lands and requisitioning all available food. The barbarians were subsidized by the Persians. The superior ability of Xenophon, a young Athenian officer, was soon evident.

After five months of marching and fighting, the force incredibly made it to Trapezus with 6,000 survivors.

Reaching the coastline, the soldiers gave out the plaintive cry of "The sea! The sea!" probably a little disbelieving they had managed to survive.

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Benedict Arnold (yes, that Benedict Arnold) invades Quebec


In September 1775, early in the American Revolutionary War, Colonel Benedict Arnold led a force of 1,100 Continental Army troops on an expedition from Cambridge, Massachusetts to the gates of Quebec City.

I could think of a few better ways to spend a freezing cold winter night than fighting in the streets of Quebec City at the height of a blizzard. But that's just me.

Unanticipated problems beset the expedition as soon as it left the last significant colonial outposts in Maine. The portages up the Kennebec River proved grueling, and the boats frequently leaked, ruining gunpowder and spoiling food supplies. More than a third of the men turned back before reaching the height of land between the Kennebec and Chaudière rivers. The areas on either side of the height of land were swampy tangles of lakes and streams, and the traversal was made more difficult by bad weather and inaccurate maps. Many of the troops lacked experience handling boats in white water, which led to the destruction of more boats and supplies in the descent to the Saint Lawrence River via the fast-flowing Chaudière.

By the time Arnold reached the French settlements above the Saint Lawrence River in November, his force was reduced to 600 starving men. They had traveled about 560 km through poorly charted wilderness, twice the distance they had expected to cover. Assisted by the local French-speaking Canadiens, Arnold's troops crossed the Saint Lawrence on November 13 and 14 and attempted to put Quebec City under siege. Failing in this, they withdrew to Point-aux-Trembles until another American force arrived to lead an unsuccessful attack on the city. Arnold was rewarded for his effort in leading the expedition with a promotion to brigadier general.


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You have got to be kidding

Ummm, no. Just, no.

The noble train of artillery, also known as the Knox Expedition, was an expedition led by Continental Army Colonel Henry Knox to transport heavy weaponry that had been captured at Fort Ticonderoga to the Continental Army camps outside Boston, Massachusetts during the winter of 1775–1776.

Knox went to Ticonderoga in November 1775, and, over the course of three winter months, moved 60 tons of cannons and other armaments by boat, horse and ox-drawn sledges, and manpower, along poor-quality roads, across two semi-frozen rivers, and through the forests and swamps of the lightly inhabited Berkshires to the Boston area.

Every time one of the cannon crashed through the ice of a river or lake, it had to be hauled back up. Not one cannon was lost.

Historian Victor Brooks has called Knox's exploit "one of the most stupendous feats of logistics" of the entire American Revolutionary War.

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Be right back!

Sir Ernest Shackleton's expedition to Antarctica in the Endurance in 1915 is now known as a successful failure. It also rightly cements his reputation of one of history's greatest leaders.

Endurance departed from South Georgia for the Weddell Sea on 5 December, heading for Vahsel Bay. As the ship moved southward, early ice was encountered, which slowed progress. Deep in the Weddell Sea conditions gradually grew worse until, on 19 January 1915, Endurance became frozen fast in an ice floe. On 24 February, realizing that she would be trapped until the following spring, Shackleton ordered the abandonment of ship's routine and her conversion to a winter station. She drifted slowly northward with the ice through the following months. When spring arrived in September, the breaking of the ice and its later movements put extreme pressures on the ship's hull.

Shackleton after the loss of Endurance

Until this point, Shackleton had hoped that the ship, when released from the ice, could work her way back towards Vahsel Bay. On 24 October, however, water began pouring in. After a few days, Shackleton gave the order to abandon ship, saying, "She's going down!"; and men, provisions and equipment were transferred to camps on the ice. On 21 November 1915, the wreck finally slipped beneath the surface.

For almost two months, Shackleton and his party camped on a large, flat floe, hoping that it would drift towards Paulet Island, approximately 402 km away, where it was known that stores were cached. After failed attempts to march across the ice to this island, Shackleton decided to set up another more permanent camp (Patience Camp) on another floe, and trust to the drift of the ice to take them towards a safe landing.

By 17 March, their ice camp was within 100 km of Paulet Island but, separated by impassable ice, they were unable to reach it. On 9 April, their ice floe broke into two, and Shackleton ordered the crew into the lifeboats, to head for the nearest land. After five harrowing days at sea, the exhausted men landed their three lifeboats at Elephant Island, 600K from where the Endurance sank. This was the first time they had stood on solid ground for 497 days. Shackleton's concern for his men was such that he gave his mittens to photographer Frank Hurley, who had lost his during the boat journey. Shackleton suffered frostbitten fingers as a result.

Launching the James Caird from the shore of Elephant Island, 24 April 1916.

Elephant Island was an inhospitable place, far from any shipping routes. Consequently, Shackleton decided to risk an open-boat journey to the 800-nautical-mile-distant South Georgia whaling stations, where he knew help was available.

The strongest of the tiny 20-foot (6.1 m) lifeboats, christened James Caird after the expedition's chief sponsor, was chosen for the trip. Ship's carpenter Harry McNish made various improvements, including raising the sides, strengthening the keel, building a makeshift deck of wood and canvas, and sealing the work with oil paint and seal blood.

Shackleton chose five companions for the journey.

Shackleton refused to pack supplies for more than four weeks, knowing that if they did not reach South Georgia within that time, the boat and its crew would be lost. The James Caird was launched on 24 April 1916; during the next fifteen days, it sailed through the waters of the southern ocean, at the mercy of the stormy seas, in constant peril of capsizing. On 8 May, the cliffs of South Georgia came into sight, but hurricane-force winds prevented the possibility of landing. The party was forced to ride out the storm offshore, in constant danger of being dashed against the rocks. They would later learn that the same hurricane had sunk a 500-ton steamer bound for South Georgia from Buenos Aires.

On the following day, they were able, finally, to land on the unoccupied southern shore. After a period of rest and recuperation, rather than risk putting to sea again to reach the whaling stations on the northern coast, Shackleton decided to attempt a land crossing of the island. Although it is likely that Norwegian whalers had previously crossed at other points on ski, no one had attempted this particular route before.

Leaving McNish, Vincent and McCarthy at the landing point on South Georgia, Shackleton travelled 51K over mountainous terrain for 36 hours to reach the whaling station at Stromness on 20 May.


Shackleton immediately sent a boat to pick up the three men from the other side of South Georgia while he set to work to organise the rescue of the Elephant Island men. His first three attempts were foiled by sea ice, which blocked the approaches to the island. He appealed to the Chilean government, which offered the use of Yelcho, a small seagoing tug from its navy. Yelcho and the British whaler SS Southern Sky reached Elephant Island on 30 August 1916, at which point the men had been isolated there for four and a half months, and Shackleton quickly evacuated all 22 men.

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The worst expedition leader, like, ever


The Coppermine Expedition of 1819–1822 had as its goal the exploration of the northern coast of Canada, which was accessed by way of the Coppermine River. The British expedition was organised by the Royal Navy as part of its attempt to discover and map the Northwest Passage. It was the first of three Arctic expeditions to be led by John Franklin, and also included George Back and John Richardson, both of whom would become significant Arctic explorers in their own right.

It probably looks like more fun than it really was.

The expedition was plagued by poor planning, bad luck and unreliable allies. The expected assistance from the local fur trading companies and native peoples was less forthcoming than expected, and the dysfunctional supply line, coupled with unusually harsh weather and the resulting absence of game, meant that the explorers were never far from starvation. Eventually the Arctic coast was reached, but barely 800 km had been explored before the exhaustion of the party's supplies and the onset of winter forced them to turn back.

The expedition made a desperate retreat across uncharted territory in a state of starvation, often with nothing more than lichen, leather and singed deer hide to eat. Eleven of the twenty-strong party died amid accusations of murder and cannibalism before the survivors were rescued by native people of the Yellowknife tribe, who had previously given them up for dead.

Franklin would forever be known as the man who ate his shoes.

He eventually died on a subsequent attempt to find the Northwest Passage, as did all the other 128 men under his command. Three died before the expedition disappeared and are buried on Beechey Island. Franklin later died and was probably buried at sea. The two ships of the expedition disappeared and have never been found.

Many of the survivors, now starving and half-mad from both lack of food and lead poisoning from poorly soldered tin cans, made a suicidal march from the ships -- which were trapped in ice -- for the Arctic coast. The last survivors made it to within sight of the Back River where they died of starvation. The rest had already died along the way.

Not a nice way to get your name in the history books.