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Blind Courage

A lot of people run to see who's fastest," said American distance runner Steve Prefontaine, "I run to see who has the most guts." It's a stirring quotatation, but it doesn't help explain why some people have more "guts" than others. Why do some admit defeat as soon as the going gets tough, while others rise to adversity as though they had been waiting for the fight?

Late last year, I was lucky enough to learn about someone who, for me, epitomises the latter group. His name is Dave Heeley, and he is blind. At this year's London Marathon, he and his guide runner, Malcolm "Mad Mac" Carr, successfully completed their seventh marathon in seven days — each of them run on a different continent. How did he find the strength? I needed to find out.

When I first heard about Dave and his intention to run 183 miles in a week, I felt baffled, inspired and, I have to admit, slightly sceptical. As a keen club runner myself, I know how exhausting it is to run a meagre half-marathon. Did this man really understand what it takes to run seven full marathons, in seven days, with the added pressure and sleeplessness of long-distance flights in between?

I called him to establish the facts, and found out a lot more besides. Dave told me how he and Mac were training twice daily, and preparing to undergo intensive fitness tests at the Sports Institute of Northern Ireland. What stays with me most from that initial conversation with Dave is an irreverent anecdote, sublimely delivered in his thick Black Country accent, about running a local race in which, near the finish line, he overtook a competitor, who, incensed and surprised, inadvertently blurted out, "That blind bastard!".

Dave is 50 years old and has been blind since his late teens. He was diagnosed, aged 10, with retinitis pigmentosa (RP), an inherited disease that destroys the light-sensitive cells in the retina of the eye. The first symptom is night-blindness, which leads to the progressive loss of peripheral vision and, in Dave's case, legal blindness by the age of 20. When he struggled, as a child, to see in dim conditions, and made a habit of bumping into things, his parents assumed he was just a clumsy kid. Only when he began to struggle badly at school did opticians investigate further to uncover the underlying cause.

I met Dave at his home in West Bromwich to find out what it was like growing up with failing sight. I wanted to explore the possibility that the struggles he faced back then gave him the strength needed to run seven marathons in seven days. "Yes," says Dave, "the simple reason is, you're trying to prove a point." And what is that point? "I can do it. I think that sometimes, by putting yourself out on a limb — on a total challenge of endurance — you think that not many people can do this. It spurs you on."

It occurs to me that a common trait among strong-minded people is the will to prove themselves capable, in spite of obstacles and doubters. Tell them that they can't, and they almost certainly will. For Dave, proving that a blind man can achieve an endurance feat of Herculean proportions has implications beyond his own satisfaction. "It [the challenge] has proved that I can cope, and proved, hopefully, to other people that they can cope. Sight loss doesn't hold you back from anything you want to do, within reason."

My initial hypothesis, that Dave's iron will was forged by overcoming sight loss, was beginning to look doubtful. The evidence of dogged determination goes back too far. Could it be that he simply had what it took, from birth, to face up to the fate that befell him? "I don't know if it's inborn in you, in the family line," says Dave. "A lot of them were known as bloody stubborn buggers. If they're gonna do it, they're gonna do it. If they ain't, they'll tell you they ain't as well."

Examples of Dave's own "bloody-mindedness" are manifest, even before losing his sight, such as the time he tempted oxygen starvation, after being unexpectedly overtaken by a schoolmate during an underwater swimming competition. "I held my breath that long, it killed my stomach. I'll always remember it. It's just stubborn pride."

It comes as little surprise, then, that when Dave (who works as a fund-raising volunteer) heard Sir Ranulph Fiennes speaking on the radio in 2003 about having recently completed seven marathons on seven continents in seven days, he decided to do it himself — just like that. "By hook or by crook, I was going to do it," he confesses, almost embarrassed at his own audacity. The initial reaction of his guide runner ("Bloody hell!") was persistently chipped away at for six months, until Mac finally agreed. The following four years were devoted to planning the logistics, raising funds and, for Dave and Mac, pounding out the miles to get super-fit.

The toughest point of the challenge came sooner than imagined. Just days before the event was due to begin, in the Falklands, the Argentinean government reneged on an airspace agreement, forcing the team to ditch their plan to run marathon number two in Santiago, Chile. They hastily drew up a contingency plan, to switch leg two from Santiago to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, but with inevitable complications. Nine hours after completing their first marathon, having slept on the flight for "an hour at most", Dave and Mac were preparing to start their second; heavy rain gave way to 26º heat and 90 per cent humidity. The course was under-prepared and, instead of the 100-plus supporters expected in Chile, inquisitive bystanders were getting in the way. There must have been moments when it felt too tough to go on? "Never. Not once," insists Dave. "I had a picture of my family on a chain around my neck, and every time I thought it was getting hard, I used to hold that and say, 'My girls love me, they want me to do it.' That was enough."

That blindness never permits the illusion of complete independence is a blessing, it strikes me, as well as a curse. Whatever the force of Dave's innate willpower, he is sustained by the support of those around him: his guide runner, Mac, and his cherished family, but also the people he has encountered through his fund-raising work. Many have approached Dave to tell him how he has had an impact on their lives. As soon as he finished the final marathon, in London, he was accosted by people committing to confront personal challenges. "So many positives have sprung up from this challenge, it is unbelievable, and that makes me feel a very, very proud man."

Finding out about Dave has been more than a writing assignment for me. I wanted firsthand assurance that a blind person can live a full life, defiant of the difficulties, with humour and courage. Like Dave, I have RP. I was diagnosed in 2006, and have spent the past 18 months trying to come to terms with the prospect of diminishing sight. The hardest blow so far was being forced to give up my driving licence and, with it, my passion for riding motorcycles. Focusing on other interests, especially running, has provided a crucial distraction. But do I have what it takes to rise to each and every challenge as my visual world shrinks? I can't say for sure, but I'll give it a bloody good go.