Yahoo News Why I'm running the London Marathon in memory of my Telegraph colleague
It's the question people often ask, with a mixture of admiration and incredulity. “Why are you running the London marathon?” For me and the 40,000-odd other participants – young and old, costumed or not, elite or very much amateur – nervously lining up in Greenwich Park this morning, it’s something we’ve probably asked ourselves a few times, too. And all our answers will be slightly different.
My motivation came last summer, in the form of a friend and colleague here at the Telegraph, Shawn Russell. It was long before I even owned running trainers, let alone could tackle 26.2 miles.
As the newspaper’s picture editor, I am in charge of a brilliant, supportive team of photojournalists who oversee the images you see in print and online, as well as all our world-class photographers. It’s a busy and all-consuming job, but we’re a small, close-knit bunch, and come to rely on one another.
Until last June, Shawn was my deputy. Gangly, broad, noisy and energetic, he was a larger-than-life character in every respect, with a Tigger-ish enthusiasm for his life and work, a bone-dry sense of humour and a practically superhuman calm under pressure.
He had a real gift: a combination of being the most popular and hardest-working man in the newsroom, and an incredibly creative eye for the right picture in the right place, at the right time.
We were close, as any number one and two in a newspaper department are. In fact, I probably spent more time awake with Shawn than I did my family over the past few years.
And there’s never any hiding with colleagues, so we saw each other at our best and worst. At our best, I would be laughing as Shawn mocked me for my perceived poor choice in rugby team (Coventry RFC, which he sarcastically called “the mighty Cov”) or my perceived poor choice in music (Status Quo, “the mighty Quo”).
At our worst, we’d be grumpily bickering over the next day’s picture selection. Shawn was normally right. He would bubble with ideas; there wasn’t a more creative picture editor on Fleet Street.
On Wednesday March 22nd 2017, Shawn worked what would be his last day at the Telegraph. It was the day of the Westminster Bridge attack – arguably the biggest domestic news story of last year. He seemed on top form, as ever, and put together an incredibly powerful package.
Around that time, though, he’d been feeling some tightness in his chest, so he had taken himself to be checked out by a doctor. The results came back on that Wednesday, urgently summoning to the University College Hospital the next morning, with the instruction that he'd be staying there. It was aggressive leukaemia, the same illness that had taken his mother, Leslie, when he was a baby.
Shawn was only 45. To him, the diagnosis was nothing but a trifling inconvenience, and that can-do spirit made us all on the picture desk absolutely certain we’d have him back bouncing around the office as soon as his treatment finished.
I visited him once a week, sometimes to bring him get-well-soon gifts from the Telegraph like a personalised Matt cartoon, but mainly just to sit with him and chat.
One Saturday night in June, my phone rang with Sarah, the name of Shawn’s partner, flashing up on the screen. He had suffered a massive stroke, affecting all his major organs, and had about 24 hours left to live. With Sarah holding his hand, Shawn died the very next day.
For all of us who knew and loved him, the shock, frustration and sadness was almost overwhelming. At work, we held memorials, raised our glasses and published his obituary, but I wanted to turn that grief into something positive.
Then, in October, after being inspired by a colleague’s fitness transformation, I decided to pair a diet I’d been following with some exercise. So I bought those running trainers.
On day one, I managed about one mile before I felt sick with exhaustion. I was not fit in the slightest, but slowly, I started to get better at running and enjoy myself.
Before I knew it, it was a fixed part of my routine, and the next thing I knew, our office marathoner extraordinaire, Bryony Gordon – who is also out there this morning, albeit in slightly fewer clothes than me – told me I should join her in doing London.
I did, and decided to run for Leukaemia Care, to raise money for families affected by the devastating illness that stole Shawn from us. So far, the response to my fundraising page has been phenomenal. It’s a mark of just how popular he was.
If he could have seen me, limping around North London at 5am in midwinter, desperately trying to train in time for today, Shawn would have laughed like a drain. In those dark times, though, I tried not to think of him. Not just because he’d cackle at my misfortune, but to save him for today.
This morning, he’ll be running with me every step of the way, helping me along as the lactic acid burns, right down to the finish line in front of Buckingham Palace.
There, my wife, three children, my in-laws and my father will be watching on with astonishment at the pasty, food-obsessed bloke they know completing this mammoth challenge. And alongside them, I am delighted that Sarah will be cheering me on too. I hope I can do it for all of them.
So, why am I running the London marathon? It’s simple. I’m running it for my old mate Shawn, who we still miss every day.
To sponsor Matthew, please visit his Virgin Giving page
