Steve Morley was having a hard time during the 2010 Scenic 7 - things were going wrong, he just hadn't realised just how wrong
Sunday 14th November 2010
I passed the six-mile marker. Just one more mile to go. Around the next corner the hill was waiting. I had run the Scenic 7 mile race many times before. Each year I would enter the race completely forgetting about the hill. Usually I’d remember just as I was lining up at the start line. Ah yes, of course, Stowmarket 7 The race with the killer hill.
Well now the killer had arrived. It was making it’s presence known and I wasn’t feeling happy. I hadn’t felt great even before the hill. In fact I had not been feeling great for a while. From about July onwards my race times had been getting progressively slower. It was now November and what should have been an easy seven-mile race was turning into a real struggle.
The hill was steep but it didn’t go on for that long. Once over the top the going gets easier and you have a nice run in to the finish. Seeing a group of runners about twenty yards in front of me, I decided to push. I picked up the pace and instantly the pain arrived. I say pain but it was not pain like you might feel if somebody kicked you in the shin or as if prodded with something sharp. Not that kind of intense pain. It felt more like the sort of pain you might feel if somebody punched you in the stomach. Like all the wind decides to leave your body and suddenly the whole inside of your chest seems to shrink to half its normal size.
You know when something is not right. I am not an elite athlete by any means but I have been training, playing badminton and running long enough to know my body well. I know when it’s on song and performing and I know when it’s struggling. I also know all it’s little tricks. The mind games it plays with me… We need to slow down a bit; I think I’m getting a stitch… We really need to ease off the pace; I think my legs are going to cramp.
This was no trick however, and this was no mind game either. Something was wrong. I slowed the pace and gave up any thought of catching the runners ahead. I needed to check myself out and figure out what was happening to me. Would I have to stop and quit the race? As I eased back on my speed, the pain eased with it. After a few minutes the pain had passed. By now I had almost reached the top of the hill and the road had started to flatten out. I was feeling better. I wondered out loud. “What the hell was that all about?”. The pain had gone as quickly as it had arrived. My next thought was whether there was still time to speed up and maybe make up a few more places? I pushed hard and passed two runners as we entered the last 100 yards to the finish. But how much time had I lost?
I finished the race. The time was slow. My slowest ever for this race. Still, at least I had finished and I seemed to be in one piece. I rang my wife to let her know that I was ok. How did it go? she asked. Not too good, terrible time, slowest ever. I don’t know what’s going on. Still, I finished the race and lived to tell the tale. I laughed. Oh good, I’ll put the insurance policy away then shall I? she said. We both laughed.
I’d gone to the race with Kevin, a friend from the running club. I just had to drop him back to Brandon then it would be straight home. We set off and at first everything was fine, but we had only been on the road for about ten minutes when the pain I had experienced during the race returned. I took some water but didn’t say anything to my traveling companion. I started to sweat. I mean really sweat. Water literally falling into my lap like I was standing in the rain and the intensity of the pain increased.
Suddenly I knew with an absolute certainty what was happening to me. I was having a heart attack. There were no sharp pains in the chest, no pain radiating down one arm. None of the classic heart attack symptoms, but I knew. I knew right then what it was.
Kevin, I said, I don’t want to worry you mate but I think I need to go to the hospital. He took one look at me and I could see the concern in his eyes. He seemed to notice for the first time my color and the rivers of sweat running down my face. Do you want me to drive? he asked. Kevin only arrived in the country from the USA a month earlier and was still finding his way around. I knew the area and the quickest way to the hospital. No, I’ll be OK, I lied. I didn’t feel at all well and by the time I arrived at A&E I was most definitely not OK.
My name is Steve Morley, I have just been running in a seven-mile road race and I think I am having a heart attack.
Everything from then was a bit of a blur. I remember a wheel chair being thrust under me and being wheeled straight in to see the Doctors. No waiting around for hours in Casualty that day. I remember being asked lots of questions. I didn’t want to answer questions, I felt so tired. I just wanted to sleep. In the end Kevin was answering the questions, bless him.
Mr Morley, we have ordered an ambulance to take you to Papworth they told me. You are having a heart attack. Thank you, I managed to say, I had figured that out for myself. Akward laughter filled the small cubicle.
I drifted in and out of consciousness during the ambulance ride. I thought about my wife. I thought about the hospital they were taking me to. Papworth, I’ve heard of Papworth. The leading heart hospital in the country right? That’s got to be good! Hang in there Steve I’m thinking. Slow everything down. Conserve your energy. You will be fine. My thoughts returned to my wife. I hope she’s not too worried. Did I think about dying? Interestingly no. That thought never occurred to me.
The ambulance arrived at Papworth and I was taken straight into theatre. White coats, blue gowns, people in masks. I wanted to sleep, to close my eyes. They wouldn’t let me. Stay with us Stephen try to stay awake. The sound of a women’s voice. Try to stay awake if you can. I was being given instructions, explanations of where I was, what was happening to me, what they were going to do. I had to sign some papers. A disclaimer. It’s not their fault if I don’t make it. I asked for my wife. I signed the papers. They began.
Two arteries blocked, one 100%, one 70%. That will be the reason for the pain then. That will be the invisible person sitting on my chest making it difficult to breathe. Blood desperately trying to reach my heart. Fighting it’s way through and around the blockage anyway it can. A plastic tube was inserted into my groin, up through my chest cavity towards my heart. Two Metal Stents were inserted into my arteries. The arteries opened, blood was flowing again, the pain eased. I closed my eyes and slept.
When I opened my eyes, my wife and daughter were looking down at me. Both were smiling. A good sign I remember thinking. I looked up into my wife’s face. Sorry love, was all I could think to say.
I spent a fitful night passing in and out of consciousness. Sleep interrupted by the sound of an alarm. After the first half a dozen times I realized the alarm was coming from me. Each time a nurse popped her head around the curtain asking if I’m ok. I’m fine I said. Don’t worry she tells me. Your heart has been in trauma. It’s irritated and that’s what is setting off the alarm. It will settle down after a while. I remember smiling at the thought of an irritated heart. Finally, sometime during the early hours of Monday morning the alarm stops. My grumpy heart had settled down. My road to recovery had begun.
Monday 10.00am. The doctor made his morning rounds. My first question. When can I expect to be running again? He looked at me and couldn’t suppress a grin.
Good morning Mr Morley, you are obviously feeling better.
Postscript
Bank Holiday Monday 2nd May 2011: 5 months, 2 weeks and 4 days later I am standing on the start line of the Croxton 10k race. I have been carefully easing my body back to running. Slowly building up my weekly mileage. I am confident. I have done this distance easily in training. Still it’s 6.2 miles of the first competitive running I have attempted since my encounter with the Stowmarket Killer Hill. No hills today I’m thinking. Nice flat race. Nice and steady Steve, nice and steady. Keep that heart rate under 145. All my running these days is with a heart rate monitor. In training it’s my constant companion. A heart rate monitor and some small amendments to my diet are pretty much the only concessions I make to my new condition. That of Cardiac Athlete. I rather like the sound of that. Steve Morley, Cardiac Athlete. It reminds me of Steve Austin Bionic Man from that 70s TV program. The Six Million Dollar Man. I smile at the thought of the two metal Stents sitting in my chest. Hardly six million dollars. I smile. The starting claxon sounds, no more time to think. The race has started. Were off.
