How I escaped after being kidnapped by a machete-wielding gang: ‘Hardest Geezer’ RUSS COOK reveals his terrifying encounter… and how it pushed him to his limits

As I read through this heartwarming account of perseverance and reunion, I can’t help but feel deeply moved by Russ Cook’s extraordinary journey. The strength and resilience he exhibits throughout his narrative are truly inspiring.

I’m the extra passenger on a single-seat motorbike, struggling for space with no place to put my feet. I’m squished and anxious, dripping with sweat and grime. Terrified, I’m riding through the dense, inaccessible rainforest of the Democratic Republic of Congo. Ahead, the path is uncertain, all I can be sure of is that these two men aren’t traveling companions I chose.

By now, I’ve covered approximately 50 kilometers of tough jungle path. Earlier today, I managed to elude a gang armed with machetes. Some individuals on motorbikes offered assistance, claiming they were friendly. However, it appears they are not as we seem to be heading in the wrong direction.

I’m struggling due to lack of hydration and food. My backup crew and vehicle are gone, along with all possessions. I fear I might not survive this situation.

While holding tight to the shaking motorcycle, I find myself reflecting on my actions, feeling remorseful for moments when I should have acted differently. It’s hard not to think that I’ve disappointed everyone back home, as I departed England without addressing important issues with my parents, leaving much unresolved between us.

I envision them learning about my disappearance, and later on, at their home, discovering that my remains have been located.

I long for the opportunity to have a conversation with them, even if it’s just once. I yearn to express my remorse for how I acted in the past and make amends. I yearn to apologize to them. I yearn to let them know that I cherished them deeply.

Approximately 100 days past, my journey began from the southernmost point of Africa. My goal: to run across the entire expanse of this continent, a feat many deemed as folly. Some even predicted my demise. It appears their predictions may hold true.

As teenagers navigate through their adolescence, it’s common for them to have disagreements with their parents. However, my behavior was significantly more intense than what is typically seen during this phase.

The demands placed upon me by my parents were not excessive. Given my intellectual capabilities, they encouraged me to perform admirably, to put forth effort, and to address them courteously. They desired that I uphold a minimal degree of respect towards our home in Worthing, Sussex, as well as my two siblings.

For some time, that’s exactly what I did. In school, I excelled academically and led the football team. Truth be told, I was just an ordinary child, content, cheerful, and in good health.

Our circumstances took a turn when my father encountered health issues and began taking strong medications, causing him to transform into a somewhat altered version of the man I had known in my childhood.

Instead of figuring out how to manage all the feelings that arose, I kept them inside me until they found expression in different forms.

Initially, I began speaking harsh words towards my parents. When my mom reminded me that I reside within her home, I’d retort by asserting that the house wasn’t even hers, since my father was the one who paid for it.

If my parents suggested guidance, I’d likely respond with disdain. It’s awkward for me to remember the words I used back then.

Although Dad’s medication helped him improve, I was still struggling to navigate the whirlwind of feelings that surfaced within me.

At the age of 17, as the disagreements grew too fierce and our mutual anger became unbearable, I decided to leave home. To cover my living expenses, I took on a string of low-paying jobs and rented a modest apartment. In an attempt to escape the tedium of my everyday existence, I often resorted to heavy drinking and excessive online gambling.

I was in charge of my life – but not making a very good job of it.

One evening found me socializing with friends at a lively club in Brighton. It was overly crowded, stuffy, and I couldn’t stand being there. In a slightly intoxicated haze, I glanced around and contemplated: ‘Why am I here? This is senseless. Could I possibly do something different, perhaps even right now?’

As a lifestyle expert, I’d rephrase it like this: Instead of formally bidding farewell to my friends, I found myself drifting into the enchanting night. The desire to return home took over, leading me on an unexpected journey from Brighton to Worthing – a distance of about eleven miles. It had been quite some time since I engaged in any physical activity, and the familiar sensation of fatigue soon set in. However, I persevered, pausing occasionally to regain my breath, only to resume my run moments later. In a moment of exhaustion, I even sought refuge on the sidewalk for a brief half-hour slumber. Yet, as I continued my journey under the moonlight, a surge of exhilaration coursed through me, making me feel like the legendary Usain Bolt himself.

Reflecting on that wild chase now, it strikes me that I wasn’t merely fleeing from the nightclub. Instead, I was effectively shedding an old self, stepping forward in my journey to become a new person.

Subsequently, running took over as a passion of mine. A pal extended an invitation for a half marathon in Brighton, which served as a pivotal moment. I eagerly accepted. In just six weeks, I embarked on my initial marathon. It was the most challenging feat I had ever encountered. Nevertheless, the sensation of triumph when it was over left an indelible mark.

One challenge led to another, then another. I did more marathons. I ran from Istanbul to London.

For a week-long trial of endurance, I transformed a room in my apartment into a makeshift coffin. Along with some friends, we constructed a large wooden casket within the space.

At the base of the container, we positioned an empty casket that was left open. Once I had stepped inside and the lid was shut, my friends proceeded to cover it with dirt.

In a somewhat unusual manner, this experiment pushed me to gauge my resilience, checking if I could survive for seven straight days in a confined space, isolated, without any food – only tubes providing water and ventilation. As I stretched out there, feeling cramped, hungry, and uncomfortable, I found myself with ample time for introspection. It occurred to me that perhaps my obsession with self-testing had taken the place of something I lost when I quit gambling.

In time, I found myself yearning for a more daunting task, something that would test my abilities to the utmost. With the global recovery from Covid-19 in 2022, the allure of one of Earth’s vast continents – Africa – became irresistible to me.

Could someone actually cover the entire continent’s distance, which is roughly equivalent to running 357 full marathons, be achievable? Is it something people have managed to do before?

I researched funding options for this specific project. Utilizing social platforms, I successfully drew in potential sponsors. Subsequently, I crossed paths with a documentary producer who proposed turning it into a full-length film about running. He was enthusiastic about my idea and recommended hiring a team of three to handle the logistics.

The concept evolved, transforming an old school minibus into a mobile support unit equipped with solar panels and bunk beds. I drafted guidelines for the journey. Initially setting off from Cape Town, I planned to cover approximately 50 kilometers daily (a distance I hadn’t attempted before), concluding my trip after traveling about 15,000 kilometers or 9,500 miles down the road in Tunisia.

At regular distances of approximately 20 kilometers, the team members will catch up with me in the vehicle to allow me time for rest, fueling up, and hydration.

At the end of the day, we would drive somewhere to camp, or sleep in a lodge or hotel.

The following day, I would revisit the spot where I had paused my run earlier, and start anew. Essentially, this process of continuing the run day after day would become a routine, covering approximately 15,000 kilometers without taking any breaks whatsoever.

Taking on such a massive endeavor might seem daunting, yet it’s all about embarking on the first leg of a thousand-mile journey. At the tender age of 26, I felt prepared to make that initial stride. The moment had arrived for me to set off at a trot.

APRIL 2023: S AFRICA

In the initial stages, I found myself growing rigid. Mobility below my waist became increasingly challenging, and it was uncomfortable, sometimes even painful. Swelling developed in my knees and ankles when I was running. Within four weeks, I shed more than 14 pounds. My feet were plagued by painful blisters.

However, their interference meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing was going to halt my running.

At the beginning of my journey, I swiftly moved through the initial settlement, where the structures resembled little more than dilapidated shacks topped with corrugated metal sheets.

Individuals sporting tattered garments were resting by the roadside, displaying ten-rand bills in an attempt to catch a ride to the following town. The intense gaze of unfamiliar faces gave me an unsettling sensation, making it seem as though this locale was not my proper place.

In the first week, while making connections myself, I encountered a youthful individual, seemingly around sixteen years of age, who happened to be African American. As he paused to take a breather, I found myself closing the gap between us.

We ran together for a few kilometres and he told me how he wanted to be a rugby player. I guess he saw it as his way out of the townships.

Since no one else was keen to join him for a run, he found himself tackling it solo. There was something about him that made me think of myself.

As we approached Namibia, the landscape and weather conditions started to transform. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what awaited us beyond this point except for a vast expanse of arid desert.

MAY 2023: NAMIBIA

At midnight, I found myself at the border checkpoint all by myself, dressed in athletic attire and sporting a headlamp. The only things I had on me were my passport, a rucksack full of essentials – sausage rolls, a block of Dairy Milk, some candies, and wet wipes.

As a lifestyle connoisseur, upon receiving the stamp on my passport from the border officials, I caught a handful of curious glances, but they were fleeting and it was evident that my presence there did not particularly pique their interest.

As I navigated the town’s streets and ventured into the barren desert, a chilly wind swept through, making it unbearably cold. My vision was blurry due to the extreme cold, but all around me, eerie sounds echoed. The beam from my flashlight cut through the darkness, occasionally catching the gleam of eyes in the desolate landscape.

No matter how long the night lasts, it eventually comes to an end. As I stood there, the sun began to rise right before my eyes, casting a beautiful blend of orange and pink across the barren landscape of the desert. It was a breathtaking scene, one that I had all to myself to appreciate.

As word spread about my endeavor, I was fortunate enough to receive a heartfelt video message of encouragement from the esteemed Mo Farah – a legendary figure in British sports and an inspiration for me personally.

JUNE 2023: ANGOLA

In Angola, it’s strongly recommended to stick close to the roads due to its high density of landmines. The country is home to over 1,000 minefields and well over a million undiscovered explosive devices.

Regardless of the risks, we found a cozy fit in Angola. The landscape was breathtakingly charming and the locals were genuinely appealing.

As I continued through less urban areas, however, it struck me forcefully the extent of my own advantages. Looking back at my younger self in Britain, I would have identified as working class and perhaps felt limited by opportunities. Reflecting on my time in Africa now makes me wince, realizing how narrow-minded that perspective was.

I observed kids, only partially clothed, suffering from malnutrition, as their potbellies indicated, engaging in play near dirty, stationary pools of water that contained sewage and trash.

The first time I encountered the sight I stopped running and watched, horrified.

In Angola, I learned about the significance of community bonds. Strolling through small hamlets, despite their poverty, I felt a strong sense of unity and mutual support among the residents – a camaraderie that seemed less prevalent in the UK.

It became clear to me that the toughest periods in my life were the ones where I felt isolated, without direction, and distant from my loved ones. Now, out here, the significance of these aspects of life became strikingly apparent to me.

As we traveled north, the climate grew warmer and more humid, and the landscape underwent a transformation. It turned lush and dense, reminiscent of a tropical rainforest straight out of Jurassic Park.

In a matter of just a few days, we’ll find ourselves approaching the boundary of one of the world’s riskiest nations – The Democratic Republic of the Congo.

AUGUST 2023: D R CONGO

I cried on the back of that motorbike as two hours became three and three became four. I cried for my family. I cried for my girlfriend Emily. I cried for myself.

For quite some time, I had mostly relied on myself for tasks. However, over the past few months, after encountering Emily, I’ve begun to envision a future filled with joy and companionship, a future that includes a family – all shared with her.

I’d seen, running through Africa, the importance of family and community. I had put it all at risk. I might have no future at all.

The men had said to me ‘vos amis’ – your friends. But they weren’t. I’d been kidnapped.

Following what seemed like an eternity of grueling seven hours, our destination became the small settlement known as Sumbi. Under the scrutiny of many pairs of eyes, my captors guided me towards a structure near the road.

Six individuals were anticipating my arrival, radiating an air of aggression. My confiners provided a seat and gestured for me to take it. These men exchanged heated words among themselves. They directed their gaze towards me. Remaining silent and still, I chose not to respond or react.

I couldn’t prevent these happenings. A different individual then showed up, who appeared to hold some power. This person seemed to be the leader. He addressed me in English and asked, “What brings you to the Congo?

‘I need to speak to my friends,’ I said. ‘I have a number. Can we call them?’ The chief nodded.

It became clear that a reward was placed for my capture. I wasn’t planning on leaving until my colleagues showed up with the necessary funds. Essentially, I found myself in a situation where I was being held against my will.

They provided me with a room featuring a foam pad on a wooden platform. There was an unsettling sound of rodents running and gnawing on the wood nearby.

Two days later, the fellows showed up with the cash – several hundred dollars. To be honest, I felt a mix of relief and anger. Anger towards myself, the circumstances, and perhaps even them for letting this occur. How did this happen to us?

That difficult event left a deep impression on me which lingered over an extended period. To this day, it still brings up strong feelings when I think about it.

JAN 2024: MAURITANIA

“The Sahara, the biggest hot desert on our planet. On a particular morning, following a long night of travel covering about 65 kilometers, I encountered my initial sandstorm.

small bits of sand struck against my body, leaving an irritating sensation; I shielded my eyes by cupping my hands over them, squinting through the narrow openings between my fingers to prevent the sand from causing discomfort.

Originally, it wasn’t the only instance; there would be more to come. The sand accumulated on my hair. Painful, tear-filled blisters erupted on my nose where the grains struck my face. I had sand in both ears and sand in my breath.

I developed a hacking cough from breathing it in. Man, I hated those sandstorms. But I was finally beginning to get the sense of an ending.

With only about 50 days left to go, I felt some relief. The end was finally in sight.

APRIL 7, 2024: RAS ANGELA, TUNISIA

I started the day in tears as I set out from camp for the final time. I would shed plenty more.

At the gas station signifying the commencement of the final marathon during our mission, a throng was gathered to greet me. As one, we ran – an exuberant, jubilant caravan consisting of people, automobiles, and motorcycles.

About 30 kilometers from reaching the endpoint, a crowd of well-wishers lined the path, and as I advanced, I spotted two individuals. One turned out to be my younger sibling, who swiftly made his way toward me.

To my back stood another person, who turned out to be my father. Once he enveloped me in a warm embrace, I reciprocated with one of my own. Tears streamed down our faces as we clung to each other. The memories of the past flooded my mind during this tender moment.

Regarding my strained bond with my parents.

As a lifestyle guide, I can’t help but be amazed by the overwhelming response I received as I crossed the finish line. It’s mind-boggling to think about all those who shared with my father that witnessing my marathon run across Africa somehow inspired or benefited them in some way.

He said that he was proud of me. I’ll never forget that. It meant so much. Those few words, perhaps more than anything else, made the whole mission worthwhile.

For a stretch of about two kilometers, we sprinted side by side. I could run 16,000 such stretches, but these few will forever be etched in my memory. They even put up a tape at the end, and the crowd that gathered there was astounding – something I hadn’t dared to imagine beforehand.

A roar erupted as my convoy of runners and I approached. With the entire continent behind me, I breached the ribbon, arms aloft.

The scene was so extraordinary that it was difficult for me to recognize anyone. However, amidst the crowd, one face stood out distinctly – Emily’s.

I swiftly made my way towards her, and for a fleeting moment, only the two of us existed, reunited after such a long time apart. Tears welled up in our eyes, and then I found myself able to look around, taking it all in. Everywhere I looked, cameras were present, creating quite the media commotion.

But I was more intent on picking out another face in the crowd.

In simple terms, I spotted my mom who, similar to my father, was weeping. I embraced her warmly. It was simply wonderful to lay eyes on her. She had gone through immense hardships for our family, receiving no acknowledgment in return.

Initially, the global spotlight fell upon me, yet what I truly desired was for it to shine on her, so her selfless acts could be duly recognized. I wished, at least, to make her feel proud. And I believe she was, though also gratified that she no longer needed to fret about my well-being.

It struck me that, in numerous aspects, the previous year represented a test of resilience not only for me but also for those dear to me.

I’ve been reflecting on both recent months and long-ago years. I often wonder where my life could be now if running hadn’t come into my life at a crucial moment.

Regardless of who we are, we face hurdles that need to be conquered. Some are self-imposed, others are unavoidable. However, the most effective method to tackle them is by plunging headfirst into difficult situations and persisting in our progress. One step at a time, one step at a time, one step at a time.

2024 Copyright: Russ Cook | Originally published as “Hardest Geezer” by Russ Cook (Ebury Spotlight, currently available for £22). To secure a copy at the special price of £19.80 (offer valid until November 2nd, 2024; free UK shipping on orders exceeding £25), visit mailshop.co.uk/books or dial 020 3176 2937.

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2024-10-27 15:23