24 hours. That was the goal.
The plan was simple: keep moving, keep eating, keep drinking, and keep ticking off the laps until the clock ran out.
The course was a 7K ish loop around Moel Famau, with plenty of climbing packed into every lap. Nine laps later, I had covered 42 miles and around 10,000 feet of elevation.
And the crazy thing?
At 10 hours in, everything was going exactly how I wanted it to.
I wasn’t hanging on. I wasn’t struggling to stay within the cut-offs. I was actually well ahead of schedule, By nearly a hour.
The legs were tired, obviously. But they were doing their job. The climbs hurt, the descents hurt, and every lap looked familiar — but I had found that ultra rhythm where you stop thinking about the distance and just concentrate on getting to the next checkpoint.
One lap.
Then another.
Then another.
I was already thinking about how far I could get into the 24 hours, The base target was 18 laps well within my capabilities.
Then my head started to go.
The migraine came on and slowly took over.
I tried to ignore it. I tried to convince myself it would pass. After all, this was a 24-hour race, and stopping after 10 hours wasn’t even remotely part of the plan.
But there comes a point where stubbornness stops being determination.
I could push through tired legs.
I could push through sore muscles.
I could push through the climbs.
But I couldn’t push through the migraine.
And that was the frustrating part.
Everything was going right.
I was ahead of schedule. I had done 42 miles. I’d climbed over 10,000 feet. I was in a position to keep going for hours.
Yet I had to make the decision to stop.
Ten hours after starting, my race was over.
Walking away was harder than I expected. Not because I hadn’t achieved anything, but because I knew there was still so much more in me.
That’s probably what will annoy me most about this one.
It wasn’t my legs that stopped me.
It wasn’t the hills.
It wasn’t the distance.
It was my head.
And sometimes that’s ultra running.
You spend months training your body to keep moving when everything hurts, but races have a funny way of reminding you that you can’t control everything.
I wanted 24 hours.
I got 10.
But I also got 42 miles, nine laps of Moel Famau and around 10,000 feet of climbing — and I was still well ahead of schedule when I had to stop. Plans work, my plan worked.
So I’m disappointed, but healthy and ready for the next challenge.
But I’m also proud.
Because for 10 hours, everything went to plan.
And now I know exactly where I stand.
42 miles wasn’t the finish line. It was just where this attempt ended.
The unfinished business is still there.
And I’ll be back for it.
Sometimes You have to fail to grow to keep the passion alive.
Mike.
UltraEnduranceLab
