There’s a belief in endurance sport that if you do everything right, the race will reward you.
Train consistently. Dial in your nutrition. Recover well. Arrive fit.
I did all of that. And continue to do so day in and day out. It is part of me, the process, the grind, the suffering.
Heading into this backyard ultra, I couldn’t have asked for a better build-up. Every session was done, my fitness was where I wanted it to be, and I genuinely felt ready to see what I was capable of I was ready to enter the trenches and stay there as long as I could.
But racing has a way of reminding you that preparation is only one part of the story.
The day started with a 05:45 start on shift finishing at 12:00 then a five-hour drive to the event stuck in traffic for a lot of it. By the time I arrived, my back—which I’d tweaked (the Tuesday beforehand)—was already complaining. I hoped it would ease once I got moving, but it never really did.
From the very first lap, though, there was one thing I never had to think about—my crew. Every time I came back into camp, everything I needed was there before I’d even asked. Food ready. Drinks topped up. Chair waiting. Whatever the next lap demanded I was prepared. My crew chief had the whole operation running like a Swiss watch, allowing me to focus solely on putting one foot in front of the other. That’s something I’ll always be grateful for.
The heat.
It was relentless. Every lap seemed to sap more energy than the last, and instead of settling into a rhythm, I found myself fighting my own body. My back hurt from the start, and the hot conditions only made things harder. I kept telling myself, “Just get through this lap. It’ll improve.”
It didn’t.
As if that wasn’t enough, the weather had one more surprise.
During the race, a thunderstorm rolled in. The sky darkened, the wind picked up, and conditions changed in a matter of minutes. Then, after I stopped, it became even more violent. The wind was so strong I found myself hanging onto our gazebo with everything I had. If I’d let go, it would have disappeared across the field.
It was one of those weekends where everything that could make life difficult seemed determined to do exactly that.
Eventually I had to make the decision no runner wants to make.
I stopped.
That decision hurts, especially when you know the work you’ve put in along with the travel, the time, the planning the expense…
I wasn’t underprepared. I wasn’t lacking fitness. I hadn’t cut corners and I was not making excuses. My engine was tuned as it aways is ticking over ready to empty the tank.
Sometimes your body simply says, “Not today.”
That’s a difficult thing to accept when your mind is ready to keep going.
Walking away from the course was frustrating. I’d invested a lot of time into getting to that start line. I wanted to test myself, to see how far I could go, and instead I was left wondering what might have been.
But the more I think about it, the more I realise this race doesn’t define the training that came before it. The training is done. I had paid in sweat and suffering.
The fitness is still there.
The miles still count.
The early mornings, the long runs, the consistency, the discipline—they haven’t disappeared because one race didn’t go to plan.
If anything, this weekend reminded me why I respect the backyard ultra format so much. It doesn’t care how well you’ve prepared. It doesn’t owe you a result. It asks one simple question over and over again: “Can you do another lap?”
This time, the answer eventually became no.
That stings.
But setbacks are part of the process. They don’t erase the work; they become part of the story.
To everyone who checked in, offered encouragement, and especially to my crew chief, thank you. While I couldn’t produce the result we were hoping for, your support never wavered. You gave me every opportunity to keep going, and that’s all anyone can ask.
I’ll recover. My back will heal. Another race will come around.
And when it does, I’ll be back on the start line, carrying everything this weekend taught me.
Because that’s what endurance teaches us.
Not just how to keep running when things go well—but how to come back when they don’t.
Mike.
UltraEnduranceLab.