People often ask me why I run ultra marathons.

Some assume it’s about fitness. Others think it’s about collecting medals, chasing personal bests, or proving something to other people.

The truth is much simpler.

I run until I start suffering, and then I find out if—and how far—I can push through it.

That moment is why I sign up.

The first twenty or thirty miles are usually enjoyable. The legs feel fresh, the conversations flow, the scenery is incredible, and it’s easy to convince yourself you’re having a great day.

But ultra running isn’t defined by those miles.

It’s defined by what happens when your body starts to complain.

Your feet hurt.

Your stomach refuses food.

Your legs feel like concrete.

You start doing maths in your head, calculating how much further you have to go, and suddenly the finish line feels impossibly far away.

That’s when the race really begins.

I’ve learned that suffering isn’t something to fear. It’s something to understand.

The first thought of quitting isn’t always the truth. More often, it’s my brain trying to protect me from discomfort. The challenge is learning the difference between genuine injury and temporary suffering.

Every ultra becomes an experiment.

Can I take one more step?

Then another.

Then another.

Before long, one mile becomes five, five becomes ten, and somehow you’ve reached a checkpoint you never believed you would.

Success Doesn’t Always Feel Like Success

One of my proudest races wasn’t my fastest.

In fact, for hours I thought it was falling apart.

Nothing seemed to go to plan. My pacing was off, nutrition wasn’t working, and mentally I was in one of the darkest places I’ve experienced during a race. Every instinct was telling me to stop.

Instead, I slowed down.

I ate what I could.

I focused on reaching the next landmark rather than the finish line.

Bit by bit, things improved.

The body recovered just enough. My mind settled. Before I knew it, I was moving well again and crossed the finish line with a huge smile on my face.

From the outside it looked like a successful race.

From the inside, it was a masterclass in patience.

It taught me that you don’t have to feel strong to keep moving forward.

Sometimes persistence is enough.

Failure Is Part of the Process

Not every story ends with a medal.

I’ve had races where I believed I was ready, only to discover I wasn’t.

I’ve stood at checkpoints wondering whether I could physically continue.

I’ve had moments where my mind gave up long before my body did.

And yes, I’ve failed.

Walking away from a race hurts.

You replay every decision. Could I have trained differently? Eaten better? Started slower? Pushed harder?

For a while it feels like wasted effort.

Then something interesting happens.

You learn more from the failures than the victories.

The successful races build confidence.

The failed races build character.

Failure forces honesty. It exposes weaknesses you didn’t know existed and gives you a choice: make excuses or improve.

Every race I’ve failed has made me a better runner because it made me ask better questions.

The Conversation Inside Your Head

You build a mental case against self doubt, Pain is not the enemy its the tool you need to achieve.

Ultra running strips away the noise of everyday life.

After hours on your feet there’s nowhere to hide.

The conversation in your own head becomes louder than anything else.

Some days it’s encouraging.

Some days it’s brutal.

“I can’t do this.”

“You’re too slow.”

“Just stop.”

The trick isn’t pretending those thoughts don’t exist.

It’s recognising that they’re just thoughts.

They aren’t facts.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been convinced my race was over, only to find an hour later that I was running comfortably again.

Low points pass.

High points pass too.

The only constant is forward movement.

Why I Keep Coming Back

People sometimes think ultra runners enjoy pain.

I don’t.

Pain isn’t the goal.

Discovery is.

Every ultra teaches me something I didn’t know about myself.

Sometimes it teaches resilience.

Sometimes patience.

Sometimes humility.

Sometimes it simply reminds me that I am capable of far more than I believed when everything started hurting.

That lesson doesn’t stay on the trail.

Life has its own ultras.

Building a business.

Raising a family.

Recovering from setbacks.

Working towards goals that take years instead of weeks.

In all of them, there comes a point where the excitement disappears and suffering arrives.

That’s where most people stop.

Ultra running has taught me that this is often where growth begins.

Not every race ends in success.

Not every battle is won.

But every time I lace up my shoes, I get another opportunity to discover where my limits really are.

And more often than not, I find they’re much further away than I first imagined.

That’s why I run.

Not to escape discomfort.

Not to collect medals.

Not to prove I’m tougher than anyone else.

I run because I’m fascinated by what lies beyond the moment I want to quit.

The suffering isn’t the end of the journey.

For me, it’s where the real journey begins.

Mike.

UltraEnduranceLab.