It’s not an over exaggeration to suggest that running is having a moment. The popularity in pounding pavements has been rising in recent years – and it shows no signs of slowing. In fact, 2024 has seen the height of the boom with hundreds of new running clubs popping up all over the country, and technical running apparel being spotted everywhere from high fashion runways to the high streets.
Personally, I’m all for it. The fact that health and well-being is now fashionable can only be a good thing. Maybe it’s an age-related phenomenon – turn 30 and suddenly realise that living unhealthily is unsustainable. Either way, running is now officially cool.
I was also swept up in the COVID-driven running boom of 2020. Moving home from Japan during lockdown with not much to do, I made full use of the government-stipulated ‘daily exercise allowance’. Luckily, staying with my parents in the rural English countryside made running and cycling the perfect pastime for a few months whilst I figured out how to be a freelancer.
Historically, I’d always been a runner. Cross country and athletics were two of my favourite and strongest sports in school and I raced competitively until my late teens, when all the normal distractions presented themselves. Through my twenties I ran sporadically, though never consistently. A stint living in New Zealand introduced me to the beauty of trail running. However, chasing winter in Japan put an end to my momentum at the end of 2019.
Fast forward to 2021 and running was once again a big part of my life. It goes without saying that the mental benefits are equal to the physical, and I won’t hide from the fact that running was a huge help for me during a time when I wasn’t actually sure what I was doing with my life. The disconnect you feel when it’s just about putting one foot in front of the other, is meditative, cathartic perhaps. Maybe I was, in part, running away from problems, but I do believe that I’m a much better person when running is part of my regular routine.
During the summer of 2021, I was part of the media team for Ultra Trail Snowdonia – a superlative trail event, which has since been taken on by the UTMB group. I knew what ultra running was before this event but had never been exposed to it first-hand. On day two of the event, by which point the 100-mile runners had already spent over 25 hours out in the hills, I was fascinated. Pushing past the limits of physical endurance is such an interesting feat. Not only the physiological strain but the mental toughness required to keep moving forwards when every ounce of your being is telling you to stop, is staggering. I remember thinking to myself that I needed a piece of this. To test myself against myself. To find my limit and see what lay beyond. To ask hard questions and see what answers were revealed.
The next week I signed up for a trail marathon. My logic was to start at the marathon distance and build up, rather than dive in at the deep end, so to speak, only to find out I couldn’t swim. I trained hard. Reading and learning as much as I could about training and recovery, applying what I learnt to my own plan. When it came to race day, everything went perfectly. I felt strong throughout and came 2nd, missing out on the top step by just 17 seconds! Weirdly though I wasn’t content. I hadn’t found the limit over 26.2 miles. Maybe I could’ve pushed harder, dug myself into a deeper ditch, gone further into the pain cave. Who knows, but I was hungry for the unknown.
Later that year I filmed the Montane Winter Spine – a winter race along the Pennine Way from Edale to Kirk Yetholm. Almost 270 miles across challenging ground in terrible weather, this race isn’t for the faint hearted. The distance travelled is one thing but self-preservation and managing sleep deprivation is a completely different beast. Witnessing first-hand the suffering and determination of these runners over the space of a week compounded my desire to, essentially, hurt myself.
Sticking to the plan of working up the ladder, I entered a Lakeland 50km race with a couple of mates. It felt like a big deal – a proper ultra marathon. Even though it was only 8km further than a marathon, the step into unknown territory was what I had been looking for. Would I find my limit? Would 50km properly test me? Maybe I’d crack.
Race day arrived and we were up at the crack of dawn trying to shovel down oats after a bad night's sleep. The event – part of the annual Keswick Mountain Festival – was much larger than anything I’d previously entered. I was nervous. The start line was bustling with experienced-looking folk and I started to feel a little out of my depth. Maybe I shouldn’t have had those 3 pints the night before. “No, you’ve got this”, I told myself. And then, before I could get any further into my own head, we were off.
Having learned the hard way in numerous half marathons, I was determined to take it easy at the start so as not to blow up and be forced to crawl home. In fact, this tactic was almost forced on us as the first few kilometres were through dense woodland on narrow paths. However, as soon as the route opened up onto the fells, we could work our way through the crowds. Settling into a nice rhythm, the three of us climbed up to the top of the Honister slate mines and into the mist. The hours that followed are a blur in my mind – as far as I recall, nothing notable happened really, apart from the chorizo and cheese at checkpoint 1 and the buttery new potatoes at checkpoint 2. This is probably the sign of a good race, I’d imagine. The weather was pretty terrible so there were no views to enjoy. Instead, we battled through sideways rain, encouraging each other if one of us was feeling slightly low, chatting about this and that, enjoying a day out on the trails with pals.
It was only with 5km to go that I remember feeling discomfort. Cramp had been threatening for a little while and I’d been chomping down salt chews in an attempt to keep it at bay. The twinges in my hamstrings had reduced me to a shuffle and any attempt to extend my stride would be catastrophic, but I knew I was so close to the finish. I had to keep moving forwards.
We made it, crossing the line side by side. Almost 6 hours of running in sideways rain was over and we could finally stop moving – which was the one thing my brain had been asking me for the last half hour. It wasn’t 25 hours into a 100-mile race with no sleep, but I had been offered a glimpse into the psychological battles that are at play in this, quite frankly, ridiculous sport. And aside from the sense of accomplishment I felt from completing my goal, I also felt part of a community. For the most part, I hadn’t experienced any egos in ultra running. Everyone was so supportive of each other and words of encouragement were handed out amongst the pack.
It’s safe to say that this first foray had me hooked. I soon entered the Yorkshire Three Peaks 70km, which was the last race I ran – though I’ve got my sights set on further events. If you too are thinking of giving it a go, I’d wholeheartedly say go for it!
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