how deep does your 'why' run?

027. Brisbane Trail Ultra 100 Miler.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” - Theodore Roosevelt

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I had full intention of writing a Substack about the preparation and lead-up to my first 100-mile race. I was going to launch it at midnight last Friday, the moment the gun went off for us to launch into a big unknown adventure by foot. The topic of that piece was going to touch on whether it was worth it - worth missing events to be out there running, worth the commitment of navigating life in a new location while starting up my own business, worth the early alarms on weekends for a 60-plus-minute commute followed by 4-6 hours of solo running 95% of the time. While I left my loved one back home in bed, knowing our time together before G departed was limited. So, my priority was maximising our time together. Was this 60-minute commute and 5-6 hour run worth it? Couldn't I just run around home for a few hours instead? I guess the 'why' runs deeper because I never missed a run or workout that my coach scheduled for me. I still question my interest on why I want to do these long adventure runs. Why am I drawn to events like this? Is it my ego? Is it the need to see what I'm made of? Is it because the unknown excites me more than anything else? Is it to prove something to myself? I guess that's what makes me. My drive and high self-worth, never missing a run no matter what the day laid ahead.

I think it's a mix of all the above, but the biggest 'why' that comes to mind is to make myself proud and play with that messy edge. To sit back at the end, earn that hot shower, and earn that feeling of 'fuck yeah, you did it.'

The messy edge to me is a fine line in life that pushes beyond comfort, smashing through it. Beyond that line, in my opinion, is growth. I see growth like levelling up in a video game or reaching a new high-water mark, like on them country road signs. You are the sign, and each time you play with that messy edge, you level up. And in this miler, I levelled the fuck up. I dug deeper than ever before,
and for that reason, I had the best day of my life out there!

Showing up for myself so I can make sure I can put my best foot forward for others that need it.

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The Race

Before the BTU Miler, the furthest I had run was 85kms with 1600m of climbing in 10 hours. Doubling the distance and adding 8000m of climbing, I knew going to be a big ask from my body.

I came into this race healthy, strong, happy, and injury-free. Job one: done. Job two: manage calorie intake and start eating earlier rather than later, not waiting until I was hungry. I couldn't fault my nutrition over the 27 hours. It showed me that all the training with avocado and Vegemite sandwiches had paid off because I consumed around 9-10 of them over the 27 hours with almost no stomach issues. I ate everything my crew had put in my vest: 4 gels, a few lollies, over 2L plus of fluids (a mix of Tailwind and water), plus a few Red Bulls and ginger beers to carry me through the back end.

I was lucky enough to meet Matt Grils around the 15km mark and found out later that he had over 50 100-milers under his belt, along with other large and silly runs/races. After meeting Matt and running a few hours together, my goal soon became to stick with him from aid station to aid station. When Matt ran, I ran; when he hiked, I hiked. We supported each other through the night, both hanging on for sunrise to give us a second wind before pushing through the day.

Reflecting back, a question I've been asked most this past week is, "When was your lowest point?" For me, it came around the 22km mark. I was alone for a while before finding Matt again, after I had to stop for the toilet and then fill my flasks up, but his head torch was never to far, I was pushing harder than usual because I knew running alone for 165kms is always better with friends, so eventually, I caught up to Matt and stuck with him, getting some life back in my legs. During that 22km mark, I had my first run of tears. It was dark, and no one was around—just me and my thoughts. I can't pinpoint exactly what caused it: a mix of emotions—knowing I was saying goodbye to G in a couple of days, the realisation that I had worked so hard for this event and here I was doing the thing, and probably because some self-doubt started to roll in.

The course was relentless. With over 8000m of elevation, the hills felt endless. You'd think the downhills would be a relief, but some were so steep and technical that I questioned what I enjoyed about this sport. As we climbed up and down together, Matt's word of the day was "patience." Hearing someone with that much experience under his belt say that gave me relief and excited for what lay ahead. Because at the end of the day, there's no quick way to run 164kms, especially with this much climbing in the mix.

Arriving at the halfway aid station, I knew it was time to say thank you and goodbye to Matt. Climbing into Dundas Camp, Matt was moving well on the up hill, and I knew that this was just the beginning of the climbs. A quick hug, and I watched Matt and his pacer head off to take on the rest of the race. I wasn't too upset because one of my good friends, Zara, jumped in to pace me. She was fired up and ready to go, as was I after my first caffeinated drink of the day. But as they say, what goes up must come down. We rode the waves of highs and lows together; Zara read the room well. Despite reaching the 100km mark feeling exhausted, I still aimed to hike the hills as strongly as possible. She never once stopped to look back. "Run the flats, hike the hills, run the downs" I told her at the start—and that's exactly what she did. I reflect back on them hours we spent charging on as Zara remained silent, even when I’d swear under my breath looking up at another stupid hill. When I would have a hit of energy (caffeine) she bounced off me and talked and would share stories, but also knew when silence was needed.

36kms later, with heavy, tired legs and body, we reached the next aid station, welcoming the second night in darkness. Head torches on, Zara commanded. I knew the aid stations had to be a quick turnaround. That deck chair was to damn good so I knew we had to keep on moving. Zara was subbed out by my best mate, Jack, from Adelaide.
"Carry me home, Jack—let's do this."

I told him the same as I had told Zara: we hike the hills and run the flats and downs. It was special to be out there with someone who, like me, had turned their life around. Jack and I were both tradies and worked together, getting caught up in the typical tradie lifestyle of drinking beer until we had no money or brain cells left. I remember saying to Jack, "From pissheads to ultra runners, hey?" It was a pretty cool moment to reflect on with him in the dark. There were many quiet moments in those last 40kms as my legs screamed at me. The joke of getting off the trails and onto flat roads ended quickly once we realised that even Brisbane's streets were fucking hilly. As we ran the final 10kms through Brisbane towards the bright city lights, both in awe of the moment thinking to ourselves how did we end up here at 2:30am on a Sunday. The best we could manage for those last 10km was a 30-second walk followed by a 30-second run.

Crossing the finish line in 27 hours and 14 minutes, in 12th place.

This wouldn't have been possible without my coach, DJ from First 42K, who made me physically and mentally strong, and my wonderful crew. Mads, your energy was always welcomed, and you knew exactly when to use it. Zara, you're a bloody legend. Thanks for the chats and hours out on course together. Jack, this is just the beginning for you, brother. Thanks for flying up, it means the world. G, I love you. Thank you for the leg massages, the ongoing support, and your understanding on those days when I was gone for 6-8 plus hours on weekends when we only had 2 days together.

Lots of love,

Jono