My 5k run felt tougher than usual. It came as no surprise, though, because exactly a week ago, I was halfway through a gruelling 12-hour challenge that saw me log my longest run ever. I ran 70km in 12 hours.
Welcome to Farmageddon: The Race Format
This wasn’t the typical race, measured by distance. Zig Zag running, the same company behind my first marathon, organised the event. This one was less about speed and more about grit. It was a test of human limits, or what the organisers deemed, Farmageddon.
It took place on a 5.2 km loop winding through Hertfordshire farmland. The undulating terrain consisted of gravel, grass and mud. The weather report promised rain, but it remained warm while humidity soaked the air. We set off on a downhill loop with a few inclines, leading into another downhill section. Unfortunately, it ended with a 750m climb back up to base camp.
The aim wasn’t to run as fast as we could, but to run as much as we wanted in our chosen time slot. There were 6-hour options, a 24-hour option, and the main event, a 100-mile challenge. Will & I signed up for the 12-hour challenge. I can safely say the 100-mile option, consisting of 32 repetitive laps, was a feat achieved by ultra runners I can only aspire to imitate.
A Half Marathon Into my Longest Run Ever
Will and I ran the first two laps together. Our strategy seemed simple. We’d run a slow, relaxed 8:40/km pace, keep our heart rate beneath 140 bpm, and walk the hills. If our heart rates increased, we’d walk. If we reached the mere suggestion of an incline, however short or steep, we’d walk. A plan devised by the lessons we’d learned in Devon and my first ultramarathon attempt.
The first two laps with Will flew by. It wasn’t just a relaxed run with my best mate; it was at a quicker pace than we’d planned, but we kept our heart rates under 140 beats per minute. I felt fitter than I had in Devon and felt confident in completing what would be my first ultra-marathon.
After lap two, Will stopped for the loo. I planned to wait by walking, but I felt strong—strong enough to keep running. I thought he’d catch me up, but he didn’t. Probably because I broke both rules we’d set and ran faster, ignoring my heart rate rising above 140 bpm. Without Will, I listened to an album I hadn’t listened to in a while. One song hyped me up and pushed me up a hillier section of my second lonely lap.
As I reached the top of the big hill, Will was around 500m behind me. We could have run the next lap together, but I’d already planned to walk the next lap. A well-earned rest since I’d run a half-marathon distance, in under three hours.
Backyard Ultras & Double Marathons
As I crossed the finish line, I headed towards the coffee station. I felt relaxed and patient for the next lap. Will, on the other hand, was itching to run with a stubborn refusal to stop.
I’d planned to treat this race like a backyard ultra. If I ran a lap every hour for 12 hours, it would equate to more than 60 kilometres. My logic dictated that with a fast-paced walk, I could complete a lap in under an hour. So, if I were to run slower or fatigue early, I could walk 60km in 12 hours. This strategy allowed time for breaks after every lap, making it the perfect distance to aim for.
A backyard ultra is a race in which everyone runs a loop, every hour on the hour. If you finish a lap in under an hour, then the longer the rest bite until you run again. There’s no set time, and the race continues until only one runner remains, the winner. Everyone else receives a DNF.
Will, the man who has always wanted to run a backyard ultra, had other plans, which included running a double marathon, or 84.4 km. This equated to 16 laps. It might not seem like a lot more than my 12, but 4 laps more would mean another half marathon.
Will sold another strategy to me, one that meant ticking off more miles early on while fresh, so reaching the target seemed easier as fatigue set in. Plus, stopping meant allowing the body to shut down, making it harder to resume running.
So, I kept running. Minimal breaks, but a walking lap or two still played into my logic because running a double marathon, an entirely made-up thing on Will’s part, held no interest for me. Besides, he’d run 50km twice before now. He was an amateur compared to the 100 milers, but he was an experienced ultramarathoner compared to me. 60km was a distance beyond me, or so I thought.
A Break for Lunch
I began my fifth lap with a coffee in hand. Will set off in the distance, still running. This time around, I had company, as Storm, Will’s wife, and their dog, Basil, joined me. It wasn’t a fast-paced power walk but a gentle stroll like I was a quarter of the way through a race.
After the lap, I committed to a chicken & bacon sandwich and headed straight back out. While the sandwich might not have been the healthiest, it gave me a boost. However, as Will finished his next lap, putting him two laps ahead of me, we set off together again.
The M&S sandwich sat on my chest, which slowed me down, causing my will and I to separate again. My legs also felt heavy after a brief lunch break. In hindsight, the sandwich might have served me better before I set off on my leisurely walk.
The Struggles of a Loop
The following laps all blurred into one, making it difficult to separate them from each other. The loop felt repetitive. The same trees, fences, and faces circled endlessly. Blisters had started to burn through my socks, and the chafing—inner thighs, even under my arms—turned every step into a quiet act of defiance.
But there were milestones worth celebrating. Hitting the marathon distance gave me a flicker of joy. Still, the real moment of surreal celebration came after 9 hours, when I finally surpassed the 50k mark. A long time, maybe, but with every blistered step, it felt like I was banishing demons I’d befriended back in Devon.
Growing in Confidence and Fatigue
Once I passed 50km, my focus shifted towards 60 km. With 3 hours to go, it still seemed achievable, knowing I could manage 15km while walking. However, I ran and walked my way around, taking in the same old trees and fence posts. Even the faces overtaking me began to feel like old friends. By the end of my 11th lap, I was a few hundred metres short of 60km. That meant I needed to complete one more repetitive lap to reach my minimum target.
Fortunately, the organisers had ordered pizza for all the runners. Two slices of cold pepperoni pizza lifted my spirits, but it did little else. My body had very little left in the way of energy. I held no envy and nothing but respect for anyone who would run longer than 12 hours. And yet, it was one more lap to hit my goal. Better yet, confidence built on the pizza convinced me I could hit another all-time best.
My longest recorded activity ever was a 75km bike ride. The final lap started with voice notes to Will, filling him in on my journey as he did his. We went back and forth. I was gaining on 60km with a newfound goal of 75km. Him, on how close he was to reaching that double marathon. And yet, as that lap went on, it became clear that we both might fall short of those targets.
The Last Lap of My Longest Run
We weren’t running out of time. If we could still run, we’d have made it, but our pace had slowed considerably. In the back-and-forth voice notes, you could hear the fatigue in our voices. The resentment etched in tone for the repetitive mundanities of the lap.
I was giving up, closing in on 65km. It was one hell of a distance. Will was going to set out for one last lap, a walk, settling for 80km, or a round 50 miles. Huge numbers and outstanding achievement for both of us. It was with that in mind that I decided to join him and walk one more lap, a victory lap, bringing me up to 70km.
I wanted to walk the last lap in reverse. It would have added variety to the loop and felt like a different route altogether. However, Will had already asked the organisers, who said it would result in disqualification because the route had been designed with that final hill in mind to add to the challenge. So, it was one last lap, and then never again.
In the Aftermath of My Longest Run
Ironically, when we finished our final lap, my watch had 100 metres short of 70km, so I needed to walk a little further. The official lap counter recorded 13 laps of 5.25, resulting in an official distance of 68.51 km. Not only that, but I also set a course record for the number of laps, as this was the first instalment of the event and I was the only person who ran 13 individual laps.
As I sat down, my legs gave out. Blisters burned my soles, and I chafed all over. There was hunger in my stomach, but no desire to eat. I craved sleep, but adrenaline soared through me. Even though we’d walked that final lap, the moment we sat down, it proved impossible to stand again.
If Devon had turned me against ultramarathons, this event brought me back to them. At times, I feel a pang of shame for having walked so much, but then reality dawns on me. Maybe I did run 70km the whole way around. But walking that far is a long distance. No one would shame me, because even walking it would prove challenging for many people. But not for me. As hard as it was, I was ready to go again—a new me, reborn as an ultramarathon runner.
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