Ultra-Purgatory!

Ultras, Early Mornings, and the Unexpected Joy of Suffering

Let’s cut to the chase. Yes, I’ve been mysteriously vague about what I’m training for. That’s partly because I like suspense, and partly because the idea of wheeling ultramarathons for fun makes people blink like they have a bug in their eye!

I’m gearing up for two major events: one in the far-flung future (2027) and another this year that I’m thrilled about. It’s for an amazing charity, and though the event is compact in days, it’s colossal in difficulty. Think: “wheeling on flat terrain but it feels like a 20% incline” kind of colossal.

So what does my training look like? Oh, just casually wheeling ultramarathons three times a week. That's anything over 42.2 km (aka marathon distance), but I’m clocking 50 km or more daily for 10-day stretches. It’s like the Tour de France of arm pain, minus the bike and the cheese.

This is week five of what I now refer to as “Ultra-purgatory,” and let’s just say: my muscles are staging a protest. By kilometer 42, my arms are screaming, my shoulders are like “Why are we involved in this?” and my traps? They’re doing their best impression of granite.

And yet… today, something magical happened.

My body seemed to get it!

Don’t get me wrong my shoulders were still auditioning for the role of “Angriest Body Part,” but the rest of me? Somehow, bizarrely, was fine. No wall. Just quiet resilience. And that’s the beauty of endurance: one day, without warning, it gets less hard. Not easy. Just...less excruciating.

My wheels start at 3.30-4 AM, because apparently I’m part training for an ultra and part avoiding Exmouth traffic. Bonus: I get the loo-adjacent parking spot. (Don’t underestimate this victory.) The world is still asleep, the air is cool, and I get the kind of peace that only comes with knowing no one else is doing something quite so unhinged at that hour.

I like to keep my routes and times varied because routine is the enemy of joy, and also because I’m just trying to confuse my arms into thinking this is a normal lifestyle.

Next up this weekend? Another ultra and a brutal track session: 8 x 1600m sprints with “easy” laps in between (spoiler alert: nothing about it is easy). All told, it adds up to around a half marathon, but the kind where your lungs file a complaint with HR.

So that’s where I’m at, deep in the grind, quietly breaking barriers, and learning that sometimes progress shows up not with fanfare, but with the glorious absence of pain.

A few more months until my next big challenge, and I can’t wait to take you along for the ride. Watch this space.