DIY Adventure

The starting line was full of greyhound-thin, whippet-like runners, eagerly sniffing the wind and ready to go out hard. There was also one man-mountain, 195cm high, broad-chested and pure muscle, like a bull elephant. You could almost hear him roar. I was somewhere in between, a mid-size, old rugby prop with a more bulldog like build. Slow but tenacious.

My friend Chris Ngaka, a 2023 podium finisher, came by and gave me a quick hug before going up to the fast runners at the front. I nestled myself at the back and spoke to a few of the other runners. I noticed a dude called William; he had the same last name Barrett as a South African friend. I’d see more of him during the race.

I consciously named as excitement the wildly fluttering butterflies in my stomach and the adrenaline pumping in my veins so hard that I could hear my heartbeat. It was a sign that my body was getting ready for a great adventure. Me – I wasn’t nervous at all, I told myself. My mind was calm and flowing like a river just about to reach the ocean. Ready to go seven rounds with the mountains, valleys and beaches of Cape Town.

The gale-force winds meant that the starting area was closed off to spectators. Nonetheless, there was still a great atmosphere, the music built up, and suddenly it was time. Together, we yelled the count-down from 10 to zero and then rumbled across the starting line, whooping and hollering. We were off, 157 of us, each attempting in less than 45 hours to run 160 kms with more than 8,000 meters of vertical, equal to finishing four marathons and climbing Mount Everest. Far from all us were going to make it.

Round 1: The Warm-Up – Start to Kloof Nek, 16.1 km, 672m of ascent, goal time 2H 51m (actual 2H 45m). Goal: Keep pulse under 130.

Not sure exactly when I first heard about Ultra Trail Cape Town but I reckon it must have been about 18 months before the race. I had just completed Hammer Trail, run on the Danish island of Bornholm and my first 50K trail race. Hammer Trail had pushed me to the end of my limits. Doing 160Ks with 8,000 meters of vert as UTCT promised seemed completely unfathomable, mad, bad, and dangerous for a flatlander like me; my highest training hill at home was 85 meters above sea level. 

But UTCTs siren song kept dripping honey in my ear. It lured me in with its promise of running in the amazing nature around Cape Town, a town I had come to deeply love during my nine years in Zambia. And when I went for a run with Jake Catterell, a friend and one of the hardest runners in the world, in late November 2024, he told me I HAD to sign up. He even put a reminder in my calendar for when sign-ups opened. And once that day arrived, in late February 2025, he daily hassled me through my fear-based procrastination. I finally signed up 14 days after registrations opened. What had I done?

Completing my first 100K in early May, I felt a bit better about my chances and let myself start to think that I might actually toe the UTCT starting line. As I started learning more about the race, it didn’t boost my confidence. Ultra Trail Cape Town, having been run since 2014, is known as one of the most beautiful but also hardest trail races in the world. Until 2021, the longest race at UTCT was 100Ks but in 2022 the organizers added a Miler, a 100 mile, 8300m ascent romp over the fabled mountains of Cape Town – Lions Head, Table Mountain and its 12 Apostles, Suther Hill, Chapmans Peak and, the sting in the tail, Blockhouse. In addition to some very steep climbs, often performed using your hands to pull you up, it also gets really warm during the days, reaching up to 28 degrees Celsius, and the underfoot is super treacherous full of sharp, rolling rocks that makes running quite difficult and often ankle-turning.

What I heard from Jake and read from others was “highly technical”, “sure to turn your ankle”, “among the hardest ultras in the world”, “really scary parts” and other similarly encouraging sound bites. Well, as Mandela said, “It always seems impossible until it’s done.” I started training in earnest four months out.

The first section, from the start to Kloof Nek, is easily the most runnable of the race. This is also, according to the locals, the reason why many people go out way too hard and overcook, never to get back on track. So I took it easy, hanging with the tailenders, chatting first with Peter from Austria, back for a second crack at UTCT, and then natted a bit with a nice South African fella. Eventually, I was too slow for both for them but I was content to follow my own plan: Go out slow… and then slow down. It was only about completing. Walk the uphills, and shuffle flats and downs. Freddie and Georgie were there cheering for me at Lion’s Head, which made me so happy, but they passed by in a blur.

William in his trademark Bermuda shorts and me behind at 5K in, before we officially started running together, with Lion’s Head in the background. My safari cap was probably a bit overkill. Protected neck and shoulders well from the sun but flapped too much in the strong winds which was annoying. I often had to tuck the flaps into the cap where they had no function. I should have asked the locals for equipment recommendations.

At the first aid station, my nutrition plan got a punch in the mouth. A few days before race start I realized that there wasn’t room in my running vest for all the nutrition I would need to carry to Simon’s Town, the first 90Ks, along with all the required gear. Not to mention that with poles, hydration, clothing, two headlamps, first aid kit and poles, my running vest weighed 5 kgs. So, the day before the race, I changed my plan to rely more on the energy drink they were serving at the aid stations which was full of electrolytes, 55 g of carbs per bottle along with 8g of protein. It sounded great and even tasted good. Well, it tasted good at that time when I had had only a small sip.

Problem was once I had a bottleful and was running, it tasted of condensed robot piss. There was no way I could drink it straight, it was simply too strong. With shame, I thought back to the old trail running adage: Never try something new on race day. So major calibration of the nutrition plan. I would now dilute the energy drink with 2/3 water and make up the remaining calories with the food at the aid stations – cheese sandwiches, jellies, bananas and potato chips and alongside my already-planned Maurten drink mix and gels. As the runners behind me could attest, the gels created a lot of gas which made itself known loudly and with a tad of smell. And I had no choices but to contravene another trail running adage: Never trust the fart.

Moving along, I got chatting with Laura. I had noticed her shortly after the start, as her gait was a weird hobble, like she had had a broken hip. I also have a bit of hobble myself, a result of broken Achilles tendon 20 years ago. Laura was from Boulder, Colorado, the trail running Mekka of the world. I asked her about her favourite race, which she mentioned was Tour de Geant, a race she had completed a couple of times. Now the TDG is a serious big-boy / big girl race of 330K and 24,000 meters of ascent. So I asked her whether her hip was a more permanent condition. Nah, she said, she had probably overdone it a bit this year as she in August had run the Swiss Peaks 380 followed by setting the female world record for most vert in a month in October at 412,000 feet. I felt like I was running with Trail Running Royalty, what an amazing feat. Yep, she soon left me behind too, weird hobble and all.

I came upon a guy violently puking and stopped and asked whether he was ok. He waved me on and soon rejoined. Yes, even the puker passed me. And then it was the end of easy miles as we arrived at the Kloof Nek aid station.

Round 2: Survival – Kloof Nek to Silvermine, 48.2km, 2,761m of ascent. Goal time: 12H 24 min (actual 13H 08m). Goal: Survive!

At Kloof Nek, the race screamed into action. At the aid station, I filled my bottles, ate a banana and made my way up the mountain. Night kicked in and I got my headlamps out. After a suggestion from Tue Mantoni who has just podiumed at UTMB in his age group, I had quit coffee two weeks ahead of the race. Now I started mainlining caffeine gels, enough to keep a Rhino awake for a fortnight, to ensure I would make it through this, my first time running from dusk to dawn.

Going up the steep and stepped Kloof Nek Climb, there were huge crowds of people cheering, ringing cowbells and hooting encouragingly. I cheered right back at them, such amazing people. I passed several runners on this bit, feeling strong without pushing into zone 3, and feeding of the wonderful, warm energy of the crowd, so grateful for their support. Faster than I remembered from my practice run I got to the top of this first climb.

Then it was a 2km traverse across to the Platteklip Gorge where the real fun was to begin. I let my mind drift ahead, steeling myself for what was to come. The Platteklip Gorge Climb, the mother of all climbs on UTCT. There is no official count of the steps on Platteklip but the 655 meters of vertical probably translates into something like 3,000 rock-hewn steps. Within seconds of letting my mind drift, I fell with a smack, having stumbled over a jagged rock, my right knee and left shoulder hitting rocks while my body landed with a very old-man sounding “uuurrrgh,”  

I quickly scanned myself, noting that I was while there was some scraped off skin and blood, no bones were broken or muscles contused. I got back up and ran on. I reinforced to myself that I couldn’t losing focus for one second on this course as the underfoot conditions were always hazardous. At any time, a rock or root was ready to put up a hand and pull my ankle – or so it seemed.

Mentally, I felt ready for the Platteklip climb, having gotten my mind in the right place over the last week. There was no fear. I had done hours of meditation and pain cave training. I had also taken bicarb before the race which should help keep the burn manageable on this long, long climb. Physically, I had maybe done enough training but was probably undercooked for all the vertical. Being only 18 months into my ultra “career”, I could have used another year of building hardness. But that wasn’t going to help me today.

There were lots of headlamps already snaking their way up the mountain. About 1/3 up, I saw a guy sitting on the side. It was William, the guy I noticed at the start and whom I had seen on and off. I asked him whether he was ok. Clearly South African, he said, “yah, mate, just taking a break, I don’t want to burn all my matches so I’ve learned to split this mother up in bits.” “Well, that sounds like a good plan, see you at the top” I said and walked on. Probably should have followed his plan.

Anyhoo, I soon heard the famed bag piper playing, which was eery and beautiful and pulled me upwards. Ten minutes later I came upon the kilt-cladded blower. We chatted briefly and I thanked him for his wonderful tunes, although he demurred from playing DMZ’s Rough Riders. We laughed and I moved on, taking occasionally breathers, leaning on my poles, to get my pulse down below 130.

After finally cresting, I thought of another Mandela quote: “After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are a great many more hills to climb.” Apt here, as I had hardly even scratched the surface of the race. I was less than 25Ks and 1,700m of vert in and, despite the bicarb, could definitely feel the burn. Being from a family of Christmas tree growers, I joked with the time keepers on top about their sorry-ass-looking plastic Christmas tree and William caught up to me.

We moved on together. It was very windy and I wasn’t too keen on the Macclears bit coming up on the mountain, It had a short part which came within a metre of a hundred meter long vertical drop. My plan was to crawl along it on hands and knees if the high winds persisted. Suddenly, the marked route deviated from the one on our watches. What to do? William and I ran back and forth along the trail for five minutes, like headless chickens to see if we had missed the turn. Others caught up to us.

Eventually, a group of five of us agreed that the route had probably been changed to a safer, in-land one, away from the vertical drop, due to the high winds. We ran the route marked with the flags while our watches beeped angrily every minute. Otherwise, the route marking was outstanding and only a few times on Chappies were we in doubt.

The others pulled away from me. I enjoyed running through the quiet night and eventually the digital and marked route converged. More people overtook me, my strategy of going slow clearly working. After an hour, I came upon a girl who seemed to be struggling a bit. Chloe had some nausea, so I decided to run with her until she got to the other side of that. We were well matched in speed and ran and spoke for the next couple of Ks, enjoying the trail company. We pulled into the Table Mountain Aid Station by which time Chloe had marginally improved after accepting one of my salt pills. William was also at the aid station. Chloe ate a bit and we refilled our bottles. As we pulled out, William asked if he could join us. We happily accepted.

Like in a trance, we ran through the foggy night, power-hiking the most difficult parts with William leading. After another hour, we came to the scariest part of the race: Llandudno Ravine. It lead from the high mountain straight down onto the beach, a quick 700 meter vertical descent along a narrow path with a sheer drop along most of it. After running it the first time in training a month before the race, I woke up in the night in a full sweat, petrified and vowing never to run Llandudno Ravine again. That meant that I would have to drop out of UTCT.

The next day I considered my options and decided that, perhaps, with some training on it, I might be able to still race. When I spoke of my terror to Freddie Gerner, a famed local runner, he very kindly proposed that he’d take me up and down Llandudno Ravine a few times to show me the ropes. On the Wednesday before the race I met Freddie, his wife Georgie, Armand and a few of their Dutch friends and hiked up Llandudno Ravine. Freddie calmly showed me the best way to get down and I left with a good feeling I my tummy. I had this.

I had flown down for a week of training on the course a month out from the race start. It was also for me to see if I had bit off too big of a bite. During the training week I marvelled at how well I was received by the outstanding Cape Town trail running community. Not only Chris and Freddie, but also Andrea who had gone above and beyond and hooked me up in so many ways. And even a Dane, Mads Louring, who had made some great results in the UTCT 100K a few years earlier, who gave me many great tips over coffee back in Copenhagen.

On this first night of the race, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t love Llandudno Ravine. Neither Chloe nor William were comfortable at all with it. So we agreed that I should guide us safely down, the one-eyed being king in the land of the blind. Taking leadership felt great. It helped take my mind of the race and my place in it, making cut-offs and whether I would complete. Nursing the others through their problems, helping problem solve theirs alongside my own, completely filled whatever mental capacity I had with no space for the ego. I felt laser-focused. Or maybe I was just really high on caffeine.

We pulled into Llandudno Aid Station at the beach club in good time and good cheer after a problem-free descent. Chloe met her husband there. We were a big group going forward fifteen minutes later, including William. Initially. we ran along the beach, including the infamous nude beach, sadly deserted at 1 am. Taking the climb up to Rocket Road, the group splintered and William and I pulled ahead. We all soon met up again at the aid station.

William and I were the last to pull out of the aid station, chatting and joking. The caffeine was still supercharging me but it felt good to have someone to buddy up with on the steep, long climb up Suther Hill, known among runners as Suffer Hill. Lots of hands and legs scrambling and William and I took it slow, helping each other and getting into a good teamwork. William turned out to be thoroughly nice guy with a dry sense of humour, gregarious, social and a strong runner with the same plan as me: completing. It felt like we had a connection that was beyond just being survivors in the same life boat.

Working our way down off Suffer Hill

We cruised down from the top through a beautiful sunset along nice sandy jeep and single tracks into Hout Bay. William, a Cape Town native, suggested that we run the next parts together, when, upon asking, I told him I had no support until Kommetjie, 110K in. William’s mate Gavin would join him as a pacer at Hout Bay, so we could all hang. Sounded pretty great to me, so I happily and gratefully accepted.

First Sunrise coming into Hout Bay in the background

As we pulled into Hout Bay, William was hankering for his aid station “nutrition special” of a beer, a Red Bull and a vape, all of which he quickly demolished. A large congregation of his friends met him, clearly a guy beloved by his mates. This was also the first time I saw Jess, William’s friend, who would loyally be at every aid station after this. It took William some time to extradite himself and get moving. I checked my feet, legs felt strong and overall I felt pretty good now at 6 am. I had conquered my first night.

Gavin led us on, like a mamma duck, with William and I in his wake. We had lucked out with Gavin. Not only was he a super nice, gregarious dude, he was also a highly experienced ultra runner and had himself completed the UTCT Miler in 2023. His plan was to pace us as long as he felt good, maybe even as far as Noordhoek. That 70km pace sounded crazy to me but I was certainly not about to look a gift horse/duck in the mouth. In the cooler part of the morning still and in the shade of the mountain, we made our way up Blackburn Ravine. It was another 600 meter climb, although less steep than the previous ones, and we pulled into the Silvermine aid station around 9 am. The hardest physical part of the race was now done and we were on good time.

Climbing up Blackburn Ravine with William and Gavin, enjoying the views

Round 3: The Sweat Lodge – Silvermine to Simon’s Town, 26.3 km, 796m of ascent. Goal time: 5H 49m (actual 6H 10m). Goal: Enjoy, arrive with plenty in tank.

I started to feel really crappy as we left Silvermine, running towards Kalk Bay and its large aid station. My inner clock was telling me I should sleep and the heat was starting to really come on, pushing up towards 25 degrees already at 10 am. I had shortness of breath, which as a recovering asthmatic worried me, along with a soreness that went from the left knee to the right knee and back. And I felt really warm. Overall, not good at all. My new shoes were making a weird sound as the tread was coming off, being torn to pieces by the rough underfoot. I tried to drink as much as I could and take two salt pills an hour. Channelling my inner Courtney, I acknowledged what my body was saying while telling myself: “I’ll be fine… I’ll be fine…” And eventually I was.

Coming down into Kalk Bay with the wind bending the grass horizontal

Pulling into Kalk Bay, 70Ks in, was a relief and a nice opportunity to get out of the sun, sit in the shade and cool down with ice. I filled up my ice bandana and also a “made-for-it” room in my running vest, that kept my back cool. Aah, that made the heat so much more manageable. Gavin mentioned that he sent messages home which made me think it was a good idea to do the same. I sent my wife a voice message before turning the phone off again. I later learned how closely my family and friends had followed my run and wished I had communicated more with them.

Next to me, Chloe was getting her feet washed and fixed by her husband. She had a large blister on her right foot. I had a difficult – or maybe not so difficult – choice to make. I always run with a blister plasters pack. On the morning of the race, I realized that I hadn’t checked when leaving home in Denmark whether it was full. It wasn’t and rather than seven blister plasters I only had two. If I gave Chloe one of mine, I would only have one left. This could mean that later in the race I might have to drop out if my feet turned into a problem. But it was an easy choice. I gave Chloe one.

My overall process goal for the race was to spread love to the other runners, the aid station crews, and the spectators, which was why it was an easy choice. I would rather give Chloe my second last plaster and not complete, than complete and not having given her one. It would cost me time later but not a decision I regret the least little bit.

William’s support team was back out in Kalk Bay, including Jess, but also with new people. Once William had polished off his beer and Red Bull, we made our way down to the beautiful Fish Hoek beach. William was constantly on his phone, sending voice messages or talking. Gavin and I joked with him that we would limit his screen time which made William quite grumpy, just as any teenager. We definitely had a three musketeers vibe going and really enjoyed each other’s company.

The three musketeers on the Fish Hoek Beach

My shoes, a pair of Hoka Mafate X, were too low cut, so they took in lots of sand and dirt, requiring frequent emptying. During the run along Fish Hoek beach, plenty of fine sand had lodged in my shoes and made its way into my socks. The night before the race, I had been remiss in not removing some hard skin on my left feel. The pounding of tens of thousands of steps on rocky ground had by now cracked the hard skin on my heel into multiple deep fissures through the skin and into the flesh. The fine sand from the beach burrowed its way into these fissures, grinding away at the tender bits underneath. Every step was painful. Not much I could do until I got to Simons Town, 20Ks away, where I could bathe my feet and change socks and shoes. I acknowledged the pain and moved on.

The more immediate issue was dealing with the heat. Historically, heat had been my kryptonite. During the middle part of the day the temperature now hit 28 degrees as we ran through the sandy, desert-like hills known as Blackhill and Redhill. I had been deeply worried about how I would deal with the heat as it was minus 2 degrees the day I left Denmark, so clearly high heat was not something I was acclimatized to. I had done regular sauna sessions to build up some ability to handle heat but how it would play out on the day I wasn’t confident about at all. Thankfully, the ice bandana and ice in backpack worked really well and later I would also add ice to my bottles. We drank plenty and took lots of salt pills.

Getting roasted on Blackhill but spirits are still high. I’m trying to do Vs hands but only managing on one hand. Sad.

The section was certainly less runnable than I had imagined. The aid station at Blackhill was really hot and Laura was sat there with a bad case of nausea; she would eventually drop out at Kommetjie after a hard-core 110K on her bum hip. Gavin, William and I left quickly and put our heads down. In the energy-sapping heat, we arrived at Simon’s Town at 3pm where drop bags awaited William and I.

I spent 30 minutes fixing my feet, taking a footbath and applying my last blister plaster to my left heel, securing it with some Leuko-tape. It would have to do. I prayed I wouldn’t need more blister plasters. I changed t-shirt, socks, shorts, and shoes (to Hoka Tecton X 3s) and refilled my nutrition, put Vaseline everywhere, ate and drank. We rolled out just before 4 pm. It was a long pit stop but much needed. I was ready for what should be an easier section even if the heat was still high. I might still achieve my race goal of being in a sprint-finish for last place.

Round 4: Calm before the Storm – Simon’s Town to Noordhoek, 25.4kms, 453 m of ascent. Goal Time: 4H 9m (actual 6H 10 min). Goal: Run smart, arrive with matches left

We moved out of Simon’s Town in fine fettle. After a curse-worthy slog up 600 stone steps straight out of town, it was an easy run through sandy tracks and some tarmac to Scarborough. A young guy and his pacer flew by us. Gavin, William and I said unkind things about them amongst ourselves in our jealousy. It was still hot but my ice bandana and the ice in my backpack cooled me, bleeding cold water down my back and into my new shorts. We soon pulled into Scarborough and its great aid station. Really fun people who got us energized and laughing uproarishly, arguably my favourite aid station among many great ones. The aid station director jokingly threatened me that if I DNF’ed he would find me and meter out punishment. In hard times later in the race, it would actually get me going as I didn’t want to let him down.

As we moved on, the first bit was on tar and we all three ran really well, surprising us 100Ks into the race. The fun soon ended as the course meandered onto rocky, difficult tracks along the beach. Gavin was getting tired by now, his otherwise easy running form getting ragged, which was fair enough as he hadn’t really trained for anything like the 60ks he by now had put in. William was still looking strong and in a great mood. Around this time, William and I agreed we would definitely run the rest together and stagger across the finish line hand-in-hand. We could only hope.

Between Scarborough and Kommetjie

Getting to Kommetjie where my mate Doc Dave was joining me as a pacer was my key distance goal and I was delighted to see it ahead of us. We tried to run the last bit to the aid station but Gavin was having stomach troubles, which almost resulted in some very unglamorous sharting. We slowed down and shuffled our way in.

Nearing the aid station, I was even more delighted to hear Doc Dave’s wonderful family, wife Carla and daughters Lea, Kate and Racheal, cheering us in, cowbells and all. I was just immensely grateful. It felt like a much-needed, loving hug after 27 hours of racing. Gavin dove for the portapotty while I chatted with Dave and his family.

I think Doc Dave was a bit disappointed in our slow pace as we continued. Nonetheless, we chatted like hornbills through the beautiful evening where the wind made the sand dance. We switched between jogging and walking as we made our way along the wide, white sandy Noordhoek beach for 7Ks. There wasn’t much of a sunset and the headlamps were soon enough out and on. Gavin was now stuffed after a heroic effort. We profusely thanked him for his extraordinary workday. William and I were getting weary too. At the Noordhoek aid station, we would try to get a 20 minute sleep.

Once there, I laid down. But my mind was just racing, so narrowly focused as I have ever experienced. All I could do was to do a short body scan meditation. I got up ahead of the alarm and started to fix my feet where another blister had formed on the instep of my right foot. I asked the nurse for a blister plaster, which they don’t seem to have in South Africa. Instead, two nurses spent 25 minutes bandaging my foot. It seemed overkill at the time but maybe saved me later. William had been cooling his heels, while the nurses operated, for which I felt bad. We hurried and made our way out of there after a probably too-long pitstop.

Round 5: The Gates of Hell – Noordhoek to Constantia, 19.6 km, 1,187m of ascent. Goal time: 5H 58m (actual 8H 10m). Goal: Survive and arrive with a match remaining

Beforehand, I had crunched race timings from previous UTCT Milers and noted that this next bit was probably the crux of the race. It was late in the race at 120K in, the furthest between aid stations, a ton of ascent, and probably to be done in the dark. Yep, this was the hump to get over to finish. Chris also agreed that this was the key bit to cross. While we had done 75% of the physical work, the real mental work would start here.

I had run this bit in training a month before and it was a gnarly, old challenge. First, 560m of ascent up Chapmans Peak, known locally as Chappies, an unrelenting, steep scramble and always windy. This was followed by bumpy, steepish descent that turned into a never-ending 17K traverse with plenty of ups and downs on unstable footing; difficult to run even in daylight.

William and I getting exhausted but this was where the real race started. Everything that had come before had really just been a warm-up. My friend Amedeo now joined us, straight from a wine-fuelled dinner, as a surprise pacer along with his Irish terrier Puka. I suspect Andrea, his wife, had ordered him out as she came and dropped him off along with a quick hug for me. Whatever the reason, we were super grateful for the company.

During the walk along the road up to the Chappies trailhead we noted that the wind had really increased. It would be a hell of a climb. We saw headlamps of several others making their way up the mountain, ducking and weaving in the pitch-black night. So happy to be here as a team, rather than climbing it alone, like them. I lead us off.

As we ourselves started the climb, the winds started to really shake us, howling and screaming. Falling off the mountain was a real danger. We crouched low and held on to rocks where we could while doggedly pushing upwards, panting and flustered. A few times in the dark, tired and confused, we missed the course markers but Amedeo found them and guided us back.

A bit further up Chappies, we were hit by hurricane-level blasts. Heads down, we each fought our own battle as the wind made any talking impossible. Even though it wasn’t raining, all the plants were wet. I realized we were in the middle of the clouds. It felt like we had been transported to a different universe.

I imagined Chappies like Grendel, the man-eating monster from Beowulf, trying to shake us off so it could devour us. For 90 minutes it did its best. We clung on, constantly buffered by the heavy, howling winds, ever stumbling upwards. We suddenly reached the top and without celebration descended, just leaving as quickly as possible, like the doors opening after having made a loud, smelly fart in an elevator. It was one of the most intense experiences of our lives. Daily, William and I still ritualistically send each other two-word texts just stating: “Fucking Chappies.”

If we thought the remainder of the stage would be easier, we were in for a rude awakening. We thought we had conquered the beast, but it wasn’t done with us, not one bit. The next four hours were truly some of the weariest and weirdest ones in my life. Power-hiking, or what would count as that 30 hours into the race, we death-marched through the night, like a never-ending Zombie-movie.

William was hallucinating, four times seeing stones turn into little angels and asking me whether we were walking in circles. I saw several spiders as big as my hand and three palm-sized toads, black-blue in the light of my headtorch with dangerous looking yellow lines. I was unsure whether they were hallucinations but as they others saw them also, I suspect they were real. We gently stepped around them just to be sure.

We passed and were passed by others, on-and-off, with no words spoken, everyone just keeping their heads down, waiting to wake up from the nightmare. At 3 in the morning, William was out on his feet, staggering about like a vampire that had been tagged with a garlic garland. We sat him down. He asked for a trail nap. Time to bring out the big guns.

I had picked up caffeine gum on whim in a Danish supermarket on the notion that it might come in handy at UTCT. Each piece packed in the caffeine of four Red Bulls and within a minute of starting to chew the first piece, William was up again and charging like a, well…. baby bull. Up to now, I hadn’t yet dared try it myself but there was clearly a use for it. I had a feeling it would come in handy for me later with 30K still remaining and having been awake for 45 hours.

The never-ending hike into Constantia

The monotony was finally broken an hour or so later with an unannounced water post, us now getting close to Constantia. Mozart and Puka ran off to go home and sleep, while William and I, cursing and spitting, made our way down a shitty descent, thinking we would hit the Constantia aid station soon. Alas. At the bottom, we shuttled along tarmac and various never-ending vineyards, taking so long, we thought they might have closed the aid station and just taken us straight to Alphen. But not so. We finally reached the Constantia aid station, where this death-march, zombie nightmare-stage ended. We spent as little time as possible the aid station as we were now strongly feeling the stress from the 7 am cut-off at the Alphen aid station 5km away. Even the sunrise was grey and boring this morning.

Round 6: The Happiest Little Place on Earth – Constantia to Alphen, 4.8 kms, 52m of ascent. Goal time: 45 min (actual 1H 20m) Goal: Run it nice and slow

Oh sweet heaven, Alphen. A little forest oasis, cool and welcoming after all the steep, treacherous mountain paths, punishing sun, and whipping winds. Alphen is pronounced like the nickname of my youngest daughter, Alfen. Like the gentle clucking of a stream running over rocks. This was the only aid station that arrived earlier than expected. After an initial steep and annoying climb, which had William and I swearing to high heavens and calling the course setter a sadist, not for the first or last time, the road turned into a beautiful path surrounded by little streams and trees. I told William to run ahead as he was keen for his beer, Red Bull, and friends at the aid station. I lumbered on, tired, grumpy and crappy, as turned out to be my morning ritual. I eventually started a slow run and actually quite enjoyed it, pulling in 45 minutes ahead of the cut-off. William, Jess and I celebrated like we had made it to the finish. Seriously, what were we thinking?

There were many great aid stations; Alphen was among the best. The husband and wife crew leaders arrange the Addo Elephant Train Run, another 100-mile race, so had this large aid station humming, service-minded and full of laughter. William offered me a beer which I declined, instead filling up my bottles and sorting out my worsening condition as best I could.

At this point, as supposedly sometimes happens to ultra runners, William’s one shoulder had dropped a few inches below the other on, making him look ever like the leaning tower of Pisa. When I later asked Perplexity it said that the dramatic sideways “ultra lean” is thought to come from a mix of extreme fatigue in stabilizing muscles and nervous system overload and is generally treated as a symptom that the body and brain are close to their limits. William wasn’t bothered by that, though, and pushed on. This would be the end of the bliss.

Round 7: Mount Doom, Mordor – Alphen to Gardens Rugby Stadium, 22.4km, 959m ascent. Goal time: 5H 48m (Actual: 6H 25m). Goal: Arrive any way you can & celebrate

As we passed through the Gates of Hell on Chappies, the Devil reigning that mountain sent me chafing as a parting gift. Well, I can blame the Devil but more likely it was an issue of in trying to fix one problem I created one another. The ice bandana and ice in backpack worked really well to cool me down during the day but the meltwater from the ice dripped onto my shorts, making the latter wet and thereby masters in creating chafing. On our death march through the night I had been trying to prevent the chafing with Vaseline as best I could but as I sat down in Alphen, I realized that it was now well beyond healing or management. I vowed to bring zinc-based nappy rash cream on future ultras. On this one, though, I would just have to suck it up. By now, my inner thighs and privates was as red as a male baboon’s bottom and with every step it felt like I was trying squeeze a hedgehog between my thighs. I put inch-thick layers of Vaseline on, praying it would work. It did. For ten minutes or so…

At this point, the remaining half-marathon felt… far. My focus and hope was to make it to the finish line because then I knew that William would finish. Finishing myself didn’t have much motivation although I did remind myself of why I had run in the first place: to show my children that if we plan and train well, we can do things we thought were impossible. Finish for William and finish for my children, those were the thoughts that I would use to power me now. I took my first piece of caffeine gum.

We pulled out of Alphen Aid Station and, as we left, saw the man-mountain make into the aid station with less than a minute to spare. Turned out he was an ex-Springbok prop, clearly a hard man. Impressive that he had made it this far having to move all that upper-body muscle around. We crossed our fingers we would all make it to the finish.

On this first bit, we were joined by Graham, yet another one of Wiliam’s friends. My power output had by now seriously diminished and it was only walking and leaning on the poles or a slow shuffle up the first, easier part towards Nursery Ravine. I still tried to smile and greet everyone in a friendly manner but the quality of my conversation was certainly declining as I had to dig deep to manage the chafing and power the weary legs.

The first 13K were mostly in the forest. I can’t say it was enjoyable but it was certainly better than what was to come. We came upon the 2^nd last climb of race called 400 stairs, still in the forest. Each step felt like I was Sisyphus, pushing the boulder up the mountain again and again, with little result. More leaning on the poles, breathing hard.

At the top, I peed and my wee was dark yellow. I started to worry about Rhabdo (officially rhabdomyolysis), which is where a process of dehydration and muscle breakdown release toxins into the blood, leading to acute kidney failure. I sensed that I shouldn’t panic myself as with Rhabdo, the pee should be brown for that. But I was worried, a sign of my extreme tiredness. The first order of business was to drink lots of water and see if it improved. I would later find out that Chris went down with Rhabdo already 40Ks in due to an unknown, pre-existing viral infection along with hard running and had to spend the night in hospital on a drip. Probably good I didn’t know it then.

We reached Newlands, the last aid station, at 10 am and sat down. There was great support but it was difficult to enjoy as both William and I were more or less out on our feet. Jess asked me for another piece of the magic gum for William and I took one myself also. I took a pee – it was clear. No Rhabdo. Huge weight fell off my shoulders. I applied more Vaseline in thick layers, drank lots of water and filled up my bottles, ate a bit and we were ready to go.

This was it. Blockhouse was next. The steepest climb of the whole race – but also the last. Nothing for it. We needed to get up it. We set off. Dave, another friend of William, joined us. The sharp ache of the chafing was another companion.

Even during my training run, Blockhouse had been hard. It would be a 100 times worse now. Blockhouse is a 40 degree steep climb on a narrow, loose gravel path surrounded by foliage, making it difficult to use poles. Due to the steepness, it meant we had to use the front of the foot and only calves, rather than quads or glutes. It would be a brutal test.

Ultra runners talk about burning matches, like we have a match box with a certain number of matches in it and once the box is empty, we DNF. As I said to the others, at this point I only had one thin, very brittle match left in my match box, which I had saved for Blockhouse. I hoped it would be enough. I chugged two more gels to see if I could strengthen that frail last match.

For my training I had been using David & Megan Roche’s 100-Miler training program with 16 weeks of 80-100K milage plus lots of cross-training including many two-hour-long up-hill treadmill and stair-mill sessions, cycling, twice-weekly weight-lifting sessions followed by sauna and daily handfuls of vitamins, protein-shakes, and creatine. But that wouldn’t help me now. Only the power of my will to keep a laser focus, and the discipline to not think negative thoughts. In my body I only had that one last match, but inside me burned an indomitable fire which was what would ensure that I got William and me to the finish line. I focused on that inner fire.

As we left the aid station, the lush forest ended and we were now on the barren mountain, open to sun and wind. After a short hike up and walk/run to the Rhodes Memorial, it was time for Blockhouse. The climb has five natural pitches, each of perhaps 80 meters of vertical. I started us off with Graham and Dave encouraging William behind me.

This may have been as deep as I have ever had to dig. My sole thought was left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. The rhythm driving my weight slowly forward, like an over-loaded mining truck climbing up from the deep bottomless pit. So annoying I kept getting it wrong, moving my right foot when I said left foot. I switched to one, two, one two, but somehow it was just less powerful. Time to lean on my poles and get some oxygen into the system. Damn chafing. Ok, left foot, right foot. Calves burning. Sun hat flapping in the strong winds. Left foot, right foot. Not sure I have ever moved this slow before. But eventually even Blockhouse ended.

It seemed like the top of Mount Doom, where William and I would drop in the ring to liberate ourselves of the last climbing of the race and make our way down to freedom. Our speed of movement was certainly very hobbit-like and we staggered on, like Frodo and Sam after they had been poisoned by the power of the ring.

William struggling and pushing through on Blockhouse but with a smile left in reserve at the top

There was still an 8 km traverse and run down to the finish. For some reason it was even harder than Blockhouse, maybe because it felt like we had done all the hardest work and now deserved to be at the finish line. And there was even a bit more climbing. We split into two teams with William and Dave ahead while Graham shepherded me. I joked with Graham that I was delighted in helping him run his slowest half marathon which ended up at just under 6 ½ hours. I was immensely grateful for his company.

As we came down to Dead Mans Tree, William ran ahead and I was thinking that maybe he would just finish and not wait for me as I was going so slow. I steeled myself for that disappointment. As we got down now very close to the finish, there was a big group of people waiting for us. Andrea, Amedeo’s wife, herself a great runner and a huge support through the whole thing was there with their daughter, Aimia and naughty dog Puka. Gavin was there. Jess, of course. And William. My brother.

The dynamic duo – Batman and Leaning Batman  

Thanking Gavin and being welcomed into the Miler Club

I started sobbing when I saw them, completely overcome with emotion at their support, how deep I had had to dig, and that the finish line was just around the corner. We chatted and celebrated. I walked with Gavin for a bit. He told me that my life would now never be the same as nothing would ever be hard again. Happily, Doc Dave was awaited me further down, running with William and me through the final the turn towards the Gardens Rugby Stadium and its finishing line. Due to the strong winds, the finish was closed to spectators, so our friends were disappointingly not allowed in.

After a few steps up, William and I ran down the finishing stretch towards the goal line hand-in-hand with the volunteers cheering us on. Time seemed to slow down or maybe our shuffle towards the line was just that slow. William and I were as close as Siamese twins in that moment, so proud of each other and in awe of what we had achieved together. We crossed the line brothers forever.

Sian and Sheena from the Alphen Aid Station gave us our medals. I sobbed some more at the end. This was the hardest thing I have ever done. The race had peeled several layers off myself, leaving  just my core, where there was only love, that’s what I used as my fuel. It was a huge lesson for me. That if I can spread love when I’m so tired and in so much pain, then I have no excuse not do the same every second of my life.

We quickly departed the finish line to celebrate with our friends over a beer. While we did the running, we couldn’t have done it without their support. It seemed to us a total team effort. They should all have gotten medals too.

The numbers:

• 44 hours, 10 minutes, 7 seconds in joint 94th place
• 167.18 kilometres with 8,267 meters of elevation gain in 33 hours and five minutes moving time (clearly using lots of time at aid stations). Source: Strava
• 280,000 steps, 23,311 calories with an average pulse of 116. Source: Coros
• The man mountain, Marius Hurter, beat me to Lanterne Rouge, coming 99th in a stress-maximizing 44 hours, 59 minutes and 45 seconds. Marius – we salute you.

Epilogue: William and I met a few days later for a liquid lunch and made plans for our next adventure together. Comrades, Arctic Trail Run, Mount Fuji marathon – and even a Misogi – was discussed. It won’t be boring…