I WOKE up one morning with a grizzly moustache and beard, wind-burnt lips and chafed thighs. I’d spent the past 37 hours in the mountains, beaten by rain, cold and lack of sleep. I looked at the silver belt buckle taking pride of place on my bedside table and thought, “Life on the trails isn’t that much different from the days of the Wild West – a series of lessons, experiences, hardships and victories. Like a cowboy, we grab life by the reins and guide it down the trail, dealing with challenges head-on. The challenge is to create balance in our lives through adversity and triumph.”
It was November 2020, one month after my last 100km ultramarathon trail race – my tenth 100km-plus race in seven years, including three races up to the 100-mile distance. It was time for me to start planning next year’s race season.
After probably my most consistent and accomplished training and racing season, with limited injuries and several top-five finishes against younger – and definitely better – runners, I craved something bigger, longer, and bolder. An idea started to crystallise: an attempt at a “fastest known time” (or FKT for short), which refers to running an iconic trail (or multiple trails) in the fastest time ever recorded.
So, I started preparing for what would be my most intense training period since I began ultrarunning. I talked to my training partners and coaches about logistics, weekly mileage, preparation races, strength and conditioning, and all the details needed to take this FKT attempt from a thought bubble to a well-formed reality. I also steeled myself for the impending conversation about my plans with my loved ones and their looks of equal parts loving support and trepidation.
That’s when things started to go sideways. I found myself experiencing intense cognitive dissonance. The sheer mental discomfort of
