Big Boar’s Backyard Ultra

Relaxed and ready to go.
Photo: Lucien Chan

So I could tell you about Big Boar’s Backyard Challenge. I could tell you about the rules, handed down from on high by Laz (of Barkley fame), that runners should start a 6.7km loop once an hour, finish when they finish, relax eat drink, then get back up and start a new one exactly one hour after the first. Then keep doing that until only one of them is left. The course should be flat, because it has to be easy, and if the course is easy, the race is hard, since many can stay for a long time. And the race needs a winner; if the last runners give up at the same time, then no-one wins.

I could tell you how Steve Carr, of Racebase fame, persuaded Laz through some gift of the gab to give the winner of Big Boar’s Backyard Challenge a golden ticket to Big’s Backyard Ultra, the granddaddy of them all, run on Laz’s farm in Bell Buckle, Tennessee, where last year the winner ran for almost three days and won an entry into the Barkley. I could tell you how he set the course (influenced somewhat by your narrator) on Bowen Road, the greatest, most terrible 4km of flat tarmac anywhere in the known universe. Everyone runs on it and all the trail runners say they hate it. Too flat, too hard, too civilised. Give us some dirt and a steep hillside and some spider webs – that’s more like it.

Listening to the race director, about to start the first loop.
Photo: Lucien Chan

I could even tell you about the race itself, how 15 of us set of at 9am on Good Friday on a humid morning, sweating our way around until just after lunch when the first of our number called it quits and the next starting corral wasn’t quite as much fun. About how Milos spotted an iguana on the rocks by the stream near Stubbs Road and how we checked on it each loop until it disappeared.  About how Elliot kept us entertained with plenty of banter while we all had energy. And then in mid-afternoon when the heavens opened, rain lashing down for hours on end, filling the streams and creating lakes on the path, the runners slowly opting for rain jackets and trying to stay warm between loops. Except the Scot, of course. Some more runners stopped. 

Starting the first loop. I did this another 24 times.
Photo: Lucien Chan

Then it got dark and we went into night. The banter had stopped. Everyone was getting tired. The niggles from the morning became pains. The pains became excruciating. Midnight meant 100km was up and suddenly hardened, serious runners decided that they’d had enough. Each lap there fewer and fewer, down to four, then three, then two.

And I could tell you that I was one of the two. That I battled it out with Alfair for four hours. That he bravely held up for 24 hours and then called it. That I managed to keep going for one more to win the bloody thing, and get a ticket to a race in Tennessee. That I ran 168km in 25 hours on a single stretch of Bowen Bloody Road.

I could tell you all that, and it’s all true, but it’s not what Big Boar was all about.

There’s 15 of us that know. And maybe Steve. He was there to witness it, and directing the race is at least as gruelling as running it. But no-one reads a race report to learn about the RD, so f___ him.

There’s 15 of us that know. Lyndsey, Mabel, Chuck, Nic, Jun, Tony, Rory, Milos, Tom, Elliot, George, Milk, Chris, Alfair, me.

An early loop with George, Nic, Elliot, Chris.
Photo: Lucien Chan

First, we know what it’s like to keep lining up with this group over and over and over again. You start off finding it easy and it’s all a bit absurd. There is lots of laughter and joking and silliness. Then you all start feeling really tired and really sore and, in some cases (yes, me), really ill. But you keep going. Again and again. You witness that on everyone’s faces, and you hear it in their breathing, and you see it in their gait. You see them falling apart just as you’re falling apart in exactly the same way. And you see them witnessing you.

We all know the truth of running the same loop over and over. Maybe it got boring for some; it never did for me. Every loop Bowen Road renewed itself, even as it stayed stubbornly identical. We got to know every rise, because we quickly realised that we should walk them all. We started off making ourselves walk them, but we ended up grateful that we could (yes, even Tom). We saw all the people come out for a walk, then disappear in the rain, then come back in the evening, then go home to bed, then Alfair and I saw them come back the next morning. Running is inherently mindful but sometimes, on a beautiful trail, you don’t notice because your mind is transported by beauty. On Bowen Road, over and over, you remain in the moment because otherwise you go mad.

We know the contradiction between the complete lack of time pressure of the loop (it is hard to run 6.7km in more than an hour, at least at the start) and the tyranny of the relentless time pressure as the hour concludes (what starts as a break of 18 minutes becomes 15 and then 12, and never expands – and we haven’t even got to Milk’s and Alfair’s genius/madness of relentlessly hitting 55 minutes for every loop, never exerting themselves but also never giving themselves time to eat and relax). The clock winding down becomes more and more aversive, and getting out of your chair not only gets harder but crushes you more and more. Then you start running again and it isn’t that hard. Until it is.

And we know what it’s like to make the decision that it’s over; time to stop. For some, they were no longer able to finish a loop within 60 minutes. For many, it was just time. They could, in theory, do more. But it hurt. Too much. It might be doing damage, and was this worth it? Their will had been worn down to the bone and was no longer able to make them get back out there. The lure of the chair, and the “DNF” t-shirt that Steve offered us at every loop, was too much.

Finished! Photo: Sasha Haldane

And before you ask, even I know that feeling. Because I tried to fail. I’ve only DNFed once before in a race, the 2013 Lantau 70 (seered in my memory). Big Boar for me was a DNDNF. I really tried to DNF. Alfair and I were running loop after loop, always to the same schedule; he’d run from the start and I’d walk, then I’d start running after about a minute, then he’d start walking after about 3 minutes, then i’d pass him at about 4 minutes, then we’d see each other when I was coming back having turned at Stubbs Road, then he’d finish the loop 10 minutes after me, then we’d do it all again. I was feeling ill, having actually been sick once and having successfully mimed it another time. I wanted 100 miles, and I wanted Steve to have a winner in his race, but I didn’t need that to be me. Alfair’s strategy was so audacious, and so wonderful, that he deserved to win. So I told him in no uncertain terms, he was to do an extra lap at the end, and win. I was convincing. I’d have believed me. But he did not. Coincidentally, he had stumbled onto the same plan. After 23 loops he looked at me and for the first time in 23 hours I saw something I’d never seen on his face – exhaustion. He was done. I’m not sure if it was physical, or mental, but it was there. So on my 24th loop I had to make a decision. He seemed like he actually was not going to do the 25th loop to win it. If I didn’t run it, Steve’s race would have no winner. And Steve would commit an act of self-harm. Finally, I had to admit that, godammit, I was just going to have to win the bloody race. I came in at 24 and told Steve “Let’s do one more.” Like me, he was tired, grumpy, exhausted – fun had stopped somewhere in the middle of the night. But he was relieved. Off I went for one more. Lots of walking, lots of slow running. Lots of Saturday morning walkers thinking “Didn’t I see that guy yesterday?”

To the victor go the spoils.
Photo: Sasha Haldane

Laz says that the great thing about the Backyard Ultra is that it is a pure test of competition. The physical demands are not that great, so it is just about who wants it most. That is probably true of Big’s Backyard Ultra, when you have legends like Johan Steene and Courtney Dauwalter and Gavin Woody and Maggie Guterl and Guillaume Calmettes who run for 48 hours and then keep going for some more. But that was not true of the 2019 Big Boar’s Backyard Challenge. None of us felt that we were racing the others. For one thing, we all thought that Tom, the legendary record-holder on the 298km Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge, and George, a mountain of a man having a stellar season across Hong Kong’s trails, would keep going well past the rest of us, and so each of us was just choosing how long before we gave up. But Tom turned his ankle on an early loop and has big races later in the summer. And George looked a million dollars until he came in on a loop in the middle of the night and said to Steve “Thanks, now give me a shirt.” By the time they gave in, the rest of us were too tired to recallibrate. We were just doing our thing until we gave in. I won because I went one loop over the point I planned to fail.

With some of my comrades. Photo: Sasha Haldane

Big Boar’s Backyard Challenge looks like “pure mental torture” as Tim Marchant wrote on my strava page, and maybe to some degree it is. But it is wonderful as well. As the race wore on and on, each time I started running (after my minute of walking from the start) it seemed miraculous. How was I able to run so effortlessly when I had been feeling so terrible moments before? To share that joy with comrades who experience the pain and joy in equal measure is something one can’t explain. One can only experience. Big Boar’s Backyard Challenge, 2020 edition, starts on 10 April, 2020, and will go longer than 25 hours.

Postscript: For the first few laps, most of us ran somewhat together, and we were a bit baffled. What were the couple who were much slower than us doing? They seemed very focused. They did a lot of walking. They came into camp at EXACTLY 55 minutes each loop. So they didn’t have the chance to chat to the rest of us, since we never coexisted in the same point of space-time. Then the rain came, and the jackets went on, and their pace and focus didn’t change at all. Then night came, and the number of runners slowly dwindled, but not at the back of the pack. When there were four runners left it was the amazing, indefatigable Chris Kwan (my former student!), me, and then at 55 minutes, Milk and Alfair. By now, we were all in awe. What they did was spectacular. In particular, the mental demands of going 24 hours (almost that long in Milk’s case) with never more than a five minute break and always having to get back to the start line or be disqualified by Steve (oh, he was itching to do it, you could see it in his eyes) was extraordinary. Which is why I thought Alfair was a more-than-worthy winner. It turned out he was even better at DNFing than I was. 

Thanks to so many people for this weekend. Of course, thanks to Racebase, and Mr Steven Carr in particular. Steve volunteered to host a backyard ultra before he’d really had any serious thought about how to do it. Then life got in the way and he still didn’t have time. None of us knew if the race was actually going to happen until two weeks before it did. We shouldn’t have worried. With his one-man (OK, he had help from some great people – thanks to all of them) starter/aid station captain/video-streamer/set-up/take-down show, he was (don’t tell him this) pretty amazing. You have to run this race just to witness it all.

Charlie's sign. Photo: Lucien Chan

Thanks to all the supporters who came down to feed, clothe, cheer, and raise spirits. In my case, apart from my family (coming to them, don’t despair), the Richleys and the Oatways went way above the duties of friendship. You guys rock, particularly Charlie for his sign.

I’ve used Scotty Hawker of Mile27 coaching for a couple of years now, and he’s awesome. Somehow sits on the end of his keyboard and knows just how far to push my old body and when to back off. My first win under his tutelege – maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks.

As I’ve suggested, my fellow competitors-but-not-competitors were what made this race so very special. To you all, from first DNFer to last, you are the best. Of the best. This was a ridiculous thing to put yourselves through, yet you did it anyway. Respect.

Golden Coin: Entry to Big's Backyard Ultra.
Photo: Sasha Haldane

And of course, to my family, thank you so much for letting me be me, and for showing up thoughout this race to check on me and pick up my spirits. Max, thanks for bringing the ice even though it turned out you didn’t need to. Alyssa, thanks for putting up with grumpy Dad needing sleep the night of your birthday sleepover. And Sasha, thanks for everything, from the mundane (grocery shopping for sports drink and ginger beer) to the gross (getting all my stuff at the end) to the ridiculous (the love you surround me with). Oh, and Sheba, you’re the first dog I’ve ever had to bring to a race, and that was awesome.

Big’s Backyard Ultra is on October 19 (Rugby World Cup quarterfinal weekend, but still). Well it starts on October 19 and who knows how long it will last. I haven’t yet confirmed if I’ll go. Maybe I should.