After struggling to run a few hundred meters with my mum as she finished a 90 km running race from Durban to Pietermaritzburg, South Africa, I knew I was unfit. Long-distance running wasn’t something I’d intended to take up. Realising how poor my fitness had became was the catalyst for my journey toward competing in some of the most challenging running events on earth
I had no idea of what was required to prepare my body for the demands of endurance running. I lacked the discipline, concentration and patience to train properly. I spent years forcing my body to compete in events I wasn’t conditioned for. Running became an act of war between my mental and emotional tension. A space where my psychological pain manifested into a physical experience. I used this pain as fuel to drive me, to keep pushing.
I suffered constant fatigue, illness and injuries. Finishing a race was more important to me than respecting my health and wellbeing. The harder I pushed myself, the faster life vanished into the momentary thrills of travelling to the world’s remote corners to compete in these running adventures. It was a passionate endeavour, but another form of my extreme and addictive personality.