The Speed Project – 550km of high, lows and everything in between. And some running too.

I arrived in LA at 6.00am on the Saturday morning, a week before TSP.

Sleep deprived, I wondered whether I’d over committed myself by trying to get to a 5km run organised by Blue Ribbon Sports (the original Nike)…at 10.00am…on the other side of LA.

I went anyway, surrounded by beautifully passionate runners – many of whom were racing in the LA Marathon the next day.

Hello Los Angeles.

The Speed Project had finally arrived.

TSP started five years ago when two runners decided to start…running together. Initially to each other’s houses, then further, challenging themselves, each time upping the distance. Finally they ran – from LA to Vegas, then created a race around it…because why not?

To compete for the win, or the challenge of setting a new record, you entered as a team of six – four males, two females or six females. Otherwise you could enter teams of as many as you liked, to race for the challenge. No rules, just get from LA to Vegas, non-stop, on foot. You were allowed a crew and vehicles to assist transporting those that weren’t running.

Crew members were, in essence, essential – to drive RVs and plan logistics, provide motivation, water, accompany runners when needed.

AM PM were an all-female team of six – Annabelle (Bramwell), me, Pip, Emily, Annabel (Fendall) and Julia.

We had four crew – Ben (photographer), Sam S, American Sam (local) and Dylan (training for an Ironman the week after the race – legend), and an RV to accommodate up to eight people…

I had only met Emily, Fendall – whom I’d trained with in Melbourne, and Sam S and Ben. This was going to be an interesting race for sure.

I spent the rest of the weekend running, exploring, walking, eating (hello Wholefoods) – and taking in LA and its beautiful madness.


Monday came and I was the first to check into our TSP Airbnb – greeted by Mary, who spent an hour debriefing me on how to use the house. And feed the fish.

Two of the girls and one of our crew arrived that afternoon – Em, Bramwell and Dylan, and we went for dinner in Venice Beach.

Em also brought all the kit Nike had given our team, so much, so beautiful. So grateful.

The next day we ventured out for a gentle 10km run…that turned out to be 15km after a few wrongs turns, and included two ascents to some epic lookouts. Sorry legs.

I promised myself I would rest tomorrow.

The next day, the rest of the girls and crew arrived – Julia, Pip and Fendall, Sam and Ben, mild hysteria and a disbelief that we were here, about to run The Speed Project.

We were a beautiful mixture of New Zealand and Australian (ahem, and English) runners. We all had the passion, and knew the freedom of running. We had all put in the training, made the sacrifices, and all been exponentially hungrier and mildly sleep deprived ever since we said yes.

Wednesday – we ran along the beach – our first run out all together, initially a slow 5km that turned into a faster than expected 7km. Yikes. We decided to spend the rest of the day on electric scooters to rest our legs. And eat donuts….to carb load, of course.

Thursday – the day before the race, we sat down and planned the race. No running allowed.

There were 39 stages of maps to review that covered the 550km race. The organisers had ranked the stages with varying degrees of difficulty 1 to 4. Then they had assigned the six runners to each leg based on their running strength.

I was runner 2 – my runs would include the more technical trails, mostly during the night – through the desert. Excitedly terrifying. I had done night runs before but not on my own in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night.

The order to start: Bramwell, me, Pip, Em, Fendall and Julia.

We only planned the first few stages, and a few of the tougher ones. We knew that anything could happen out there and plans would need to be flexible and adaptable. That was the importance of the crew.

Then, we shopped. We would be on the road in the RV with limited stops for at least 45 hours, if not more. We needed food, water, energy, comfort, and we needed to pimp our ride.

We returned home, prepped our food – for me 2kg of baked sweet potato, almond butter and jam sandwiches (on GF bread) – 16 of them, and all the bananas in the world. My plan was to finish a run, have a sandwich straight after, then alternate between a banana or sweet potato an hour before I ran again, and a gel or coffee just before the run.

That was the plan.

We set up the RV (pillows, blankets, duvets), and went for one last meal at Whole Foods before an early night.

Friday – 2.00am.

My alarm went off, no sleep. Coffee (tea bag) and mobility. The house was nervous excitement. I was nervous excitement. Six months in the making was two hours away.

I ate – pre cooked sweet potato, eggs and avo as standard.

We packed our food, packed our RV, and set off for Santa Monica pier.

The vibe – electric. 43 teams, 43 RVs, at least 400 runners and crew. The count down was on.

I definitely wasn’t used to spending time with people the night before a race, let alone the morning of. My usual routine of drinking a few glasses of wine (self-sabotage I’m sure), sleeping, then listening to Slash all morning as race prep was nowhere to be seen.

This was different, this was a team event. There were six of us now, not just me. Ten of us in fact. It was important to communicate, and at least try to act relatively normal.


3.55am, Bramwell, our first runner lined up, under the Santa Monica pier entrance.

4.00am, she was off. We watched as she flew, then raced to our RV to keep up with her, and get to the next check point to swap runners, 10km away, me.

We followed her when we could, cheering her, and others. The energy was amazing. The race was fast.

We arrived at the changeover, where Bramwell would tag me in. We waited, god she was quick.

We watched the road where she would be coming from, then heard shouts from her – coming from the road above the highway, she was manically climbing down the stairs to us. We laughed, this is how it would roll.

She held her hand out. I touched it.

My turn.

I turned and ran, energy in my legs, wanting to do well for the team, to run for them.

I knew some of the streets from running them over the weekend, and kept my pace with another runner, another female. I tried to take photos, failed.

The RV was there, the team were cheering, then it was gone, 10km, I didn’t want to get lost, so I stayed with the other runner, up a hill, right onto Sunset Boulevard. I knew the way from here, so I pulled away and ran the empty streets of LA, mesmerising.

I ran towards where I knew the RV would be. People lined the streets, waiting for their runner, but cheering others. Pip was waiting, ready to be tagged in, we touched hands, and she was off. Flying.

I climbed back into the RV, a hot sweaty mess. This was amazing.

And we ran. Fast and hard through LA, with the rising sun.

My next leg was not planned. We hit a hit, a windy hill. The kind of wind that takes your breath away even just walking in it, let alone running.

We swapped in and out for a few kms, to maintain pace and rest each other until the hills ended and we were more sheltered.

And we continued. The girls ran, strong, hard, tagged in and out, supported, cheered. Amazingness.

When we weren’t running we jumped out and high fived, gave water when we could. Then we rested, rolled, and used the Hypervolt to keep our muscles alive and kicking.

My next run was just before 9.00am, still windy, 7km. I had some sandwiches and gels, I needed my inhaler but that was expected. Dylan joined me on the bike we had brought, providing shelter from the wind.

We pulled off the highway and onto the long stretches of highway that would be our friend for the next few hours. Nothing but road and desert.

It was midday – and we were at 115km of the 550km when I had my next run – 8km.

I tried some new gels.

Something was wrong. My legs were fine, felt strong. My mind, strong.

My stomach.

Something was wrong with my stomach. I began to run, and it felt like I was running with a watermelon in my stomach, then suddenly like I’d eaten something that had disagreed with me. Neither were pleasant feelings.

I continued to run, hoping, praying it would pass.

I tagged out, talked to the others, the same, dodgy stomachs, gastro. This could not be trained for.

And so it happened, my first bush poo (sorry Mum). The RV had a toilet – but it had been filled already. So I disappeared into the desert.

We rotated through runners, kept eating despite the stomach cramps, because the fuel was important. And laughed through it, because that was all we could do.

We sat down, and the boys went through the plan for the next few stages. A few more runs along the wide open road. Then into a sketchy neighbourhood known for wild dogs, and wild people. Then we hit a petrol station where we could fill up gas, and dump our waste. Yikes.

The order of runners was staying the same. The first three – Bramwell, me and Pip, would do slightly longer runs throughout the rotations, and we would see how we went – we were also dropping the distances down to account for the growing heat, and would probably drop to shorter once night time hit.

Everyone was killing it.

My next run was through the sketchy neighbourhood.

I was on 26km so far, legs felt good. Stomach? Stomach was no good, and there was nothing I could do, or wanted to do, but run through it. I would not let the team down.

I tagged in for my first 5km, had the compulsory pepper spray, and one of the crew, Sam S, on the bike in front of me as we approached. One storey houses with large yards and gates around them – the kind you see in movies I guess with furniture and broken cars in the yard. These were real.

We turned into the town, nervous. I ran, a relatively slow pace to try and tame my stomach cramps – not ideal in a not ideal town. But it was that or literally lose my stomach in the not so ideal town, on the side of the road.

We continued, with the RV close by. A few dogs, a few people but nothing close to what we had planned, or expected. Relief.

A small dog ran over towards us, separated by a fence, cute. Then a huge, angry looking dog sprinted over shortly after, not so cute. Manically barking, definitely not so cute. I pulled the mace out of my pocket.

We continued.

5km passed relatively quickly and I tagged Pip in, and Sam stayed on the bike. A boy ran up to me. “Miss what’s your name?” “Jess:”, “And your number?” Yikes. “Runner number 2” He seemed satisfied.

Another boy shouted towards the RV “Are you really running to Vegas?”, Ben, our photographer nodded. “Why would you want to do that??”

Good point.

They were fun and we relaxed a little. Just a little.

Then we were through the sketchy area and back onto open road. Another 5km.

I got back onto the RV, went to the toilet, again. I had been feeling fine between races, but the first maybe 200-400m in I would need the toilet, and that would continue until I finished running, and I could disappear into the bush. Yikes. I couldn’t imagine doing this for another 40 or so hours.

The sun was beginning to set and we were about to hit the tougher trails.

We were leading into our first night of running. Em had brought us a reflective vest to switch over so the cars on the freeway could see us.

It wasn’t until we dropped down into the 3.5kms that I realised the only way this was going to get any more manageable, was to start running, to wait for the cramps and the need to go, and just go, in the desert.

8.30pm – my next 3.5km. 200m in, cramps. I ducked into the bush, behind a small tree…did the deed.

Sprang back onto the road.

Sprang. Jigged.

Immediately better, no cramps, lighter, faster. Shit just got real. Literally.

I picked up the pace and ran towards the sunset, shades on, reflective vest on and head torch ready.

Sunsets in America are…epic, flat land means they wrap around the entire sky and last a long time.

Now that I had worked out how to manage the cramps, I was happy. Running into the sunset. Bliss.

The girls and crew were in such good spirits, cheering us, cheering others. High fives, water. True team work.

280km in, along Ghost Town Road, we began to hit the more technical trails. Separate instructions accompanied the maps TSP had given us, detailing…detail.

One more 3.5km before I had a 6 hour rest. 43.5km in my legs, and with a 2.00am start, I was grateful.

But it was strange to think, as I was laying down to try and sleep, that the girls were out there running, continuing, in the dark.

I managed around 40 minutes in the whole six hours, restless. I got up. Baby wiped my body and changed into my third running kit.

It was dark in the RV, three of the crew were getting some much needed sleep. I sat down to look at my next leg, converted the miles to km to try and follow the instructions.

Cold brew was needed.

Section 30 was next for me, at 2.00am.

My legs felt rested, my stomach felt somewhat good. For now.

I put on my head torch, my bright yellow jumper and headed outside to be tagged in. I could see her head torch in the distance. We tagged and I was off, into the desert, in the dark.

I turned on my music, mainly so I couldn’t hear what was going on around me – and made sure I could only see the trail a few metres in front of me, that was fine by me.

I upped my pace and immediately felt the familiar stomach pains.

I stopped, dipped to the side of the trail, not too far off, turned my head torch off. Eight seconds later (approximately) I was back on the trail, ready.

I continued, buzzing.

My instructions told me to look out for a gully, and cross it. I wandered exactly what I was looking out for. Then I saw it, well, I saw darkness.

The trail dipped down, into complete darkness, like the edge of a cliff, into a gully.

I don’t think I slowed so much as maybe skipped a little, in nervous excitement. There was maybe even a heel click. Nervous indeed.

I entered the darkness, the gully. The temperature dropped and the crossing was deep and vast. I looked around in morbid fascination at what might be around me, lurking in the gully. Luckily not much. The trail turned to sand and my legs slowed.

I moved through it and ascended the other side, back onto the dirt trail. I picked up the pace, still no one else around me.

One more gully, smaller, then I was nearing the end of my run.

I could see a head torch in front of me. No stomach pain, just running, just trails, and the desert.

I was grateful. I was happy.

I returned to the RV, excitedly exhausted. I’d be racing again in a few hours, 10km through harder terrain – ankle breaking according to the section instructions.


Definitely no skipping.

I sat down with Pip, and we worked out distances for the instructions for my leg and her leg – a 15km trail run after mine.

One of us would be lucky enough to be running when the sun rose over the Nevada desert.

My instructions mentioned it being a long slow run, with rocks, boulders and loose stones. Challenge accepted. I was excited. More trails.

We drove through a small town and Sam S, the driver, shouted back to us that there was a crazy guy on the road and we should get out and support Julia, who was now running.

Dylan and I jumped out, my quads pinged as I shuffled along the road and we spotted the crazy guy, dancing and fist fighting to himself on the side of the road, and spotted Julia running towards him. We ran down the road, almost crossed the road to avoid him, and led Julia out in to the middle of the road with us – without explaining at all what was going on except to follow us. Probably not the best planning.

She followed us in time for the crazy guy to run out into the road towards us.

“Just keep running” and we did.

Back to the RV. And continued.

Night time in the desert indeed.

The girls continued to smash it, these were longer sections, in the dark, in the middle of the night. No one kicked up a fuss, we got up, we get out and we got around each other. It was amazing to be part of.

So proud, so in awe.

5.00am came and we arrived at the change over point for my next trail run. A quick gel.

Ben, the driver at the time, wound down the window. “God it smells like something is dead or dying out there”

Nice. I jumped out, and agreed, but warmed up anyway, ignoring the smell.

Dylan left on the bike to locate Emily and steer her towards me and soon I saw a familiar head torch bobbing up and down.

My legs were on 49.7km, my body physically felt good. My stomach was still doing somersaults and cramping – nothing a bit of trail wouldn’t sort out I’m sure.

We tagged, and I ran, along a dirt road, then cut up into the desert, keeping the telegraph poles on my right as the instructions said.

Hills – rocky, stoney hills to start. Fun. I picked up the pace.

The familiar stomach cramps began and I pulled over, not wanting to veer too far from the main trail, turned off my head torch.

Back on the trails, much better. And nothing ate me. Winning.

More rocks, buried into the ground – like running along a river bed, then soft sand and loose stones, tricky. But god this was fun.

Limp Bizkit came on, and I was rolling.

I saw a head torch in the distance, confirming I was heading the right way. I looked at the instructions, at 9.3km I had to duck right under the telegraph poles and follow what we would assume was the head lights of our RV.

I caught up with the other head torch – the Kings Cross team he was a little lost and couldn’t find the right turn. I looked at my watch, we hadn’t hit the distance yet. We ran together, Brad, and found the right turn. We both slowly got faster, a silent race. I provided encouragement, to him or me, I’m not sure.

I looked at the sky, turning orange, getting lighter. Beautiful.

Then we saw head torches up ahead, and somehow both picked up the pace to near sprinting.

“Pip!” I shouted out. “Jess!” Phew.

She was with Sam S, ready to run the 15km, her second long run that morning. Legendary. I tagged her in, wished her good luck and watched them run off into the sunrise.

Brad and I high fived, the energy from the pitch black trail run in the Nevada Desert still in us.

I looked up at the sky, grateful. Then headed back to the RV. Onwards.

The girls continued to run, to smash through tiredness, aches and gastro.

I tried to rest, tried to eat – terrified my stomach would get worse.

Daylight arrived in Death Valley – along with the heat and a never ending straight road that would lead us through the Valley into Vegas.

We had survived the night time desert.

We were 420km in, 130km to go.

Sam explained the revised plan to accommodate the heat and the monotony of running on a long straight road.

Three of us would do 4km stints – me, Bramwell and Pip, and three would do 2.4kms – Em, Fendall and Julia. If we needed to rest or sleep (some of the girls hadn’t had the chance) we would rotate among five of us whilst they did. We needed to be sensible, and honest about any niggles, conditions, struggles etc.

My next run was just before 9.00am, the heat hadn’t fully consumed the desert so it was bare able temperature.

My stomach? Still mild cramping, but better than yesterday

I stepped out of the RV, my quads. Oh dear lord my quads. From the trails, the downhill. The microscopic tears that running downhill or on uneven surface caused. I hadn’t cooled down, foolish.

I did some loose stretching, before I could see Bramwell in the distance, running towards the RV at pace. Incredible stamina.

She tagged me in, and I was off. I waited a few minutes until the RV had passed me then ducked into the bush. I had got the timing down to a tee, then I was back and running and felt so much better.

We rotated through twice on those distances before the heat came through thick and fast and we dropped down to 3.2km and 2km.

Shorter runs meant shorter rests, we made sure we had water, had our nuun, refuelled as much as we could, and rested as much as we could. Changed our outfits if we wanted, and baby wiped our bodies.

Our stomachs were still relatively unsettled, but we agreed that we needed to eat to fuel our runs, rather than not eat to rest our stomachs. It was a fine balance.

On one of the shorter runs, Sam joined me on the bike. I jumped out and started running, and suddenly I was battling something else – my breathing.

Short sharp breaths, I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs, the Vegas air was dry, and our ascension had made it thinner too – less oxygen.

I told Sam, and he biked ahead to get my inhaler. I kept it with me.

I had had a spirometry test before TSP, to check whether I needed another inhaler. The results showed my lungs actually performed better without the inhaler.

Oh the irony.

Early afternoon came and so did the gradual inclines leading up to the mountain we would be going over to get to Vegas.

The crew dropped our distances down to 1km runs, then 500m, depending on the hills.

My breathing struggles continued.

I felt like I was breaking, and had no control over it. I did not want to let the team down.

On the next run – 1.6km along the flat, it should have been a breeze. I had gone through my usual routine, taken my inhaler, but I knew the crew were worried about dehydration from the gastro, and now my breathing.

Fendall jumped out as I was running.

“They want to pull you in”

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t.

I was broken.


I continued, angry at my body.

I tagged Pip in and headed into the RV, I needed to be sensible – this was more than just about me. My quads were rocks and I knew I was dehydrated from the gastro, and eating less as a result. I rested, tried to eat, tried to breath. Got the hypovolt onto my quads.

An hour later, I was back on again, and told Sam could do 2km – at least I thought I had.

My legs were on around 85km at that point. My lungs were probably working at around 20%.

You couldn’t train for this.

I was tagged in and started running, slowly, and the RV pulled off along the straight road, into the distance.

1.6km in, only 400m left. I was in agony. Probably the worst I’d felt on any of the runs. So far.

Only 400m to go Jess. You can do this then you need to rest. I promised myself.

But the RV kept going. Past 400m, past 600m, to the 2.5km mark way into the distance. Sam had misheard me. Or I hadn’t said 2km clear enough.

It was the first time during any of the runs I literally stopped in my tracks. Stopped dead still, in disbelief? Maybe. In abandonment? Maybe.

I let out a small cry, and I think I stamped my foot at least once.

Defeat. But also surprise that this was the first time I’d let emotion consume me on such a big event.

No Jess.


You can do this for the team. You have to.

I shook my head, shook myself. A grown adult having a tantrum.

I took a step, then another, and knocked myself out of my pity party.

The girls. The crew.

I ran.

I was humbled – and ashamed. We had agreed to be sensible, and I hadn’t been.

I got to the RV, still teary. But more sensible.


And food.

I ate, something proper. And drank as much water as I could, then stretched and rested.

Dylan went out on the bike, asking whether anyone would want hot chips or anything else if he could find a shop.

Hot chips. Oh my.

It didn’t occur to us that we were in the middle of the desert and there would actually literally be nowhere to buy hot chips. But the hype and the idea raised our spirits and provided some laughter when he came back empty handed.

I spoke with Em, about just getting the kms and going easy. We were still 40km out.

An hour later I ran again, relaxed, fuelled. 2.5km. Not a breeze, but no tears or tantrums.

I suggested we get the champagne out of my bag, and put it into the fridge.

Nobody refused.

Almost out of nowhere it got dark, and very cold. Colder than usual. Maybe because we were climbing?

We hit the ascent into Vegas, the last hill. 1,300m up. We dropped down to 1kms to accommodate the climb.

Then we hit the roadworks.

We knew up ahead that the road would suddenly have no side areas to for the runners for at least 1.6km – so the RV would have to follow the runner, or the runner would have to find another way, or hope there was one, then pull it at the next available place to stop – which was likely to be further than 1.6km.

We were advised by the organisers not to run, and to just drive the distance then make up the distance another way.

Not happening.

Bramwell jumped out and started running up the side of the freeway – in the road works section.

Safety was an issue, so it was agreed there should be two runners.

And I was next in line.

In hindsight I should have rested, should have been sensible. Should have listened to my body. I wasn’t ready, didn’t have my inhaler and hadn’t eaten.



I jumped out, it was fresh, cold. Colder than cold, and we were high.

Bramwell was already 200-300m away. God she was quick.

I started to run.

Breathe Jess.

I struggled.

The cold, the air.

I turned and waited for the RV, ready to tell them I couldn’t catch her.

“I’ll drive ahead and tell her to wait.”

Not the result I was looking for – totally my fault. The RV drove off and caught Bramwell.

So I continued up the hill until I was with her.

“I reckon we can run this side of the concrete all the way.” I nodded.

So we started.

And the breathing got worse, almost painful. So sharp and so shallow.

No inhaler.

“Are you ok?”

I looked at her. Shook my head. Had literally never experienced this before.

“I can’t breathe. I can’t get air into my lungs”

We slowed. She told me to relax and take my time.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth” her voice was calming, and I was calmed.

We picked up the pace until my lungs reached their capacity again.

“Easy pace, go easy.”

We jogged, picking up the pace when we could, then brought it back down until my breathing was under control again.

We knew there was no phone signal, we knew I had no inhaler and we knew the RV was long gone. It was mildly terrifying, and stupid on my part.

She directed me, pointed out objects on the floor – pipes and rocks from the roadwork.

I was grateful. All I could do was focus on breathing.

“When we get to the top I promise we will be able to see the Vegas lights.”

I nodded, maybe laughed, and we continued.

“Nice…Easy” She slowed us when I tried to pick up the pace. Sensible. Restrained.


We got to the top, and the only lights we saw were the continued road works.

We definitely laughed. Which caused a coughing fit, but was still much needed.

“Downhill now.”

And we had signal.

“The RV is just past that yellow post.” About 500m away.

I had never loved the RV more.

We picked up the pace for the downhill. It seemed like slow motion – and probably was to Bramwell. But we made it, 3.2km later.

I thanked her.

In all my races I have never been so grateful and so indebted to someone for pulling me through a dark patch. A wall.

Humbled again.

Inhaler. Rest.

I skipped the next rotation of runs – and the girls absolutely smashed the downhill into Vegas, into the lights.

Beyond proud.

We were 20km out.

An hour later, around 10.30pm I had felt like I’d recovered – as much as I could. And jumped out onto the freeway for my turn at the 1km.

My legs were on 94km, my breathing felt much better, more oxygen, more salbutamol. I ran, as fast as I could on rock quads.

The gastro? Still there definitely, and nowhere to duck off really, so I turned my head torch off and found a place just off the freeway, forgetting I still had my high vis reflective vest on. Oops.

Better. Running felt good again.

We were amongst civilisation again, in Vegas, and so excited that we actually forgot to look at the directions that would lead us home. We got lost.


We decided to run the last 1.7km together, as a team, to the finish.

The finish.

I was mortified that I wouldn’t be able to keep up if my chest played up, but we agreed to go slow. I wasn’t the only one suffering at that point. We were all battling.

To run together, alongside each other was epic. We were exhausted, battered, bruised.

And four of us still had gastro.

But we were there, running in Vegas, five minutes from finishing.

Suddenly the Welcome to Vegas sign was in sight. I almost cried. Maybe I did.

We squealed (that might have just been me).

Touched the sign. The finish.


43 hours, 36 minutes.


I had run 97.5km.

We high fived and hugged, and waited for our crew.

No more running. No more planning, or waiting.

It felt weird.

We opened the champagne, laughed, took photos, said thank yous. Drank the champagne, laughed some more, took more photos, said more thank yous.


I took a moment, between the madness.

Within the madness.

Consumed by emotion, consumed by pride for the team – and most likely delirious from sleep deprivation.

We had done it. The six of us, the ten of us. We had run 550km non-stop. Through the darkness, through the heat, through the desert. Against the odds.

This was everything – this was huge. This had been bigger than I could have possibly imagined.

My heart was full.

If I hadn’t been so dehydrated I would’ve cried.

I checked back in. More photos under the Vegas sign. Together.

We all agreed what our next stop was – burgers and chips. All the calories.

Hello Vegas.

Hello Mandalay Hotel.

Hello sleep.


TSP was like nothing I’d ever done before, nothing my body had ever experienced – not just the amount of kilometres, but the eating and sleeping (or lack of both), the mental and emotional. Having a team around me, the support through the highs and the lows.

It still brings me to tears how magical it was, and yet still mildly traumatising.


And the learnings?

So many. Team work, gratitude, humility – they’re just a few.

I know I broke my body. But now I feel like those broken parts have been fixed stronger.

And I know I could not have done any of without every single person on our team.

I will be forever grateful and proud of to be part of AM PM.


And next?

UTA50 – my first 50km in six weeks time.

Sorry legs.


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