Climbing Everest wasn't the hardest thing I've done. It was the longest, and I was the most unprepared. But the hardest was the Moab 240, a 240 mile non stop foot race through the Utah desert, the October before Everest.
I flew out with my friend Noel, my only crew member, pacer and photographer. We picked up a motorhome, spent an hour in a supermarket grabbing every high calorie, easily digestible food on the shelves, and enough painkillers to sedate an elephant. Then a hunt for one specific trail shoe with a built in gaiter to keep the sand out. Speeding between shops, I took a sharp turn, the overfilled fridge door flew open and a gallon of milk flooded the floor of our new house on wheels. A small shop in the suburbs finally had the shoes. Four hours down the highway to Moab: bib, drop bags, medical check, briefing. Eat, sleep, race.
Except it wasn't a race. I stood on the start line with around 200 others, David Goggins among them, all of us just as crazy as each other. This was about reaching the finish. The words to start: “If I get lost, hurt or die, it's my own damn fault.” The gun fired.
I didn't believe I could finish. So I set two rules. First, I knew I could run 100 miles, so I would cover at least 100. Second, I would not drop out of my own accord. I'd have to be injured or timed out.
Day 1
The first 20 miles were amazing. Then night set in and I could only walk. It rained. The next sleep station seemed impossibly far away. Two marathons in, I reached a fire pit and a burger stand. “One of everything.” I ate two and slept for an hour.
Day 2
Beautiful Utah canyons, and a long day. At the next sleep station there were no beds, just deck chairs around a fire. Ahead was a long, hilly, cold section. Some waited for sunrise. I went into the night. Part way through I curled into a ball under a damp fir tree and slept for maybe 15 minutes before the cold woke me. That section took 10 hours. At the other end Noel was waiting with warm food and infectious enthusiasm.
Day 3
Noel paced me. We walked, I brushed my teeth, we jogged, I ate gels, we took photos, I napped on the trail in the sun. Then in the evening he left me to run alone, and night three became my worst. Over 100 miles in, alone in the pitch black, my feet on fire. I sat down and cried, questioning every decision. But I knew I wasn't finished.
My feet were swelling so badly I'd lie down and raise them on a rock every hour. In the dead of night I did it and fell asleep. I woke up delirious, with no idea where I was or why I was in a desert. Three hikers passed. Two told me the distance to the next checkpoint. The third saw the state I was in and walked beside me until I came round. Three hours later I reached the checkpoint. Two more burgers, 30 minutes in a deck chair, and Noel was back.
Day 4
Finding energy was like drawing blood from a stone. With Noel's energy and more caffeine than I'd had all year, I found a jog again. At the checkpoint I went to the race doctor for the first time in any race, hoping he could fix my burning feet. He looked them over. “There's nothing wrong with your feet, aside from you've run 140 miles. Your nerves are screaming at you.” Perfect. Just something to tolerate. That night it poured. Five layers, all soaked through. The aid station gazebo was too packed to get near the fire. I ate and kept going.
Day 5
Beaten and broken in every way, but still pushing. One of the only runners younger than me had decided he was going to beat me. That gave me a kick. Noel and I moved through the woods, I took a 30 minute nap in the midday heat, and then into the night. My watch ticked over 100 hours and 370km. No point sleeping now. For three hours I hallucinated, running up and down what seemed like the same 100 metre stretch of desert rock. But I was running, with energy I didn't know I had.
By 3AM I was out of the canyons and onto tarmac. The final stretch. I messaged my family. I talked to myself. I was in disbelief, but really I'd believed in myself the whole time.
At 3:26AM I crossed the finish line, 111 hours after starting. I collected my finisher's belt buckle, sat by the fire and ate two slices of pizza. Time for a proper rest.