The Manchester Backyard Ultra. My final race of the 2025 season, and my second attempt at this brutal, beautiful format. After finishing 4th last year with 25 loops, I came into this race ready to dig deeper and go further. No targets this time though. No ceiling. Just me, the trail, and the will to go one more yard.

The Calm Before the Storm

I felt strong heading into the weekend, surprisingly so, considering I’d only just completed the Snowdon 100-miler and the GB Ultras 100 Mile Grand Slam four weeks earlier. Physically I felt well recovered, and the mindset was solid.

The weather, however, had other plans. Storm Amy was rolling in fast, with forecasts of torrential rain and winds reaching 50 mph gusts. Not ideal for a race that could last the weekend.

I arrived at race HQ around 10:30 a.m. The race brief was scheduled for 11:30, and the start for noon. But before we could even toe the line, the storm made her presence known, a tree had fallen across the route, completely blocking the trail.

The organisers reacted fast. Luckily, a crew member, from another runner’s support team, had a handsaw and set away to help clear it. It was a true community effort, and its moments like that, you’re reminded that ultras aren’t just races, they’re shared battles.

By 12:30, after an hour’s delay, a few heavy downpours and a few flattened gazebos, the course was declared safe. The race would start at 1 p.m.

The Format: The Backyard Ultra

For those unfamiliar, a backyard ultra is as much a mental challenge as it is a physical one.

Every hour, on the hour, runners set off to complete a 4.167-mile loop or yard. You must finish within the hour and be ready to start again when the bell rings at the start of the next hour.

Miss the bell, and you’re out. Essentially there is no finish line. The race continues until only one runner remains. That’s the beauty and the cruelty of this format.

Early Laps: Strong Start, Steady Flow

When the first bell sounded, I settled quickly into a steady rhythm. The route started with a loop around the supporters’ field, dropped sharply onto a cycle path, crossed the “Shakey Bridge” over the M60, then wound through a gravel trail looping a small nature reserve before returning to camp along the same route out.

It was familiar territory from last year and it started to bring back memories, but unintentionally, I was moving faster this time, Lap 1 in 36:17, nearly twelve minutes quicker than in 2024. I felt smooth and relaxed, heart rate steady around 130 bpm.

Lap 2 (36:33) and Lap 3 (36:10) felt effortless too. The weather couldn’t make up its mind now, bursts of sunshine followed by sheets of rain, but the legs were ticking over nicely. A tree branch fell within meters of me on Lap 3, I shit myself and now started to look up at every gust of wind, a reminder of how wild the conditions really were.

My crew urged me to slow down, to include some walking breaks, to save energy. I nodded, and promised I would soon, and carried on.

Lap 4 (38:10) brought the first intentional walk breaks. My reward for pacing better? A bowl of hot pork fried rice, courtesy of Dave and the crew. Alana and Mark from the ATLAS run club, arrived to show some support, and Seb, my football team’s captain, kept me updated on the weekend football scores.

By Lap 5 (38:45), I’d logged over 20 miles and still sat at the top of the field of runners. I knew deep down that I may have been playing with fire with my early pace, but I couldn’t resist with just how good I had felt so far.

Into the Night

Lap 6 (42:32) came with headlamp instructions from the race director. Darkness was closing in. I finally took some proper walking breaks and started chatting more with other runners — part strategy, part survival.

Lap 7 (43:11) marked the true start of night running. The rain had eased, leaving the wind to whip through the camp. The route felt eerily quiet now, headlamps bobbing like fireflies through the trees.

By Lap 8 (44:56), the rain was gone, but my foot began to ache. I changed into dry clothes, stretched, and took some painkillers, hoping it was nothing serious. It wasn’t, yet.

The Battle Within

By Lap 9 (45:49), the pain had grown sharper. I could feel it in my heel and now up into my Achilles. Every time I sat down between loops, getting moving again became harder.

Lap 10 (46:09), 41 miles in, and the ache spread to my calf. Still, I pushed on.

By Lap 12 (47:44), I’d crossed the 50-mile mark, but the dull throb had turned into a stabbing pain. The field was shrinking fast, runners hitting their own milestones and stopping satisfied.

I wasn’t ready to stop. Not just yet.

Breaking Point

By Lap 13 (47:15) and Lap 14 (48:57), the reality set in. I was limping more, the pain no longer just discomfort, it was warning me. I finished the lap, still in 5th place, but every loop hurt more than the last.

My headlamp died midway through Lap 14. Fellow runner Trish lent me hers; she’d decided to save herself for another race the next weekend. Small gestures like that mean everything out there.

Lap 15 (49:22) marked the 100 km point. A milestone many runners were celebrating. I wanted to. But I also knew, deep down, this might be my last. I’d taken six paracetamol in five hours trying to manage the pain. It barely made a dent.

By Lap 16 (53:46), I could barely walk to the starting corral. My foot screamed with every step; my knee had joined in from overcompensating. I did the maths, nine more hours to reach last year’s total, ten to fight on and potentially compete for the win. The mind was willing, but the body wasn’t.

I handed in my tracker. My race was done.

Reflection: The Real Finish Line

Sixteen laps. 110 km covered. 16 hours on my feet. Not the result I wanted, but one I was just about content with, considering the pain I was in. The winner went on to complete 29 loops, an incredible effort given the storm, the wind, and the sheer attrition of it all.

Could I have matched it? Maybe, if the body held. Mentally, I was ready to go deeper than ever. But this time, the lesson I took away wasn’t about pushing through. It was about listening when your body speaks.

Watching the field thin out lap by lap, it was clear that this race was as much about grit as it was about endurance. Each loop became a battle against the elements, gusts of wind lashing across the open sections, rain soaking through layers, and the dark, cold night.

For me, this sport isn’t just about miles or the medals, it’s about testing my limits and discovering how far I’m willing to go, and when I must stop.

The backyard will be there next year. And when that bell rings again, I’ll be ready for one more yard.

For now, that’s my race season done for 2025. Planning is underway for 2026. Time to rest and recover and finally get my injury looked at and healed fully before getting back out on the trails.

The Stats