The Reality of Volume
Training for a 190-mile ultra requires a baseline of 60-80 miles per week just to survive the starting line. When you are operating on fragmented sleep, those miles don't build endurance; they systematically break you down.
When the Wheels Come Off
Track the training.
Every run on the road to the start line — stats refresh from my Strava feed.
Just four months after our twins arrived, permanently shifting us to a household of three young children, I laced up my shoes and started training. I was fully committed, armed with blind optimism and a stubborn refusal to acknowledge my own exhaustion. But after barely two months, the wheels came off entirely. Trying to run an ultra-marathon on severely broken sleep and the sheer, relentless chaos of a young family wasn't heroic; it was completely unsustainable.
I remember one specific evening clearly. I had just finished a brutal day managing global supply chains and tasting endless cups of tea. I came home to one poorly child needing constant attention, another knocking relentlessly at the door, and the third running around the house with pants on their head. Despite the madness, I tried to squeeze in a training run anyway. I made it about a mile down the road before my body and mind just ground to an absolute halt.
Something had to give. I had to make the difficult, incredibly humbling call to pull the plug, retreat, and regroup. It wasn't a failure; it was a tactical withdrawal. I needed to ensure I could actually be the partner and father my family needed, rather than an exhausted ghost haunting the edges of our home.
The Intervening Year
For the past year, I have essentially watched from the sidelines. I bided my time, focusing entirely on my family and my career as a tea buyer. I watched the children grow, learned to navigate the beautiful madness of a family of five, and waited for the dust to settle into a slightly more manageable rhythm.
Waiting wasn't easy. When you have a massive, imposing goal burning in the back of your mind, parking it feels dangerously close to admitting defeat. But it was entirely necessary. You simply cannot pour from an empty cup, and my cup was bone dry.
The Urgency Returns
The drive to do this hasn't faded—if anything, the enforced hiatus has sharpened it. The desire to honour my grandfather and contribute meaningful funding to Alzheimer’s Research UK has only grown stronger in the quiet moments. Coupled with my duty to represent the trade through the UKTTBS, I know exactly why I am putting myself through this. The 'why' never left; I just needed the 'when' to align.
Starting Over with Purpose
I’m back at it with a clear head, a vastly better sense of balance, and a foundation that can actually support the immense physical load I am about to place on it. I have stripped away the arrogance of my first attempt. I now have a deep, sobering respect for the distance and the logistical mountain required to train for it.
The goal hasn't shifted an inch: Peterston Tea Estate to the Cutty Sark. 190 miles. But the man standing at the start of this training block is vastly different from the one who tried last year. We are officially back at the starting line, and this time, we are finishing the job.
