My First 50-Mile Race Through The Australian Bush
An 80.5-kilometre race sounds tidy when written on an entry form. On the trail, it becomes a long series of small decisions: whether to walk the next climb, how much to drink, when to eat, and whether a tired thought deserves attention.
My first 50-mile event took place in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, on a cool autumn weekend. The course moved through eucalyptus forest, sandstone shelves, creek crossings and long fire trails. It was beautiful in the way Australian bushland can be beautiful: rugged, exposed and slightly unforgiving.
I had completed several trail marathons and a few long triathlon days, but this distance felt different. I was stepping into a race where fitness would matter, yet patience, fuelling and emotional control would matter just as much.
The plan was simple: start conservatively, keep eating before I felt hungry, and reach the final aid station with enough energy to run the last section. The race report became less about a heroic finish and more about learning how to stay useful when the day stopped feeling comfortable.
Before Race Day
The week before the event was deliberately quiet. I reduced my running, kept two short easy jogs in the diary and resisted the temptation to test my legs. Australian trail races often involve early starts and long drives, so logistics became part of the taper. I left home before sunrise, collected my race bib near Katoomba and checked the compulsory gear list twice.
The forecast promised mild temperatures, but Blue Mountains weather can change quickly. A bright morning can turn cold on an exposed ridge, and shaded gullies may stay damp long after the sun appears. My pack carried a waterproof shell, first-aid supplies, a lightweight warm layer, two soft flasks and enough food to manage a delay between aid stations.
At the briefing, runners discussed cut-offs, creek levels and the condition of the track. The atmosphere was relaxed in the familiar Australian way: plenty of “no worries” and dry jokes, although everyone knew the course would eventually demand full concentration.
The Start And Early Miles
The race began in darkness. Headlamps moved along the trail in a loose line, and the first kilometres passed with the nervous energy common to any ultra. I deliberately stayed near the back of the main group. Several runners moved ahead quickly, but I knew that early speed would become expensive later.
The first climb warmed me up, and I settled into a pattern of jogging the flats, walking steep rises and eating every 35 to 40 minutes. My first snack was a rice cake, followed by a gel and some salted potatoes. The food was ordinary, which was exactly the point. I did not want a nutrition plan that depended on finding a particular product at every checkpoint.
At the opening aid station, volunteers topped up bottles and called out encouragement. I spent less than three minutes there. That sounded efficient at the time, though I later realised that speed at an aid station only helps when the departure is organised. I left with one bottle not fully secured, which cost me time further down the track.
Finding The Rhythm
By 25 kilometres, the race had become quieter. Runners spread out, conversation faded and the focus narrowed to the next marker. The course used a mixture of single-track trail, rocky steps and wide management roads. Those changes were welcome because they allowed different muscles to take over.
I watched my effort rather than my pace. On the runnable sections, I kept the intensity controlled enough to speak in short sentences. On the climbs, I power-walked without embarrassment. That was an important adjustment: walking was no longer a sign that the race had gone badly; it was one of the tools that would get me to the finish.
| Race point | What I noticed | Adjustment |
|---|---|---|
| 20 km | Legs felt fresh and pace seemed slow | Stayed conservative |
| 40 km | Appetite became less reliable | Switched to smaller, more frequent snacks |
| 60 km | Quads felt heavy on descents | Shortened stride and reduced speed |
| 72 km | Fatigue affected decision-making | Used simple instructions: drink, eat, move |
Australia’s trail-running calendar has plenty of races where runners must carry meaningful water between checkpoints. That reality shaped my pacing. I did not want to arrive at an aid station dehydrated and then try to repair the problem with a few rushed cups. I drank steadily, accepted that my pack felt heavier, and kept moving.
The Long Middle
The halfway point arrived without drama. I was tired, but I still felt capable of making sensible decisions. That was the best part of the race. There was no sudden transformation, only the quiet confidence that the preparation was working.
The middle kilometres were also where small mistakes accumulated. I left one aid station without checking my food supply properly and discovered 30 minutes later that I had less than expected. The next section included a long climb and no convenient place to refill. I rationed what I had, drank carefully and felt the first signs of irritability.
At the next checkpoint, I ate a cup of noodles, half a banana and a piece of bread with salt. The volunteers offered the kind of practical support that makes Australian ultras feel communal rather than polished: clear directions, blunt reminders and a cheerful “you’re right” delivered when I was not entirely convinced.
The food settled my stomach. I also changed my goal. Instead of thinking about the finish, I aimed for the next aid station, then the next trail junction. The race became manageable again once I stopped trying to experience the entire distance at once.
The Final Push
Around 60 kilometres, the course began to feel longer than the numbers suggested. Descending was surprisingly difficult. My quads had enough strength to keep moving, but not enough freshness for confident running on loose sandstone. I shortened my stride, looked further ahead and accepted a slower pace.
Night returned during the final section. My headlamp picked out roots, stones and reflective course markers, while the surrounding bush disappeared into darkness. The familiar track became unfamiliar, and I had to trust the markings rather than rely on memory.
At the last aid station, I sat down for the first time. A volunteer asked whether I was okay, and I answered, “Yeah, just cooked,” which was accurate enough. I ate a gel, drank cola and spent four minutes repacking my vest. That pause helped, although standing up afterwards felt like restarting an old machine.
The final kilometres were a mixture of jogging and walking. I could hear other runners nearby, but nobody spoke much. When the finish lights appeared, the relief was physical. I crossed the line in 11 hours and 47 minutes, slower than my optimistic training estimate and far more satisfied than the time suggested.
What Worked And Failed
The pacing strategy worked because it was flexible. I never forced a target pace on terrain that did not support it. The regular eating plan also helped, especially early in the day. I did not wait for hunger, and that prevented the deep energy crash I had feared.
My equipment was mostly reliable. The shoes handled the rocky trail well, and the lightweight shell earned its place when the temperature dropped. The weak point was organisation. My food was packed into several small bags, but I had not labelled them by race section. I spent too much mental energy checking what remained.
The biggest failure was underestimating the effect of fatigue on simple choices. I had rehearsed hydration and fuelling, yet I had not practised repacking my vest while tired. I also assumed motivation would remain steady. It did not. Motivation came and went; routine was more dependable.
The race fee, travel, accommodation and gear made the event a significant Australian running expense. That encouraged me to treat the entry as a proper project rather than an isolated weekend. Planning the drive, booking a basic room near the course and allowing time for recovery all made the experience more sustainable.
What I Will Remember
My first ultra-distance race taught me that endurance is built through ordinary actions repeated under pressure. A careful start, a mouthful of food, a steady climb and a sensible decision at an aid station can matter more than a burst of speed.
I also learned that a long event exposes the quality of preparation. The training runs were useful, but the real progress came from practising nutrition, carrying compulsory gear, walking hills and continuing after the day became inconvenient.
The finish did not feel like a dramatic breakthrough. It felt like the natural result of staying patient for nearly twelve hours. I finished tired, pleased and aware that the distance had changed my understanding of effort.
What I should remember is simple: in an 80.5-kilometre race, progress rarely looks impressive. It looks like eating when appetite fades, slowing down before the body demands it, and taking the next workable step through the dark.