Race Report: Ultra-Trail Australia (UTA22), 22k, 2025-05-16

Race Name: Ultra-Trail Australia (UTA22)
Location: Blue Mountains
Distance: 22km
Elevation: 1154m
Date: 2025-05-16
Time: 3:17:42
Place: 686 / 2271
Results: Official Page (Archive) 

My Goals: It all begins here. While I wanted to complete the race in good time, I was not going all-out and making it the hardest I've ever run. I was extremely happy to finish it injury-free and with a time under 3:30.

Why This Race?: When I started to consider which races I wanted to run in, the thought that road racing was less appealing, even if the plan is to run in those road races eventually, but for my first race, I felt like I needed something challenging. I mentioned that I wanted to get my hands on the UTA11 ticket to friends, but they encouraged me to upgrade that to the UTA22. And so here I am. 

Race Preparation

The lead-up to this race has been quite the journey. From first deciding that I wanted to switch to trail running, and then getting a coach to help me make a plan. 

All online training plans for the UTA22 or generic ultra training plans were 16 week programs, but because I bought my ticket late through resale, I only had 12 weeks to get my shit together. As previously mentioned, I was jolted into taking this running seriously by Justin. He, being a first-time coach (maybe a little reluctantly) made me a plan that fit perfectly into the time I had ahead. Had I self-trained, I'm very confident I would have made this much more challenging than it needed to be. (Once Justin is set up to take on clients officially, I'll be referring every person I know!)

I thought it would be hard to work to a plan, but it was surprising how well it fit into my existing routine. I'm not saying it didn't have an impact on the family, because it did, but working at home has helped.

Ultimately, the plan progressively increased distance, had rest (deload) weeks, vertical gains and loss increases, a mix of hill repeats and stair sessions, and the plan even accounted for my reformer pilates classes, and other strength training. It was solid and structured well. 

Something I appreciated immensely was the willingness of Justin to adjust the plan to accommodate an injury I had. After trying to ease up and improve, my knee pain persisted during my runs. A trip to the physio confirmed the issue (Thanks Mark), additional exercises were given, and the problem has been manageable since then and was non-existent on race day.

I really enjoyed getting out for training. It’s a weird time of year as we move into the cooler months... some runs were wet, some mornings were bitterly cold (as low as 5℃ and it wasn't even winter) and my muscles refused to wake up, and some runs were so warm it felt like I was running through a shower of sweat... yeah, gross. But it was the runs into the bush and exploring new places that really did it for me.

One of the highlight runs, among many, was from Perry’s Lookdown, through the Grose Valley, and up the Horse Track. It was misty and raining the whole time, so there weren’t many views, but the bush was just beautiful. Never mind that I did over +950 m of elevation in just 14 km, aggravated my knee, and had to deal with leeches every 500 meters, but I enjoyed being out in the rain, alone in the bush, running along the river.

Something that had been continuously playing in the back of my mind in the days leading up to the race was that I’d been feeling a little sick, typical cold symptoms, a scratchy throat, but nothing too serious. My coach tried to reassure me that it’s common to feel flat and even a little under the weather during your pre-race taper. More on this later!

Pre-Race

I tried to prepare for this as much as possible without overwhelming myself. I made a pacing plan, I made a pack list, but I still managed to overthink it the night before. Being my first ever race, I had no idea what to expect or what to do. I’ve struggled with anxiety in the past and have held me back from trying so many things, but this time I motivated myself to Just Do It™.

It’s now 4:00 AM on race day and my alarm starts vibrating, waking me up. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep, I’d gone to bed later than planned, and the nerves made it even harder to drift off. I didn’t have much time to slowly wake up. I made myself coffee, breakfast, double-checked my list, checked my vest, made sure everything I needed was in my finish line bag, and then headed out.

I’m glad I’d searched for possible parking spots on Google Maps and scoped them out the day before while checking into the race, because I knew it would be tricky to find a decent park early in the morning with half the area signposted “No event parking.” But since I got there so early, I was able to quickly find a spot just 600 m up the road.

I grabbed my gear and walked down to the bus stop. The walk was legitimately eerie, the fog was thick, and the streetlights cast beams of light that sliced through the air (see pics). I got to the bus stop and, within seconds, was on a bus heading to the start line. On the bus I met a lovely lady who had run so many races and ultratrails she’d lost count, and there I was, heading to my first. We talked about runs, the bush, and bowerbirds. It was a welcome distraction.

I didn’t notice it at first, as I was deep in conversation, but the bus driver, who was possibly confused about taking passengers to a different start line for the UTA Miler earlier in the morning, took a wrong turn and started heading up the highway toward Blackheath.

It wasn’t until we reached Medlow Bath that I realised something was off. The driver must have worked it out around the same time, because he pulled into the Medlow Bath service station to turn around. After that slight detour, we got back on track and headed to the correct start line, but we stopped about a kilometre up the road. The air was cold, so I welcomed the short warm-up walk, and I ate my pre-race banana on the way.

I guess I felt a bit anxious at the start line, mostly because this was all new to me, and partly because I’m not used to being in crowds. I work from home, and the most people I usually see are those hanging around the local shops. But I kept it together, forced myself to wait 15 minutes in the portaloo line, and just tried to settle. Still, I felt a bit lonely as I was surrounded by people but not knowing anyone.

I stood off to the side, dealing with a few butterflies, and just observed. There was a lot of energy in the air, people spruiking over the loudspeakers, with occasional questions being thrown at those up the front. There was a mix of groups chatting, some standing alone looking a little lost (like me), smiles, laughter, and a few anxious faces too.

The Race

Weirdly, as I recount this experience, I can still feel the same butterflies I had at the start line. It was getting close with only a few minutes left until our wave began its 22k journey. I had placed myself somewhere in the middle of the pack when another solo runner standing next to me asked if I could take his picture. I was so overwhelmed I almost forgot I’d planned to take one of myself, but I snapped a few for him, asked if he could return the favour, and wished him good luck. I’m really glad I have a “before” photo now as it’s nice to compare it with the “after” photo!

Well, fuck. Here it goes.

It’s now 7:20 AM and the crowd starts to slowly roll forward. I remember the excitement over the speakers, but I couldn’t even tell you if there was a countdown, a beep, a buzzer, or a start gun, I was too distracted. I’m not sure why I expected a sudden surge forward, with everyone launching off at full speed, but it was much more gradual and gentle, with runners easing into a steady pace early on.

My race plan broke the course into three major chunks: the massive downhill (including the first 2 km stretch), the middle section of hills, and the final, somewhat less hilly part that included the dreaded Furber Steps. Right from the start, I settled into a pace that felt comfortable and close to what I had planned. As my legs warmed up, I quickly moved through people, and the pack began to thin out over the next 2 km. But this is where things started to unravel...

My heart rate went through the roof. I was actually a little concerned, as I’ve never had this happen on any of my runs before. I wasn’t even pushing that hard, in fact I couldn't push hard because my heart rate spiked and held an average of 180 bpm for nearly the entire race. The plan was to race mostly in tempo, then occasionally push it to threshold. It. Was. Fucked.

I was determined to finish the race and kept hoping that my heart rate was only high because of some strange race-day adrenaline, and that it would eventually settle. But by the time I reached the 8 km mark, it was clear it wasn’t going to drop anytime soon.

So I ploughed on, keeping a good pace on the downhills, high cadence, and minimal impact on my knees. Heart rate aside, I felt good through the 2 to 8 km stretch, making decent time and holding speed. But then a small rock, the little shit, probably sticking up only 2 cm got me.

I was about 6 km into the race, cruising along a flat section of fire trail. I even saw the rock. It was barely protruding, and I thought I’d clear it, but the tip of my toe clipped it, and it sent me flying through the air. Fully airborne, no part of me touching the ground.

I clearly remember gasps as runners around me saw (and heard) me crash hard onto the ground. It all happened both quickly and in slow motion. I knew exactly what had happened, so I wasn’t surprised, I just got up, quickly assessed the damage (no broken bones!), and started running again. A few concerned runners asked if I was okay. I reassured them with a quick “I’m fine,” even though I knew it was going to hurt later. This was the first ever fall I have had on a trail run, and typically it had to happen in a race in front of many people.

I also cracked the glass screen protector on my watch and destroyed one of my expensive Salomon flasks in the fall, snapping the nozzle clean off. Thankfully, I had spares in my pack. I was covered in mud and dirt, with blood running down my leg and dripping from my arm, I kept going. Days later, a huge bruise, about 10 x 5 cm, appeared on my upper arm, hidden under my sleeve, black, purple, and yellow. Looked epic.

Shortly after stacking it, Alex, a fellow Hazelbrook Trail Runner caught up to me. It was nice to see a familiar face, to know I wasn’t completely alone, even if I was surrounded by thousands of strangers. We ran together until we reached the first creek crossing at Jamison Creek. We walked a hill together for a bit, then Alex decided to run ahead.

From there, the sections started to blur into each other. There were long ups, shorter downs, the aid station around halfway, and more hills. I even caught a few concerned looks from volunteers at the aid station and checkpoints when they saw the mud, and blood running down my leg, no one asked if I was ok, but I just smiled and kept going.

Stupidly, at the aid station, I was feeling a bit lazy and didn’t want to take off my vest to dig out my backup flask and refill it. So, I only refilled two flasks, 500 ml of water and 500 ml of electrolytes to finish the race with. Definitely not part of the race strategy, and a mistake I paid for later when I had to start rationing water in the final 5 km.

It drizzle/rained for most of the run. There was mud. Lots and lots of mud. Slippery clay. Oh... and did I mention the mud? Considering I was in the first third of runners to finish, I can only imagine how much worse it got once the rest of the 2,271 runners made it up the hill. I can only imagine what it looked like the next day, after all the 50k, 100k, and Miler racers passed through the same sections.

At the 19.5 km mark, I had another running "first"… muscle cramps! My damn quads started cramping. I suspect the elevated heart rate contributed, but whatever the cause, it sucked. I remembered watching videos about cramps, maybe a little cocky thinking it won't happen to me, but one tip to help was to chew salt tablets (which, of course, I didn’t have), but another little tip to help was to activate your glutes.

So, I did. I focused on using my glutes more with every stride. I don’t know what kind of magic it was, or maybe it was just a placebo, but it seemed to work.

Then, I finally got to the infamous Fucking Furber Steps.

Fun fact: the Furber Steps are the last major hurdle before the finish line, 951 steps and about 250 metres of vertical climb. They’re one of the longest and steepest stairways in the Blue Mountains, and yes, they lived up to their reputation. I’d done a training run a few weeks earlier, where I ran down and then quickly hiked up them at night. I got a few "you’re crazy" looks from regular walkers/tourists, but I had energy to spare that night and even extended the run afterwards.

Let me tell you, though, after running/walking 20 km and climbing almost 1,000 metres already, your muscles do not want to go up these fucking stairs.

This was the only bottleneck I hit during the race. Everyone had bunched up and slowed to a crawl on the stairs. While mildly infuriating that I couldn’t move at my own pace, the silver lining of the forced slowdown was probably the only reason my heart rate didn’t spike back over 180 bpm.

The Finish

Finally, the last flight of steps, then boom, my calves decided they’d had enough abuse and started cramping. Little shits.

Now I was on the boardwalk. I could hear the cowbells and the cheering pretty clearly. I tried to do a few calf stretches, but I only had about 100 metres to go. I came around the corner, people were reading my name off my bib and cheering, and I felt compelled to run that final stretch to the finish line.

So close. So fucking close…

Then, just metres from the finish line, it's lying there right in front of me, CRAMPS. I had to slow to a walk again for a couple of metres, then pushed through and ran the final few steps over the finish line.

I had visions of crossing the finish line with excess energy, maybe even pulling off a heel-click for the camera. But in reality, I was barely holding it together. I passed under the arch and turned to the lady who placed my first-ever medal over my head. She reminded me to stop my watch (thank you!).

I was so exhausted, and I wish I’d been able to soak in the moment more. I started the race thinking my wife, Jenni, wouldn’t be able to make it to Scenic World to see me finish, that I’d cross the line like so many others, surrounded by strangers. But fortunately (and thankfully), Jenni made it. And to my surprise, my friend Jess was there too (not specifically for me, but hey I’ll take it)! So I ended up with two videos of me doing my awkward little run/walk right before the finish line.

Honestly, I’m really proud of myself. This is the first time in my life I’ve truly challenged myself both physically and mentally, and I’m proud to show my kids that I can do hard things. I hope that as they grow up, they remember this and choose to do uncomfortable, challenging things too.

I knew I wanted to finish injury free, so taking a dive mid-race and scraping my (left) knee and arm and ending up with a massive bruise wasn’t exactly what I imagined. I was mostly worried about my (right) knee, which caused drama during my training. It stayed in the back of my mind for most of the race: be careful, stand tall, watch your form, and don’t overstride when running downhill or fatigued. But to my relief, I crossed that finish line with a good (right) knee. I choose to ignore the fact that my (left) knee resembled something you might find in a garden, covered in dirt and mud, but was ripped open with dried blood running down my shin. By the end of the race, dirt stuck to the blood, and it just looked like a mess. Tis but a scratch... Related video.

On my way to the recovery tent, I briefly saw Jenni before she had to leave, and then ran into my fellow running mate, Alex. Not gonna lie, I was fucking done, and I struggled to hold a good conversation. With my heart rate finally dropping below 160 bpm, and the adrenaline wearing off, I started to feel cold for the first time. I sipped Coke, ate greasy salty chips, and made an effort to talk with Alex, my body slowly realised it was ready for a proper rest.

I knew the longer I stayed in the recovery tent, the colder I’d get, and the harder it would be to walk to the car. I said goodbye to my mate, collected my finish bag, skipped the tempting free massage, and made my way out. At the car, I slipped on a fresh pair of shoes, assessed my crusty knee and arm one last time, then drove home to a hot shower, a cold beer, a hot meat pie, and finally, some sleep.

Reflection

Did I enjoy it, even though I felt below average and my heart was trying to punch its way out of my chest?
Yes.
Will I do this again?
Fuck yes.
Will I go further next time?
Absolutely... bring it on.

I’m already planning my next challenge: the Ultra-Trail Kosciuszko 30. 32km of beautiful alpine views and high-altitude trails through Kosciuszko National Park? Yes please. I’ve already bought my entry.

Next time, I’ll be better prepared. I’ll have a clearer idea of what to expect, how to fuel more efficiently, and when to refill my damn water bottles. For a first race, I think things went surprisingly well. I overcame cramps, survived a hard fall, stress-tested my heart, pushed through serious fatigue, and still came through with a solid finish time, all with only 12 weeks of training.

There’s a lot to improve on, but I’m confident those lessons will come with time, experience, and more distance.

I also can’t ignore the toll this journey has taken on my family. Training pulled me away from home early most Sundays for those long runs, and some week days, and it’s meant less time with the kids, and, regrettably less time with Jenni. As I plan what’s next, a big part of the challenge will be figuring out how to chase these goals without letting them come at too high a cost to the people I love. I don’t have that answer yet, but I know I need to find the balance.

Closing

It was hard, and during the race, there were moments where I caught myself thinking, “Why the hell am I doing this?” But, it seems the finish line and recovery has a way of putting everything into perspective.

The truth is, it’s not just about race day. It’s the whole journey: the training, the places I’ve explored, how clear and calm my head feels during and after a run, getting stronger and fitter, and the incredible people I’ve met along the way. That’s what makes it all worth it.

If you’ve just started running too, reach out, I’d love to follow your journey, or maybe join you for a run. 💪

Fin ✌️