While most of the city sleeps, one man circles an athletics track south of the River Thames, drenched in sweat, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and a makeshift gilet made from a black bin bag. A small pile of vomit marks the spot where another runner emptied his stomach an hour ago—only to pick himself up and keep going. This isn’t an isolated case; plenty of others have suffered the same fate, including a 74-year-old former librarian who’s endured it twice.
Welcome to the brutal world of 24-hour racing, where pain and perseverance collide in a test of both physical and mental endurance. The rules are simple: cover as many laps of a 400m track as possible in 24 hours. But as puddles form and temperatures plummet during the night at Battersea Park, it becomes all about survival.
So, what drives people to push themselves to these extremes? What keeps them going when every muscle is screaming to stop? And just how far can someone really go in 24 hours?
“It’s pure weirdness,” says Robbie Britton, a former British record holder who’s raced 12 of these events. “You know it’s going to be 12 hours of pain, and no other sport can make you go from peak fitness to arely being able to walk the next day.”World-record holder Aleksandr Sorokin, who ran 198 miles in 2022, isn’t shy about the suffering: “I hate it because it’s huge suffering,” he admits. His feat was the equivalent of running over seven marathons at a 3:10 pace—no easy feat by any measure.
For some, like 84-year-old Patricia Seabrook, pacing is everything. A veteran of 19 races, she understands the slow and steady approach. “As long as I can still do it, I will,” she says.
Veteran ultramarathoner Ray McCurdy, who’s completed 200 marathons, is hooked on the challenge. “I’m addicted to them,” he shrugs. And for first-timer Richard Hall-Smith, it’s about pushing personal limits: “So many people fear the unknown. I embrace it.”
As the hours drag on, eating, drinking, and even walking become huge challenges. Runners consume everything from chocolate to baby food to keep going. For Sorokin, it’s a constant negotiation with his stomach: “I ask if it can handle a banana. If not, I try something else.”
Dark humor helps lighten the mood. A fox snatches an energy gel, while a DJ plays “I Would Walk 500 Miles” for the runners. Support crews are in full swing, offering food, motivation, and cleanup duty, all while sacrificing their own weekends.
The real race doesn’t begin until after 16 hours, according to seasoned runners. But for those who endure, the rewards go beyond victory. As Michael Stocks, a past winner, puts it: “It’s about opening new doors. You learn so much about yourself.”
For most, the race isn’t about winning—it’s about pushing past boundaries, surviving the pain, and doing their best, lap after lap. Nearby, a pensioner who flew in from Norway that morning continues the challenge, wrapped in a cheap poncho.
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