My Running Journey

Finding Peace In Distance & Discomfort

Running wasn’t always a part of my life.

In fact, late 2005 was when it all started, with a classic ‘bucket list’ decision. It co-coincided with my Dad being diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease. I found running helped me deal with the anger and frustration of this.

Many years later (as I write this, it’s been 20 years since my first race) and I’m an ultra addict!

You’re probably wondering how I ended up here..

Andy Killworth holding a Centurion 100 Mile finisher buckle close to the camera. Andy is in the background with the camera's focus on the silver colored buckle from the 'Autumn 100' event. Andy is pictured on a white background, wearing a blue tshirt and black/red race best.

When I first stated training for my first marathon, I especially loved my weekly long runs, which felt like I was de-fragging my brain.

I did the Hal Higdon novice marathon plan and I really enjoyed the long runs getting longer, as well as the ‘step back’ weeks. Other than that I had no real idea of what I was doing, especially around strength training, conditioning, nutrition etc. But that’s all part of the learning journey.

In the lead up to my first race I enjoyed getting up super early and doing my long runs. It was beautiful experiencing early summer mornings in a different way – and then feeling like I’d accomplished something big before the day really started.

In parallel though, my Dad’s MND was starting to progress. So I had this weird dynamic where I was getting fitter and being able to go out and be outside. And my Dad was starting to get worse, which meant he was less able to do something he really loved, which was hiking.

I remember talking to my Dad about it once. He told me (this was when he started to be in a wheelchair) that he’d seen me out running and thought two things: firstly, he was really proud of me, but secondly, he kind of resented it. Which makes sense.

The First Big Milestone: San Francisco Marathon, 2006

My first ever race was the San Francisco marathon. I have a love affair with SF anyway (been there 14 times, if you’re asking), so combining that with my first marathon (indeed, first race) was amazing.

Andy Killworth running the San Francisco Marathon in 2006

If you’ve ever run it, you’ll know it’s not the easiest introduction to the 26.2 mile club. Hills, fog, and that iconic crossing of the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s amazing though (I went back and did it again in 2008).

The buzz of finishing my first marathon was amazing (as was doing it in 3hr 30m, way faster than I’d imagined!).

I clearly remember calling my voicemail straight after and my Dad telling me how proud he was. I was on cloud nine for ages!

The Middle Years: Marathons, Half Marathons, and a New Identity

Over the next few years, running became more than just a hobby. It became part of how I understood myself.

I ran a bunch of half marathons. I ran a couple more marathons. I built up experience, confidence, miles in the legs and miles in the mind.

From memory, this included Cardiff Half Marathon, Reading Half Marathon, Gosport Half Marathon and a bunch others.

I also went back and did San Francisco Marathon again in 2008, finishing in around 3hr 20m. Yep, I’m kinda obsessed with San Francisco!

I wasn’t always consistent. There were some months I didn’t run or race at all (thankyou depression!), but I always felt like I could step back into it.

Then I did Bournemouth Marathon and, well, it went pretty shit. I dropped out at mile 14 and honestly didn’t care – I think at this point I was so binary about things (i.e if I’m not on track to do X time I’m shit and may as well not bother). Pretty shitty mentality to be honest.

The Leap to Ultras: Ten Years Ago

So, frankly, I lost my love of marathons, shorter distances and speed. It no longer motivated me. I got pretty fucked off with constantly looking at my watch, thinking about splits, obsessing about PBs. As someone who is very hard on themselves anyway, this made it worse.

So about a decade ago I decided to do my first ultra. The idea of running beyond the traditional marathon distance fascinated me (I remember reading Dean Karnazes first book back in 2006).

I did my first ultra in 2015 (Endurance Life Dorset):

Andy Killworth running the CTS Endurance Life Dorset ultra marathon. Andy is pictured near the cliffs. There's a sign in the foreground that says 'Cliff Edge'. Andy is running along the path amongst short grass. He's wearing a bright yellow jacket, black gloves, black race vest and black running tights. He's smiling and making a 'thumbs up' gesture with his right hand. Three other runners are in the background.

…then a couple of 100ks, and my first 100 miler (Thames Path) in 2016.

My First 100 – Centurion Thames Path 100

The Thames Path 100 felt like the natural step up from 100k (well, to me as an ultra runner anyway). It also seemed insanely challenging, which was exactly why I wanted it.

So I booked it, mainly so I’d feel committed and couldn’t wriggle out.I was working with a running coach at the time. I knew he had the experience to get me through the training, and honestly a lot of it wasn’t that different from training for other ultras.

The bigger job was mental. I had to get my head around being out there for a very long time, on a course that’s almost completely flat. The race runs from just outside London to Oxford, along the Thames Path, exactly like the name suggests.

It’s a pretty course. It’s also dead flat, and that’s the catch. Flat is harder than it sounds. Your legs and muscles keep moving the same way for hours with no break from it, no change of rhythm.

I reckon a flat 100 is tougher, physically and mentally, than a hilly one.

The first big lesson I took from this race was complacency. I didn’t take nutrition seriously enough early on. I wasn’t eating regularly, and by the 50 mile point I was completely low on blood sugar and pretty faint (which, looking back, is a mad thing to let happen).

I stopped, took some time, got some pasta in and pulled my nutrition back together. But a lot of the damage was already done.

The second lesson was organisation. My drop bags were a mess. Battery chargers, nutrition, every kind of food, gels, charging leads, all thrown in together. At 50 and 75 miles, where I could actually get to them, I couldn’t even work out what I was looking at. When you’re that wrecked, cognitively and physically, you need to have thought it through in advance. Trying to think clearly in the moment just doesn’t happen.

The night section was hard but fun. There’s something super cool about running around at night with a headtorch on – very liberating and almost childlike. I find seeing the world from just my headtorch light really hypnotizing. But damn it’s cold down by the Thames at night! I had multiple layers, a hat and gloves. When you’re not running with someone else, you can just pick up indications of where people are by the clanking of gates opening and closing, or the bobbing of a headtorch in the distance. Alone but not alone.

Any 100 is hard. I completely underestimated how hard. From around mile 60 things fell apart. I couldn’t keep food down, I was vomiting a lot, and I couldn’t hold fluids either. My running slowed to a jog, then from mile 70 to a slow walk. By 70 I’d had enough and decided to quit.

So I made two phone calls. First my wife, who was going to meet me at the next aid station, to tell her I was done. Then my coach. I told him I was about a mile out and quitting when I got there. He said, fine, but when you stop, keep eating and drinking, because that matters either way.

What happened next shaped the rest of my ultra running. I got to the aid station and said I wanted to quit. Two volunteers there. One said no problem, let me take your number off you.

The other said, come and sit down. I said I just want to quit. He said, I understand, but come and have some food and drink, you’ll need it anyway. I’m standing there covered in sweat and vomit and saliva and mud, wanting nothing more than to go home.

And he says, Andy you’ve got two options:

1) You can wake up tomorrow feeling like crap

2) You can wake up tomorrow feeling like crap with a 100 mile buckle

Within a few minutes I’d chosen option 2.

I ran out of that aid station. The rest was hell. I finished as one of the very last runners, but I finished.

And just like he said, I woke up the next morning feeling like absolute crap, incredibly proud, holding my first 100 mile buckle. If it hadn’t have been for that conversation I’m sure I would never have attempted another 100.
It’s incredible how powerful one person’s actions and words can be. I literally went from ‘fuck this‘ to ‘fuck yeah‘ and I’m always grateful he took the time to do that, and was savvy enough to know that although I was saying I’m done, I actually wasn’t.

So since then I’ve also done Autumn 100 and North Downs Way 100. And I’ve also ‘DNFd’ (Did Not Finish) at least 9 100 milers, mainly due to heat, dehyrdation, and/or shitty mentality. But I keep coming back to ultras.

The Why

There are a few reasons I do this to myself. And I’m very concsious that the whole concept of doing something that’s always going to be massively tiring, exhausting, painful and discomforting is pretty odd.

There’s the process: deciding you want a race, committing to it, paying for it. There’s the training. And there’s the doing, the race itself.

These are my three 100 miler buckles. I worked my absolute ass off for them. Any time I need a confidence boost, I look at them and remember I did (voluntarily!) some hard shit. I love ’em!

Three Centurion 100 mile ultra marathon buckles. They are pictured on a beige background. The buckles are silver coloured and all say '100 Miles - Finisher'. They each depict a centurion, with other images relevant to that race. The buckles are for Thames Path 100, Autumn 100 and North Downs 100.

Finishing is a huge buzz and it feeds my pride like nothing else. But it’s just as much about everything in between.

The ups and downs of training through different weather, different terrain, different moods. Long runs, short runs, fast runs. Then the ups and downs of the race itself, physically and mentally, because you’re asking your body and mind to do something they don’t really want to do.

You can hit real highs in an ultra and real lows. There are points where you genuinely wonder why you’re doing it and you just want to stop. That’s part of it too.

Ultra running has taught me a lot about myself.
It strips you back and shows you who you actually are.

And I’ve learned plenty from that.

I enjoy the pride it gives me. As someone who often has low self-esteem and confidence, I can look at my medals and know I did them, whatever else my head might be telling me.

The training matters to me on its own. It keeps me physically healthy, but it does as much for my mental health, keeping depression and anxiety at bay.

Also I get random shit like this when two horses had a selfie with me:

Andy Killworth in a selfie with two horses. Andy is in the centre, smiling broadly, wearing a green running shirt and black running vest. There is one horse each side of him (we see the horses from shoulder height upwards). The horse to the left is grey and white, the horse to the right is black and white.

I like that doing this sets an example to my kids about what’s possible (ultras, not selfies with horses). And when I’m out there, I feel like I’m being me.

The ultra community is quirky. A lot of people in it are dealing with addiction, mental health stuff, neurodiversity. Everyone’s in the same place doing the same hard thing, and they really support each other. In an ultra I feel like I can just be myself.

Ultra running has become a huge part of my life. I’ve gone over ultra distance about 30 times across trails, mud, rain and every possible mental and physical high and low you can imagine.

Ultras aren’t just about fitness.

They’re about resilience and learning more about yourself than you realised you’d find.

About managing your mind when your body is screaming.

They’re about finding beauty in the grind (and probably vomit). Some of the races I’ve completed:

So What’s Next?

I want to keep doing ultras for as long as my body will let me. One goal has stayed with me for a long time: 100 miles in under 24 hours.

I haven’t managed it yet. But it doesn’t matter how many times I fall short, I’ll keep going back for it, because it means too much to me to let go, as batshit crazy as it is.