The backyard ultra: a race format created in 2011 by Lazarus Lake, the same great mind behind the legendary Barkley Marathons. While backyards are now run all around the world, they still share their famous sibling's DNA of adversity, mystery, and allure.
Backyards are last person standing events. The idea is to run a 4.167 mile course known as a ‘yard’ on the hour, every hour, until everyone else DNFs. Then, to claim victory, you have to run one final yard alone.
Here’s the kicker: backyards are no-limit events. So long as two or more runners are willing to start another lap, then the race continues, irrespective of the race’s duration or distance. So you’d better have booked enough time off work!
The world record yard count currently stands at 119, which equates to about 5 solid days of running. That’s about 500 miles. An extreme feat of endurance as impressive for the overcoming of sleep deprivation as much as the mileage or mental fortitude.
How long do you think you’d be able to sustain yards for?
The backyard racing format had intrigued me for a while. So when a friend recommended a particular race, the Longbridge 100, I heard them out. It was, they said, an exceptionally well-managed race with a focus on sustainability and community.
Being organised by Darren from 3WordRuns, I could well believe it. Darren’s a co-founder of The Green Runners, and an all-round awesome human who I’d met on multiple occasions before. So I needed no further encouragement and signed myself straight up.
It struck me this quirky race format might also appeal to Jandalf the Savage. It turned out I was right. Jan signed himself up, and even persuaded our speedy wonder-runner, the Atomic Barista, to come and join the fun. That’s how we wound up with a team of 3 eager beginner ‘yarders ready to take on the Longbridge course in the summer of 2024.
In the weeks prior to the race we three enjoyed an unforgettable experience fastpacking across the Pyrenees, accompanied by our audacious comrade Tarp. We chalked up hundreds of kilometres with tens of kilometres of v+. Excellent preparation for Longbridge’s notoriously hilly course.
So on our return to dear old ‘Blighty, we were ready and rearing to have at the Longbridge course. Well... two of us were.
I had managed to run myself into a little bit of a state. A nasty illness that I’d carried around UTS100 had worsened afterwards. While I’d valiantly hauled my infirm body over the Pyrenees, I’d rapidly deteriorated afterwards. And just in case I still harboured any misconceptions about my ability to run a race, I’d also gone and smashed my knee into a rock near Pic Carlit. So I was completely out of action.
Brooding in an air of despondence, I reclined on my sofa, watching Jandalf the Savage and Atomic Barista’s laps tick up on Longbridge’s live tracking system. Barista won the race in style, while Jandalf clinched 3rd place. I felt pretty shit to have missed out.
In the days following, I committed to Darren that I’d make it to Longbridge next summer. I’d make sure of it.
Roll Forward to 2025
I bumped into Darren a couple of times in the months leading up to the race. First at the National Running Show in Birmingham, where he spoke about sustainable racing. Next at UTS, where he passed up his opportunity to run the race in order to mend strangers’ smelly old running shoes for free. I have no end of respect for this purposeful gent.
He asked me how I was feeling about Longbridge. I explained I hadn’t really been training post-Spine, and had lost a lot of fitness. Longbridge was only a month away, and I was only just starting my rebuild. Nonetheless, I noted Darren seemed quietly confident in me.
The rebuild did go pretty well after that. I managed a solid 4 week training block. I even started a taper; though I screwed that up a few days beforehand, by running 75km to London for an anti-genocide protest. Humanity must come first.
I chose to travel sustainably to Longbridge via a sequence of three trains. Without a set of wheels and car boot, I couldn't bring many of the things I’d have liked to, such as a table and chair. But at least I had the basics: food, a few pairs of shoes, headtorches, and an inflatable sleeping mat (just in case...)
Waiting on the platform at Lewes for the last of my three trains, I startled when someone called out my name. This turned out to be Pete, a chap I'd slightly assisted to a 3 hour finish while pacing the Milton Keynes Marathon back in 2023. By the time Pete and I reached Berwick, we’d caught up on our recent races, and had a pretty good idea of each other’s race strategy.
Disembarking onto this rural station platform, we connected with three other ‘yarders, and the lovely Sam, who conveyed us in an electric minibus up to Longbridge Regenerative. A social community of eco-friendly businesses and, of course, this people & planet-friendly backyard race.
Darren, one of the most people-friendly people you'll ever meet, greeted us with a tour of the site’s facilities and its two generous barns. These would form our rest area for the duration of the race.
Within the barns, Darren provided each of us a hay bale covered with a coffee bean sack. This was to be our bed, should we need it. Some runners supplemented their bales with tables and chairs, their nutrition laid out like mini-aid stations. While I wished I could do the same, I had to make do with my inflatable sleeping mat, and the hay bale as a table.
At least, I tried to. For when I inflated my sleeping mat, I found it was so long that wouldn’t fit on the floor without blocking the aisle. I couldn't be bothered to pack it away, so I just shoved it up against the side of the wall. It served either as a bright orange monument to poor planning, or a pretty garish headboard.
I arranged my hay bale so it was half-table and half-seat; hardly ideal, but it’d have to do. I shrugged my shoulders and left for a little explore.
My nose sniffed out Andy's mobile pizza van, La Squadra Della Pizza, which was hidden in another of the barns. Andy had hardly brought the stone oven up to temperature yet, but I couldn't possibly resist, and chomped my way through the most delicious vegan pizza I'd ever eaten while sporting a massive smile on my chops.
During Darren's pre-race briefing he introduced the race's chosen charity, the local WOLO Foundation, and ended with a reminder that one of Laz’s “Big Dog Backyard” bronze coins was up for grabs for the winner.
Then it was time. We each made our way into the starting corral. My friend Jandalf appeared, sporting his characteristically wide smile. He was excited by a night of marshalling at the second turnaround point, followed (hopefully!) by a little crewing for me.
The Slowest of Sweltering Starts
Darren set us all off on our first lap at 6pm. The route immediately passed alongside a craft brewery taproom that looked all too enticing, then began its steep climb up an uneven rocky path, before breaking left onto undulating trail. This was the hottest day of the year so far, and despite being early evening, the temperature held steady at 27°C. The sun beat down onto parched ground, whose trails were dusty and unyielding.
After some descending, the gradient switched to a gradual ascent, while winding through a beautiful valley. A steep hill drew into sight up ahead, at the top of which looked to be perched a little marquee, presumably our first turnaround point. It felt like a strange decision to make us run all the way up there, when we could just as well have continued along the valley. But where would have been the fun in that?
There was a lovely view from the top of the hill. Here a volunteer sheltered from the sun under the mini-marquee. They directed us straight back down the steep descent, which I considered our quads might object to after a day or two.
My plan was to take it very easy on these early yards. So I struck up conversations with other runners to pass the time, covering topics from prior races to heat management strategies. For I could see some were already quite uncomfortable in the heat. When the sun rose on day two, and that midday heat kicked in, I suspected that many of the field were going to struggle.
We passed by the turning to race HQ, wherein I observed we were roughly halfway through the first yard. The logic behind Darren’s route choice became apparent: two almost equal length out-and-back spurs, joined in the middle by the connection to the start, meant we never strayed far from race HQ. It also made it easy to gauge our progress around the course.
The second spur proved just as beautiful, but even hillier than the first, with a big dip followed by a long climb of various gradients all the way up to the second turnaround point.
Under this marquee was housed a handcrafted wooden chest of miniature drawers. On each drawer was written a number. We had to locate the drawer that corresponded to the current yard, and withdraw from it a token etched with the correct yard number (yard 1 in this case). We’d need to present this to Darren at the finish to conclude our yard. No yard token with the correct yard number meant no yard - and a swift DNF.
Wouldn’t it become difficult to remember the correct yard number as the hours and days rolled on, and sleep deprivation kicked in? Time would tell.
The return from the second spur was mostly downhill, and quite rapid. A final left turn took us down the final hill, past the tempting taproom, and concluded with a last little incline back into the starting corral. It felt rather strange accepting applause from a crowd of spectators for completing a 6.7 kilometre jog.
We handed our yard tokens over to Darren, then made our way back to the barns.
I was delighted to find a reclining chair had magically materialised beside my hay bale. Jandalf must have left it for me before setting off to his marshal position. What a star. I leaned back and reclined, sipping Tailwind and knocking back salt tablets. In 27°C heat, maintaining a healthy electrolyte balance was going to be key in this race.
My plan was to smash out the first 24 laps nice and easy, then take stock of the field and build a mental plan for the next 24, or however many it would take. But some questions were emerging.
This was not a flat course. In fact, there were some quite steep climbs, with very little flat to be found. 200 metres v+ each lap - that's nearly 5km every 100 miles. Much more than SDW100, and almost as much as the Arc of Attrition, where a sub-24 hour black buckle is a rare award indeed. I felt sure that not everyone would reach 100 miles on this course.
When I factored in the weather forecast of >30C over the weekend; when I'd already seen many of the field struggle after a couple of hours in 27C, I just couldn't see this race lasting awfully long.
But it was far too early to be thinking about strategy. We set back off, where I kept the pace easy, and the conversations flowing with my fellow ‘yarders. From first-timers to old-hands, weekend warriors to those who’d registered some high-profile successes, and even one about to publish their book. What a glorious summer’s evening out enjoying the Downs!
While one runner had dropped out very early due to injury, our numbers otherwise held steady through the evening. But as the darkness encroached, and we retreated into our headtorch bubbles, our numbers began dropping consistently. I guessed it was the heat. While it was obviously slightly cooler in the darkness of the night, conditions were still remarkably hot and humid.
Come the 9th lap, even I was beginning to feel the effects. My muscles were growing heavy and sore, the hills were growing tougher, and everything felt like a chore. Fortunately, troubleshooting this wasn't difficult: in the darkness, I'd let my electrolyte intake drop off. I had myself righted in a jiffy.
The next thing I needed to sort out was my pacing. Since I’d been running mostly 50-52 minute yards, it left precious few minutes to sort myself out before rejoining the starting corral for the next lap. There wasn’t really enough time to comfortably refill my water bottles, eat, recline, daydream and put the world to rights. I preferred a solid 10+ minutes for all that.
And anyway, I didn't enjoy running as slowly as I was. Doing so required an unnatural, uncomfortable and inefficient gait that just wasn't making me happy.
So from then on, I decided to speed up. And it worked! The joy of running returned, and at the end of each yard I could luxuriate with a nice long rest in Jan's reclining wonderchair. Between yards 10 and 13 I really found my backyard rhythm.
Others on the course were working through their own challenges with pacing. Sergei had been laying down blistering lap times from the outset, so I wasn't surprised to see him bow out fairly early. Stuart, another fast runner with a cracking gait, took over Sergei’s place at the front. Though, again, even despite his most impressive race history (which I could only dream of), I still wasn’t sure how long he’d manage to maintain such a rapid pace given the heat and vert.
I figured a few others were pushing harder than they ought too. I tried to persuade a couple that they might be able to run further if they slowed down a little, but they all seemed reluctant. It's not easy to persuade oneself to run so slowly in a race scenario, I mused.
While there were another couple of folks laying down spritely paces who looked like they might be able to maintain it for a good while longer, with the morning sun rising higher, and the temperature already sweltering on what was, again, officially the hottest day of the year, how would they fare later on with such an aggressive strategy?
Runners were dropping out quickly. I noticed it most in the starting corral. Every yard, fewer and fewer runners remained. It was almost disconcerting - where on earth were they all disappearing to?
It was on yard 15 that our rock-solid frontrunner Stuart appeared to falter. He visibly slowed on the climb to the first turnaround point. Recognising him as my competition, and sensing something was amiss, I tactically overtook and held first position, just to see how he'd respond.
Stuart initially dropped back, as if ceding his place; but seemed to change his mind, and put on a spurt to retake it just before the yard ended. The way I read that little exchange, he was most likely in trouble, and this could be an opportunity to capitalise. For I quietly wagered he wouldn’t like coming second.
So on the 16th yard I overtook Stuart early, put some distance between us and held first place well out front, monitoring how he responded at the loopbacks. This time he didn’t try to catch me back up. I was a little surprised to see him back in the starting corral for yard 17, so I simply repeated the exercise - overtaking early, then holding first place at a good distance. What would he do now?
Stuart didn't join us back in the corral for the 18th yard. I felt I'd neutralised my main competition - which was both empowering, but also disconcerting, only 17 yards in. This was 7 whole yards shy of what I’d considered the real start of the race. Was I getting caught up strategising too early on?
Talking of strategy, this left me in somewhat of a strategic quandary. Should I maintain this faster-than-optimal pace to send a concerted signal of strength? Surely it’d be wiser to settle back into my original plan; keep the first 24 yards super easy, then review…
But slowing down now risked appearing weak; and in the back of my mind, with runners dropping left, right and centre in the heat, I wondered whether I mightn’t just be able to kill the whole race off early.
See, I felt pretty comfortable running at this faster pace, even in the heat. And moreover, my natural gait felt much more enjoyable. Particularly over these glorious, rolling hills.
Would this intimidate the remaining 6 runners into dropping out early? I wasn't too sure about that; but it was a possibility, and I could always reset later if need be. So that was decided, then. For now, I’d pick up Stuart’s frontrunner baton and maintain my pace.
The very next lap, I was absolutely stunned to see half of the remaining field drop out. I hadn't expected that in the slightest. Now there were only three other runners left: Joel, Zoe and Matthew.
This was when I really began to question myself. While I'd been playing games with Stuart, these three had been taking it easy. Now they knew they were in the top 4, what were their intentions? How were they finding the heat? How long were they prepared to go? How experienced were they?
All three were housed in the first barn building, and I the second. So we never saw each other back at base. I could just about hear them murmuring over the wall. Plotting. Scheming. I was missing vital intelligence data. It was those three versus me, and I was running deaf and blind.
n-Dimensional Chess
Jandalf returned from his marshalling duties, and could now help crew me back in my lonesome barn. But I was getting wrapped up in strategic mental gymnastics, trying to play three-dimensional chess: just what were the other three plotting in their self-contained quarters?
Jandalf could see I was troubled, and sagely gave me the same advice I'd given other runners earlier in the day: slow down. Walk the hills.
And I knew he was right. But the thing was, I felt everything was fine as it was, broadly speaking. It was still early; and yet, I could sense this race was, quite possibly, wrapping up.
Joel picked up an injury and bravely started another yard, albeit at a snail’s pace. When I returned from the first turnaround point having not yet crossed paths with him, I found him graciously applauding by the side of the trail. So he was out. Only Zoe and Matthew remained.
Zoe was serious competition, having come in second place last year. But now, after showing such impressive strength and consistency for the whole of the race, she had just started to slow. It appeared something was going badly wrong for her.
Unless, of course, that was just a clever ploy to make me think something was going wrong; so that I'd push harder, and perhaps tire myself out. Perhaps she's playing four-dimensional chess with me, I mused…
But after that yard, Zoe stood back behind the starting corral and smiled, wishing Matt and I well for yard 22. So, she hadn't been playing 4D chess after all. There were only two of us left now.
I had no idea how to play this situation. Matt would obviously be looking to complete 24 yards, and probably 25, so as to exceed 100 miles. But how far was he prepared to go? Would he push to 30? Or 40? Or 50, or beyond?
I scratched my head. I really couldn't read him. He'd just put in a fairly fast last yard for some reason. Had he been playing it cool until now, preparing to drop the hammer when it got down to just him and me? Had he been playing five-dimensional chess? I didn't think so; but I’d no idea what they’d been scheming in barn #2...
As the bell went, and the crowds cheered, and we started trotting, I decided to change things up and adopt a different strategy. I was going to assume the worst: Matt had been conserving energy up until now, and had a prolonged battle in mind. So from now on I was going to be disciplined, follow Jan's advice, and s-l-o-w d-o-w-n. I was in this for the long haul. 50 yards. A hundred yards. Whatever it took.
There was just the question of how to affect a dramatic reduction in pace without appearing weak. And this was where I saw an opportunity. I could mask a strategic slowdown with an information-gathering exercise. So I walked purposefully up the first hill at a pace that matched Matt’s, and led a calm conversation about our lives and places of residence.
What I didn't expect was what Matthew told me next. His legs were in pain, and he wasn't sure what was wrong. He sounded quite tired, almost certainly from the heat, I reasoned. It was clear to me that his race was over. Perhaps not this yard exactly; it might take a few, but for all intents and purposes he was done.
I adopted a consolidatory tone, changing the subject to keep the conversation flowing. But it felt odd. Surely he’d make it to the 100 mile mark, 24 yards? Didn't he want to have a go? Or… was he playing six-dimensional chess with me?
With the first turnaround point in sight, I glanced at my watch and realised after all this walking and talking, I was far behind where I'd ever been before at this point. Slightly concerned we might miss the cutoff, I bid Matt farewell and hurried off to finish the yard. To his great credit, Matt picked up his pace too and followed not too far behind.
Back at base, Jan had laid out an impressive buffet for me, full of the food I would ordinarily have devoured in a snap. But my brain was knotted in strategic spaghetti, and I simply wasn't in the mood for food. I downed simple sugars in the form of Tailwind; for simultaneously the race was almost over, and yet, it was only just beginning.
Was Matt really on the verge of dropping out? That would be unfortunate for both of us, coming up just shy of 24 yards; or, more likely, was he playing a tactical masterstroke, expertly teasing me into a series of fast yards just to wear me down, all the while sitting tight and playing the long game?
I sat there in miserable silence, weighing all the possibilities, grappling with my eight-dimensional chess game, while poor Jan tried his best to figure out what on earth was wrong with me. He whispered that he could overhear ominous overtones coming from Matt's crew in the first barn. Just one or two more yards, apparently.
But that was irrelevant. Matt’s crew must know they could be overheard. They were playing me too. This was twelve-dimensional chess: mind games, ploys, decoys, agents, counter-agents, who knows what was going on. I was in mental preparations for a battle of the ages. A thousand yards! Whatever it took; because in sixteen-dimensional chess, I had to be prepared for every possible eventuality. Perhaps Matt was a world-class elite backyarder under an assumed name. We were truly entering twenty-dimensional psychological warfare here!
"Look strong", Jan whispered as the bell went and I proceeded to the corral. I didn't need telling. I was gearing up for an epic 119 yard conquest, one for the ages. I wasn't going to get played by the most devious backyard racer of all time!
I strutted purposefully toward the start line in the corral, when someone thrust their hand into mine. My eyes firmly on the start line, I shook it and continued. Where was Matt? I was always the last one into the corral. Oh, wait; was that Matt? I looked back around, and realised it’d been him shaking my hand.
"I'm done", he told me gently, with a relieved smile on his face.
Done? Ha! Did he think I'd fall for that old chestnut? In twenty-three dimensional chess, that was such an obvious ploy!
But he remained perfectly still, wearing a look of contented resignation. "Are you serious?" I asked; only half-serious myself, with one eyebrow raised to the sky. He nodded.
"Fifteen seconds" shouted Darren. “ONE MORE LAP!” screamed the crowd, desperately trying to persuade Matt to continue. Confused as heck, my eyebrows still entirely askew, I gradually paced backwards toward the start line, while beckoning Matt forth.
This was only the 23rd yard. Was he really not starting? What about 100 miles? What about the twenty-three dimensional chess…?
"Three, two, one, …" called Darren, as I meekly rotated my body around to face the course.
Matt hadn't been playing twenty-three dimensional chess. Nobody had been playing chess. It was just the hottest day of the year. The heat had taken its toll. And I happened to be the last one standing.
While I ran, I texted Jandalf asking him to bring my Palestine flag to the finish. I'd like to run in with it, I told him. When I returned from the first turnaround point, dropping over the hill beyond the midway marshal, I saw the spectacular sight of my flag smack bang in the middle of the trail, flying proudly in the wind. I ran through it, feeling its powerful symbolism of peace and humanity course through me. And on my return from the second turnaround point I picked it up and ran it in.
This was always how it was going to end, I reflected. It didn't matter whether it was chess or hopscotch. 119 laps or 23. The outcome had been as inevitable as the rising of the sun, or the ebb and flow of the tides. I was flying the flag to the finish.
I was amazed there were still spectators remaining. It's a long time to stand around waiting, even for a single lap. Everyone was really so lovely here. Things seemed a lot simpler now I was back in the world of single-digit dimensions.
Despite its short distance this year, my experience at Longbridge really was ace. It’s got to be the friendliest, most eco-friendly, most community-spirited event I've ever had the joyous pleasure of participating in.
The course was lovely, the provisions at race HQ were second-to-none, the volunteers and of course Darren and family were the best RDs imaginable, and the runners were the friendliest of folks to spend time with. To top it all off, the sustainable, locally-produced, thoughtful finisher mementos, complete with personal touches, are wonderful memories of the experience. Longbridge is a race you will not regret running.
And no chess playing experience is required! In fact, all things considered, it’s probably for the best if you leave your multi-dimensional chess set behind.
Just put one foot in front of the other, and remember the adage inscribed onto the back of 3WordRun’s silver coin: on the first yard, you are never alone, but to win, you have to run one on your own.
A great read as usual!! Well done Adrian