Most of the city sleeps, but on an athletics track south of the River Thames, one man runs laps, shivering and drenched in shorts, a T-shirt, and a makeshift gilet crafted from a black bin bag. Nearby, a pensioner who flew in from Norway that morning does the same, wrapped in a blue pound-shop poncho.
On the inside of the track lies a small pile of vomit—a remnant from a runner who emptied his stomach an hour ago, only to pick himself up and carry on. Plenty of others have been sick too, including a 74-year-old former librarian, who has endured it twice.
This is hardly surprising—these runners have been circling the same track for 12 hours, with another 12 still to go.
Welcome to the world of 24-hour racing, where pain, persistence, and possibility intersect for a group of runners who are as extraordinary as they are ordinary.
The concept is straightforward: run as many laps of a 400m track as possible in 24 hours. The runner covering the most distance wins. But as puddles grow and the temperature drops in the small hours at Battersea Park Athletics Club, survival becomes the sole focus.
What drives people to do this? What keeps them going when their bodies—and minds—are at breaking point? And how far can a person really go in 24 hours?
“If there’s one thing we have in common, it’s that we’re all weird,” says Robbie Britton, a former British record holder who has competed in 12 such races. “You know going in that you’re signing up for at least 12 hours of pain. No other sport lets you be the fittest you’ve ever been at the start and unable to walk properly the next day.”
Lithuanian Aleksandr Sorokin, who set a world record by running 198 miles in 2022, is similarly blunt. “I hate it because I know it’s big suffering,” he admits. His feat equated to running over seven marathons at a 3-hour 10-minute pace—or completing a 22-minute Parkrun 64 times back-to-back.
Former GB athlete James Elson, a veteran of 13 races, adds: “It’s physically and psychologically the purest running format. The joy and satisfaction come from its sheer difficulty.”
At noon in Battersea, smiles abound as 42 runners gather under blue skies for the start of the Sri Chinmoy Self-Transcendence 24hr Track Race. Once the gun fires, the clock doesn’t stop. Eating, drinking, or using the bathroom means losing valuable time. Some runners manage these tasks without pausing.
Many start as if it’s a one-lap sprint rather than a grueling 24-hour endurance challenge. The leaders casually complete a 10k, followed by a marathon in under three and a half hours—times most recreational runners would be proud of.
Eighty-four-year-old Patricia Seabrook opts for a steady walk. A veteran of 19 races, she understands pacing, though her personal best of 108 miles from 1996 is no longer within reach. “It’s there to be done,” she says. “While I can still do it, I will.”
Seventy-year-old Ray McCurdy, who has completed 200 marathons and 179 ultramarathons, has been a regular at this event since 1998. “I’m kind of addicted to them,” he shrugs. Similarly, John Turner, a 74-year-old ex-librarian, is chasing his 17th finish, having taken up running in his 30s. “I like a challenge,” he grins.
For first-timers, the draw is the chance to push themselves to new limits. “So many people fear the unknown. I embrace it,” says Richard Hall-Smith, a 44-year-old product director who began running in 2021 to lose weight.
The race is as much about resilience as it is about miles. Eating and drinking become essential yet difficult tasks. Runners consume a staggering range of food: salted potatoes, yogurt tubes, chocolate, sandwiches, or even baby food. Some, like Sorokin, negotiate with their stomachs: “I ask if it can handle a banana. It says no, so I try something else.”
Moments of dark humor break through the struggle. A fox steals an energy gel from a car; a DJ nearby plays “I Would Walk 500 Miles” to the runners’ amusement. Meanwhile, support crews line the track, sacrificing their weekend to keep their runners going with food, motivation, or cleanup duty.
As the hours stretch on, bodies and minds falter. “The race doesn’t start until 16 hours,” seasoned runners say. But for those who endure, there’s an undeniable allure. As Michael Stocks, a previous winner, puts it: “You learn a lot about yourself and what’s possible. It’s about opening new doors.”
For most, winning isn’t the goal—it’s about enduring, pushing boundaries, and doing their best, lap after lap.
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