28. April 2026
Run Brett, Run: Chronicles of Ultra Madness
This is where I document my slow, stubborn march toward doing dumb things over very long distances. I will also be using this to document my journey to Marathon des Sables 2027.
Expect training recaps, nutrition experiments that range from “science” to “petrol station roulette,” and race reports written through the haze of post-run delirium.
Why am I sharing this? Mostly to prove to myself I actually did the miles. Partly so my family knows where I disappeared to on weekends.
Read at your own risk. Side effects may include secondhand chafing and sudden urges to buy more shoes.
I will share my training sessions, not in detail, because that would be unfair to my coach, but I will give the outlines of what I'm doing day by day. I will share my nutrition for daily food intake, and my training/race/supplement intake. Some of it may interest you, some may bore you shitless, but I hope it is useful, and mainly this is for me to review and learn from in the future. Being able to analyse what went well, and what not so, will hopefully refine my coaching and personal strategies in the future.
I appreciate you reading, and thank everyone for their continued support in my journey. It is an honour to be able to run the way I do, and everyone I have met in the running community has enriched that experience.
29/04/2026 - 48 years and 11 months
I would have started this whole epic saga yesterday, but alas, the universe had other plans for me. And by “the universe,” I mean my rest day — a majestic 24‑hour period during which I heroically accomplished absolutely nothing. Truly, the stuff of legends. Imagine the blog entry:
Day X: Did fuck all. Fin.
Pulitzer material, obviously.
But fear not, dear reader, because today… today is a veritable carnival of excitement by comparison. Or at least I think so, which is really all that matters when you’re the author, editor, and unwilling protagonist of your own endurance‑sport soap opera.
Sleep: The Garmin‑Approved Edition
I actually slept fairly well — and if you’re a Garmin user, you’ll understand the sheer emotional weight of this next sentence:
Sleep score: 82.
Yes, eighty‑bloody‑two. Practically elite. Should I put it on my CV? Probably.
I’ve been dabbling with Melatonin now and then, which does help me fall asleep faster, but also gifts me with dreams so bizarre they could win independent film awards. Last night’s featured a talking banana giving me pacing advice. I don’t want to unpack that.
Diet: A Culinary Odyssey of Athletic Mediocrity
Let’s talk food, because nothing screams “athlete” like listing your meals with the precision of a lab technician.
Today’s menu included:
- 50g of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes with skimmed milk (because adulthood is just childhood with calorie awareness)
- 2 bagels with 10g of real salted butter (none of that margarine nonsense)
- A protein shake with 30g of protein and skimmed milk
- 2 servings of 2 skinless, boneless chicken thighs (150g each) with 2 pittas
- 125g of 5% mince, 45g of pasta, and another pitta because why not
- Another protein shake, because muscles don’t build themselves
This does not include the fuel I take during training, because apparently I’m a small power station now. I like to stay fuelled, recover well, and be ready for the next session — or at least pretend I’m doing everything right while still complaining about being tired.
I’ll finish the day with a protein shake and a banana. A decadent treat. Michelin‑star stuff.
The Lunchtime Run: A Comedy of Misread Notes
I ran on my lunch break — 50 minutes easy with some strides. It was supposed to be 40 minutes, but I didn’t read my notes properly. Classic. Truly the organisational skills of a damp sock.
But I felt great today, as I always do after a rest day. A full day off is like plugging myself into a human-sized charging dock.
Pre‑run: I inhaled 3 caffeine Clif Bloks 20 minutes before heading out, because nothing says “responsible adult” like eating caffeinated jelly cubes in your car.
Post‑run: I downed an SIS Beta Fuel Recovery shake like a man who believes in the power of science and sugar.
I also used my FlowBio sensor to monitor sweat loss — because apparently I need a gadget to confirm that yes, I do indeed sweat like a Victorian chimney. The sodium deficit was handled with the recovery shake and an electrolyte drink, because balance.
Pilates: The Socially Acceptable Torture Session
Tonight is Pilates with the running club legends — one of the best strength & conditioning sessions you can add to your plan, in my humble but obviously correct opinion.
I genuinely enjoy the social side of running. The tricky bit is balancing what the coach prescribes with the people you actually want to run with. Everyone has different goals, different paces, different life choices… some even enjoy hills.
As Wardy wisely says:
“Every run has a purpose.”
Even if that purpose is simply “don’t fall over in front of your mates.”
30/04/2026 - The Heroic Saga of the 4:30am London Office Day
There are many questionable decisions an endurance athlete makes in life — signing up for races that require carrying your own bodyweight in snacks, buying yet another pair of shoes that are “basically the same but slightly different,” or convincing yourself that beetroot juice tastes fine. But none of these compare to the absolute clownery of choosing to train before a London office day.
Because when I have to go into the office, a 4:30am start isn’t just likely — it’s inevitable, like taxes, death, and someone in your running club insisting that “zone 2 is life.”
In my infinite wisdom — the same wisdom that once convinced me that running 100 miles was a good idea — I decided I would go to the gym on the way to the station. Why? Because apparently I enjoy making my life harder for no reason. Also, because I have a touch of ADHD or “the tism” (not medically diagnosed, but spiritually accurate), which means I must be early for everything or I will spontaneously combust. Missing my usual train is not an option. I would rather run to London.
The alarm went off at 4:20am. A time of day that should be illegal. And weirdly, I was wide awake — like some sort of deranged morning person. I shot out of bed, sorted the last bits of meal prep like a Michelin chef on a deadline, got dressed, and was out the door by 5am. I arrived at the gym by 5:15, which is a time when only three types of people exist: shift workers, psychopaths, and endurance athletes pretending they’re fine.
I smashed out a decent shoulder session — because nothing says “corporate professional” like turning up to the office unable to lift your arms above chest height — showered, and somehow managed to stroll into work at 8am like a functioning adult.
Then came breakfast, which I prepared with the precision of a man who has absolutely given up on pretending he doesn’t eat like a cartoon character:
• Two bagels
• 10g of butter (measured, because we are athletes, not animals)
• Scrambled eggs cooked in my special little microwave pot like the domestic king I am
• An Aeropress Machu Picchu coffee, because I am both fancy and insufferable
I then proceeded to pretend to work — which mostly involved nodding in meetings, staring at spreadsheets like they were written in ancient Sumerian, and wondering if anyone would notice if I just… left.
By 11am, it was time for Lunch #1 (because runners don’t eat meals, we eat in instalments):
• 150g of chicken
• A banana
• A Diet Coke, because balance
And thus began the long, slow descent into the rest of the workday — fuelled by caffeine, protein, and the quiet knowledge that I had already lived an entire lifetime before most people had even hit snooze.
The Thrilling Anti‑Climax of Second Lunch, Evening Intervals, and Culinary Disappointment
Second lunch — and brace yourself for this plot twist — was exactly the same as first lunch. Truly groundbreaking stuff. Michelin‑star monotony. The kind of meal that screams, “I am an athlete and I have surrendered all joy in the name of macros.” If excitement were measured in calories, this meal would be fasting.
I got home around 6:30pm, which is that magical time of day when normal people are settling down with a cup of tea, maybe watching a bit of telly, perhaps contemplating the meaning of life. Not me. No, I decided the most logical next step was to head straight back out the door for an interval session — because apparently I enjoy suffering recreationally.
Hill repeats and a moderate section were on the menu, and let me tell you, they nearly killed me. Not metaphorically. Not dramatically. I mean genuinely, spiritually, physically, emotionally, and possibly legally. Halfway up the hill I briefly considered writing my will in the dirt with a gel wrapper.
Then came dinner, which was… well… let’s call it “functional.”
A gourmet masterpiece consisting of:
• 125g of 5% beef mince
• 45g of brown pasta
• One solitary pitta bread
So fucking exciting. Honestly, I don’t know how I contain myself. Gordon Ramsay would weep — not out of pride, but out of sheer despair.
Finally, after a day that felt like three separate lifetimes stitched together with caffeine and questionable choices, I crawled into bed for an early night. I put on some EMDR music to soothe my overcooked nervous system, tucked myself in like the exhausted little endurance gremlin I am, and drifted off into slumber.
Goodnight all — may your dreams be less chaotic than my training schedule.
Captain’s Log — 30/4/2026
02:30 — The Night Shift Begins
Woken abruptly by the oldest daughter taking a shower at half two in the morning. Why? How? For whom? No answers. Only the sound of running water and my will to live evaporating.
Managed to drift back off… …only for the alarm to detonate at 4:30am for the planned morning run.
Inner voice: “Absolutely not. Try again later, champ.” And honestly, fair play. I accepted the snooze-defeat and promised myself I’d run after work, before the cinema. A bold, delusional claim. We’ll see.
06:00 — Breakfast of Champions (and Children)
50g of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. The breakfast equivalent of a warm hug.
Quick meal prep. Out the door. Onto the train. Rewarded myself with a station‑stand americano so bleak it could’ve been brewed from the tears of commuters. No sugar. No milk. No joy.
09:00–16:00 — Work: The Remix
A busy yet somehow still mind‑numbing morning. Saved only by my two spaced lunches:
• 150g chicken • 2 pittas • A Diet Coke Repeat. Because routine is comforting and also I’m too tired to be creative.
16:00 — The Redemption Run
Bolted out of work at 4pm like a man escaping captivity. Home. Shoes on. A steady 60‑minute run — easily the best part of the day so far. Legs behaved. Brain behaved. Weather behaved. A rare alignment of the endurance gods.
20:00 — Cinema Time (Austerity Edition)
Off to see the new Mummy film. No snacks. No popcorn. Just a Coke Zero and the smugness of someone who refuses to pay £6 for a bag of Minstrels.
Everyone around me will be living their best sugar‑coated lives. This film better be worth the emotional sacrifice.
01/05/2026 The “Not Much Happened” Edition
Hmmmmmm… where to begin.
Today was one of those deceptively simple days — the kind where nothing dramatic happens, yet somehow you still end up exhausted, mildly confused, and wondering why your phone bill should include emotional labour.
📞 Work: The Endless Call Centre I Didn’t Apply For
Work was “pretty busy,” which is polite code for:
I spent half the day glued to my phone like a hostage negotiator, except the only thing being negotiated was my will to live.
Honestly, if talking burned calories, I’d have hit my weekly training load before lunch.
🏃♂️ The 40‑Minute Easy Run That Wasn’t Entirely Easy
Headed out for a 40‑minute easy run — and shockingly, actually enjoyed it.
Simple pace, simple route, simple vibes.
Until the return leg, when I discovered the loop I thought was flat is, in fact, a series of sneaky, morale‑draining hills that have clearly been doing strength training behind my back.
Still, legs behaved, lungs behaved, and I didn’t accidentally add an extra 10 minutes by “not reading my notes properly,” so we’ll call that a win.
🥤 Highlight of the Day: A Shake and Some Sanity
Post‑run reward: a SIS Beta recovery shake.
Delicious. Nutritious. And probably the most stable relationship in my life right now.
The rest of the evening was spent with the kids — chaotic, loud, wholesome, and the perfect cooldown after pretending to be an athlete for 40 minutes.
🗒️ Not Much More to Report… Yet
Apologies for the short entry, but tomorrow is the short long run (yes, that’s a real thing in runner logic), all in preparation for The Lap next weekend around Lake Windermere.
A casual 47 miles of scenic suffering.
What could possibly go wrong.
Saturday: The “Long Run” That Wasn’t, the Jelly Baby Experiment, and the Theme Park of Doom
Ah, Saturday. Traditionally known as Long Run Day — the sacred weekly ritual where runners voluntarily leave the house for distances that normal people would only attempt if their car broke down. But because I’m tapering for The Lap at Windermere next week, today’s “long run” was a modest little 20k. Practically a jog. A light wander. A gentle trot through the countryside like a Victorian poet contemplating existential dread.
It was a mixed easy/mod effort, nothing dramatic to report. The weather was warm, the vibes were fine, and I made the executive decision not to practise real race nutrition. Why? Because I refuse to waste expensive gels on a taper run. Instead, I opted for jelly babies — the budget‑friendly, corner‑shop‑available, sugar‑coated heroes of the endurance world. Honestly, sometimes the best nutrition strategy is simply “what can I buy at literally any petrol station within a 5‑mile radius.” SIS Beta gels are great, but unless Tesco suddenly starts stocking them next to the Meal Deals, jelly babies remain the people’s champion.
Then came the real marathon: Kids’ Weekend.
When it’s a kids’ weekend, the rest of the day is dedicated to them — which means my training becomes a delicate dance of early starts, strategic planning, and trying not to cry into a protein shake. I avoid scheduling races on these weekends for obvious reasons, and I train early or around whatever chaos they’ve got planned.
And with four kids, the chaos is… plentiful.
One wants to run Parkrun, go Airsoft, play PS5, go sailing with his grandad, and fix up his motocross bike — all before lunch. The girls are either horse riding, destroying my financial stability one lesson at a time, or eating absolute crap. Although today, I out‑performed them in the crap‑eating department.
We headed to Adventure Island for the second time in two weeks — because apparently I enjoy repeating trauma. On the way, I had to pop into Wendy’s for a square double bacon burger, a Frosty, and chips. I told myself the girls were hungry. They were not. They only wanted the Frosty. I, however, inhaled the entire menu like a man who had been lost at sea.
Adventure Island itself was a rollercoaster of excitement and fear — mostly fear. I was dragged onto Axis by my 11‑year‑old, which forced me to confront my deep, primal issue with heights. Nothing says “quality family time” like clinging to a safety bar while questioning every life choice that led you to this moment.
The evening, thankfully, was far more civilised. A Tesco Finest meal deal (because I am a man of culture), followed by sitting down with the kids to watch The Goonies. A cinematic masterpiece. A rite of passage. A reminder that adventure is fun when it’s fictional and doesn’t involve being flung into the sky by a theme park ride.
All in all, not a terrible day. Exhausting, chaotic, nutritionally questionable — but not terrible.
If you want, I can stitch all your entries into a full weekly blog, add section headers, or escalate the sarcasm to “borderline unhinged memoir.”
May 17th - Quick Update
There hasn't been too much going on as I raced "The Lap" of Windermere on the 9th of May and have been resting mostly this last week. The full race review will be finished soon, and I will continue to blog my training up until South Downs Way 100 Miler on the 13th June. Lots of training and equipment updates soon......
