I started this build with one goal: finish the Wild Swine 100. Somewhere along the way it changed from “can I finish?” to “can I finish with intention?” I lost about 10 kg, rebuilt my nutrition, worked through a twice-sprained ankle, and turned the whole race into a planning exercise.
The fueling rules were simple: drink every 15 minutes, a gel every 45, electrolytes every 60, eat something at every aid station, and fuel to the watch, not to hunger. I had two drop bags, one at Mt Dale for a mid-race reset and one at Disco for the final reload. The rules I wrote for myself were:
I held back and didn’t get pulled into the early stampede, which was the plan. The mistake was the bagel. It sat badly almost straight away, and I spent my first two hours fighting bloating and burping. Lesson noted: nothing new, and nothing heavy, on the morning of a 100.
Brookton was the high point. I arrived controlled, fresh and moving well. But something was already starting. The gaiter and heel collar of my Tecton X4s were pressing on my Achilles. Fixomull helped, and loosening my laces helped more.
After Mt Dale the race changed. The heat kept building and my gut began to shut down. Solid food got harder and harder to face. By Beraking I was hot, dizzy and nauseous, and I deliberately made myself vomit. The relief was immediate. It wasn’t a failure, it was a reset.
The field was struggling too. People were blowing up and dropping out around me. Out of all of it, the best discovery of the day was a buff filled with ice around my neck. The cooling was instant, and it’s now a permanent part of the kit. The only regret is that I didn’t use it earlier.
This is where the race was really decided. It wasn’t fitness, my head or my ankle. It was my feet.
They were already hurting by about 20 km. By Beraking they were screaming, and by Disco they were destroyed. The causes were heel collar pressure, heel blisters, swelling, and a poor combination of shoe size and socks. The shoes had only about 190 km on them, so wear wasn’t to blame. A few hours of sit-downs and forced walking added up to roughly two to three hours lost.
About 13 hours of my day was spent walking, against about 5½ hours of running. I wasn’t managing discomfort any more. I was managing an injury.
The chicken soup at Allen Road was an excellent decision. After that it was headlamp on and mostly alone. The field had spread out so far that I spent much of the night with my own thoughts, which turned out to be fine company. I didn’t seriously consider stopping at any point.
The best advice I’d given myself was: get to Disco. I did. My feet were wrecked but my head wasn’t, and I was still moving. I chose not to change my shirt or socks there, because the risk of making things worse outweighed the comfort.
The last 21 km wasn’t about fitness. It was one question: can these feet take another step? They could, and I kept stepping until I crossed the line.
The engine is ahead of the chassis. That’s good news, because feet, heat and gut can all be trained and fixed. Next on the calendar is the Margaret River Ultra 80 km in May 2027, then Feral Pig again in November for a rematch.
Results from MyRaceResult and Garmin Connect. ultradad.au