Buffalo Stampede Ultra Grand Slam

The Race That Finally Forced Me To Stop

For a long time, I genuinely thought I had everything under control.

The business was growing. We were moving into a bigger space. I was trying to be a good husband, a good dad, coach athletes properly, run events, keep building Run Vault, and somehow still train and race at a high level.

And honestly? From the outside, it probably looked like I was managing it pretty well.

Training had actually been going great, I'd been spending big weekends in the trails. Four hour runs and mid week two hour sessions squeezed into already big days. Early mornings, late nights, constant pressure, but I kept telling myself I was fine because I was still getting the work done.

I’m used to being tired and used to doing hard things. My prep was good, not great but I knew I had it in me to match or better my result from 2018, read the full race report here.

So when we flew into Albury and drove across to Bright for the Buffalo Stampede Ultra Grand Slam, I genuinely believed I was ready. I was with Claude and Jess, just mates heading down for a huge weekend in the mountains.

There’s something special about that town during Buffalo weekend. Trails everywhere, runners filling cafés, nervous energy floating around the streets. The whole place feels alive and familiar faces from home and digitally connected.

And despite everything happening in life, I actually felt really good.

What I didn’t realise at the time was how deep the fatigue already was. The thing about burnout is it doesn’t always hit you like a dramatic crash. Sometimes it just quietly sits in the background while you keep telling yourself you’re okay.

Friday Night

Friday night was the 10km up Mystic.

Cold Victorian air, head torches everywhere, Laughs and energy at the start line. The race took off hard and somehow I felt really good, light and fast. Like my body had suddenly forgotten every bit of stress I’d been carrying for months.

I climbed well up to the top of Mystic, then absolutely loved the technical downhill back into the showgrounds. One of those rare runs where everything just clicks. I crossed the line absolutely buzzing. Runner’s high and banter with mates and complete strangers.

Exactly how you want to feel before lining up for 100km the next morning. Jess, Claude and myself enjoyed a massive home cooked feed by Jess back at our airbnb, watch the AFL and had an early night.

Saturday

Saturday morning started the same way. Early morning oats and coffee before sunrise, good sleep, good mood before a 5 minute drive to the show grounds to start our epic 100km adventure.

The showgrounds lit up while everyone quietly got themselves ready. It felt like home, as I've toe'd the start line of many ultras before.

The first 30km actually felt okay, then out of nowhere, everything changed. I tried to run and it felt like someone had unplugged me. Not normal ultra fatigue either. I know that feeling.

This felt very different and heavy. Like the engine was completely gone. Every time I tried to push forward, my body just wouldn’t respond and it spiralled my mind lower and darker.

All I could do was walk. At first I convinced myself it would pass. Maybe nutrition? I was taking it all in. Maybe hydration? I was drinking lots. Maybe just a rough patch which is very common.

But by the time I reached the top of Mt Buffalo around the 35km mark, I knew something wasn’t right.

The next section is meant to be one of the most runnable parts of the course. Instead, I was watching dozens of runners glide past me while I shuffled along trying to work out what the hell was happening. There was just no gear and no answers. Just this overwhelming heaviness through my entire body.

When I reached the checkpoint before The Horn, I completely broke. Claude, Jess and a few other familiar faces were there and all I could do was cry. It wasn't overly embarrassing, it just felt like I was depleted and defeated. Familiar faces were there asking if I was okay and for the first time all weekend, I admitted I wasn’t.

I let it out. Not because of the pain. Because I felt like I was failing. Still, I kept moving. It was an out and back towards the horn, an amazing view of the Victorian country. I was convinced to do the loop as decide my fate back at the checkpoint.

The climb up to The Horn was slow and ugly, but when I reached the top, everything opened up.

Massive granite cliffs and views forever. One of the most spectacular landscapes I’ve ever seen and there I was standing in the middle of it completely cooked.

The Chalet

By the second time I approached the Mt Buffalo Chalet checkpoint, my head was all over the place.

One minute I was telling myself I could do this. The next, I was convinced I was pulling out. Back and forth for kilometres. When I finally sat down at the checkpoint, I genuinely thought I was done. 65km's into a 100km ultra run and failing.

I just sat there staring into space, completely wrecked. A volunteer came over and quietly told me to take care of myself and that there was absolutely no shame in stopping. Then another runner walked past and said, “All I’m hearing are excuses.”

Two completely different voices. Both stuck in my head. So I called my wife Vanessa, In very typical Vanessa fashion, there wasn’t much sympathy.

“Suck it up and keep going. You’ve done this dozens of times before. Just get moving.”

Not soft. But honestly, exactly what I needed. I sat there eating noodles, drinking tea and coke and negotiating with myself while the checkpoint buzzed around me. Runner after runner in and out while I sat with no clear path.

Then the shuttle bus rolled in. It's a warm, easy free ticket back to Bright. For a moment, it looked very appealing. I remember sitting there wondering whether I should just take it. But whenever I thought of sitting on a seat I felt weakness and failure.

Then I watched the doors close. The bus drove off and I remember thinking, well… I guess that answers that.

So I stood up. Started walking and decided to just see what happened. Not because I suddenly felt strong. I still felt terrible. But I knew I’d regret quitting. A couple of kilometres later, I pulled my phone out and started recording a video while walking down the trail. I teared up talking to the camera and for the first time all day, I stopped feeling embarrassed about what was happening.

I accepted it and stopped trying to hide how bad I felt and just spoke honestly.

Then I put the phone away and kept moving. At that point, I knew this race wasn’t going to be fast or impressive. It was just going to get done. Walk when needed. Jog when possible. Keep moving.

A little before midnight, almost eighteen hours after everything unravelled, I crossed the finish line. Completely exhausted, emotional but relieved. Not proud of the performance.

But proud I stayed in it. Jess picked me up and drove me back to the Airbnb. Claude had finished close to six hours earlier and had already gone to bed.

But in very typical Claude fashion, he got out of bed as soon as I walked in. He looked absolutely cooked himself, understandably after his own race, but still checked in on me straight away.

Just a mate making sure I was okay. Back at the Airbnb, I showered and crawled into bed. Jess had made spaghetti bolognese but I was so wrecked I fell asleep with it sitting next to me untouched. I woke up around 2am, half delirious and ate it cold in the dark.

Then fell back asleep. I didn’t even unpack and prepare my gear for the marathon the next morning. Jess was driving us back up the mountain at 5:20am and I set my alarm for 5am with absolutely no intention of getting up.

Then morning came and somehow, I bounced out of bed the moment the alarm went off. Autopilot and shoes on, gear packed and in the car for the drive back into the mountains. We're getting this mountain marathon done, no matter what!

Somewhere on the up the mountain to the Chalet on top of Mt Buffalo, I filmed a quick selfie video for Instagram from the backseat. Looking rough but weirdly at peace with it all. A little while later, Vanessa replied.

“You’re fkng joking.”

Haha I laughed.

And it reminded me of something I’ve realised many times before. Character gets built in moments like this. Not when things are going perfectly. When they’re not.

Sunday Marathon

Standing on the marathon start line the next morning, I was surprisingly in pretty good spirits.

Compared to the day before, everything somehow felt manageable. We started high up on Mt Buffalo and after looping around the chalet, began the long 10km descent into the valley below.

The trails were unreal. Epic singletrack winding through the mountains. Weirdly, after the suffering of the 100km, a mountain marathon almost felt easy. The fatigue was still there, no doubt about it, but mentally everything had shifted. There was no panic anymore and no internal fight. I knew all I had to do was cruise through and finish.

The marathon took me six and a half hours. Far from my finest performance, but one I’m genuinely proud of.

That afternoon, the three of us sat around completely cooked, but happy. Relieved more than anything. I finished somewhere mid pack while Claude, after an unbelievable weekend, grabbed a very deserving second place overall.

Over the three days, around half the field dropped out.

So honestly, we were just happy to still be standing.

Vanuatu

Straight after the event, I got massively sick with the flu, the body caved in. I recovered fairly quickly from the symptons then A week later, we landed in Vanuatu for a family holiday and honestly, I needed it. I’d been going flat out for years. Building the business and holding everything together. Always moving and always switched on.

At first, I thought I was finally relaxing. A couple of days in, we went ziplining through the rainforest. On the last line, I felt the harness dig hard into my right groin and there was an immediate sharp pain. At the time, I just thought the harness had folded awkwardly or pinched something.

Didn’t think much more of it. Then I noticed a strange rash on my right hip. I thought maybe it was heat rash or some weird island bug bite. Within hours, it exploded. It was burning, itchy and an intense electric shock stabbing pain in my hip.

Shingles! Spreading aggressively across my hip.

The lymph nodes on the right side of my groin blew up to the size of brazil nuts and became incredibly painful to touch. This is what I came to beleive was the pain on the zipline.

I spent the next day running around the island trying to find medication early enough to stop it getting worse. Luckily in Vanuatu, Drugs via prescription in Australia are over the counter there. The fatigue that followed was honestly worse than the race.

Walking up a flight of stairs left me breathless. Every reserve of energy my body had was suddenly going toward fighting the infection. Four weeks later, I’m was only just starting to feel normal again.

There’s still a sharp stabbing pain through my hip where the rash spread and red blotches, a constant reminder.

The Real Lesson

The hardest part about all of this is realising how convinced I was that I had everything under control. Because I know there are so many people living exactly the same way.

Working their arses off. Building businesses. Supporting families. Showing up every day.

Thinking they’re managing, until suddenly, the rug gets pulled out from underneath them.

The more openly I’ve spoken about this, the more I’ve heard stories from people who’ve gone through similar things.

Burnout, illness and stress finally catching up.

Not because they were weak, because they’d been strong for too long without slowing down. There’s this belief, especially as men, that we should just keep pushing.

We're not to complain or show any cracks. Keep carrying everything. I’ve always been that guy.

The one who says he’s fine. The one who keeps showing up. The one who puts on a brave face.

But this whole experience forced me to look at myself honestly. I’m not invincible or indestructible.

I’m human, and no matter how driven you are, there’s only so much load a body can absorb before something gives.

That’s the real lesson I’m taking from Buffalo.

Not the finish lines or the distances.

Not the suffering, the reminder that I can’t properly look after the people around me if I don’t look after myself first. Maybe someone reading this needs that reminder too.

So what’s next? Honestly, I’m absolutely frothing to get back out there and discover myself again! It's an addiction.

Because despite everything, there’s still something special about being out in the mountains stripped back to your rawest form.

I just know now there’s a difference between pushing yourself forward and running yourself into the ground.

That’s the balance I’m still learning.

Jamie | RunVault