There’s something surreal about standing on the start line of a 100-mile race at midnight. Ultra Adelaide began beneath headtorches in Kuitpo Forest and finished more than a day later after two nights without sleep, freezing rain, soaked feet and one of the biggest emotional battles I’ve experienced in running.
Race details
- Race: Ultra Adelaide 100 Mile
- Distance: 100 miles
- Start: Midnight, Kuitpo Forest
- Finish: Around 4:30 am after two nights without sleep
- Time: Around 28½ hours
- Result: 2nd female overall
- Conditions: Cold, wind and prolonged rain
Into the night
Our journey began in Kuitpo Forest, south of Adelaide, under the glow of headtorches among towering pine trees. The forest felt eerie in the darkness, but the trails were smooth, flat and incredibly runnable. It was easy to settle into a comfortable rhythm, although I kept reminding myself not to get carried away. A 100-miler is never won in the first few hours.
Before we’d even started, there was already a curveball. At the race briefing we were told there had been a last-minute course change. The GPX files and maps would be inaccurate in places, so we’d need to rely on temporary course markings. It didn’t take long for the confusion to begin. Runners were constantly stopping, checking watches and second-guessing intersections.
Early on I found myself running with Sarah, Cam and Mel. They were probably moving a touch faster than I would have chosen on my own, but I decided to stay with them. Navigation was tricky and having a small group gave us confidence. We helped each other throughout the night, catching wrong turns before they became major detours. Looking back, sticking with that group was one of the better decisions I made.
The first 50 kilometres
The course wound around Mount Bold Reservoir, passing Rocky Dam aid station twice while it was still completely dark. Because the opening kilometres were so runnable, I reached this section much earlier than expected. My crew hadn’t arrived yet, so despite seeing plenty of runners, I didn’t actually see my own support crew until Mylor at around 53 km.
I arrived there feeling remarkably fresh. The opening 50 km had disappeared in around six hours, making it one of the fastest 50 km splits I’ve ever run — especially considering it was only the beginning of a 100-mile race. I deliberately held myself back whenever I felt tempted to push, knowing exactly how badly that decision could come back to haunt me later.
Nutrition was going perfectly. I consistently took Precision Fuel gels and, despite the cold conditions meaning I wasn’t drinking huge amounts, I was stopping to pee regularly — unusual for me in ultras. It reassured me that hydration was where it needed to be.
Mylor to Mount Lofty
Leaving Mylor, the character of the course began to change. Fast forest trails gradually gave way to rolling farmland, quiet Adelaide streets, beautiful sections through Mount Lofty Botanic Garden and increasingly steep climbs. The race was beginning to reveal itself.
At Mount Lofty, Tallia joined me as pacer. Having someone beside me completely changed the atmosphere. We chatted, laughed and simply enjoyed being out on the trails together.
The weather, however, had other ideas.
Every climb onto the exposed ridgelines brought freezing wind and driving rain. Just two days earlier I’d been on these same trails in a T-shirt. Now I was gradually pulling on every piece of clothing I’d packed — sleeves, jacket, gloves and hood — only for everything to become soaked again before long. Staying warm became almost as important as moving forward.
Not long after Mount Lofty we missed a turn, running a couple of extra kilometres down the wrong road before realising our mistake. On paper it wasn’t a huge error, but after 70 km even something small can feel emotionally enormous. We regrouped, got back on course and mentally reset.
The road to 100 kilometres
That reset carried me into Mylorgate, where one of my coaching athletes, Kath, and her daughter surprised me with a handmade “Go Annabelle!” sign. Seeing familiar faces after so many lonely kilometres gave me a huge lift.
The next 20 km were probably my strongest of the race. Despite the rain, I felt smooth, controlled and genuinely excited to reach 100 km. That’s when a thought struck me that stayed with me for the rest of the race.
In a 100-mile race, 100 kilometres isn’t the finish. It’s the halfway point.
A wild moment at Cleland
From Cleland we completed an out-and-back loop before Tallia finished pacing duties. Despite the freezing conditions, this became one of my favourite memories. We passed Cleland Wildlife Park, spotting emus, kangaroos, wallabies and countless white cockatoos. Earlier I’d seen a fox and then, unbelievably, a wild koala wandered across the trail directly in front of us before climbing into a tree. I’d never seen one in the wild before.
For a few minutes, the race disappeared and we simply stood there appreciating the moment.
Late in the afternoon the rain finally eased and the sun briefly broke through the clouds. It wasn’t enough to dry us completely, but after spending most of the day cold and soaked it felt like a gift.
Back at Cleland, Tallia’s pacing duties came to an end and Keelan joined me for the second night.
The race truly begins
This was where the race truly began.
The trails became steeper, muddier and far more technical. My feet had been soaked for hours and the skin had become badly macerated. Blisters were forming everywhere, making every downhill feel like punishment. Every stop at an aid station became dangerous because as soon as I sat down my body wanted to seize up.
The volunteers were incredible, making sure we had warm food and everything we needed, but we learnt quickly that shorter stops were better. The longer we stayed, the harder it became to leave.
Through Norton Summit and beyond, the course followed waterfalls, slippery rock slabs and creek crossings. Some descents demanded complete concentration just to stay upright.
Ironically, this was also where I found fresh motivation. Through the race tracking we realised several of the leading women had dropped out, including Mel, who I’d spent much of the early race alongside. Sarah and Cam were still somewhere ahead, although the tracking was unreliable enough that nobody really knew exactly where anyone was.
Suddenly, second place felt possible.
The lowest point — around 130 km
Around 130 km I hit the lowest point of the race.
Those final 30 km felt impossible. Mentally I felt as though I’d already completed the race, yet there were still another 30 km to cover. Even on flat ground my running pace had slowed to around nine minutes per kilometre. Every kilometre seemed to last forever.
For almost six hours I rode wave after wave of lows. Walking hurt. Running hurt. Standing still hurt.
Eventually I stopped looking for the option that didn’t hurt and simply accepted that every type of forward movement would be painful. The only thing left to do was keep moving.
Keelan was brilliant throughout this section. We tried every strategy imaginable: running for set times, walking for set times, picking landmarks to run towards before allowing another walk break. Breaking the course into tiny pieces made an impossible distance feel just manageable enough.
There were moments where I genuinely didn’t believe I would finish, even with only a few kilometres remaining. Time completely lost meaning. It would feel like I’d been running for half an hour, only to realise three minutes had passed.
At the same time, my competitive side refused to disappear. Every time I thought I heard footsteps behind me, I’d find another tiny gear. It wasn’t really running anymore, just a determined shuffle, but it was enough to remind myself that I was still racing.
One final push
Eventually we climbed high enough to look back over Adelaide. The city lights stretched out below us, an incredible reward after hours of darkness in the hills. One final brutal descent led into Gorge aid station, where I swapped into road shoes for the last 20 km along the River Torrens.
The shoe change helped immediately. For the first 10 km after Gorge I found another rhythm and managed some of my strongest running since daylight. I made the decision that, regardless of how much it hurt, I was finishing this race.
The final aid station came and went quickly. By then I was barely drinking because of the cold and surviving mostly on gels. My nutrition had remained remarkably consistent all race. My stomach was perfect and my muscles actually felt surprisingly good considering the distance.
The battle wasn’t fuel anymore.
It was mental fatigue, sleep deprivation and the relentless pain in my feet and ankle.
The final 10 km felt every bit as long as the first 100. Run. Walk. Run. Walk. Every little shuffle hurt, but it was still slightly faster than walking, so I kept forcing myself back into it.
The finish
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the finish line appeared.
Keelan and I ran the final metres together as best we could before crossing the line.
I had finished Ultra Adelaide 100 Miles.
Then came the surprise: I’d finished second female overall.
Several of the women around me had unfortunately been forced to withdraw and, simply by refusing to stop, I’d worked my way through the field. It was an incredible feeling, but more than the placing, I was proud that I’d kept putting one foot in front of the other when, for hours, I honestly wasn’t sure I could.
My final time was around 28½ hours, finishing at about 4:30 am after two nights without sleep. It was slower than I’d once hoped, but completely reflective of how tough those final 60 km had been. Around half the field did not finish.
What I learned
Afterwards I looked down at my feet. They were covered in blisters from hours of wet shoes and soaked socks. My ankle had swollen dramatically — a reminder of how much pain I’d pushed through over the final hours.
One thing I was especially proud of was my nutrition. I stayed on top of my carbohydrates throughout the race with Precision Fuel gels, never needed ibuprofen, and finished with a settled stomach and enough energy to keep moving. Physically, I actually felt stronger than expected.
The hardest part wasn’t my muscles. It was managing the emotional rollercoaster.
A 100-mile race isn’t just twice as hard as a 100 km race. It’s an entirely different event. The real race starts after 100 km, and those final 60 km ask questions that no training run can truly prepare you for.
Ultra Adelaide was, without question, the hardest thing I’d ever done.
It also reminded me that sometimes success isn’t about feeling strong. Sometimes it’s simply about accepting that everything hurts, letting go of the idea of feeling good again, and continuing to take one more step.
Then another.
And another.
Until, eventually, you find yourself at the finish line.