Gift of (Sri Chimoy) 24 Hour Running

COACH PAULA:

Going into 2025 and thinking about my race plans for the year ahead, it became clear very quickly that it wasn’t going to look like last year.

In 2024, I was lucky enough to start with the Winter Spine Challenger South, complete the Centurion 50 Slam, and finish with a podium at the Winter Downs 100.

It was a brilliant year of trail running, and in a personally challenging year, I was so grateful to have those races as anchors—pockets of perspective that kept me grounded.

2025, however, was a different beast.

I was heading into my second year of Feldenkrais teacher training, alongside coaching, running events, and the day job. A different strategy was needed. The main driver and inspiration to do Battersea was the fact that Camino Ultra were coaching the incredible Kelsey Price.

Coach Kelsey comes to gift Paula a mid race hug (and pep talk!)

We’ve been coaching Kelsey for many years; she’s an extraordinary runner and a beautiful human, and it’s been a joy to see her grow and achieve brilliant successes.

This year, the big prize—selection for the Great Britain team for the 24-Hour World Championships at Albi—was up for grabs. As her coach, along with David, I really wanted to experience what a 24-hour track race feels like.

(Sri Chimoy 24 Hour) Battersea seemed perfect: local, simple logistics—no overnight stays, no long journeys. Just rock up, run, and go home. 

Amazing Camino Coach and Athlete presence at Sri Chimoy 2025

Camino is built on co-coaching, which has become central to our approach.

We are six coaches—David, Darren, Kelsey, Jess,, Stef and I —each bringing different perspectives, experiences, and motivators.

By co-coaching, we combine our superpowers to support our athletes. I was lucky to have David and Kelsey mentoring me through this training block. I can be stubborn, but they knew exactly how to support me.

As a 51-year-old woman, this year, like many of the past five, was influenced by changing hormones. Training needed to be thoughtful and adaptive to avoid burnout or injury. Mileage was kept light, with a focus on strength work and, as part of my Feldenkrais studies, awareness through movement. I worked on refining my awareness of how I moved, integrating my whole self into my running.

Over the year, I gradually built mileage to 50 km per week. In the final two months, feeling strong and energised, I peaked at 90 km two weeks before race day. While my mileage isn’t huge, years of ultra-running experience carry weight, and I felt confident I could keep moving for 24 hours.

Like we encourage our athletes, I set multiple goals. My primary target was 100 miles—something I’d done before and felt achievable. David and Kelsey suggested 170 km, and at the time, I thought that was unrealistic!

The lead-up to the race was wonderful. Max Drew, a Camino running angel, has been one of the people most responsible for me even attempting this event. He has run it many times and absolutely loves it, and his passion is infectious. He set up a WhatsApp group with Camino friends also racing, which gave me confidence that, trackside, there would be a beautiful, supportive community.

Another great photo from Camino's Helen - see below for full gallery link

The event is organised by Sri Chinmoy, and the very heart of it is self-transcendence.

That phrase isn’t just a title—it’s the spirit of the whole race. The volunteers, the lap counters, the runners, the crews—everyone is pulling together to help each other achieve something that is, quite frankly, very, very hard. It’s such a beautiful atmosphere: full of encouragement and support.  It's also very intimate as we are all running around a 400m track together for a long time.

At the start line, over 50 runners buzzed with excitement. On the first lap, 24 hours seemed impossibly long. But, like any race, it’s just one foot in front of the other, over and over. My race strategy was simple: settle into a pace that felt good, breathe through my nose, focus on my body, and set the tone for the hours ahead. I wasn’t concerned with rankings; it was about being present.

My sister Sarah stepped in to crew from 6 pm, and my coaches planned to visit during the race—a gift I treasure. Sarah was incredible. Pretty much every lap I was shouting something at her—Can you get me rice pudding? Can you grab my jacket? Can you find some ginger biscuits?—and I know I must have been infuriating at times. But she was endlessly patient, calm, and steady, and I honestly couldn’t have done it without her.

I set internal checkpoints—the first being 50 miles—no music, no sitting. Hitting that milestone was a relief. I was hungry and needed real food; homemade rice pudding and potatoes are my long-race staples.

After refueling, I felt revived. Passing Max, Jason, Michael, and Daz on the track, exchanging laughs and encouragement, was energizing. 

During the night, the first-place woman dropped out due to illness. Helen had stretched ahead, but gradually, I closed the gap. Through the tough hours, my coach David was brilliant. He seemed to appear every time I needed him most, giving me high-fives lap after lap when things were tough, lifting my spirits. He also really pushed me to readjust my goals mid-race, when it became clear I was going to exceed what we’d planned for. That shift in mindset was so helpful—it gave me new focus when fatigue was setting in.

At one point, David told me I had a chance to win—I didn’t believe it, but trusted the process and kept moving consistently. Eventually, I overtook Helen and focused on maintaining the lead.

Through the night and into sunrise, I relied on the incredible support around me—high-fives, snacks, kind words. As the morning sun arrived, it became harder to stay motivated, calories didn’t feel enough, and walking laps became necessary. Ginger biscuits from the aid station kept me going. The Sri Chinmoy volunteers were amazing, counting laps and cheering us on. Their encouragement was constant, personal, and uplifting—I’ll never forget how much that energy carried me.

In the last few hours, fatigue hit hard. But seeing all the amazing Camino family who come down to the track, cheering at the corners kept me shuffling, moving forward. Then in a blur, the race ended. I dropped the beanbag by my back foot, sat on the grass next to Michael, and cried. I hadn’t imagined it was possible: 188 km in 24 hours and first place. Kelsey ran over and hugged me, and I bawled again.  I was definitely overwhelmed by joy and gratitude.

Double Camino Win Joy - Julien & Paula

I ran this race inspired by Kelsey, lifted by Max, supported by Sarah, guided by David, and surrounded by the spirit of Sri Chinmoy’s self-transcendence.  I feel very proud of this race and ready to watch Kelsey shine at the World Championships.

For me, self-transcendence in this race wasn’t about numbers or positions—it was about finding new layers of strength in myself when I thought there was nothing left. It was about allowing others to lift me and discovering that community can carry you further than your legs alone ever could. 

THANK YOUs:

Sister Sarah and Richard who supported Paula and Max for 24 hours and Camino Friends

There are so many opportunities to drop in and support at a 24 hour event - especially one based in central London.

With so many Camino Coaches and Athletes taking part this year we were grateful to see so many Camino friends drop down throughout the day and night.

In addition resident photographer and friend Helen took some wonderful pictures of all the runners and these can be found here. If you want to download and use any then please use code 4187 - tag Helen and consider 'buying her a coffee'. x

CAMINO SUPERSTAR JULIEN CAZORLA:

Why spend 24 hours running in circles around a track? It’s nonsense.

Yet, some of us just had a go at it a few days ago in Battersea Park. Each of us with their own reason. Mine was from curiosity about the format – I’d never done it before – and knowing I would be able to experience one of the purest forms of distance running that is and enjoy the flow.

With hindsight it makes complete sense I had a go. It was a logical step in a journey of ultrarunning that started during the pandemic, first on long solo, self-supported runs – my first 100km, my first 100 miles – then participating in many races of various formats, on road, on trails, in the mountains, in single stage or over many days, in and around London and in remote places overseas, but not on a track.

I knew about 24h track races, but was apprehensive about them. I just wasn’t sure it was cut of it. I had already experienced being out for over 24h (having done Spartathlon and UTMB among others), but… doing tiny loops? On a 400m track? Quite the mental challenge. I was feeling self-conscious about it too: you can’t really hide it when things go wrong, when everybody else is within distance in the same place.

I was curious, though, and generally can’t fight curiosity once it’s there. So in 2024 I applied to run the Sri Chinmoy Self Transcendence 24h track race in London’s Battersea Park – Battersea 24h to keep it short. My application was successful, and I was up for a great summer of ultras: Lakeland 100 in July, TDS in August, and Battersea 24h in September. Lakeland 100 was a wet one, and in the early morning hours I slipped running down wet rocks, fell, and broke my leg. That summer of 2024 wasn’t so great after all.

The following rehab process was a physical and emotional rollercoaster. Some early improvements, being able to leave the crutches behind then walk, then run, then race again. But new injuries were creeping up along the way, likely due to my ex-broken leg having become quite weaker and not handling the load so well when running at higher intensity. I hit a new low when I was diagnosed with a stress fracture and told I’d need crutches again.

Fortunately, a further scan showed there was no stress fracture, but a stress response (the stage before a fracture), and that it was already healing. I could continue running but would have to be extra careful. I decided not to attempt any higher intensity runs for a while. My training became all easy pace, and consistency, careful load build-up and recoveries, throwing in trails and hills whenever I could. It was about rebuilding a solid foundation that had gone away while I was injured.

As a way to redeem myself I set to run in 2025 the races I had missed in 2024, with another summer of Lakeland 100, TDS and Battersea 24h. Lakeland and TDS went by without major glitches. I aimed to finish them, go easy, go careful, and enjoy the mountains. I was fatigued after TDS but had a few weeks to recover before heading to Battersea Park and finish my redemption.

Running a 24h track race is simple on paper: run as far as you can, stick to the inside of the first lane and switch direction every 4 hours. You carry a chip to count the laps, which is supplemented by lap counters: organisers and volunteers visually checking your lap count is accurate, and giving you updates and encouragements as you run. We also had a large leaderboard by the starting position on the track, which was manually updated each hour to show all participants’ ranking and miles covered.

Logistically, this race was a dream. It’s next door (when you’re a Londoner). You can leave all your things by the track. Some people turn up with just a bag. Some others (including me) drive and park on the track, with all their things at hand whenever needed during the race. You can also bring a crew (I didn’t). Unlike most other race formats, you don’t have to worry about where you’re going, it’s impossible to get lost on a track! You can see all other participants at any time. And (one of my apprehensions) everybody can see how you’re doing.

I was increasingly nervous in the final days of tapering before the race, with the usual butterflies in the chest and phantom niggles appearing out of nowhere. The weather forecast showed rain. Last year’s race had heavy showers and was dreadful in general, with BBC even writing an article about how tough it was, quoting participants in a way that would put most people off. I hoped this year would be better. I tried to imagine all possible adverse scenarios and what could be done to mitigate them and manage any possible issue. Most of all, would I get bored? Would I be able to stay focused for so long? How does it feel to run hours on end on a track? One possible solution to fight the mental challenge was to use headphones but I didn’t want to carry my phone with me so I could use them. Therefore I went without, and never missed it. Nutrition-wise I had gels, oat bars, chocolate bars and sweets. Hydration-wise, I brought water, electrolytes, chocolate milk and Red Bull (these two having been really helpful when I ran Spartathlon, and I’ve been swearing by them since). I also brought several changes of clothes for all weathers, several pairs of running shoes, and first aid essentials especially for managing chafing and blisters. I brought a little too much. But I could (I had a car) and that meant I didn’t have to worry about anything missing.

My race strategy was simple: run as comfortably and steadily as possible, don’t push unnecessarily, don’t hold back the pace either if it already feels comfortable. Get into the flow and stay focused. Be a human metronome. I toyed with the idea of following run/walk strategies I had read about it but although it was a reasonable approach, it felt unnatural to me. Instead, I went for a ‘run till you drop’. I wanted to dream big with a series of goals that felt exciting and challenging enough: ‘A’ at 240km (10km/hr, which felt achievable given my past experience on ultras), ‘B’ goal at 225km (Spartathlon auto-qualifier level), ‘C’ goal at 200km (a round number that mattered in these 24h races, and I knew I had already covered that distance within 24 hours at Spartathlon. Above all, a goal of being a finisher without catching any injury.

I drove to the track mid-morning, with the race due to start at noon. The weather had been good so far, and driving through a crowded Battersea Park right after Parkrun was an interesting experience in itself. I parked by the track next to where Camino Paula, Darren and Max (all also participating) had settled with their own crews (that is, family and friends). I was self-supported for the event but knew I could count on them if something happened. Around us, many of the other participants had very professionally looking set ups by their cars: tents, marquees and tables displaying well-presented fuel supplies. My own set up was a bit more DIY: the boot of my car wide open with all my supplies in, and a folding picnic chair. The excellent and friendly Run and Become team organising the event had their own marquee with drinks and things for us to nibble throughout the event. I’d end up stopping here many times for water and (my big discovery in this race) ginger root beer.

Half an hour to go before we kick off. Everybody gathered for the race briefing. We found out one of the runners coming from Norway had missed his flight. That would leave 52 of us on the track. With a few minutes to go we all walked to the start line. I changed from t-shirt to vest at the last minute, when I saw it was getting warm. The countdown started. Go!

Just a few seconds after the start, veteran runner John sped up to go complete his first lap much faster than anyone, before settling at a slower pace. Now in his 70s, it was his 18^th participation and that ‘victory’ lap was a good way to celebrate his achievements. All other runners started their runs slowly. I felt puzzled about what to do. Among us were seasoned 24h runners, and everybody seemed careful not to start too fast. It did feel uncomfortable to me however, too slow, and I wanted to settle at my own pace. Kieran, who didn’t seem to overthink it like I was, went ahead and started moving faster. I followed suit and settled at a pace that felt right. No pushing it, no holding back, just moving. By then I was in third position until John finished his speedy victory lap, then reached second behind Kieran. A few laps later I caught up with the tail of the line the other runners had formed on the first lane of the track, and steadily overtook them one by one. Everybody was spreading out around the entire track. My lap counter acknowledged me every time I passed her – I would hear my name and I would wave back. Many laps passed and it all felt like clockwork, effortlessly. I sometimes checked my pace on my watch to make sure I was consistent but was running by perceived effort, by feel. I knew my pace would eventually drift down over time, but I was hours away from it.

I continued overtaking people, trying the stay on the inside of the first lane as much as possible. You’re supposed to say ‘track’ to warn people you want to overtake, but a ‘sorry’ or a ‘excuse me’, felt more natural to me. I apologised a lot. People were answering ‘well done’, ‘good job’, and some other kind messages, and I would always reply back. Until many hours later someone eventually told me ‘you don’t have to acknowledge it, you know, just keep focusing’. Excellent piece of advice that I took note of. Only one person was overtaking me – Kieran, leading the race, running strong, cruising fast.

The first hour passed and the leaderboard gave us our first update, confirming I was in second place. I saw that I had the same mile count as Kieran (but was likely a couple of laps behind), and that I was a mile ahead from the third runner. I mentally made note of the bib numbers, names and distances of the people being me on the board, and started looking them up on the track, if or when I was overtaking them. I was at the same time focused keeping myself steady, and attentive to what the others were doing. That would keep me mentally busy for many hours onwards. I had imagined I would spend the race observing what would be or happen in the distance – trees, buildings – but instead remained focused on the track itself. I didn’t have many thoughts going through my head, however. My mind was just blanking. I was in a state of flow. Like meditating while being aware of the steady rhythm of your own steps, your gait, your breathing. I was holding my ‘forever pace’, and everything felt in balance. The plan was to keep it that way as long as possible.

I remained in second position for a further couple of hours, with the gaps in front of and behind me widening on the leaderboard. By then I knew most of the other runners. What they looked like, their outfit, their running style, the lone runners and the ones in a group, the silent ones and the talkative ones, if they’d let me overtake them on the inside or on the outside. I noticed Kieran’s pace was getting uneven. He was breathing harder. He wasn’t overtaking me so regularly. We were about to reach the marathon distance at that stage – the first notable distance milestone. It took me 3 hours 20-something to reach it, which was on the faster side but at the same time I was feeling in a good place, mentally and physically.

Somehow, Kieran stopped. Not seeing him on the track, no longer being overtaken, I guessed that I had taken the lead but I wasn’t completely sure, I wasn’t counting the laps. Eventually the next leaderboard update confirmed I was in first place. I felt odd about it, seeing my name written at the top. I knew it could easily change, we were still very early in the race, but I started thinking ‘what if…’. I had a new goal: I wanted to win.

The first big event in the race is the change of direction. From clockwise to anticlockwise. It’s not as dramatic as it seems: you finish your lap, run around a cone, and go the other way. You have a unique opportunity to be face to face with the other participants still running the other direction for a few seconds, and that’s it. It’s orderly. I enjoyed the moment and it did feel more comfortable to me to lap in this new anticlockwise direction, it’s the natural one you’d follow on a track. The change in direction was an instant hit for the people cheering us. They were taking pictures, making videos, and were singing Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart (you know the lyrics: ‘Turn Around…’), which stuck in my head for a moment. We’d have more changes of direction every 4 hours. It gave us something to look forward to.

As expected from the weather forecast, it started raining mid-afternoon. And it got very windy. I saw one of the participants’ marquees being blown over, and hoped it didn’t smash into anyone or anything. The leaderboard got toppled off by the wind a couple of times. The Sri Chinmoy arch above the finish line crashed. I put a jacket on. The rain didn’t last long and I dropped the jacket off, but the wind continued. I hoped the weather would settle (it eventually did). Another thing was certain though: night time was coming. It got cooler, and I changed again, into a t-shirt. I had planned to use arm sleeves if it got too cold but they that was never necessary. One final kit change: my toes had started rubbing against the front of my shoes – my feet were swelling – and I had to put on a new pair of shoes. Wearing fresh kit felt good, like a full reset in the race.

When running ultras, dividing the whole effort into smaller digestible bits is a sound strategy. While this advice also applied to this race, it felt different from other events. Time was distance, and distance was time. The finish line was a finish time. I stopped feeling impressed by the distance to be covered (numbers can be mind-blowing) and focused on counting the hours instead. The only exception to this was when reaching specific distance milestones: 50 miles, 100km, 100 miles, etc. I knew I was moving well and would likely PB at some of them. The organisers gave me a heads up me when I was about to reach 100km and again, 100 miles. And in the middle of the night I set a new 100 miles PB at 14:31, which would be officially recorded. I had just bagged a Spartathlon auto-qualifier with that performance. It was uplifting.

Still keeping track of the leaderboard, I knew that the second runner a couple of miles right behind me was strong. James had already won the event (among other events). While it was inevitable my pace would drift down, I tried to manage it the best I could and kept my fuelling (running to my car boot and back) and bathroom breaks short to keep the lead. Camino David had joined us by the track at that point and could see by himself on the race website many more stats than what was on the leaderboard. He told me I was 10 laps ahead from James – that was good news. A lead that sounded comfortable enough. But that could also easily go away. If it dropped by more than one lap in each remaining hour (a very reasonable assumption), James would go in front.

Unfortunately, I soon felt a sharp pain on the side of my right foot. I finished my lap, ran to my car to check my foot. The skin was torn open: a blister had formed and had broken. I taped it and hoped for the best. I had lost time mending myself but could run pain-free again. We changed direction, and unsurprisingly an hour or so later, I felt a similar pain but on the other foot, in the same place. Opposite direction, opposite foot. I stopped again to check it out. Unsurprisingly, the same blister, that fortunately hadn’t broken, the skin was intact. I drained it, taped my foot and went back running. I was losing time, I was slowing down. James overtook me, I pushed my pace up and overtook him again. It happened a few times. That could have carried on for a while, I could have been on the losing end, but overall James’s race didn’t seem to go the way he wanted. I saw him taking walking breaks, then full breaks. David told me my lead was widening. 14 laps. 19 laps. And then I saw James stopping for the last time. He withdrew from the race. I was still in the lead, and the new runner-up was much further away this time. I had to carry on.

Unlike me, Camino Max and Camino Paula were sociable spirits on the track. I often saw them running alongside other participants, chatting, while I was in the zone exchanging just a few words every now and then. In the middle of the night I heard singing. It was Paula, headphones on, energised listening to party bangers. I’d see her again, pacing faster – she would eventually be the female winner.

Dawn broke, and soon enough we had our final change of direction in full daylight. I had a significant lead, and just had to maintain it. The final hours could be easy ones or could be a big upset. It’s at those times towards the end that you’re tired and can easily lose focus. When you’re more likely to hurt yourself. Many people were taking long walking breaks. Some who didn’t move too fast earlier started pacing fast like if they had a new pair of legs – often looking to reach their own 100 miles milestone. I got overtaken by them a few times but wasn’t too worried about it.

My feet were swelling, I had to change shoes again. I wasn’t feeling so comfortable anymore. About a couple of hours to go and I felt pain on my right hip. A familiar one I hadn’t had for a long time. It was my weaker leg, the one I had broken last year, and I knew that pain could become strong enough to keep me off running or walking. I really didn’t want to experience it again on this track when with so few hours left in the race. Fortunately, there was a physio supporting the event. I stopped for a few minutes to get his help. He stretched me and poked me hard where it hurt. I heard my articulations crack, the pain on my hip became more bearable, and I loosened up enough to carry on till the end of the race.

The final hour felt electric. I had passed the 200km mark a few hours ago and was maybe able to reach 240km but I had to speed up. Camino David and other people I met on the track encouraged me, I increased my pace, the adrenaline kicked in. A small crowd of supporters formed on the side of the track, music was on and loud, I went faster. The lap counters gave me regular updates on my distance, I might make it. Until I finally broke that 240km barrier, my ‘A’ goal. I was over the moon. I had a few minutes left still, and I went after another symbolic milestone: 150 miles, which was just about a mile further from 240km, and ticked it off. As I was in my final laps, the organisers gave us race-end markers: a bean bag with the bib number on leave on the ground to help measuring the distance covered in the final, incomplete lap. Finally, they called the end of the race. Our carousel of runners stopped, we all stood still. I dropped the bean bag and thought – what had just happened?

242.9km, 150.9 miles, and a win for my first ever 24h track race. I was euphoric about the result and bouncing back from darker times after last year’s accident. I was and still am grateful of what I was able to experience on the track. This is not just about race stats, but about what we felt and shared for these 24 hours. It never felt boring, it was epic.