Tears welled up in my eyes as I slowly walked out of the runner’s tent and towards the toilets. “I failed,” I thought.
The reality of the sudden end to what should have been one of my big races this year set in.
I’d completed 19 laps of the O-See Backyard Ultra. And then my body made a decision I didn’t have any say in.
What is a Backyard Ultra?
For those unfamiliar with the format: a Backyard Ultra is a timed loop race where runners compete on the same 6.7km circuit repeatedly. Each lap must be completed within a 60-minute window. You start your next lap on the hour, every hour. Most runners drop out over time as the race progresses—only the last one standing wins. It’s a test of consistency, mental strength, and how long your body can keep moving.
The O-See Backyard Ultra in Zittau is Germany’s biggest Backyard Ultra and one of the biggest in Europe. I had run this race in 2025 already, but dropped after 18 laps when an injury that I picked up during the race threatened my start at CCC UTMB just weeks later. This year, the course had slightly more elevation gain than the previous year, with a harder first half of the loop and an easier second half.
Overall I liked the course better than last year’s, even though many runners said that this year’s version was harder.
Feeling Well Prepared, But Lacking Focus During Race Week
I had big goals for this race. My training volume felt solid, I had no niggles or injuries, and I felt fit going into the start line. The preparation had gone well.
But the 2 weeks before the race were a mess.
Likely due to very high stress levels at work and in my private life, my gut went sideways. And while it slowly seemed to get better, I hardly slept from Wednesday to Thursday during race week. I hadn’t anticipated how much stress I’d pile on myself in the days before the race.
Wednesday I went back to Berlin because I would pick up Vaso on Thursday from the airport. On Wednesday I also bought a tent. The tent situation had been debated beforehand—hill with shade, or no hill but closer to the main tent. I didn’t really want a tent, but Vaso convinced me to get one.
Thursday was a stressful trip back to Zittau. A bomb from World War II was found near one of the train stations we would usually pass on the journey from Berlin to Zittau. On the day of our trip that bomb had to be diffused and I spent Wednesday night and Thursday morning wracking my brain about the best option for travel. And Friday (the day before the race) was packed with activities—visiting Oybin and spending some time in the mountains, setting up the tent, and ending the night at the luna park. I went to bed much later than I wanted to and on top of that had thrown my nutrition plan properly out of the window.
On Thursday and Friday, I ate things I haven’t eaten in a long time. Pasta, ice cream with a cone, falafel and fried food. My gut had been already compromised for two weeks, and I knew that gluten and grains would be problematic for me. But I ate it anyway. This decision haunted me later.
By Friday evening, I didn’t feel mentally ready. The distraction, the lack of focus, the constant movement instead of stillness and preparation—it all added up. I didn’t feel mentally ready to race the next day.
However, I was in good spirits on Saturday morning. I had a slow morning and didn’t rush to get to the location. The weather was perfect, the atmosphere was electric and I got to meet and chat with Jörn—a running friend I hadn’t seen in a long time. And having Vaso there to support me was the cherry on top.
Feeling Good During The Race
I felt good from the start. Except for some hamstring cramping (which I never experienced before), my body and mind were cooperating. My splits were consistent through the early laps—around 45 minutes per lap. The course felt good, the organisation was flawless, the weather was kind. It felt like what a race should feel like.
For nutrition, I relied on Naak drink mix and Precision Hydration chew bars only during the first couple of laps, as this is what I trained with and knew works well for me.
However, I made a mistake early on and started to add the home cooked rice balls provided by the race organisation. I remembered them from last year’s race and how well I liked them. In hindsight, I think they contributed to my intensifying gut cramping. Around lap 10, I stopped eating the rice balls and switched back to only water and Precision Hydration chew bars. My gut gradually settled after that, and by lap 17, I felt ready to add gummy bears back into the mix.
By lap 17, I decided to eat gummy bears.
My nutrition staple, the Precision Hydration chew bars, continued to work well. I added a Naak Mokka bar in laps 17 and 18, which gave me good energy.
Throughout the race Vaso massaged my legs every other lap or so. And these massages were genuinely transformative. When I started lap 19, my legs felt strong and capable because of that support.
At some point in the night, I started to feel bored. Headphones were now allowed, but I chose not to use them. I didn’t feel like I needed them. The rhythm of the laps was enough, and I stayed present with the course and the moment.
Around this time, the race director of the Mad Chicken Run appeared at the start and finish area in a full chicken costume. I was still feeling great then—early enough in the race that I was fully present for that high-five. The atmosphere the organisers had created was genuinely special: amazing energy, drummers at the start and finish line, freshly cooked food, volunteers who were genuinely lovely and cheerful every time I came through.
The last two to three laps drifted closer to 50 minutes instead of 45, because I decided to take it a bit slower. I still had plenty of time in the breaks. I also decided to rather run more slowly than to incorporate more walking breaks, because walking made it harder to get back into a good running rhythm, and my legs would tighten up.
The Collapse
Laps 18 and 19 were strange and brought frequent, urgent needs to urinate. I went for a quick pitstop in the woods and still had plenty of time in the break.
Then lap 20 didn’t happen.
Between laps, I got up to grab some nuts and something to eat. On the way back to the bench where Vaso was waiting, everything shifted. Cold sweat broke across my forehead. My vision narrowed. I felt like I was passing out.
I heard Jörn in the distance. But I couldn’t move.
When I was thinking more clearly again, the regret came immediately. I wished I’d tried to get up. I wished I’d asked Vaso to hold my hand and help me to the start line. I felt like I’d given up.
But I also knew I hadn’t had a choice.
My body had shut down. This wasn’t a mental quit—this was a physiological response. I’ve experienced this before: a fainting response triggered by gut cramping, which a doctor once explained to me is actually a safety mechanism my body uses. My pain threshold was so high from the cramping that my nervous system took over and said no more.
I sat by the fire for a minute or two until it got too warm, then went to the tent with Vaso and slept for a while.
Once I’d recovered a bit, Vaso and I went back to the main tent to check on Jörn. He was just finishing his run—24 laps, 100 miles—and I got to witness the end of his race.
Vaso and I went home, showered, and watched some thrillers. The next day, we went for a long walk and visited the zoo.
The Disappointment Lingers
Writing this on the 20th of July, I’m still uncertain. And it still feels like an excuse, writing it this way.
This was the first race I had to end because my body quit on me. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. Not because I gave up. Not because I lacked the mental strength to get to that start line again. But because my nervous system took over and said no.
But did I give up? I don’t know. There’s a part of me that wonders if I’m just telling myself a story that makes me feel better about not trying hard enough. If I’d gotten up, if I’d asked Vaso to hold my hand and help me to the corral, would I have made it to lap 20? Or would I have collapsed there instead? Or on the course?
I made it 19 laps when my body was already compromised by two weeks of poor sleep and stress. I made nutritional choices I knew were wrong. I didn’t prepare myself mentally the way I needed to. Those are facts.
But the doubt remains: was my body’s shutdown real, or was it just the final excuse my mind needed to stop?
What I know for certain is this: I made choices—about what I ate, how much I stressed, how I prepared mentally—that left me vulnerable. My body didn’t quit randomly. It quit because I’d already compromised it with decisions I knew were wrong.
For the next race, the learnings are non-negotiable:
Nutrition discipline. No matter how good the food looks, I have to stick to my plan. Gluten and grains create problems for my body—I know this, and I can’t ignore it just because something looks appealing on race day.
Stress management. Two weeks of poor sleep and high stress, combined with a chaotic race week instead of mental preparation, set me up to fail. I need to protect the days before a race more fiercely.
Nineteen laps was one more than last year. I finished 5th last female out of over 50 female starters. On paper, it doesn’t look too bad. But I wanted much more, and I will be back to prove to myself that I can do it.