The day began early—4:15 a.m., to be exact. After months of preparation, I woke up, went over last-minute checks, and made sure I had everything I needed for what would be one of the most challenging runs of my life. Running 80 km is not just about endurance; it’s a test of planning and nutrition.

 

My fuel plan was comprehensive: 16 carefully packed bags, each containing a variety of fuels to keep me going strong. I aimed to take in around 80 to 100 grams of carbs per hour through a combination of liquid carbs like gels, along with more solid options like baby food, salted licorice, and biltong. Each item was chosen not just for its carb content but to keep my energy levels steady and help curb any race-day cravings. Paired with sodium tablets every hour to reduce cramping, this strategy made the race as much a nutritional feat as a physical one. I also had extra food packs waiting at each aid station for backup.

Matthew picked me up, and soon we arrived at the starting line. The atmosphere was electric, and the energy of fellow runners was infectious. I reminded myself to keep calm and focus on all I’d done to get here. My friend Leanne had crafted a race schedule with cut-off times at each station, giving me a solid guide for staying on track.

 

The first leg, the beginning of this journey, went according to plan. My heart rate was right in the zone, allowing me to pace myself just ahead of schedule. Matthew and Sheri met me just outside the designated zone—a small logistical hiccup, but since I was being tracked, finding me was easy enough. At that checkpoint, I swapped into my Nike Carbon shoes, ready to push a bit faster, clocking in at about 7.5 km per hour. I realise to the common punter this might not seem very fast, but I’m primarily running to stay within a heart rate zone, which means I have to pace myself more conservatively. Despite the slower pace, this approach ensured I stayed strong, steady, and still would be able to meet the cut-off times.

 

One of the most surreal moments came between leg 1 and leg 2 as I crossed the Harbour Bridge. Running over such an iconic structure felt symbolic—a reminder of both the physical distance and personal journey I’d already covered. It was exhilarating and gave me a boost as I headed into the next leg.

Moving to the next checkpoint was a bit trickier due to some miscommunication about the exact location. But Rael and Matthew quickly sorted things out, and I was able to keep moving forward. At this point, I switched back into my Hoka running shoes, as they had a bit more grip, which proved helpful on the varied terrain. The scenery was stunning, which helped keep spirits high, but this next leg proved to be the most challenging.

 

At around 56 km, I hit a wall unlike anything I’d ever experienced in an endurance race—extreme fatigue. I paused, did a quick check-in with myself, and realised this wasn’t the usual low-energy feeling that might cause me to faint, nor was it the dehydration that could make me pass out. It felt different—more like a deep, overwhelming need for rest. I had to make a choice: rest or risk serious injury. So, I pulled over and took a 10-minute nap, hoping it would give me the energy to continue. I was slightly ahead of the cut-off times, but I knew I needed a new burst of strength to keep going.

 

Without trying to weave in another "phoenix rising from the ashes" moment, it truly did feel like I had risen again. I woke up feeling recharged, and not long after, I even passed a coffee shop. I took a minute to grab a long black (since they didn’t know what a “Magic” was) to keep my momentum going. That caffeine boost carried me to the 62.5 km mark, where I met Rael at leg 3. He was there with much-needed support, a fresh supply of biltong, and the next packs of energy fuel to help power me through the rest of the race.

 

Things were back on track, and the race volunteers made everything so much easier, from their encouraging words to the way they kept us moving forward. But, in true Cliff style, I managed to get lost, though only slightly. Around the 74 km mark, I found myself running down a path to a beach with no clear exit, other than a very long swim. As I stood there, I could almost hear the voices of everyone following my journey yelling in my head, 'Get back on track!' 

 

Have you seen anyone coming down here that looks like me?' I shouted to the beachgoers. In hindsight, I could’ve phrased that better, but it made sense at the time. They shook their heads sardonically, pointed up the stairs, and gestured for me to turn right. I thanked them, gave a salute for some reason, and made my way back up and right again. The person I had overtaken a few kilometers back was understandably surprised when I overtook him once more.

 

Things fell back into place as I reached the 70 km aid station, where Sheri, Matt, and Cheryl were there to cheer me on. From that point, it was just a matter of powering through the final stretch. I changed into my special race socks to give me that final burst of motivation  With only 4 km left, I met another runner, a fellow back-of-the-packer, and together we pushed ourselves through to the finish.

 

Crossing the finish line felt surreal. It was an amazing day, and I couldn’t have done it without my incredible support crew and the constant encouragement from my family cheering from Melbourne. I had completed a 79.6 km ultra within a year of my heart attack—a milestone achieved through a long-term plan, countless hours of training that didn’t always go according to schedule, and dedicated physio sessions. But I found a way through, leaving me with renewed determination and a reminder of what’s possible. This journey isn’t over; it’s only the beginning of what I hope will be an even greater adventure. Eventually, I hope to expand this website to help others rise as their own Phoenixes—but that’s a journey yet to unfold