The Invitation
Back in April, my amazing ultra-running friend, GB athlete, and Badwater sister, Ali Young, invited me to join her team for the Arc Project AP#4: ‘The Treadmill Factory’.
Described as a 24-hour Ultra Marathon on a treadmill in London at the end of May.
Quite simply most distance covered in 24 hours.
Cryptic but intriguing.
Slightly mad but exclusive.
Without hesitation, I replied, “Yes!”
It sounded like an incredible experience and it was huge honour to be invited onto her team. Scouring the internet revealed very little about the Arc Project AP#4, except that it was going to be experimental, radical and challenging and probably completely bonkers! The format required two men and two women to qualify. Within a few days, the team was complete with two other inspirational members of the running community and friends: David Bone and Frank Bingham.
What a team.
It felt a bit like being a teenager again when the cool older kids invited you to hang out. For the next 24 hours I’d be alongside three friends who were incredible world class athletes I hugely admired, and if I’m honest, I desperately wanted to impress them and certainly not let them down. Mostly though, I just felt incredibly grateful to be there. Just honoured. 100 teams applied and 40 were accepted. Our team was in…. ‘Baseline Pacemakers’. AKA 2D on the factory floor!!!
The Build-Up
We really had very little idea what to expect. All we knew was that we’d be taking turns to run on a human-powered treadmill for 24 hours, starting at 10am on Saturday 30th May at Neasden Studios in London. The organisers communicated through an Arc Project WhatsApp group, sending detailed but deliberately mysterious instructions.
The first line read:
“IMPORTANT: AP#4 is not a normal race.
AP#4 is an experiment.
Expect it to be uncomfortable.
You were one of few accepted.
You are now part of the experiment.”
What on earth was on its way? Lab Rats? It was mysteriously barely informative but just managing to be ambiguously captivating. I loved it. Occasional text messages were sent to us in the days leading up to the event. T-12, T-8, T-5. There were lots of don’t do this and make sure you do that messages. There were strict requirements around kit colours, equipment, and what could be brought into the venue. Every detail had clearly been considered.
Dress code: Black. WTF, was this our funeral?!
Bring: A fan, a chair, a sleeping mat, a head torch, and a disposable camera.
The instructions also explained that every metre covered would be powered entirely by human effort using a Woodway LTG Human Powered Treadmill. This wasn’t a normal treadmill. We checked it out online. What was this contraption? Research revealed the curved banana shaped design apparently would require more energy than a standard machine. We were also warned to prepare for heat, cold, dark, light, loud and quiet. At the time, none of us really understood what that meant. I was both terrified and wondering what on earth lay ahead.
The Reality
When we arrived, it felt like we’d become extras in Squid Games, the infamous South Korean Dystopian competition! Our treadmill number was written on the back of my hand in marker pen. 2D was ours. Blanking stickers were placed over the lens of our Phones. We were assigned a 2m x 2m square on the perimeter of the factory floor where we’d establish our base camp for the next 24 hours.
Looking back, we brought far too much stuff with us. In the darkness we unpacked chairs, bags, sleeping mats and supplies. The Arc Project had thoughtfully left Maurten products and cans of Red Bull for every team. We laid out our nesting and nutrition stuff for what lay ahead. We had a plan…our race strategy extended only as far as the first hour. We didn’t have any idea about what was to come. So Plan A was as follows:
Ali would run first, followed by me, then Frank, then David.
We’d each do 15 minutes and see what happened!
What happened was this:
The Woodway running device was brutal. Because Ali and I are relatively light runners, we struggled to generate and maintain the momentum needed to keep the treadmill moving efficiently.
We quickly adapted, switching to 30-minute team blocks where Ali and I alternated every five minutes.
The transitions became slick. The treadmill never stopped. Not Once. We learnt that very quickly. Meanwhile, the factory floor was alive. Imagine being on a warehouse floor with a giant TV screen ahead of you taking up the whole wall with hallucinogenic type visuals pulsing. Like an iTunes visualiser with Rave / Trance music belting out. The factory floor consisted of 8 treadmills in a row, with 5 rows of treadmills and the small rest areas around the perimeter.
Our treadmill was the furthest from any fan and positioned beside a concrete pillar with a spotlight aimed directly at us. The room itself was the size of around 4 tennis courts. It was very dimly lit at this stage and it was hot. Very hot. With 160 competitors and officials it was a hive of activity.
We were now running on this bizarre creation. There was no settling into an easy rhythm. If you wanted the belt to move, you had to drive it yourself. Power mattered. A lot. We were also warned to prepare for heat, cold, dark, light, loud and quiet.
At the time, none of us really understood what that meant.
Eventually, Ali and I found our sweet spot: three-minute intervals.
Three minutes was short enough that we could attack each effort at around 10kph before swapping over and using our break to head the nearest fan to cool down. Between us, we’ve completed races such as Badwater 135 and Spartathlon, yet here we were barely managing three minutes at a time. Crazy. It felt like a 24-hour interval session on steroids. David and Frank settled into longer efforts during their blocks, but every time they stepped off the treadmill they were drenched in sweat and were giving it everything they had. Outside, we developed a routine.
When off duty, Ali and I would head to the picnic tables, grab some fresh air, use the toilets and briefly escape the intensity inside before returning to the experiment. We were surprised by how many people were already sleeping. It was only the afternoon! Some lay outside, others curled up in their tiny team camps. Later in the afternoon an authentic Italian pizza truck arrived. We demolished several pizzas. To aid digestion, we extended our intervals to 45-minute blocks.
The weather was glorious. Warm sunshine gave way to a beautiful balmy evening, and sitting outside for a few precious minutes felt like a holiday before returning to the factory floor torture.
The Night Shift
The first live leaderboard placed us 24th out of 40 teams. We weren’t concerned. We were probably the oldest team there by some distance, but we had something many teams didn’t. 1000s of miles of endurance experience and the ability to endure hours on end of sleep deprivation. The longer the race went on, the more confident I became that we’d come into our own.
And we did.
Hour by hour, we climbed the leaderboard. One team after another.
Just before midnight, the organisers announced that something “spicy” was about to happen. Race crew handed out Silva head torches. At midnight every light in the venue was switched off.
The sight was incredible. 200 head torches floated through the darkness while dance music thundered around the factory. It felt less like a race and more like an underground rave.
At 1am we decided the boys would take over for an hour while Ali and I attempted some sleep.
Unfortunately, we’d chosen the worst possible hour. It turned out to be “Light Hour.” Sleep had no chance. Every light in the building was switched on at full brightness. Runners were given sunglasses. The music somehow became even louder.
I remember thinking that I’d seen documentaries on Special Forces undergoing interrogation techniques with lights full bright then darkness and loud relentless music for 24-48 hours all whilst trying to break your spirit and mind. I felt that there maybe an ex military sicko behind some of this!
Lying on a mat while the floor vibrated beneath us, wearing an eye mask and surrounded by chaos, sleep was utterly impossible. When we returned at 2am, we’d reached 100 miles. David and Frank had done an outstanding job, dragging us up to 13th place. They staggered back into camp and collapsed. Ali and I resumed our relentless and effective three-minute rotations. Eventually we needed a break too. The boys were still completely wiped out. We gave them a few extra minutes before reluctantly waking them.
One of Frank’s greatest contributions throughout the race was his meticulous timekeeping.
His phone became mission control, keeping us organised and ensuring nobody missed a shift.
Even when exhausted, both Frank and David immediately stepped back in whenever needed. No complaints. No drama. Just relentless positivity and teamwork. It was genuinely inspiring to watch.
The Final Push
At 6am, the music changed down to classical.
Cruelly.
At the exact moment everyone needed energy and motivation, the soundtrack became soothing and reflective. The sicko strikes again. We kept pushing. By now every position gained really mattered.
13th became 12th shortly after 5:30am when we passed 200km. At 8:30am we moved into 11th. Now we wanted the top ten. At 8:45am we were only 1.5km behind the team in tenth.
That’s when everything changed.
We found another gear. Every effort became harder. Every transition became faster.
The strategy shifted again to 20-minute girl-and-boy blocks. At 9:10am, with just 50 minutes remaining, the gap was down to 0.4km. We could smell it. The final hour became an all-out pursuit.
With 20 minutes to go, everyone emptied the tank. David and Frank alternated hard efforts. I ran the penultimate minute. Then Ali—our captain and queen—ran the final minute of the entire experiment.
The Aftermath
We finished 10th out of 40 teams.
248.39 kilometres.
150 miles.
Not bad for a team with a combined age of 205.
What meant even more was hearing comments from other teams about how impressed they had been watching us work together. Throughout the event I was called a beast, a savage and an animal more times than I can remember. Normally, those might not be the most flattering descriptions for a 49-year-old female.
The Reflection
What a truly extraordinary experience.
To spend 24 hours sharing an adventure like this with three incredible friends is something I’ll never forget.
It was exhausting.
It was uncomfortable.
It was insane.
It was absolutely epic.
Ali, David and Frank—you are exceptional athletes and friends. Your positivity, grit and endurance are off the scale, and I feel incredibly lucky to have shared this experience with you.
And to the Arc Project: thank you for creating something so unique.
Yes it was bonkers and deliberately so.
There was a letter the organisers had written to each and every one of us to read after the event, some hours later at home.
It was a powerful message which was both thought provoking, subliminal and prophetic.
I’ll never forget this one off unique experience.
It was wild.
It was beautiful.
And it was a journey I’ll remember for a very long time.
Photos courtesy of Laura Watts and Arc Project
