A Date with Adventure: Our MUT 100-Mile Trail Race Experience
- Pierre Jordaan
- Jun 1
- 6 min read
In case you don’t know us personally, my adventure partner and I aren’t exactly the typical candlelit dinner couple. We usually “book” a shared mountain trip for special occasions, and not much is deemed more special than our canine companions these days… So, when Nix asked if I’d mind her joining me for the George Mountain Ultra Trail (MUT) 100-mile race, I was thrilled at the prospect of a weekend away together, running the same trails through the same beautiful mountains.
On race day, we didn’t plan to run side by side. An ultra is a personal journey - each runner faces their own highs and lows, and waiting for someone else can disrupt your rhythm, make your combined time significantly slower, and isn’t fair to either party. We do train together a fair amount though, and by chance we set off on our MUT journey at the same initial pace. Sharing the experience of a vibey and well-supported VK (vertical kilometre) start and ascending towards George Peak together felt incredibly special, but it didn’t last very long… After about 500m ascent Nix decided to up the pace a tad and I simply could not follow. But this is what a 100 miler is all about – you, your own mental and physical challenges, and navigating a lonely trail for many hours. Even with all the support in the world, only you can get yourself to that finish line.
Thinking about it now, my race was anything but pretty (my finish line photos can attest!). Still, I’m proud of the patience and grit I showed. Early on, hitting the first aid station at Cradock Pass, Nix was just about to leave as I stumbled in. She filled one of my soft flasks while I looked at the nutrition on offer, and then playfully told me to “catch her” during the next section. With high hopes but quads already screaming, I tackled the ascent up Cradock Pass. Spoiler: it did not go well. Five athletes passed me, and catching Nix became a distant dream. Never before have I had to exert so much patience so early on in a race - my body sure was taking its time to come to this Outeniqua party! Acknowledging that, I decided that working with my body rather than against it was going to be key. There is no place for ego in the mountains - a lesson the Drakensberg taught me many years ago already.
At Montagu Pass aid station, a hug from the ever-positive Brundle lifted my spirits, only for cramping legs to humble me on yet another brutally steep climb shortly after. By this point I had started to let go of expectations and was rather soaking in the serenity of the mountains. The “Dragon’s Back” ridgeline scramble was a definite race highlight – some of the most exhilarating mountain running I’ve ever done in a race! A smile crept back onto my face. This is why I’m here, I thought. This is why I run; this is adventure!
The MUT course was exceptional. Vibrant and energetic aid stations were perfectly balanced by more remote and quiet ones, offering vital sections of peace. Singletrack trails through pristine indigenous forests, with Wood owls calling from the surrounds, surprised me where I’d expected flat, open roads and the noise of passing vehicles. The community’s support for the event spoke volumes about what organisers Zane and Carmen have built—a race that truly embodies the spirit of trail running.
But I diverge - back to my date with Nix! I love moving at night, and I managed to overtake a few runners between Dikkop and Wilderness aid stations. From that point I knew Nix was next ahead and I was determined to catch her. Then suddenly, there she was... As I was coming into the Oakhurst aid station she was just preparing to leave. I got a quick hug and yet another “catch me,” but this time around I was in much better shape and ready for the challenge! Knowing I was moving stronger (you don’t “just” catch people at 120km), I reminded myself of advice Nix had shared with me long ago. I remained patient, resisting the urge to push too hard while the sun rose steadily above the horizon. My hydration and fuelling had to come first; I would catch up again eventually.
I kept moving consistently and at Bergplaas aid station we finally sat down together for a brief marmite sandwich, swapping complaints about our aching feet. Little did we know, the trail to Tierkop would test us even further—scorching heat and the most rugged terrain yet on the course. We were both very low on water and retreated into our own worlds, just trying to keep moving. Then, like a gift, we rounded a shady corner and stumbled across a stream. We sat down, washed our faces, drank deeply, and laughed at the absurdity of our “date.” It was almost perfect, except that we still had to reach the finish line.
The climb to Tierkop was brutal. I moved a bit faster and went ahead, knowing I’d linger longer at the aid station and Nix would likely catch up. She did, but with just 14km to go I started worrying about holding my third-place position. We exchanged good-byes and good lucks, and I pushed on ahead.
10.4 Kilometres from the finish, I glanced back and saw a runner with what I thought was a 100-mile bib (I triple-checked, but it was certainly the red race number of the milers!). He looked alarmingly fresh… My heart sank - how was this possible? He caught up and I let him pass, but I stuck to his heels, asking how far back the others were. “About two minutes,” he said. He was fighting to hold them off! I surged, he caught me, and we traded leads. I realised I’d have to give everything to defend my podium spot. The fact that I cared so much about the podium was also quite surprising, but it was good to know that I still had fight in me. Something that I had secretly dreamed about, and which was right within my grasp, was now slipping…
At 8.7km my 3rd place contender stopped to fill water at a stream. It took me only a second to realise - this was my chance! With quads hurting and feet more tender than ever, I summoned my love for technical downhill running and went flat out. With 3km to go, I glanced behind me. Would you believe… There he was again. I surged over small climbs, fueled by the cheers at Trail Kiosk and other random bystanders, and gave it everything I had after 26 hours and 165km. Those final 3km were the fastest of my entire race. Amazing what a perceived threat can unleash when you’re fighting for something you’ve poured your heart and soul into...
Eventually crossing the finish line was pure relief, bliss, and deep satisfaction. A half hour later, Nix came in, shattering the women’s MUT record by over four hours. It was a date to remember.
Post-race, I told Nix about the “100-miler” who had so furiously chased me down. She frowned, saying no 100-milers had passed her, and maintaining that she was fourth overall. Also, she added, hundred-mile runners don’t fist pump, shout “hey bru,” or casually rock-hop with 155km in their legs… She continued to mention things like “silent treatment” and “that haunted look”, but still I was certain I’d seen a red race number.
Eventually, and only after checking the official results, I realised that the 60km race numbers were orange. I’d been racing a relatively fresh 60km runner, me fueled only by delirium and sleep deprivation! Either way, I was proud. I’d fought through the pain, ignored the voice in my head tempting me to give up, and pushed beyond what I thought possible to protect the work I’d put in - not just over those 26 hours, but the months leading up to it. And wow, it was worth it.
That night we sat on the floor of our little Air BnB, enjoying some cheese and the sparkling wine Nix had received as she crossed the finish line. We closed off our “date night” sharing stories of all the oddities that occur during any typical 100 mile trail run.
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