ITW TEVA: HIS FIRST BACKYARD, IN SEARCH OF PEACE

The backyard format is fiendishly simple: a 6.706 km loop to complete in under an hour. When the next hour strikes, you go again. And so on, until only one runner is left. No finish line, no set distance, just the same question coming back every hour: “Do I go again or do I stop?” Teva gave it a go at an under-the-radar backyard in the Paris region, far from the spotlight. We got him talking a few days after his first one.

The discovery

How did you discover the backyard format? What was your first reaction when you read the rules?

I've been interested in it for a few years, but I think the trigger was still the documentaries I used to watch about the Barkley. Once again, it's our good old Gary (aka Lazarus Lake) who came up with it. He used to do it in his back garden back then, probably with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. That was 15 years ago already. When I got the concept, it straight away seemed pretty insane. Especially with no finish line, “last man standing”, you know. Not having a predefined final distance, apart from the 6.7 km you have to cover within the hour. That huge mental side, doing it with a crew by your side the whole way. I told myself it would suit me far more than any other “normal” race.

Editor's note: we were already talking about the Barkley on Jolie Foulée back in November 2014. At the time, hardly anyone cared apart from us. Ahead of the curve, and quite proud of it. (Re)read: Barkley race, a bit of a tough race.

Why this backyard, rather than a “normal” race with a start, a finish and a finisher T-shirt?

Honestly, it was the accessibility of the format that appealed to me. Letting you go after more than just a time or a distance. Rather, seeing how far you're able to push into hardship, whether mental, physical, emotional or spiritual. A kind of leap into the unknown, in the end, a journey. And it lets some people approach the kilometres differently, with less pressure. Of course you can set yourself a goal, tell yourself you're going for 3, 10 or 24 hours, or so many kilometres. Doesn't matter. Deep down, you never really know how your body, and above all your head, will react. You can feel ready and get crushed not even two loops after the start. It's no longer about age, gender or build, and that puts things back in perspective. You've got to forget your ego. I can understand that people like shaving minutes off a marathon, seconds off an 800, etc. Finisher T-shirts, a bit less so hahaha. But this is different. It's a race that brings you face to face with yourself, with your thoughts (often limiting ones), and above all with self-imposed limits.

The Clemquicourt backyard made a lot of noise. Yours, the Endurance Backyard 95 in Taverny, is the opposite: tell us about the difference in atmosphere, organisation and crowd.

Either way, this Clem seems like a good guy. You could hardly get more exposure than his race, that's for sure. It reflects our society today: rounding up loads of big names for lives and events, of course it creates buzz. Still, it's cool, it was for a charity in this case. For us, out in the 95, it was a different kettle of fish. I picked up my bib on the Friday at 1pm sharp, I was the first. The start was at 5pm with a race briefing 15 minutes before. You go and stick your little name on the huge poster with everyone's bib numbers, and deep down you hope to be the last one left once the race is over. I was number 329. We actually had a potential “finish line”, since they had permits for 48 hours of racing, so until Sunday evening if it went that far. Base camp was in a big sports hall, and we'd had to choose our spot beforehand: 3 m² inside, or 10 m² outside. At this time of year and in this part of the world, let's say pitching our gazebo outside was a gamble. But honestly I'm really happy with that choice, it was perfect. That's a lot of people when you take 350 runners and their crews, all crammed into a sports hall. The organisation was top-notch, and so was the atmosphere. They know what they're doing, they already run a big trail race called Les 40 Bosses, I think. Nobody takes themselves too seriously, it's not a catwalk, people are there to have a blast and challenge themselves together, you can really feel it. As for the crowd, it was mostly runners' friends and family, and the volunteers, obviously. And then you always get random people who end up there walking their dog on a Friday evening. It was funny bumping into them, they must have wondered what the hell we were doing there. They had a point.

The build-up

You come from CrossFit and strength training. How do you go from an Olympic barbell to 6.7 km loops?

As a former elite BMX racer, we often compared our race to a 400m hurdles. It's around forty seconds of effort, so a huge amount of power, but clearly not an endurance sport. You could almost do a lap holding your breath. For our training, we obviously did a lot of strength work, and we're more “stocky” profiles: heavier, stronger, more powerful. 60-100m sprinter builds. Then I did a huge amount of CrossFit too, after quitting BMX, and that required me to work on other energy systems. I was rubbish at running, I didn't like it, and I wanted to challenge myself. So I gave it a go, with no particular goal. You get hooked, you discover aspects that suit you better (trail, in my case), and you get a little more committed day by day. In every sport I've done, I've always loved the technical side, or how to make a movement beautiful and efficient, your own way. A beautiful stride, a BMX start, a snatch in weightlifting, it's art, it's style, and it's very personal. I wanted to make each sport I did my own, but I never really wanted to be the best. Hence the appeal of a never-ending race, in a way.

What did that background give you? And what did you miss?

What my “background” gave me: extra kilos. What I missed: fewer kilos. Joking aside, I've got a thicker layer of muscle armour, sure, but I find it lets me take a lot more punishment too. Then again, since I was held back by a physical issue, do I need to be lighter at a slow pace? Very likely. Or on the contrary, should I run faster, because it suits me better? Time will tell! Also, being able to rack up more k's in the build-up without flirting with injury. But my head was clearly not the limiting factor, quite the opposite.

In practice, what did your build-up look like: volume, sessions, strength work, nutrition?

Let's be honest, you're jumping into the unknown a bit with a backyard. So I wanted to be physically strong, so my body could take the fatigue, the repeated impact. But I also had to be smart about my running volume, and how I built it up. I tried to do at least one session a day, whether strength or running, with one rest day a week. I often doubled up too, with a track session in the morning and strength work in the evening, for example. I shaped my weeks around fatigue and how I felt, I didn't want a precise plan. With some logical consistency. If I'd trashed my legs at CrossFit on Tuesday evening, I clearly wasn't sending a 10x1000 the next morning haha. I did quite a few “test” sessions too, on the treadmill, the track or even on trails, recreating 6.7 km loops and the matching recovery time. Spoiler alert: you always run too fast! My goal was to do each loop in 48-52 min, alternating running and walking. It helped me understand the effort required and get familiar with the distance. Nutrition-wise, nothing special, I kept a healthy, varied diet right up to race day. And you always test gels and the like in sessions, but it's clearly not the most important thing in this format.

The mood: “To Find Peace”

You'd had “To Find Peace” printed on your T-shirt. Where does that phrase come from, and what were you really looking for when you signed up?

In general, I tend to be hard on myself. As if I never did enough, you know. So when I signed up for this race, I tried to put words to what could help me accept pain, adversity, the unknown. And it was finding peace, quite simply, in the end. Through the effort I'd put in at that moment. With no particular goal, just being proud of myself and having given 100%, whatever the circumstances. Pushing past my limits, seeing what I was capable of when the vice tightens, and being fully present to enjoy this moment that belongs to me. A way of making peace with myself. Of accepting that I was no longer an elite athlete, but that I could keep pushing myself for the rest of my days. If I wanted to.

Did you find it, that peace? At what point?

I think it's a matter of perspective, in the end. During loop 6, around 11pm, I called my friend Zian. We'd agreed I could phone him at any time if needed, even in the middle of the night. I could feel my mind wandering because of the pain, that I'd lost track of why I was there. And to me, it felt too early, way too early. I'd started suffering from knee pain from loop 3, which only got worse, and we were sort of taking stock of what was going through my mind at that moment. I was lucid, in great shape, but held back by this knee that wouldn't give me a break. I felt like I was letting everyone down, because I knew I wouldn't be able to walk past a certain point. And as Zian put it, in the end: “Isn't that what finding peace is?” Dealing with the circumstances of the day and giving 100%, with what I had in the tank. I'd set out to put one foot in front of the other for as long as possible, and that's all I had to do. I was doing this race for me. So yes, I found it, from the moment I let go of what I couldn't control.

Expectations vs reality

Before the start, how many loops did you see yourself lasting? Did you have a secret goal?

That was exactly the whole mental battle before the race! Not limiting myself to a distance, or even a number of hours. Not setting myself a precise goal, just one step after another. That's how I saw it, I wanted it to match my approach, wanting to push past my limits. My longest race until then was the SaintExpress, which I ran almost a year ago now, 45 km. In a backyard, 45 km is 7 hours of racing! You've got time to see it coming, and at the same time, you don't know what to expect. So of course you dream of being the last one standing, but above all I had to be realistic for a first one. I didn't have a secret goal, I saw the race more in stages: beat my distance record (over 45 km), then go for 100 km (15 hours), then 24 hours (100 miles / 160 km), and so on. We all know nothing ever goes to plan, and that's what makes these races beautiful.

Talk us through the race: the start, the moment it turns, the hardest moment.

First loop, you get going, you get familiar with the course. Also, since there were lots of people at the start, you set off staggered: by the time we'd all crossed the start line, I was easily a minute behind already. And I didn't want to be at the front, I wanted to take my time, manage my race. It let me find my place, understand the loop, know where I'd walk, where I could speed up. And see the people you're running with too, that's nice. Even though I was in my own world, I watched the runners a lot, and I'd figured out pretty quickly who I'd be sharing most of those kilometres with. After that, it turns too early unfortunately, since the pain in my left knee arrives on loop 3. I'd had this kind of issue a few years ago and I knew it would be a real problem. I start warning the guys that things are going to shit, but I don't get discouraged, and I head back out. Then the pain peaks on loop 6, that's when I decide to take a pill. Last resort. It does me good for 2 laps, then the discomfort comes back worse than ever. I know it'll end like this, because of the knee, but I accept it. It's the start of the night, and I'm hoping to see the sunrise.

How did you manage the pain?

At first, you hope it'll pass. You tell yourself your body will take over and it'll be fine. But in this case, I quickly understood it was “mechanical”, and that I couldn't do much about it. So you compensate, you walk whenever you can, you try to work out at what angle to put your foot down to make each step less painful. Sometimes you give in, it drives you mad, then miraculously the pain disappears for a moment and you start hoping again. But you always keep moving forward, because you're not the only one and everyone's in the same boat. Everyone's trying to hide the pain, some better than others. You've got no choice but to deal with it.

The moment you stopped: was it your head or your body that decided?

It's the knee that gives out. On loop 11, I can't run anymore, but I try to keep up a pace to make it in under the hour. At that point, I find myself with 2 other runners, a woman and a guy. The guy has been in pain for a good while too, she's just had enough, mentally overloaded by her job, from what she tells me. I stupidly ask her to lend me her legs, because all I want is to keep going. The mind is there, it's the body that gives in. You realise we're all fighting our own battle, it's very personal. I come back in 58 minutes and change on that loop, and I head straight back out for a lap of honour, knowing it'll be a long walk and that my race ends there. DNF, 12 hours 13 minutes and 81 km later. (The race would be won in 33 hours.)

Crew and strategy

Who was in your crew, and what was their role?

In the end, there were 3 guys with me. I was lucky enough to have the support of my friends Alex and Axel from Rematch, who provided all the gear needed for the “camp”. It felt like being on a US army base hahaha. It was one less thing to worry about, since Alex lived 20 minutes away, so really handy. One of my best friends, Tom, came from Dijon just for this, like a true boss. And our surprise guest, and by no means the least, Rémy T, who was up for spending the night there to help us, and to capture this great moment! (All that with a shoot on the Saturday morning at 7am…) Axel was supposed to arrive at 6am on the Saturday, he unfortunately didn't need to get up. Their role was to make my life easy: cooking for me (and making me eat, too), telling me what to take before heading back out, making sure I didn't lack anything or forget anything. Checking whether I needed to change, ultra important in a backyard. Then patching me up/massaging me if needed. Moral support too, no question. And they loved the experience, so I couldn't have hoped for better. Even if Rémy would prefer a slightly warmer time of year, I suspect hahaha.

Editor's note: Rematch are also our mates behind the Buff x Rematch x Jolie Foulée collab, still available here. Gazebo and camp bed not included.

Your setup between loops: chair, food, change of kit, music?

I cross the finish line, walk through that damn sports hall, then reach the tent. There, the guys have already got everything ready, so I shut up, sit in a camping chair, put my legs up on the table (not under it), and try to wolf down as much solid food as possible. Meanwhile, they put my earphones back on charge, ask me if I need to change, how I'm doing. Then I lie down on the camp bed, if needed, to get a massage. Time flies, the minutes tick by, and it's already time to put more anti-chafing cream on and head to the start line. One loop with a bottle of water, one loop with electrolytes. And always gels/bars on me if needed. I never changed socks in the 12 hours of racing, I'd invested in toe socks, they're absolutely incredible. Music the whole way, even though I never run with it in training. Go figure.

Your strategy: run fast to recover longer, or jog in to arrive bang on the hour?

I followed a runner I really like, who advised aiming for around 48-52 minutes. He's not the only one to go for that kind of pacing, and I think it fits my profile. It gives you time to recover a bit. You can always pick up the pace if you feel the need, if you ever have to get back to camp earlier, whatever the reason. For now, I don't know if it's the right approach. We'll see with time and experience! There were guys running really “hard”, though, probably regulars. So they had way more recovery. Did it work for them in the long run? Good question. But I'll leave that to them haha.

What's next

Looking back: pride, frustration, or a bit of both?

Super proud, honestly, because I went all the way to the end of the pain, I couldn't have done better. It looked like such a lost cause that being able to push to 12 hours was really more than I'd hoped for. And obviously it's frustrating to be held back by a “physical” issue, but that's out of my control! I forgot about that side very quickly, mostly I can't wait for the next one. So happy, yes, really.

Will you go back? Same one, or are you aiming bigger? And what would you change?

100%! Same kind of thing I think, the backyard format is my jam. But it's also got me back in the saddle for trail-type races. As if I'd just broken a psychological barrier, in the end. I've always wanted to build up gradually, so I'll keep going like that and we'll see where it takes me. On the race itself, what I'd change is my approach to recovery time. Getting organised beforehand so the guys know what to do and have all the info they need for things to run like clockwork. Otherwise you lose minutes for nothing, but it's purely organisational. There'll always be surprises, you just have to be as prepared as possible to deal with them. Either way, I wouldn't change my crew for anything in the world! A backyard is real teamwork, never forget that. Without them, no way I could have pushed that far. That sharing is what makes it all.

Final word: the backyard in one sentence?

To Find Peace.

Photos: Teva's crew, Rematch in particular (@rematchrematch).