Kosci100 Journal
Pt 1: Intro
103 km • ~3900 m Elevation • 14:58:47
Fifteen hours is a long time to be out on your feet. Add cold winds, nearly 4000 metres of climbing, and a last-minute decision to jump from a 50 km plan to a 100 km race… and you get one hell of a day in the mountains. But on 28 November 2025, somewhere between the alpine gusts and the pitch-black descent, I crossed the Kosci100 finish line in 14:58:47 — 126th overall out of 893 finishers. Not bad for someone who signed up three weeks before race day 😆
Pt 2: Just get to the start line
The day didn’t start quite how we planned it. Instead of calm breaths and quiet focus at the start line, I was standing in the freezing wind with two screaming, shivering twins clinging to me like possums. The cold wind tore through us and strong gusts ripped at our clothes — so for Charlie and Theo, it was overwhelming. I couldn’t even put them down to tighten a pack strap or adjust a layer; every time I tried, they screamed even harder. It was chaos, anxiety, and dad-duty all wrapped into one icy pre-race moment. Lucky Granddad (Grandy to the twins) was there, stepping in with warm arms and calm hands so I could finally line up for what was already shaping to be one tough day.
Pt 3: Start to Charlottes Pass
They called my start group to the line and I kissed my family goodbye — including my now snotty, blood-streaked children, with Theo having taken a tumble and split his lip in all the chaos. Once we set off, we moved out along the windswept bluff toward Charlotte Pass Resort, and the day wasted no time in challenging us. Those first 16 kilometres were wild. The gusts slammed into us hard! Enough to knock runners clean off the iron boardwalks — the infamous “cheese graters” lived up to their name, taking skin, shredding legs, and forcing more DNFs than anyone expected so early on. Along the way I picked up several dropped items and gels as people up front battled jackets, poles, and packs in the crosswinds.
Somewhere in all that chaos I met a bloke named Xavier — “like Xavier Rudd,” he shouted over the gale force winds — and I introduced myself as Dane, “like the dog, Great Dane,” which got a laugh despite the wind trying to tear both of us off the track. At one point I spotted an Allen’s Anaconda on the stone steps, picked it up, and yelled “Snake!” to the bloke ahead. He reacted like I’d shouted actual danger, jumping several meters off the trail before I clarified it was just a lolly. A strange mix of chaos, comedy, and survival — and we were only just getting started.
Pt 4: Climb to the summit
Arriving into Charlotte’s Pass Resort was pure chaos, held together almost entirely by the unstoppable force that is Linda Davis @linda.latitude19 — honestly, without her I wouldn’t have found my drop bag in the madness. I gave her a quick hug and a thank you before hearing a loud “There he is!” from @sam_outerlimits and @richo_nq, both deep into their first miler. The boys had started at 3 a.m. and somehow caught up to me at my very first checkpoint. I told them I’d stick with them, but by the time they headed out I was stuck in a painfully long toilet line, watching them disappear up the trail while I shuffled forward at a snail’s pace. Eventually I got moving again and began the push toward the summit of Kosciuszko.
The climb was everything you’d expect from the highest point in the country — exposed, freezing, and long. It was just one foot in front of the other, head down, eyes on the prize, stepping over and past several icy snow drifts that cut across the track. By the time I reached the summit, the cold didn’t matter. I was so excited to see Sam and Richo still up there — I’d caught them. We grabbed a quick selfie in the blasting wind and immediately turned to start the descent together, heading down Australia’s rooftop with kilometers and stories still ahead.
Pt 5: The decent and CP mayhem.
We began the return to the valley from the summit. I ran with Sam and Richo for a little while before peeling off and settling into a steady pace — it was downhill, and my legs felt good. Highlight included bumping into @campbell_bro3n on the snow drift - also doing his first 100 along with his partner @caitlyndavill, both of them hard as nails 💪
Not long after, I caught up with @sare_parkins and Trent, also deep into their miler by this point, and we shared a quick chat before I pushed on again. Arriving into Charlotte’s Pass Lookout CP was, once again, absolute chaos. The wind came in hard gusts, tossing gear everywhere and making resupply harder than it needed to be, and the lack of parking meant my crew struggled to get anywhere near the area. That delay cost me more time than I wanted, but seeing them made every minute worth it, and I shot off toward the next checkpoint as fast as I could.
Coming out of Guthega (around the 50km mark) is where things started to turn. A bit of gut cramping, bile rising in my throat — the first real warning signs of trouble. I force-swallowed it down and kept moving, picking up a jacket someone had dropped on the trail. I carried it for nearly 10 kilometres, passing around 40 runners and asking each one if it was theirs before eventually finding the owner. After that, it was the long climb out of the valley toward Perisher, where I fell into step with @juliamcmorrow_ — another trail mate I met along the way. We swapped stories as we pushed towards Perisha, and I think we were both grateful for the company to help pull us through those grinding kilometres — I just kept telling her “it’s all down hill from here mate” 😂
Pt 6: Legs no worky anymore.
Leaving Perisher with a fresh pair of shoes and socks (as planned) had me feeling surprisingly good. I began the long descent off the range toward Bullocks Flat, with Julie Brunker’s voice echoing in my head: “My quads were destroyed after that section — practice lots of downhill running.” And she wasn’t wrong. All those Castle Hill Road descents paid off, but even then the quad fatigue crept in fast. Somewhere along that drop, my legs just stopped working properly — that classic moment where you’re still mentally sharp, but your limbs stop responding and you just got to keep moving.
Rolling into Bullocks Flat Checkpoint, I’d shifted into machine mode: keep moving, fix the essentials, don’t overthink it. Half a sandwich was shoved into my mouth while I did my best to appease my incredible wife @em_king, who was rightfully getting worried about how little I’d been eating. I started trying to bargain with her — “what if I eat this instead?” — while still chewing the last mouthful like a child negotiating bedtime 😂. The whole thing was equal parts chaotic and funny.
Pt 7: Mind Over Matter
I have no photos of what happened between Bullocks and Friday Flats — a lonely 17 km stretch that dragged me to the 90 km checkpoint — but the lack of photos says enough. There is a video of me coming in, and all I could manage in response to Dad was, “mind over matter.” And that’s pretty much what got me there. That section was tough — undulating, difficult to find a rhythm, and I was completely tied. Just running on whatever scraps of momentum were left.
But my crew did what crews do — they patched me together. They got food into me, swapped my gear, and somehow had me ready for the final push: 13 km with about 700 m of vert, all the way up to Eagles Nest. With the sun dropping behind the range, I hobbled out of the checkpoint and set off for the final stretch, knowing this was the last big push of the day.
Pt 8: Relief And Pride
It got dark real quick. I found my rhythm with the poles, caught my second wind, and struck up a conversation with a nameless, faceless bloke behind me. We swapped stories about our kids, jobs, and families, and that’s how we passed the entire 1.5 hours it took to climb to the top. By the time I pushed on and he dropped back, I realised I never learned his name, saw his face, or even caught his bib number.
Arriving into Eagles Nest with just 3k to go, I had a few sips of hot Milo, thanked the team there, and set off once more into the dark. As I began the final descent, my headlamp flickered… then died completely. Luckily I had a tiny penlight as backup. It was bright enough, but it didn’t throw light very far. Still, it got me down the mountain — and quickly, because I was convinced it would die too.
I popped out of the tree line, and there it was at last: the finish line glowing in blue like a runway. My shuffle turned into a jog, which turned into a run, and by the time I crossed that line, I felt like I was sprinting. My wife and dad were waiting for me, and while I’d love to say I was overcome with pride and gratitude… honestly, it was mostly relief and disbelief 😂 Relief that it was over, and disbelief that it was done.
But now? I’m proud. 100 km is tough. And I genuinely believe everyone should seek out something tough in their life. Hard things make you appreciate all the small things — and the small things are the ones that matter most. And that is My Why.
