The coach ultrarunners call when taking on the impossible
As the meteoric rise of ultrarunning sees more people look to push past their limits, Matty Abel has perfected the science of preparing runners for the mental anguish and physical suffering that awaits them
WILL CORLETT WAS looking for a coach. He’d quit his job in agriculture in search of fulfilment and found it in open roads and mountain vistas. He’d worked his way up from a middle-of-the-pack cross-country runner to someone who targeted distances most wouldn’t travel by car. He put himself out there, announcing plans to run 200 km across Tasmania in 24 hours. He went to Launceston, carried on the fumes of naivety that envelop those yet to attempt a multi-day ultramarathon. With three mates new to the demands of crewing, they made every mistake possible: he under fuelled, got lost, felt muscles seize as temperatures plummeted with the arrival of darkness. He arrived in Hobart in 30 hours and felt the unsettling feeling of a box unchecked, an echo of disappointment that bounced around the walls of his musculature.
But Corlett was already looking ahead. This time, the 20-year-old would know what to expect. He set his sights on somewhere more familiar, a place where he grew up and first learned to appreciate time spent alone out on the trails. He would take on the longest continuous trail through the Blue Mountains, a 500-kilometre journey over seven days that would see him climb more than twice the height of Mt Everest. He would be better prepared this time, sure, but the bitter cold of winter solstice and technical terrain would still prove formidable opponents. So, Will Corlett was looking for a coach. The only problem was that Matty Abel was proving difficult to track down.
“When I first applied through his website, it was full! I was left with a notification blocking me from applying,” recalls Corlett. “My stubborn nature wouldn’t let me stop there. I weaselled Matty’s number from my mate [head photographer of the anonymous Instagram group, lostmnts], then began a cat and mouse game of calling Matty and leaving voicemails, in turn missing his calls multiple times. Finally, I tracked him down for a coffee in the East. The rest is history.”
Corlett’s story isn’t unique. Abel’s profile has grown such that his stable of athletes includes Nedd Brockmann and Lachy Cameron, who recently achieved the ‘Fastest Known Time’ (FKT), running from Brisbane to Sydney. He’s coaching athletes to run the length of New Zealand and take on the chaotic labyrinth that is Thailand’s city streets. For ultrarunners, Abel’s coaching looms like a lighthouse on the shore: they’d likely still make it to land without him. But they wouldn’t know to expect perilous shallows, wouldn’t know how to navigate the rocky coast that poses dangers, or the towering waves that demand respect. Without him, there’s every likelihood they might be dragged under the current altogether.
As he did with Corlett, Abel first invites every athlete for a coffee and conversation. “I need to get a sense of who they are as a person,” says Abel. “The biggest thing is understanding why they’re doing it, like really why are they doing it?” With social media promising a chance at viral fame for those audacious enough to take on the impossible, this litmus test of character is a non-negotiable for Abel and ensures those he works with are in it for the right reasons. As he explains, “When you’re day four and you’re in hell and you’ve got another 10 hours of running that day, your ‘why’ needs to be very strong. And if it’s not, you’re going to step off the side of the road and be like, ‘I can’t do this’. You’ll find excuses and weasel your way out.”
For those who pass the test, Abel is only ever hailed as a positive force. Having first connected with Abel for his 3,931km journey across Australia, Nedd Brockmann praises his coach as a “level head” with an ability to adapt quickly. He also knows that Abel is governed by heart, not ego. “I think that’s a mark of a good person; someone who can sit there, regardless of the things they’ve done or people they’ve coached, if someone comes to them with good intentions wanting to take on something extraordinary, he can go, ‘Absolutely. This is my expertise and I’m going to help you in the best way possible’.”
Reflecting on the obscurity he can never return to, Brockmann adds, “There would have been 40 coaches that I could have gone to [before the run] that would’ve told me, ‘No way mate, you’re not ready, you’ve never even done a marathon’. He’s just a good human being that isn’t in the game to do anything other than get the best out of these people who want the best for themselves.”
BEFORE THE RUNNING boom of 2024 saw run clubs proclaimed the new Tinder and cafes the meeting point for lycra-clad limbs and carbon-plated soles, there were those who had to defend the sport’s honour in the face of scrutiny. As Abel explains, “Ultrarunning was very new, especially trail running. It was like, ‘What are you doing in the bush, you weirdo?’”
Abel began by honing his chops as a personal trainer before finding a foothold in running. In 2013, he specialised as a strength coach for runners while continuing to find personal success in the ultramarathon scene. As he got more races under his belt, his reputation as a coach grew and by 2017, Nike tapped Abel to be the head coach of its Australia-Oceania division. In the years that followed, the running landscape changed considerably. No longer confined to the margins, ultrarunning became a playground for the masses.
While participation in 5Ks has dropped since 2015 and even the marathon has levelled off, a 2020 report suggests a 345 per cent increase in ultrarunning globally over the past ten years. Some credit the pandemic, with the temporary hiatus of seasonal competition and sporting events driving many to create their own tests of endurance. With the barriers to entry removed, individuals could compete against the clock rather than peers in races that saw the outcome pale in significance in comparison to the act of doing. Trail Runner magazine reported that in July 2020, there were 566 verified FKT records, compared to just 151 in 2019.
It’s something Abel has observed firsthand. What was once the domain of CEOs and an elite corporate class driven to challenge themselves outside of the working environment, has now progressed to encompass mainstream running enthusiasts wanting to better themselves. Some are navigating work strife, relationship breakdowns, and a loss of identity. Others are battling demons that take the form of pills and alcohol. But most simply want to rewrite the story they tell of themselves. In their hungry strides is a desire to swallow up those beliefs that prove limiting. They want to come up against that which seems impossible and find a way through, no matter the cost.
According to performance psychologist, Mindy Simpson, the lure of ultramarathons can be found in their ability to tap into personal growth and personal satisfaction. “On the positive side, ultramarathons can promote a sense of accomplishment, boost self-esteem, provide an outlet for stress relief through exercise and time in nature, and create a sense of belonging within the ultramarathon community,” says Simpson. The downside? “The intense demands of the sport can lead to overtraining, burnout, injury and more stress. And some athletes may lose balance in their life because of their narrow focus on running, competing, and achieving their next goal.”
All too aware of this, Abel uses visualisation and simulation in his coaching to avoid the pitfalls of overtraining. Thinking back to the coaching he received for the King of the Mountains trail, Corlett praises the mentality he learned from Abel. “Multi-day events are filled with both the allure and danger of the unknown, unlimited variables can infect and destroy the best laid plans. Flexibility and resilience are the cure to this ailment, a stoic mindset,” he says.
As Corlett came to realise, you can’t have a set path. “On one cold night I was forced to seek shelter from a rainstorm, battered by aggressive winds and isolated in Kanangra, hiding in a cave forged of sandstone. In post-run training calls, these experiences were exclusively seen as positive. Character building, necessary to train the mind to face adversity and win with a smile.”
As for the simulations, when Abel launches into a description of them, you imagine him as some kind of mad scientist, staring down endless graphs of data and metrics while keeping a keen eye on the challenge fast approaching. He laughs at such an impression but doesn’t disagree, “Oh, it’s a full science.”
With Brockmann’s upcoming 1000 miles in 10 days challenge, which will see him run 160 kilometres a day around the Sydney Olympic Park athletics track, Abel has had him run for three days on the track. They tested nutrition, different shoes. They tested running in the rain to see how much water the track holds. They tested running in direct sunlight to see the glare off the track. They tested running in lanes one and two to determine the load on the body compared to running in lanes six, seven, and eight. Another athlete running the length of Thailand spent four days in the country to test humidity, gauge the traffic in Bangkok, and assess nutrition when relying on street vendors. For Abel, this kind of data is essential. “We try and do at least two simulations in the lead up to make mistakes, learn, get everything right, and also work out what the crew needs to do.”
“Most simply want to rewrite the story they tell of themselves. In their hungry strides is a desire to swallow up those beliefs that prove limiting"
ALONGSIDE THE GROWTH of ultrarunning has been a proliferation of races. From the revered Barkley Marathons and Badwater Ultra in Death Valley, to 50K and 100-milers, annual events are being met with wild enthusiasm. In the past four years, backyard ultras have proven to be one of the most popular formats, requiring participants to complete a 6.7km lap on the hour, every hour until only one person remains.
For Tim Walsh, it presented a unique opportunity. On his parents’ cattle property located 11km north of Nanango in country Queensland, he got on his motorbike and measured out a loop that took in technical trail and single-file cow track. He knew such a course would be one that demanded strategy but also delivered beauty in the form of scenery, small-town hospitality, and the unique history of the Walsh family property. A week later, Dead Cow Gully was formed.
First, he invited a few mates to run the loop. But when photos of the course hit Facebook in 2020, the interest was like a storm breaking over farmland: unrelenting. His parents were encouraging but no-one expected that in its first year, Dead Cow Gully would attract 80 runners. Now, some 200 hopefuls take to the farm looking to defy their limits, while Walsh has delegated the job of cleaning out Port-A-Loo toilets to his Mum and Dad.
“I thought, it’s not just the running. It needs to have some sort of heart and soul behind it,” says Walsh of Dead Cow Gully’s growing popularity. “With the backyard ultra, the cool thing about it is that it turns regular runners into ultrarunners. People who don’t look like runners can come out and just dig their heels in and clock up eight loops, which is about 50 kilometres.”
If ever there was an event that serves as an advertisement for the strong sense of community upon which the ultramarathon is anchored, it’s this one. “The people who get the biggest cheer are the people who come in and do two or three loops and just make it back in time. Everyone assembles for the next loop and you have these people who are just sprinting for the finish line and everyone parts and it’s this guard of honour,” says Walsh. “Everyone wants the best for you.”
For many, it’s this sense of personal achievement and camaraderie that makes the ultrarunning scene such a draw. “Once they throw down a big total, they go off into their normal life and end up being calmer, nicer people generally. And because they’ve been through such a hardship, it just puts everything in perspective,” Walsh muses. “The things they thought were hard aren’t really that hard because they’ve just put themselves through hell, particularly the guys who really go for it. It’s that resilience training and really putting everything on the line.”
That may be true, but as Abel’s athletes take on greater distances and even bigger extremes, the come-down post-run is hitting an even greater depth. “It’s kind of like PTSD in some ways,” says Abel. “They may have been with me for six months but have likely fixated on this for a really long time; they’ve thought about it every single day. So post-run is really important.”
It’s led him to introduce a program for these periods in a runner’s life, where rest and recovery is prioritised, but the mind is also challenged to find a sense of purpose outside of the run itself. With more clients coming to him with grand ambitions, Abel is linking up those who have just finished an epic run with newcomers seeking guidance. “We need to fill that black hole with something and what I’ve found of late is having that person help the next person and passing on their knowledge, getting invested, they might go out and crew for a little bit. It’s like giving back as well.”
Asked to what he credits the rise in ultrarunning, Abel can only theorise. Part of him thinks our reliance on technology is seeing more turn towards ultras that traverse natural landscapes as a means of disconnecting. Another part of him wonders if social media is driving more people to seek validation by going bigger and better. As Corlett will tell you, everyone is drawn for reasons that are intensely personal. “I feel reminded of my deficiencies, my inability to live in moderation. I constantly feel like I am not working hard enough, a bad person, a bystander watching the opportunity of life passing me by.”
In this moment of introspection, you can only wonder at the depths of the soul he must plunder when taking on such extremes. “Only when I reach for challenges that require all I have to achieve, that force me to get my shit together, to become greater than I am, and to do good things . . . only then am I able to smile.”
Whatever the personal draw to the ultramarathon, it’s clear the phenomenon is one that has seen Abel’s expertise meet growing demand. Now, his only goal is to ensure those taking up the sport are doing so safely and with the best of intentions. “Pick something that’s inspiring to you, not just what your friends are doing,” Abel advises, adding that runners should fully comprehend the demands of the quest they’re embarking on and allow themselves plenty of time to prepare.
“An ultramarathon demands respect.”
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