Three Women on the 6.706 km Loop: Rasselbock Backyard Ultra and the Lesson of 21%

On the second night at Hardwick Estate, Derbyshire, no whistle sounded. Only the clock. Every hour on the hour, the remaining runners had to appear at the start line of the 6.706 km loop. Miss it, and you were out. Arrive one second late, and you were out. By hour 25, only three figures remained at the start area — and all three were women.

Of the 141 entrants registered for the Rasselbock Backyard Ultra, roughly 30 were women, or 21%. The other 111 were men, or 79%. Yet when the last runners standing were decided, the final three included no male name. The race organisers called it the first women-only podium in the history of backyard ultra in the United Kingdom.

Reading this, what made me pause was not the title. It was the 21%.

What a Backyard Ultra is, and why it differs from every other race

A Backyard Ultra is the strangest format in endurance sport. There is no fixed finish line. No tape. Runners complete one loop, once an hour, on the hour, until only one person can still step out to the start. That person is the "last one standing." Everyone else is technically recorded as a DNF — did not finish — even though they may have run hundreds of kilometres over several days.

The loop at Hardwick was 4.16 miles, or 6.706 km. Complete 24 laps in 24 hours, and you run exactly 100 miles, or 160.9 km. The pace required to close one lap per hour works out to roughly 8 minutes 57 seconds per kilometre, or 14 minutes 24 seconds per mile. For an ordinary recreational runner, that is a comfortable pace. For a marathoner, it is an easy morning jog.

But nobody runs 24 hours straight at 8:57/km. The problem is not speed. The problem is repeating that pace on the hour, for many hours, as the body accumulates fatigue, as sleep becomes a luxury good, and as the mind begins making bad decisions.

The format strips away pure speed almost entirely. It turns the race into a test of pacing discipline, sleep-deprivation tolerance, and the quality of the support crew. A faster runner who cannot hold back will be eliminated before a slower one who is patient. In this format, raw physical power is not the decisive factor. And that is why the gender gap can narrow.

I spent years broadcasting women's sport, and I learned one thing: when a competition format is not dominated by muscle power, women often come closer to the top than people assume. Backyard Ultra is the clearest example I have seen.

What the 21% actually says

In the UK, long-distance ultra events have recorded a rising share of female participation for years. The 21% figure at Rasselbock sits within that trend. But the notable thing is not the participation rate. It is the winning rate.

When 21% of the field takes all three top positions, the probability of that happening by chance is very low. Statistically, if results were purely random, the chance that all three last runners standing were women would be about 0.9% — under 1%. That number does not prove women are better ultra runners than men. It proves one thing: in a format where speed is not decisive, the male physiological advantage is compressed, and the real performance gap narrows.

Data does not distinguish between genders. Only prejudice does.

I have tracked the composition of ultra fields in Europe for years. What I have seen is this: as race distances extend, the performance difference between men and women shrinks. At marathon distance, the gap between male and female records is about 8-10%. At 100 km, it is smaller. At 24 hours, it narrows further. And in formats with a strong tactical pacing element like the Backyard Ultra, we begin to see results like this one.

But I am in no hurry to celebrate. One result does not make a trend. That is the point I must make clear from the outset.

Tactical analysis: why this format is fairer

A Backyard Ultra creates an arena in which the physiological indicators that favour men disproportionately are discounted. First is maximal oxygen uptake — VO2 max. In short and middle distances, VO2 max is the strongest predictor of performance. Men average roughly 10-15% higher VO2 max than women after adjusting for muscle mass. In a Backyard Ultra, VO2 max is barely decisive, because the required pace is far below the physiological threshold.

Second is absolute muscle power. On a 6.706 km loop at 8:57/km, runners never touch peak power output. They run in the low aerobic zone. Strength becomes a secondary factor.

Third is lung capacity and muscle mass. Both favour men, but in this format that advantage does not translate into superior performance.

What remains are factors both sexes share almost equally: pain tolerance, the discipline of repetition, sleep management, and — most importantly — decision-making quality when the nervous system is exhausted. This is the territory where women are often no weaker, and in some studies of low-intensity prolonged fatigue resistance, even hold an edge.

I have covered women's athletics for years, and I know that long-endurance formats tend to expose the injustice in how the media treats women's sport. Why is a female runner who covers 160 km mentioned less than a male marathoner? The answer is not performance. It is prejudice.

When a race is designed so that no one can win on raw strength alone, that race — inadvertently — becomes a fairer test for both sexes. Backyard Ultra achieves that by accident.

The support crew — the invisible deciding factor

In a Backyard Ultra, the crew is not an option. It is a survival condition. Each lap, when a runner returns from the loop, they have a few minutes of rest before the next lap begins. In that window, the crew must do a great deal: change shoes, manage nutrition, adjust body temperature, check for injury signs, and decide whether to continue or stop.

The three women at Rasselbock who lasted to the final laps did so not only on their bodies. They lasted because their support systems were good enough to keep them stable across many hours. The smallest error in nutrition or thermal management can end a race instantly.

In ultra events, I have seen runners with elite fitness eliminated because their crew was too slow or too inexperienced. And conversely, I have seen people without outstanding personal records last to the final laps because their crew ran like a machine.

This raises a thought worth considering: perhaps these three women were not the three fittest of the 141. Perhaps they were simply the three with the best crew systems, and the three best decision-makers under exhaustion. In this format, that is the decisive factor.

The organisers' report names none of the three athletes. That is a significant information gap, and I will return to it.

The Hardwick heritage and its historical context

The event took place at Hardwick Estate, a historic property managed by the National Trust — the UK heritage conservation body. Matt Dillon, a representative of Hardwick Hall, appears in the organisers' announcement. A large portion of the back half of the original article discusses the estate and Bess of Hardwick — a powerful Tudor-era woman who built Hardwick Hall in the 16th century.

That an ultra race is held at a National Trust heritage site is no coincidence. This is the economic model of modern grassroots sport in the UK: community sport combined with heritage tourism. Attendees do not just run. They stay, eat, visit, and spend on the local area.

But there is something notable in the storytelling: the organisers use Bess of Hardwick's legacy to connect with the achievement of the three female runners. A historical feminist icon is paired with a contemporary women's sporting achievement. This is a clever storytelling choice, but also a deliberate one.

I do not object to that framing. I only want readers to notice it.

The contrarian angle: an unverified title

This is where I must be blunt.

The claim of "the first women-only podium in the UK" comes from the organisers. It has not been confirmed by any independent governing body, there is no national register of backyard ultra podium compositions, and no third party has verified it. World Athletics does not govern this format. No federation has signed off.

This does not mean the claim is false. It means it is unverified.

I never form a judgment without looking at the numbers. Even when my gut says otherwise.

And here, the numbers do not exist. The source names no athlete. There is no time, no lap count, no specific distance for any of the three. As sports journalism, this is a story about placement, not performance. There is no individual mark to evaluate.

That brings me to a more important question: where does the real value of this achievement lie?

From a competitive-value standpoint, it cannot yet be measured. From a symbolic-value standpoint, it has meaning. Three women stood on the podium at a race where 79% of entrants were men. That is a fact. It does not need a number to exist.

But symbols do not convert into trends. A single event does not make a movement. And a 21% female participation rate remains a modest figure. Behind the three women on the podium were 27 other women who stopped. Behind those 30 women are thousands more who have never heard of the format.

A woman talking about sport is often treated as an outsider. I call that an outdated prejudice.

Commercial value versus competitive value

There is a gap between these two types of value in women's sport, and Backyard Ultra illustrates it sharply.

On commercial value, an event like this can attract sponsors interested in a gender-equality narrative. A first women-only podium in the UK is a good headline. It draws attention, tells a story, and can be used in communication campaigns.

On competitive value, this event leaves no measurable trace. No record was broken. No metric was set. No athlete has been identified for future tracking.

This is a pattern I have seen repeat many times in women's sport: symbolic value outruns competitive value. Sponsors invest in the story before the story has enough data to stand on. Media cover the moment before understanding the context.

I am not criticising that. I am only saying: for women's sport to grow sustainably, it needs both. Symbols draw attention. Data keeps attention. Without one of the two, the story fades quickly.

The three women at Rasselbock did the hardest part. They lasted to the end. The rest — names, numbers, times — is the job of those who tell the story.

What is changing

In my years covering women's sport, I learned that change does not come from big declarations. It comes from small events recorded properly.

The three women at the Rasselbock Backyard Ultra did not create a trend. They are one data point. But if over the next two years the female participation rate in UK ultra events passes 25%, and if one or two more women-only podiums appear, then this data point becomes the start of a trend line.

A remark ignored years ago becomes a lesson for the next generation. I believe this moment — three women stepping to the start line after every man had stopped — will be cited a few years from now. Not because it is a record. Because it is an indicator.

Data does not distinguish between genders. But the way we record data does. When we record it correctly, we understand it correctly.

And when we understand it correctly, we will see what the women on the Hardwick loop already knew: in a race with no finish line, the most patient person is the last one standing.