Fitness

Chasing the Sun, Breaking the Body. The Red Bull Race the Sun experience

Across 24 relentless hours, one team takes on Red Bull Race The Sun - a 345km team ultra running race. Where speed fades, decisions matter, and survival becomes the only strategy.

By Kester Mcqueen

10 min readPublished on 04/02/2026 · 3:22 AM UTC

Kester Mcqueen is a

You’re standing on the side of the road. The moon is the only thing lighting the forest around you. Your legs are throbbing. Frost is creeping across the grass. Somewhere in the distance, a flicker of light breaks the dark. Time doesn’t feel real anymore. It’s stretched, blurred, meaningless. All that matters now is getting that GPS to the next runner somewhere down the road…

The Seed of an Idea

Rewind two months. A seemingly casual scroll led our friend Heath to the official Red Bull website, and that's when he stumbled upon the challenge of a lifetime: Red Bull Race The Sun (RTS). The premise was audacious: a 345-kmer relay featuring a daunting 6,749 meters of vertical gain, to be completed by a 6-person team before the sun dipped below the horizon. It was, without a doubt, the wildest, most ambitious event I had ever encountered, instantly seizing our collective imagination.

The idea immediately took root. Meg (my partner) and I knew we had to assemble a formidable crew capable of tackling such a brutal distance and elevation profile. The race wasn't just a physical test; it was a logistical puzzle and a monumental endurance challenge, requiring a team of committed runners and an equally dedicated support crew.

Assembling the Dream Team

The call went out, and we quickly rallied a team of four exceptional runners, complemented by two crucial drivers and a third support crew member who would prove invaluable. Our final roster, a diverse mix of world-class athletes and enthusiastic newcomers, was:

Heath was the catalyst. A world record holder for the longest continuous SkiErg alongside his partner, Bec. While an unfortunate injury sidelined her from running, her partner, Heath, remained committed, enabling her to seamlessly transition into the critical role of Driver Number 1, bringing her competitive spirit and logistical prowess to the support effort.

Hugh, a seasoned long-distance runner, calm and reliable, the kind of guy you want in the middle of nowhere at 2 am.

Russ, a madman in the best way, someone who does everything at 110% with no off switch.

Meg, my partner, a multiple-age-group Triathlon World Champion. Composed, experienced, and quietly lethal when it comes to racing.

And then there was me, stepping into the unknown. I had a base level of running, sure, but nothing that really prepares you for something like this.

El, our second driver, was local to the Gold Coast, a crucial piece once logistics started to unravel. And finally, Josh, our third support crew. Gym owner, energy bringer, vibes man. A role that would prove more important than any of us realised.

The Challenge of Preparation

The unique nature of Red Bull Race The Sun, blending extreme distance with significant elevation gain over a compressed timeframe, made structured training incredibly challenging. There is no off-the-shelf program for such a multi-faceted endurance test.

However, the difficulty in specificity didn't mean a lack of training. We collectively doubled down on building an unshakeable endurance base. Our training blocks became saturated with foundational long-distance work: punishingly long runs designed to acclimatise our bodies to hours on our feet, and extended bike rides to build cardiovascular stamina without the constant impact of running. Every member was committed to the grind, knowing that a strong, broad base was the only preparation that could truly meet the demands of the course.

With merely one month remaining, anticipation reached its zenith for the mandatory virtual captains' meeting, which was presided over by Red Bull athlete and ex-Olympic Triathlete Courtney Atkinson.

Crucial preparatory measures included a comprehensive analysis of the course map, complete with annotated satellite imagery, which delineated potential hazards and strategic junctures requiring synchronised team effort. Courtney articulated unequivocal expectations: "Anticipate unforeseen circumstances, prepare meticulously for potential setbacks, and recognise that resilience constitutes our most invaluable resource."

"Anticipate unforeseen circumstances, prepare meticulously for potential setbacks, and recognise that resilience constitutes our most invaluable resource."
Courtney Atkinson

The discourse incorporated a frank post-mortem of the preceding year's event, scrutinising both achievements and tactical misjudgments. The exhaustive question-and-answer period satisfactorily resolved all inquiries. Initial apprehension subsequently yielded to focused concentration and the establishment of a tangible, executable strategy for the formidable undertaking.

Logistical Planning and Vehicle Selection

Mobile Base (Campervan)

The hired campervan was vital for logistics, acting as a mobile base and recovery hub. It provided mobile accommodation and a dry, warm space for post-leg rest (stretching, napping). A basic kitchen allowed for simple meal preparation, ensuring consistent carb intake and budget control.

Quick Support (El's SUV)

El's agile and durable SUV was essential for later, frequent running segments. It was nimble for shadowing runners and quick change-over transitions, carrying immediate supplies. It functioned as a mobile aid station, stocked with performance aids (Red Bull, gels, electrolytes, high-calorie food), and provided easy access for rapid supply distribution and runner swaps.

With our "cavalry", the steady campervan and quick SUV ready, we focused on the route. The challenge for the support crew is not simple navigation but executing a complex leapfrog strategy: constantly predicting the runner's pace, finding safe stopping points, and navigating ahead to the next changeover while maintaining runner support.

First Light, its race time.

To understand the scale of this race, you have to understand what 2025 introduced: staged segments across parts of the course. It allowed general road users, and even teams themselves, to leapfrog sections after dropping a runner and rejoin at designated changeover points 7, 10 or 12 km ahead. It eased congestion, but added another layer of logistics that could make or break your race.

The first of these came immediately, a brutal climb out of the city. 29km, 1,027 meters of elevation, broken into 7, 10 and 12 km efforts. At the end of that final segment, the race shifted again. Two runners of our team had to be transported ahead to the crest of the mountain, Binna Burra, to take on a 21 km trail section.

This was where things got real.

Because it wasn’t solo, it had to be done in pairs. Heath and I took it on, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were flying. The first five kilometres climbed steadily, and we attacked it, convinced we could make a move on the team ahead. It felt like momentum. It felt like control.

But trail running has a way of humbling you.

The descent came fast, rocky, uneven and technical. We were crossing streams, dropping elevation quickly, yelling into the forest, caught up in the moment. And then, without warning, it shifted. The small arrow on my watch drifted west instead of north.

We had gone the wrong way.

What should have been a right turn uphill became a left turn downhill. Two kms later, the mistake was undeniable. Any chance of gaining time was gone. And yet, even in the frustration, there was something else. The stillness of the forest. The scale of it. The kind of beauty you only notice when everything else strips back. It didn’t fix the error, but it persisted.

We pushed through and made it to the changeover.

Our SUV had split earlier, navigating around the mountain to O’Reilly’s. Waiting there was Hugh, ready to take on the next leg, 13.7 kms down Duck Creek Trail, losing 871 meters in elevation. The van would meet him at the base, while the rest of the team rotated back in. 82 kms down.

Despite the wrong turn, we were still close to our projected time, just under six hours. There was a long way to go, but we were still in it. Others were not so lucky. A few teams misjudged the vehicle leapfrogging entirely, forcing their runners into a full 34 km stretch they were never meant to cover.

That is the nature of this race. It does not just test your legs, it tests your decisions.

As the final fixed segment approached, darkness settled in. The temperature dropped sharply, frost forming across the ground. Twenty-one kms of dirt road lay ahead, undulating, exposed and completely black. One runner, alone, with only a support vehicle trailing behind.

It was the first real pause for the rest of us. A chance to sit, eat, close your eyes, if you could.

The race that never stops.

With 144 kms still to go, the plan began to unravel. Our clean 5 km rotations quickly broke down into whatever the terrain demanded. 500 meters. 200 meters. Sometimes less. The climbs dictated everything.

At 2am, on empty roads, it became a rhythm of survival. Swap in, push, swap out. The van and SUV leapfrogged constantly, rotating tired legs for slightly less tired ones. No one was fresh, just varying degrees of fatigue.

I found my place in it. The downhills punished me, but the climbs gave something back. Others were the opposite. You stop thinking about perfect strategy and start responding to what is in front of you.

Because this race is not just endurance, it is speed.

To stay competitive, you need to average close to four minutes per km. On tired legs, over 6,700 meters of elevation, through trail, through darkness, through everything stacking against you.

That is what makes it so brutal.

In the lead-up, we had done the work. Long sessions, strength training, hours in the gym. But if there was one thing that stood out, it was hill work. Hill sprints, over and over, building strength, pushing VO2, preparing for the exact moments where races like this are won or lost.

And eventually, after everything, it came down to the final stretch.

345 km. 6,749 meters climbed. Two kms to go. This time, no one was sitting back. The whole team ran together into Tenterfield, through the final streets, noise echoing louder than anything we had heard all day. Every bit of effort, every mistake, every moment pouring out at once.

We crossed the line together. Arms around each other. Smiles you could not fake. 22 hours and 51 minutes. An average of 3:57 per km. Second place.

We gave everything we had. And sometimes, that is the result. To the team that took the win, nothing but respect. It was an incredible performance.

But the result almost feels secondary. Because if you are thinking about doing Red Bull Race The Sun, know this. It will change the way you see sport. It strips things back to something raw. It introduces you to a different kind of athlete. A different kind of mindset.

You earn your place in it.

You make your own luck

Plan everything, then check it again. We had spreadsheets mapping every section. Strava links, elevation profiles, estimated times, runner rotations, vehicle assignments and contingency plans. It sounds excessive, but when you are 16 hours deep, clarity disappears. You rely on what you built beforehand.

Because this race demands everything. Endurance to stay awake. Speed to hold pace. Strength to handle the climbs. And above all, the willingness to step into something unknown.

And if 2025 was not enough, 2026 raises the bar again. The course stretches to 355 kms, with over 8,000 meters of elevation according to an early peek at Strava. Longer, steeper, and even less forgiving.

That is Red Bull Race The Sun.

PS; Stay for the after party. It’s 100% worth it.

Part of this story