The Speed Project: The reality of ultra distance running

Fresh from completing 300 miles running from LA to Las Vegas in this year's The Speed Project, we spoke with second place finisher, Holly Stables, who completed the gruelling challenge solo in 87 hours.

But with ultra distance running gaining momentous popularity in recent years, sometimes we don't always see the full picture. The good, the bad and the sometimes ugly.

We asked Holly the questions that reveals the full picture of the truth behind ultra running, as well as what it takes to complete The Speed Project, a challenge more commonly undertaken as a relay team of 6, as a solo individual.

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So, why The Speed Project?ㅤ

Back in 2019, I received an invitation from Nils Arend, the founder of The Speed Project, to take part in the iconic LA to Las Vegas race. At the time, I politely declined. Running that kind of distance wasn’t something I could even begin to wrap my head around—it just wasn’t on my radar.

It was during last year’s event that something shifted. I found myself completely drawn in. I watched everything I could, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Of course, saying yes is the easy part. You make the commitment, and then it hits you: What have I signed up for? But the planning began, and before I knew it, twelve months had flown by. Suddenly, I was on the start line, ready to take on something I once believed was beyond me.

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How did you chose your team to get you through the challenge?

Right from the start, I had a clear vision of who I wanted on my team. It all came together quickly and instinctively.

First and foremost was my husband, Pete. He’s my sidekick in everything, and from the moment I was invited to take part in The Speed Project, he was all in. He didn’t just want to support me—he wanted to be involved, to take the reins as the captain of the ship. Pete knows me better than anyone. He’s crewed me through countless races and tough moments, and he understands exactly how to handle me when things get hard. His role wasn’t just important—it was instrumental in making this possible.

I also knew straight away that I wanted to document the experience properly. I’ve always loved storytelling, and this was a journey I wanted to capture. That’s where Peter Hochhauser my longtime friend and filmmaker, came in.

Then there was Jake Baggaley. When we met, I was struck by his calm, kind presence. We hadn’t spent much time together, but I had a gut feeling he’d be an essential part of the team—and he was.

I also needed someone to pace me, and there was no question it had to be Gary House. Gary’s a good friend who’s paced me before in 100-milers. He’s got this laid-back, jokey energy that’s exactly what I needed out there—someone who doesn’t take himself, or me, too seriously

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How do you train for a challenge like this?

I really began to focus my training specifically for The Speed Project Solo around five months out. Before that, I’d been deep in marathon prep, so the transition wasn’t too drastic.

The biggest change was dropping one of my weekly speed sessions. In its place, I maintained a consistent tempo or threshold session each week—usually around 10 miles at a steady, strong effort.

When it came to long runs, I focused on gradually increasing volume at the weekends, though I never went beyond 25–26 miles in a single session. I knew that kind of volume could break me down more than build me up, and maintaining some freshness in my legs was a priority.

Strength work was non-negotiable. I stuck to two sessions a week, just as I always do, with a focus on lower body strength, core stability, and tendon durability. That foundation played a big role in keeping me injury-free and resilient.

In terms of race prep, I slotted in a couple of 50-mile races to simulate long efforts, as well as some shorter events to keep things sharp. Then, about six weeks out, I started to introduce heat training—something I knew would be crucial for the desert conditions. I wore a full ski suit—hat, gloves, layers—on the treadmill twice a week!

My overall weekly mileage ranged from 60 to 90 miles, with my peak week hitting around 90. I know some other solo runners went much higher in volume, but I chose to train in a way that prioritised consistency, sustainability, and staying injury-free—and I think that paid off.

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What was the start like? How did you feel knowing what lay ahead?

The race kicked off at 4 a.m.—early by any standard, but not too jarring as I was still loosely operating on UK time.

True to the unsanctioned spirit of The Speed Project—isn’t a traditional start line. No timing mats, no banners, no crowd of spectators. Just a quiet moment under the iconic Santa Monica Pier sign, and the knowledge that we were about to begin something truly wild: a 500-kilometre journey to Las Vegas.

To be honest, I had no real idea what I was getting myself into. But that’s the beauty of it—none of us really did. The start felt surreal. It was equal parts intimidating and exhilarating.

What made the experience even more powerful was the group I was starting with—41 runners, mostly women, each taking on this massive challenge solo.

The weirdest thing about the start? Everyone heads off in different directions. Because The Speed Project has no set route, runners plot their own paths. Some went left, others right, a few straight ahead. Within the first few kilometres, I found myself completely alone, running through the quiet streets of downtown LA.

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Were there any unexpected challenges along the way?

Heading into The Speed Project Solo, I genuinely believed the biggest challenges would lie in the logistics - not the running itself. The true challenge, it turned out, was the heat with temperatures soaring to nearly 40°C.

In the first two days, I struggled to eat. My stomach just wasn’t cooperating. I knew I was falling way behind on nutrition, and once that happens, it’s incredibly hard to claw your way back. By day three, I was relieved to finally start craving food again—especially protein, which my body was clearly desperate for as it began breaking down under the effort.

Sleep deprivation was another massive hurdle. I’d never operated on so little rest before. On day one, I got around 3 hours and 45 minutes of sleep. The next night, it was closer to 3 hours. By the third night, I only managed 2.

The sheer distance of 500 kilometres was also mentally overwhelming. Before this, the furthest I’d ever run was 170km. Trying to wrap my head around nearly triple that—especially in extreme heat and with minimal sleep—was mentally exhausting. I coped by breaking the race down into sections between crew stops, which ranged from 5 to 20 miles apart. All I focused on was the stretch ahead. If I let my mind wander to the bigger picture, I’d start to panic. The only way to manage was to stay present and trust that the miles would add up.

Did it all go to plan? Honestly, there wasn’t much of a plan beyond reaching the Las Vegas sign as quickly as I could—and that’s exactly what I did.

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What was it like finally seeing the Las Vegas sign?

Finishing second was incredible. Even more special was that I finished just behind another woman.

The final 40 kilometres into Las Vegas were some of the toughest of the entire route. Ironically, I’d been looking forward to this part. It’s a slight downhill and I thought I’d be able to pick up the pace, find a rhythm, and feel the satisfaction of getting close to the finish. But in reality, it was punishing. The red hot tarmac felt brutally hard underfoot—like it was splintering my legs with every step—and the heat was relentless.

When I finally reached the finish, marked by the famous ‘Welcome to Las Vegas’ sign, it was strangely anticlimactic. The sign is remarkably small—much less grand than I imagined.

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There was a strange mix of pride and sadness. I’d been building up to this moment for so long, and now it had passed. But above all, I was proud. Proud that I set out to do something incredibly difficult—and finished it. Not for a time, not for a podium, but for the simple satisfaction of completing something bigger than myself.

The messages and support I’ve received since finishing have been amazing. But there’s one thing I feel particularly passionate about saying, and it’s this: I’m a woman in her late 40s who has been running for over 30 years, and I’m still pushing boundaries. I don’t want to be praised “for my age.” I want to be judged on my performance, full stop. Not as someone doing well for her age, but as a runner doing something extraordinary—because that’s what I did.

We often overlook the accomplishments of older women in sport. I want to shout, loudly and clearly, that I am proud of what I achieved, not in spite of my age, but simply because it was hard, and I did it. That should be enough.

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Is there anything else you think could be next for you in ultra running?

Everything and nothing feels different. To the outside world, nothing has changed – life moves on as usual. But the way I will go about life has changed forever. I find it hard to put it into words but the feeling is undeniable. The ultra amnesia is beginning to kick in and I am now tentatively looking at the other TSP Solo events despite saying never again when interviewed at the foot of the ‘quite frankly tiny’ Welcome to Las Vegas sign.
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