The Jungle Ultra by Sophie Laidlaw
The Jungle Ultra isn’t just a race. It’s a test of everything. Sophie Laidlaw laced up, packed 11kg on her back, and stepped into the Amazon. This is her story, told exactly as she lived it…
The Jungle Ultra is a different beast. A self-sufficient 230 km through the Amazon rainforest, carrying everything you need on your back. Five days, five stages, and everything the jungle can throw at you. Here’s how it went.
Arriving in Cusco five days before the race to acclimatise to the altitude was a smart move. Taking in the sights and the local culture, while anticipation was building. A pre-race shakeout run knocked any confidence out of me, the thin air making it hard to breathe. The steep slopes of the city tested my lungs, demanding every ounce of effort. I’m as acclimatised as I’ll ever be. This is it.
Runners from across the world gathered for a very early morning bus ride. Suitcases lined the pavement on the cool, dark hours of Saturday morning — the first step on our journey into the jungle. Loaded onto buses, the smooth city road was quickly exchanged for narrow, winding mountain roads. Views through the Andes were unrivalled by anything I’ve ever seen before. The convoy of buses climbed endlessly, curling up the mountainside above the clouds. Perched in the stillness, our camp for the night and tomorrow’s start line.
Day 1
Anticipation fills the thin air. It’s biting cold and hard to breathe; a full cloud inversion engulfs the jungle below us. We pack our hammocks and prepare our kit. There’s a nervous camaraderie between runners — a care for each other I haven’t seen before in strangers. I slept well; hammock sleeping really works for me. I eat, I pack. I put my cap on and make my way to the start line. The morning mist starts to lift as runners gather on the narrow mountain road. The gun fires, and we launch into a steady downhill stretch.
The moment I find a pace, a sharp right turn takes runners into our first taste of the jungle. Steep, sharp, and unforgiving — the winding trail is barely a trail at all. Just a rough route carved through the dense jungle by the Peruvian team. Every step demands full focus; there’s no room for error. Eyes locked on the shifting ground, you’re caught in a constant battle — moving fast while staying upright, racing forward without losing your footing. The trees part a little, and a view opens out over the Amazon. It’s truly breathtaking. A few of us have been making our way down this path together, all stopping to take it in. The white rocks below shimmer with the white water of the Alto Madre de Dios River and the front runners making their way across it. We know where we need to go.
Curving down the mountain and across the blue-grey rocks towards the river, a team are waiting to help.
Making it to the other side, I lean too far back, forgetting the 11kg I’m carrying, and I’m down between two rocks. Unfazed and unhurt, I squirm free.
Day one, on paper, was a predominantly downhill day with 33 km and only 700 meters of elevation. That elevation came all at once, like a wall. It felt like everything I had just come down, I was now climbing. Slowly, steadily pushing up the hill, winding from side to side. Altitude still trying to steal my breath. I steadied myself and kept moving. Climbing the fence at the top and hitting the road, I was relieved — but not for long. The downhill is no easier than the uphill. I can feel the tenderness in my knees, the chafe from my bag on my back.
The sun comes out, bringing a stifling heat. The road is cut into the dark, cold rock of the mountain that towers to the left, overspilling with jungle and waterfalls flowing over the road, bringing a chance to dip my hat, my buff, and cool myself down. It also means your feet are almost always wet. A steep drop to the right of the road and views out over the Amazon, I’m still a little above the clouds. A steady finish into camp. Relief.
*Work doesn’t stop there. Footcare is priority, calories, tying up your hammock, rainfly and organising your kit so that ‘nature’ doesn’t get in. There’s a very real risk of snakes and other jungle creatures, so having a system is essential. Night draws in quickly.
Day 2
Another start on the road. It’s downhill — sounds easy, but after day one, knees are tender and quads feel shaky. My bag pounds the exact same spot on my lower back as yesterday. I keep a steady pace. The views coming down this mountain are breathtaking. Waterfalls flood the road in places. I pass groups of strange insects at the side of the track. 11km slow and steady, the jungle track eventually turns into a small village. Kids smile, locals cheer, and some look completely bewildered. I'm not sure if it's because I’m a woman or if the whole spectacle is just so far removed from their day to day life.
Checkpoint one. A short stop to refill water. A much-needed hug. Into the jungle. It's harder, but it suits me better than exposed road. This is relief for me. Shaded under the canopy of the jungle, its muddy, uneven, roots, vines, stumps and spikes mean you watch your every step. Small streams splice the jungle running. I use them to cool down.
I stop to dip my buff into the cold water, and a huge, electric blue butterfly dances in front of me. I remember what I’m here for. I take it in. Watching it, I step out of the stream, I stop for a second, and it lands on my foot. I had brought a tiny camera with me, this was a moment I captured. One of my most beautiful moments of the whole experience, I paused. It danced off ahead of me. I followed. Something soft in the middle of the chaos. Lighter on my feet but still focused. The track winds through the jungle, fallen trees interrupt you every time you find a nice pace. I drop down a gentle slope into sinking mud. Just over knee deep, it takes me by surprise. Another runner comes from behind and pulls me out. Literally hauling me forward. The jungle doesn’t care when you're tired. The mental exhaustion of watching every foot placement and worrying about all the things you’ve been warned of. It's relentless. Eventually, climbing up through the trees onto a narrow, battered road, huge muddy tyre tracks lead the way. The finish line. Camp. Nutrition. Hydration. Stretch, A dip in the river. Attempt to dry clothes. Hammock. Rainfly. Foot admin. Protect everything from nature. Darkness.
*In hindsight, this section was quite runnable compared to what was to come the following day.
Day 3
It was a rude awakening. My plan was always to run super easy the first three days, and up to this point, I'd done exactly that. Not a blister on my feet and feeling pretty good. No cramp, no stomach upset. I was excited for this day. We started on water with a raft ride over the river. Calming my adrenaline before we set off into the “real jungle.” Much thicker than anything we'd run through so far. There was no path. Just raw terrain carved out with machetes. It was extremely technical from the get-go. Steep climbs of wet, clay-like mud. I felt lucky not so many people were in front of me, it meant the route wasn’t as torn up as it would be for the people at the back. Within the first 5 minutes, I’d slipped all the way down a hill, using my poles half leaning into it and half riding it. I found a rhythm, I could either pick my way down these steep, muddy, slippery slopes or just get down in the mud and ride it. I formed a technique. The downside is that every time you touch anything, you get bitten or stung. A rocky stream crossing at the bottom, and another wet, muddy climb that felt like climbing a wall. This was on repeat for as long as I can remember. A cruel loop. Fighting through the jungle, dodging roots, vines, spikes, fallen trees, then more rivers, more streams. I knew it was hard, I could feel the sweat dripping off me, but I loved it. It didn’t hit me until I was picking up pace and passing runners from the wave before me. This was what I trained for. There was no time to be scared; everything was technical and everything was dangerous. If you’re scared of falling, you have to push through. You can’t grab hold of anything — it’s all covered in biting insects or thick thorns. At the top of the climb, there are fallen trees. The warning of snakes fills your head, but you just have to get over it. Keep moving. The fear of the weird holes that sit open in the ground or what lives in there keeps you alert. Working my way through the undergrowth. It's relentless. The markers suddenly veer up a hill, over a fallen tree and a stream in the gully. I follow the stream down to a dried-out riverbed. The beating sun scorched down as I picked my way over the rocks. I had been following red markers up to this point, but there’s nothing in front of me. They are still behind me. I’m tired and confused. Something catches my eye to the left. At the top of a waterfall. It’s a marker. I have to climb the waterfall. I swear. I think I screamed. Then I composed myself. I just need to get this done. I was low on water, and sure there would be some soon if I just kept moving.
My calories were low, and I had planned nutrition for a regular 26km run. This was taking an hour to do 5km. At the top of the waterfall, I can see the route. Another brutal hill that resembles a wall. I can feel tears rolling down my face. I try to normalise it, imagine a park run or the route near my house. The hill keeps climbing. Steeper and steeper. I’m grateful for my poles. Stabbing them into the mud, I climb, scramble and push, eventually reaching the top and a water station. 10k complete. My watch is dead. No sense of time, the next 10k is a copy and paste of the first. I am dragging myself through this jungle. I have 5 seconds, then it’s straight to the checkpoint.
The hills are so steep both up and down. Legs burning. I can feel the bites. My back and ankles sting. The patch of skin on my back under my bag is blistering. I know I have some distance to go. I haven’t seen a human in a long while. I'm on a track for a bit and just try to run marker to marker. My shoulders are throbbing. My legs feel numb, but remarkably well considering. My mindset swings into ‘let's finish this’. I'm completely out of water. I think that’s the thing that scares me the most in the heat. Relying on salt tablets and no sense of distance covered or time, I push as hard as I can. A fast-flowing river provides my filter bottle with what I need. I'm sure I’m near the end, but in the distance, I see familiar faces. It's not the end. It's checkpoint 2. They reassure me it's not far to go to the end.
I gather myself up and everything I can muster, and almost instantly, I’m met with a hill that makes the others look like nothing. It's a wall. It's beyond steep, and there’s no choice but to risk the bites and hang on to trees or branches as you move up it. I am pushing. I can feel the determination in me to get this done. It was the worst hill I've ever climbed, and it's wrapped in jungle. As I reach the top, I try not to let go of my focus, moving through the thick foliage, I’m swiftly shifting through, starting to find a pace. I throw myself down the hill and eventually it leads onto a road. I run. Wiping tears from my face, I know this is the end. It is.
I see the finish line and I cross it proudly, a small village of people are out and place beads around my neck. I lightly threaten the race director. I have never experienced anything like that. That was what I came for.
Night 3
We danced with the children of the village. A tribe that have settled and are very much part of the jungle itself. Darkness fell quickly as it does here. I did my tasks and got into bed. I can hear what sounds like a hundred roosters and dogs. I drift off to sleep, being woken with the noise several times. At 1am I wake and feel a bit queasy. I'm quite violently sick. A medic helps me, shooing dogs and cockroaches whilst he injects me because I can’t keep anti-sickness tablets down. I will be forever grateful to him because I was scared. I also knew what this meant.
Tomorrow was going to be rough.
Day 4
With little sleep and as much hydration as I can take on, I pack my things and stuff it in my bag. I don’t care that it's lopsided. People offer to help me. I'm focused on standing up. The starting gun goes. I can feel sweat dripping on the inside of my jacket, and I haven’t even started running yet. There’s pain in my chest. I get through the first river and up the first hill. The down hills are not feeling how they felt yesterday, and my body stiffens. I know in my heart I can’t keep going. It's going to end up a dramatic jungle extraction if I do. Potentially stopping the race. I turn around. I make my way back to camp. Devastated and picking through what I could have done differently. I'm still picking through it now.
In truth, it was one of those things. Unfortunate. Unlucky.
But maybe I am one of the lucky ones. I experienced something not many do, stood on paths less than 30 people have ever stood. I learned I can push through fears. I learned who I am. I am still here.
With thanks to Trailbear Films for capturing the beauty, chaos and spirit of the jungle.