The run from Los Angeles to Las Vegas isn’t exactly straightforward. With no set route, no rules, and 550 kilometres between start and finish, The Speed Project pushes every limit. This year, it took a crew from Grave Runners 51.05 hours to complete. I was lucky enough to be invited to join the support crew. My job? To keep the runners going: coffee making, PB&J bagels, logistics, emotional support. You name it, I probably did it. I took turns driving the crew, either in the RV or tailing them in the Jeep, all the way to Vegas.
Now, back at my desk in Melbourne, it’s hard to believe it all actually happened. I feel like I’m living in a post-TSP delirium, and I know I’m not alone. The whole thing feels like a blur. Fast, chaotic, and kind of unreal.
This relay race is no small feat. It’s top-secret, invite-only, and mostly communicated via a WhatsApp group chat. This year, for the first time ever, a dedicated Kiwi team was taking it on. We weren’t there to break records. We just wanted to make it to Vegas safely, together, and intact.
The crew were among the first to try out our new drip bags (launching very soon), which turned out to be a game-changer. In the middle of the desert, running on 20-minute naps and sheer willpower, speed-brewed filter coffee was more than a luxury. It was a lifeline.
The logistics? Let’s just say they were ambitious. Our support setup consisted of an RV for the runners to rest and refuel, and a Jeep to ferry them to and from their segments. We split into two support teams and worked in shifts, leapfrogging across the desert with barely enough time to breathe, let alone rest.
We had the entire race mapped out in Notion. Down to who was running when, links to everyone’s routes, and where the nearest gas station (or In-N-Out) was. Everything had been planned to a tee.
After six months of video calls, our crew — Connor, Nick, Annabelle, Billy, and I from Melbourne; Kayle, Ursula, Georgia, Sam, and Josh from Auckland; and Lorna from New York — finally met in person, as a full group, just two days before the race in LA.
That first night, before everything kicked off, we managed to find a quiet moment together. Dinner, a circle on the floor, a candle, sage burning, and a breathwork session led by Ursula. It was simple, grounding, and emotional. That was the moment it really hit us. This wasn’t about the run. Not really. It was about connection. About the space Grave Runners has held for everyone over the past five years. We were there to show up for each other, and for the wider community we carried with us. It was a moment of clarity amongst the chaos.
Things started unravelling early. Billy’s flight was cancelled. So was our Jeep. And the Airbnb we’d lined up for the first two nights? Completely fake. It felt like a test — and in hindsight, it kind of was. From the start, it was clear that adaptability would be our most important skill.
The chaos didn’t stop there. LA traffic is no joke. We spent most of those two days in gridlock, navigating freeways and side streets trying to collect gear, groceries, and last-minute supplies. After a $1,500 Walmart haul and a wild scramble to get the RV sorted, we finally made it back to our (real) Airbnb around 9PM. We were tired, hungry, and overstimulated. And we had to be up at 2AM to get to the start line. Plus, there was still so much to do. Sleep? Maybe an hour that night, if that.
At 3:30AM on Friday, we arrived at Santa Monica Pier alongside 80 other teams. It felt surreal. Teams huddled together for the first time, the city still half asleep around us. Some say The Speed Project is like Burning Man for runners, and they’re not far off. Just before his first segment, Josh reminded us: "If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together."
He opened with a solid 10K, and the Jeep rolled out with Connor and Nick ready to sub in and out. The RV, loaded with the rest of us, waited ahead at the next exchange. Annabelle was up next, pre-fuelled with porridge and a hot cup of coffee. That first rotation felt like a blur. We had no idea what we were in for, but we were deep in it now.
By sunrise, we were in convoy. Most teams had decorated their RVs with masking tape — names, slogans, logos. A TSP tradition that doubles as a tracking system. It gave a sense of unity to an otherwise chaotic blur of dust, legs, and sleep-deprived decision-making.
After the first set of segments, the support crew swapped cars. The runners were rotating through 10K stretches, with nine rounds each ahead. I suddenly found myself in the front seat of the Jeep, driving on the opposite side of the road for the first time, operating on maybe an hour of sleep. It’s like riding a bike. Until you’re flying down a desert highway, trying to tail a runner while working out the aircon and navigating Google Maps at the same time.
I’ll say it again. This race isn’t easy. There’s danger everywhere. Runners on narrow roads with trucks flying past at 100km/h. Uneven trail segments. Sleep deprivation. A constant threat of the unknown. At one point, we received word on the WhatsApp chat that a runner from another team had just been bitten by a wild dog.
And then it was our turn to send someone into that same stretch.
We armed ourselves with pepper spray and kept within reach. No bites, thankfully, but there were close calls. Lorna smacked her head jumping into the Jeep to escape one. Josh hit the ground when a dog lunged at his ankle. It was a stark reminder. This was not a controlled event. We had to take care of each other.
The crew ran at night through unfamiliar towns. Some segments had no reception. Others had no access for cars, so the runners were completely unsupported. Our priority wasn’t pace. It was safety. And still, every single person pushed themselves to the edge.
We were excited for Death Valley. Every runner had at least one segment through it. Some had two. Spirits were high — until the heat hit. The forecast said 26 degrees, but in full sun, it felt more like 40. The support crew stuck close, ready with ice water when it was needed most. Getting out of Death Valley was another thing altogether. A steady 320-metre incline waited for Josh and Connor. We blasted Miley Cyrus’s The Climb to help get them through.
By night two, things were getting weird. No one had properly slept. The runners were in pain. We were running on caffeine, adrenaline, and whatever we could throw between two slices of bread. At 2:41AM, I jumped into the Jeep for my final driving shift — the last eight segments into Vegas. The energy shifted. As soon as we saw the glow of the Strip, something clicked. The pace picked up. We passed two teams. Everyone dug deep and gave whatever was left.
By 7AM Sunday, we had made it. All six runners came together for the final kilometre, running side by side to the old Las Vegas sign. To officially finish, you had to take a photo and send it to the WhatsApp group. And yes, we unapologetically cut the line of tourists waiting for theirs.
We were done. Emotionally wrecked. Physically shattered. Champagne bottles popped. Beers cracked. Tears flowed freely. Every runner had covered around 93 kilometres. And every one of us — support crew included — walked away knowing we’d just done something wild.
I’ve never done anything like this before. It was messy, exhausting, chaotic, and at times, dangerous. But also deeply moving, bonding, and unforgettable. Being in that environment, surrounded by people working toward something together. No medals. No fanfare. No finish line but the one we made for ourselves. It reminded me how powerful community can be.
We pulled ourselves together and headed to the nearest diner, desperate for anything that wasn’t a bagel or a chip sandwich.
Would I do it all again? In a heartbeat.
Huge thanks to our sponsors: Coffee Supreme, Arc'teryx, New Balance, Knog, and Pure Nutrition. None of this would’ve been possible without their support.
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