A Personal Journey
I have a story to tell. It’s a personal story, years in the making, shaped by many people and countless kilometres. It begins with a simple love of the outdoors – hiking, moving, breathing in the stillness. That love eventually led me to trail running. From my first local runs to completing 100-mile events, the journey unfolded one step at a time.
But like many, I reached a point where I wanted to do more races than I could afford. That’s when I noticed an event call for volunteers. They needed sweepers. I had no idea what it entailed, maybe collecting markers or rubbish, I thought. But it meant being out on the trail, in nature, among people pushing their limits. I signed up. That was the beginning.
The Back of the Pack
My first sweep was the final 50km of a 100-miler. I fell in behind the last runner, someone struggling deeply. Nausea. Exhaustion. Doubt. And suddenly, I wasn’t watching someone else’s suffering, I was remembering my own. I’d been there too.
That night changed everything. I realised that sweeping wasn’t just logistical support. It was companionship. Witnessing someone dig deep. Quietly reminding them that they’re not alone. We made it to the finish just before cutoff, and they were so thankful that I was taken aback. That was the start of what became a calling.
Why I Keep Coming Back
I began volunteering at more events, always as a sweeper. I had to earn my place. I remember needing a reference to sweep for Graham Bird at the Merrell events, that’s how I found my way into Hobbit and Whale of Trail.
The people at the back aren’t just slow. They’re courageous. They’re often carrying the heaviest loads. Most of them are ordinary people doing something extraordinary. And when it’s dark, literally and figuratively, having someone beside you can mean everything.
Over the years, I’ve met complete strangers and had the most unexpectedly human moments: people sobbing about dogs they lost, sharing therapy in the forest, hallucinating cats and taxis in the night, pushing someone up a rope climb with both hands on their bum, or standing still in a forest lit with fireflies. We talk, or we don’t. We cry, or we don’t. We keep moving.
Some moments are etched in my memory, like the woman struggling on the Hoggs who lit up with joy when we turned off our headlights and saw the forest around us come alive with fireflies. Her first time seeing them, my first in years. Magical. Together with the sounds of the forest, it was one of those rare trail gifts you don’t plan for.
Tiny Moments, Big Impact
Some people I never see again. Some send thank-you messages or find me on Strava. Others hug me at the finish line or introduce me proudly to their loved ones. One woman called me the Reaper all day. Another said, “Push me, Billy,” and I did.
I always drop back when we approach the finish line and let the person enjoy their moment of success alone, but many times they will call me and want to have a photo taken with me and say thanks.
I’ve paced people through the night. I’ve been part of someone’s bravest day, even if they didn’t make cutoff. And somehow, each of these moments gives something back to me too. My self-worth. My gentleness. My belief that presence, even quiet presence, can change someone’s day.
Tiny Moments, Big Impact
Some people I never see again. Some send thank-you messages or find me on Strava. Others hug me at the finish line or introduce me proudly to their loved ones. One woman called me the Reaper all day. Another said, “Push me, Billy,” and I did.
I always drop back when we approach the finish line and let the person enjoy their moment of success alone, but many times they will call me and want to have a photo taken with me and say thanks.
I’ve paced people through the night. I’ve been part of someone’s bravest day, even if they didn’t make cutoff. And somehow, each of these moments gives something back to me too. My self-worth. My gentleness. My belief that presence, even quiet presence, can change someone’s day.
Whale of Trail 2025: My Own Race
For the 2025 Whale of Trail, Graham Bird graciously gave me a complimentary entry to the race as thanks for my past years of volunteering, something I was extremely grateful for. It was my first time running the event at my own pace. From the vultures overhead to a shark beaching itself on the shoreline, from a post-race massage more painful than the race to a hamburger with just a bun and patty because that’s all I craved, I soaked in every detail.
At prizegiving, Graham called me up and said kind things about my years of volunteering. I was overwhelmed. I had no idea I had come third in my age category, my first-ever podium.
I was going to leave early the next morning but waited an extra 15 minutes to see the sunrise before I left. I drove the 7 hours back home to Jeffrey’s Bay safely, got home to be greeted by my reason for living that I had missed all week, my 14-year-old daughter Summer. “I love you Daughts” I told her as I hugged her and kissed her head. “I love you too, Dad. How was your run? Do you have any snacks left over for me?” – which is her typical response. Obviously, I had overbought and had a lot of snacks left over for her, which we shared between us, her getting more than me. I fell asleep that night feeling grateful, happy, and blessed. It was an amazing weekend.
Why I Sweep
And it all happened because I’ve been volunteering as a sweeper the last few years. That I’ve had those experiences for myself is so truly amazing.
Sweeping has given me moments I never could have imagined. Moments money can’t buy. It has helped me see people not for their pace or their background, but for their humanness.
It’s taught me that being beside someone in their darkest mile can be an act of grace. That presence matters. That I am more capable, and more kind, than I ever thought I was.
That is why I sweep.
Who would have thought?
Billy Jackson – One Step Behind, One Heart Beside