ROAD TO ONEMILLION

99:59 is an ideal. It started when a guy called Ange brought a couple of SkiErgs into First Place Fitness. I watched him ski for 90 minutes, looked at the clock and realised there wasn't room for a third digit in the minutes. The next day, I stayed on it long enough to find out. I stopped physically skiing at 99:59, but the momentum rolled the timer over to zero. The work didn't disappear. That stuck with me. Now 99:59 means choosing the hard road on purpose: willful suffering, relentless forward progress, making the flesh obedient and training myself so that when pressure comes, my yes is yes and my no is no. I still stop at 99:59. Over time that last second became a private reminder of why I train in the first place: not to worship a number or squeeze glory out of a clock, but to know I did the work I said I would do, and to keep the achievement in its proper place.

Because it's tough, and because when I first came across Jarry Newby's million-metre record it did something to me. I haven't been able to get it out of my soul since. Even when I tore my biceps and couldn't train, it kept knocking. On a practical level, I'm not fast enough for the shorter records. I'm drawn to ultra-endurance even though I'm not naturally built for it. My body and training history have always leaned far more toward strength and size than going forever, so this is not the obvious event for me. That's part of why I want it. This is going to be tooth-and-nail rather than elegant. And I want my kids to see it. I don't want them learning only from YouTube that hard things can be done. I want them to see their dad suffer and not quit.

I'm trying to beat myself. I'm trying to beat my flesh. I'm trying to put to bed every recurring limitation and every nagging voice that has told me to stay in my place. I've done big things in my life: Africa, music, business, five kids, building things from nothing. And right beside those are massive failures, unfinished projects and a lifelong pattern of moving on before I close the loop. The biggest thing that has haunted me is how hard I've found it to finish what I start. The record is the external scoreboard. The real opponent is that pattern. I am no condition's slave. I'm not interested in bowing to the things that have limited me. I'm going to smash that thing.

I don't even consider myself an athlete. I've always had this weird basket of skills and never really had one identity. Musician, business owner, athlete, none of those feel like who I am. I consider myself a pilgrim on a journey. This is just the thing I'm doing now. If I wake up one day and move to something else, I haven't lost my identity. And if this gets enough traction that somebody comes along and absolutely smashes my record, I'll count that as a success. I want people to win. I want my kids to supersede me. If I ended up the least capable person on earth but somehow helped everybody else move toward their full potential, what a world that would be.

It means the capacity at which I operate is what reveals my character, not the raw output. If I trained sprinting for ten years, gave everything I had and could only run 11.5 seconds, while somebody naturally gifted cruised to a world-class result at 80%, their output proves they are faster. It does not prove they gave more of themselves. Output measures performance. Input measures what you demanded of yourself. Talent, genetics, age, circumstances and opportunity all affect the number on the screen. Character is whether I spent the capacity I actually had. The benchmark is not the world. The benchmark is me.

Six weeks out from the 2025 attempt, I picked up the first maple log of the day, heard a pop and there went my training. I had torn my biceps. I was mentally aggressive, ready, probably further down the track in raw discipline than I am even now, and tendon recovery simply didn't care. I made the decision not to be stupid and turn a repair into a re-tear, so the comeback was slow. Months without proper cardiovascular work cost me fitness and muscle. I'm still rebuilding toward my best pre-injury marathon. But the million never disappeared. When something enters me properly, it doesn't sit in my mind; it feels like it gets into my soul. Nothing really makes sense until it's done. The start line isn't where character gets built. It's where I prove what the training built.

Because I've already learned what deliberate suffering does to me. After the lowest period of my life I rebuilt myself through physical exertion. There were months where four or five hours a day was the minimum: gym, functional training, SkiErg, golf, sometimes 1,000-plus lifting reps and then more work after that. It wasn't because I wanted to look impressive. I was training myself to do what I said I would do and not let the flesh rule me. This attempt is also far more engineered than my old 'bro, just send it' approach: pace, rest, fuel, equipment, logistics, data, all of it. Training is not perfect. Only a fool would say it is. But it is telling me exactly what I need to know: this will take everything, I need to dial in, and I believe with all my heart I've got it.

Levi is raising money for rowing fees, uniform and training at Hamilton Boys. Caleb is raising money for his Nouméa exchange, then sporting development. On 7–8 November they will alternate on one RowErg for 24 hours, rowing 12 hours each. I'll SkiErg beside them throughout. I want them to put work behind the opportunities they want, support each other and follow through. To back them, choose ‘24 Hour - Levi & Caleb’ on Givealittle.

First, the practical attempt: fuel, tape, shoes, gloves, equipment, setup, planning, production, crew, verification, livestreaming and the time it takes to do this properly. But bigger than that, you're backing 99:59 becoming something that survives the record. I want this to become a platform I can carry into the next challenge and the next audience, a credible voice saying, 'This is what I've done, this is what I'm doing, and this is where we're going.' You're not paying for my life. If this gives you no value, if it doesn't move you, if you don't believe the message deserves a bigger platform, don't donate. But if it does, and you want more of this in the world, that's what you're sowing into.

My first question is: what do you want? Sponsorship shouldn't be a cookie-cutter box where you give me money and I slap your logo somewhere. You need to know what value you want, and I need to know whether I genuinely fit your brand. I don't want money just because you exist. If we align and I can get behind who you are, then if you're on my team, you're on my team. I'll fly your flag hard. Shirt, livestream, website, command post, product use, content, milestones, fuel, equipment, those are the obvious pieces. But tell me how you want to be seen through this. I'm pretty savvy in business, and I'd rather sit down and build something useful together than pretend one standard package fits everyone.

It's still open, and there are three real options. If the right sponsor comes in, I can do the attempt in an environment that serves them and their branding, as long as we align. I can build my own command post. Or I can take the SkiErg to some of the gyms and people who helped grow me, use the early days to say thank you, then park up for the final long push. What I won't do is sacrifice the attempt for theatre. Wherever it happens has to be reliable: power, internet, toilets, food, crew, cameras, lighting, security, redundancy and enough control that a multi-day record doesn't get derailed by avoidable stupidity. That decision will be formalised well before the attempt.

Yeah. The plan is to start pushing the campaign properly through social media and document the whole road. Daily media, training, Q&A, the ugly sessions, the build, the 24-hour event, and then the record attempt itself as a broadcast. I don't know yet whether anyone will care. That's part of what makes it interesting. I'm not going to pretend there's already an audience waiting. We'll pour into it consistently and find out whether the work and the message are worth people's attention. It might become a thing. It might not. Let's see.

If I train consistently, pour everything into this and completely exhaust the capacity I had, then I may have been defeated, but I haven't failed. There is a difference between being unable to complete a task after spending everything available to you and refusing to continue while you still had the capacity to do so. One is defeat. The other, to me, is failure. I may be defeated, but I won't fail. And to be completely clear, I believe I get the SkiErg record. The bigger question in my head is how far beyond that I can go and whether I can get into outright million-metre territory.

I don't think I finish the record and suddenly become king of the universe. Maybe it creates some recognition; maybe it opens a few doors. What I actually want is for it to be the beginning of a platform. I want to keep being an enduring voice calling people toward the fullest version of themselves, toward willful suffering, discipline and getting things done. I especially want to sow into kids. Physically, I'll probably recompose away from some of the hypertrophy and strength mass and toward endurance, then pursue more varied challenges, running if my body allows it, kayaking, whatever fits. The vehicle can change. The message doesn't. I want to give it away: you're not stuck. You can move.

Honestly? Sow into this. Donate if you believe in it. Get behind it and say, 'Yeah, I want more of this in the world.' I make no bones about that. But even if you never give a dollar, take the message and believe it. You've got hard things in your life you're not conquering right now. Go and smash one. Fitness, the book you never wrote, the education you never got, reconciliation with a family member, whatever it is. If you're reading this, I'm talking to you. I don't need a pat on the back. I need you to change. Your life is not just about you. Voluntarily suffer. Do great things. Love the one in front of you. Live with your heart on your sleeve. Never quit.

Because suffering is part of the backbone of humanity. You either choose some suffering voluntarily and grow through it, or the suffering you never chose will eventually meet a person who has never learned to carry weight. This matters beyond a SkiErg. Families, kids, communities and societies are shaped by whether people can govern themselves, endure discomfort and act for something bigger than their own comfort. I could go build another company, make money and build my own little kingdom. I've done versions of that. I've also lived in an orphanage on almost nothing, and that taught me something better: love looks like something. Practical love calls people up, not just out. You should care because you care about yourself, your kids, your family and your community. I want this attempt to put skin behind that argument.