On May 20, 2025, British fitness influencer William Goodge is expected to reach Sydney, completing a 3,800-kilometer journey across the Australian continent in just 35 days.
If verified, this would eclipse Chris Turnbull’s 2023 mark of 39 days—an astonishing physical feat requiring more than 110 kilometers per day.
But instead of unanimous awe, Goodge’s run has triggered a familiar chorus of doubt.
His critics, many of whom followed a near-identical scandal during his 2023 transcontinental run across the United States, argue that his data doesn’t add up—and that the self-styled ultrarunner’s performances are “inspiring” only in the social media sense of the word.
“This is the same script, different continent,” wrote one LetsRun user. “He has no record of elite performances, but suddenly becomes world-class when no one’s watching.”
Goodge’s trans-Australia attempt is being tracked via Garmin InReach and Strava, as required by both Guinness World Records and Fastest Known Time (FKT) verification standards.
On the surface, the numbers are staggering: he’s posting over 100 kilometers a day, consistently, in the punishing heat and isolation of the Outback.
But what’s drawn scrutiny are Goodge’s heart rate readings, which often sit between 95 and 105 bpm.
“That’s barely above a walking pulse for someone of his fitness,” said one Strava user, incredulously. “You mean to tell me this guy is climbing hills, 80K into a day, and his heart rate is still under 100?”
Even Alex Hutchinson, author of Endure, has weighed in, saying, “What’s worrying is when the data is internally inconsistent: a given pace should correlate with a given heart rate reasonably well for any given person. Goodge’s low heart rate while running insanely long distances isn’t ‘impossible,’ but it’s highly unlikely—especially since he only seems to be able to do it when no one is watching.”
The Garmin tracker, too, has shown anomalous spikes to vehicle-level speeds—brief moments where Goodge appears to travel over 80 km/hr.
These have been explained away by supporters as GPS glitches or “data hiccups,” but the frequency has raised suspicion.
One LetsRun post noted, “First massive data fail is in. No action for 52 minutes, then pops up about 9k later. Annoying and bizarre for that to be happening already and sticks out like a sore thumb on the map.”
The skepticism isn’t new.
In 2023, during his U.S. Transcon run, Goodge’s performance again raised eyebrows. His heart rate during supposedly grueling 50-mile days would routinely fall into the same anomalously low ranges, and independent verification was virtually non-existent.
One critic, British statistician and runner Will Cockerell, even traveled to Oklahoma to observe the run.
According to an article in Outside, Cockerell accused Goodge of “watch muling”—sharing a GPS device between runners. That confrontation ended with Goodge allegedly attempting to enter Cockerell’s car and, later, throwing a rock at it. His crew admitted the rock-throwing occurred but claimed it was a response to “reckless driving,” which Cockerell denied. “It’s not about theatrics,” he later said. “It’s about integrity.”
Cockerell claimed that when he was present, Goodge’s heart rate data seemed “clean,” only to return to implausible levels after his departure. In his view, this confirmed what he had suspected: that Goodge’s public-facing data is selectively curated.
Many in the ultrarunning world agree. In the LetsRun thread tracking the Australia attempt—which has already ballooned past 30 pages—users have been dissecting his uploads with forensic precision.
Strava comments mirror this concern. “How is anyone still taking it seriously,” wrote one user, “when the choice is believing that he’s (suddenly) superhuman, or concluding that he’s just managed to find an effective means of faking all or most of what he’s purporting to do?”
Another added: “Cardiac drift is real. Heart rate should rise over the course of a long effort. But with Goodge, it drops, then plateaus. We need a name for this phenomenon: cardiac grift.”
One of the most damning observations comes from former marathoner and coach Steve Boyd, who noted: “He climbs steadily (2% on average) for 20+km at roughly the same pace yet registers NO corresponding trend of increasing HR. This is after 80k of running and 110km per day for nearly 3 weeks.”
Even a cursory glance at the comments shows dozens questioning why Goodge isn’t physically deteriorating as one would expect.
“Where is the adversity?” asked Strava user Matthew Ferguson. “Nedd [Brockmann] was held together with bands by day 10. This guy is smoking ciggies and sipping beers while still churning out 110k days fresh as a daisy.”
Not everyone is critical.
Goodge has his diehard fans—many of whom defend him as a motivational figure who is “doing more good for the sport than the keyboard warriors ever will.”
“He’s inspiring hundreds of people,” one wrote. “He’s challenging comfort and encouraging people through his actions to get out and push themselves more than they thought possible.”
But that enthusiasm is part of what concerns critics. “The ultra running community (if that’s who’s mainly posting here) has so little respect for itself and its sport that it would be willing see it defrauded right before their eyes,” wrote Boyd.
The concern isn’t just about the truth of one runner’s performance. It’s about what happens to the credibility of an entire niche sport when social media spectacle begins to replace traditional measures of proof.
In a pre-digital era, transcontinental runners like Frank Giannino Jr. relied on signed witness logs, mailed letters, and analog checkpoints.
Today, the expectation is GPS, heart rate, cadence, and video. But what happens when that data appears corrupted, or when a runner refuses transparency?
Pete Kostelnick, who holds the U.S. transcon FKT, criticized Goodge for lacking a live tracker on his person during the 2023 run.
“If he was going for the overall record, I would definitely call them out on that,” he said. Goodge’s crew explained the device was kept in the van “for safety,” but to serious ultrarunners, this is a red flag.
Critics also note the lack of full Whoop data, which could corroborate or contradict Goodge’s physical claims. Despite repeated requests, none of that has been made public—only cherry-picked screenshots and vague mentions.
“It would be so easy to publish this stuff,” said one LetsRun poster. “One public data dump could put this all to bed very quickly.”
At the heart of the debate is a deeper cultural clash: the performative world of digital influence versus the gritty, slow-burn tradition of ultrarunning.
Goodge doesn’t really race competitively in meaningful ultras. He finished 11th at the Moab 240 and also ran at the Marathon des Sables.
Yet in his content-led adventures, he suddenly becomes a metronomic machine—better than Turnbull, Nedd Brockmann, or even Kostelnick, all of whom are widely respected for their painstakingly verified achievements.
“It’s like if someone from the non-elite field at the London Marathon ran a 1:58 WR last week,” wrote Strava user Cliff. “People would understandably ask questions.”
The paradox is that Goodge’s claims are precisely what generate the buzz that fuels his sponsorships and following. To let those claims go unexamined would be, in the words of another LetsRun user, “dangerous, costly and damaging.”
“Too Goodge to be true?” one strava commenter asked. “Or just too stubborn to prove otherwise?”
Goodge was joined by a guy named Jason Brooks, a pothead trustafarian who lives in Colorado who is known for being a toxic force in the running community and very poor race directing gigs with leaving trash behind, not supplying runners with water, and so forth. He is hated in his home town for this. You can see him in one of the photos above. Surrounding yourself with people like that for a cross-country run is a sure-fire warning sign that the rats are on board the ship of clout.