Trickster Magazine

Mathias Väärsi is an artist and ultracyclist whose work moves between endurance sport and contemporary art. While writing his Master’s thesis on ultracycling, he found himself drawn deeper into the practice – riding races of up to 4000 km, spending around two weeks on the road, day and night, sleeping in bus stops and eating whatever he could carry. To understand why anyone would choose to push themselves like this, we sat down with him.

The starting point for his thesis “Ultra” was a study examining anatomical changes in the brains of participants in the Trans Europe Foot Race 2009. Researchers found that while runners’ brain volumes were normal before the race, their grey matter decreased during it – particularly in areas linked to visuospatial processing and language. Eight months later, it had returned to baseline. One proposed explanation is mental understimulation caused by prolonged monotony: 64 consecutive days of repetitive movement, around 70 km per day, often along straight roads.

[ 1 ]

[ PST ] You start from this idea that ultrarunning can temporarily “shrink” the brain, only for it to recover later. Was that what drew you in – this notion of a reset – or did it come more from physical experience?

[ MV ] Ultra had been around me for a long time – my father is an ultrarunner. But the deeper interest came when I started my Master’s. That’s also when I did my first 24-hour race. I came across that study by chance, and the idea of a kind of “refresh” felt like an interesting angle within art.

After that first race, we thought – why not organize something ourselves in Estonia? That’s how Pöörirando was born. It’s been happening every summer since.

[ 2 ]

[ PST ] So you were already deep into cycling before that?

[ MV ] Yeah, but in a different way. More urban – fixies, messenger scene. We organized city races. Then gradually it shifted toward touring, getting out of the city. Ultra felt like a natural next step. Or just… things aligning.

[ 3 ]

[ PST ] What do you remember from your first ultra?

[ MV ] It was a 24-hour race in Finland with friends. What struck me most was the sense of time. In everyday life, the day is fragmented – meetings, work, small gaps you forget. But when you do one thing continuously, the day feels longer, more whole. You see it unfold from morning into night.

But you don’t go to sleep.

[ 4 ]

[ PST ] So no sleep at all?

[ MV ] During 24h races usually not. You can, of course – but people tend not to. First-timers often end up riding the longest distance of their lives. People underestimate what they’re capable of. Even if you “chill” half the time, you’re still riding 12 hours. That alone leads to a pretty unreal distance for an average person. Winners ride around 500 km, nonstop. At that level, efficiency becomes everything. Sleep strategy really comes into play in longer races – when and how much you sleep. 

As a sport, ultraracing is still quite new, around 10 years old. The scene has evolved. Early on, people won by pushing insanely hard and not sleeping for three days straight. But then it became clear: you burn out, your speed drops, and you end up in total delirium, barely moving. Now there’s a better understanding: you should sleep. One of the biggest strategies in ultraracing revolves around sleep. And riding revolves around that. 

Interestingly, sleep is also central in my art – including my upcoming exhibition.

[ 5 ]

[ PST ] You’ve called ultraracing a “selfish coping strategy.” What do you mean by that?

[ MV ] In that context, I was thinking about my ride along the Ukrainian border at the start of the war. On one hand, it was an artwork illustrating how close the war really is to us. On the other, it was time I took for myself – time to process the situation and cope with everything that was happening.

Ultra is ongoing mental health work for me. It’s about taking that space. Having a race planned gives me motivation – it helps me get through the winter – and a training plan carries me through the day-to-day, especially with my self-diagnosed ADHD. Without something in the calendar, I struggle to find the drive. Having a clear goal keeps my head in order.

I genuinely look forward to every race. Training just to “stay fit”? That’s not enough. I need a mission. I’m that kind of person; there always has to be one.

[ 6 ]

[ PST ] So some people look forward to an all-inclusive holiday in Turkey, others to riding a bike in the darkness?

[ MV ] (laughs) Let’s be honest, riding in the darkness isn’t the first thing I look forward to. But the experience as a whole is. Competing builds confidence – the sense that you can do more, both physically and mentally.

[ 7 ]

[ PST ] Is ultraracing an escape, or a way of moving closer to yourself?

[ MV ] Both. It’s stepping away – from life, noise, the attention economy. Especially racing, where you focus on one thing. I usually turn off social media completely. Even race updates get ignored. I’ve realized I perform best when I stick to my own plan. 

Long rides are a brutal rollercoaster: huge highs, then deep lows. Incredible views, moments of awe. Then suddenly you’re in a hole, wondering why you’re even there. If you’re halfway through and see someone already finishing, it can destroy your motivation. So I avoid external input – news, everything. I stay in touch with close people, but that’s it. 

It’s life reduced to basics: eat, sleep, keep moving. That’s it. In the end, you escape the noise – and through that, reach a kind of emptiness where your thoughts clear out. Eventually, you arrive at that “refresh” state.

[ 8 ]

[ PST ] Have you ever quit a race midway?

[ MV ] Yes. In one long race, on day three, physically I was fine – but mentally, everything piled up. I just didn’t want to do it anymore. Didn’t want to ride. So I quit and rode to the nearest airport. The whole way back, I got to think about what went wrong.

[ 9 ]

[ PST ] How has ultraracing changed your relationship with your body?

[ MV ] At first, races were experiments, just trying things out. Now there’s been a gradual professionalization. You crack one aspect, like staying awake through the night. Then you move to the next, how to cover distance faster. Then nutrition, which is one of the biggest topics in ultra. 

People even call it an eating competition – you have to eat constantly. So I’ve started studying nutrition. And I train more consciously now, also with a coach. Overall, my awareness of my body has increased a lot.

[ 10 ]

[ PST ] You’ve written about reaching emptiness and learning to deal with darkness. What does “darkness” mean to you?

[ MV ] At first, riding in darkness was completely surreal. When you only see your front light, it changes your perception of everything. Darkness is the unknown. You’re in an unfamiliar place, with no idea what’s around you. Strange sounds come out of the dark – you get startled, then you have to accept them. There’s also the transition into darkness. When the sun sets, it feels like entering a new stage. By then you’ve been riding all day, and your brain starts producing… things. Hallucinations aren’t uncommon. You’re in a kind of trance. And when darkness finally lifts, it’s euphoric.

[ 11 ]

[ PST ] In 2022, you rode from Narva to the Ukrainian border. How did people react, and how do you think about risk?

[ MV ] My sense of danger is probably lower than most people’s. For me, it didn’t feel that dangerous (laughs). 

People close to me are used to these kinds of projects. When I mentioned the Ukraine trip, they just nodded – maybe they were already expecting it. There was no direct combat along my route, so I didn’t feel immediate danger. But I did see Russian border posts the whole way – it felt like I was being watched. At one point in Latvia, I unknowingly entered a buffer zone where you need a special permit. I slept in a bus stop there and woke up to a gun in my face. Border guards asking what I was doing. “Sleeping?” I said. They asked my purpose. “Traveling.” Then they asked if I planned to stay. I said I’d sleep until morning. So they stood guard while I slept. 

Another moment was at the Belarus–Russia–Latvia border triangle, a kind of open “friendship zone” with a small bridge and park. Guards came again and sent me away. Near the Ukrainian border in Poland, around 4 a.m., I was thoroughly questioned – over half an hour. Where I came from, why I was doing this. My next stop was a bus station to go home – they made sure I got there.

[ 12 ]

[ PST ] You often sleep in public places, like bus stops. How did that become normal?

[ MV ] In the ultra scene, bus stops are called “ultra-hotels.” In races, you ride until you can’t anymore, then you stop. And there’s a bus stop. Shelter. Efficient. It has everything you need to rest. 

In a normal travel context, I’d never consider it. But in racing, normal standards disappear. If you need sleep, a bus stop is a solid option. Roof, walls, a bench – that’s enough.

[ 13 ]

[ PST ] What makes a “good” bus stop?

[ MV ] Ideally, it’s enclosed – dry, out of the wind – with a wide, clean wooden bench, somewhere you can lie down with a mat and sleeping bag.

[ 14 ]

[ PST ] Would you say you feel capable of “inhuman” things in those states of exhaustion?

[ MV ] Yes. The range of what you’re capable of keeps expanding. You unlock new skills. You realize you’re ready for extreme measures if needed. Usually, you don’t have to go that far – you find better solutions. But the knowledge stays. 

Some people never feel comfortable sleeping in random places. I’ve learned to accept the situation and fall into deep sleep.

[ 15 ]

[ PST ] Where are the best bus stops?

[ MV ] Norway. They also have incredibly clean paid toilets, like mini-hotels. Shelter, a place to sleep, plus a toilet and power outlets. Absolute luxury.

[ 16 ]

[ PST ] Has your sleep changed outside racing?

[ MV ] I can function on less sleep now. Also, my perception of sleep has changed. In races, four hours can equal eight hours of normal sleep. It can be very high-quality – because it has to be.

[ 17 ]

[ PST ] How do art and ultraracing intersect for you?

[ MV ] Right now, they’re fully intertwined. Ultra is always running in the background, and my next exhibition is based on it. 

In November, I’m doing a show with Sten Ojavee and Hanna Samoson.

[ 18 ]

[ PST ] Your work often involves repetition and absurdity. Your video “Untitled” from the exhibition “Out of Oneself” comes to mind – you’re naked, jumping on a trampoline in the middle of a field, looping. It felt very relatable in a post-COVID way, but now it also resonates with long-distance riding.

[ MV ] Yeah, there’s a monotone running through my work. Looping, performative structures.

My previous exhibition with Joosep Kivimäe extended into a trampoline theme. One piece titled ‘’Nalukataq’’ showed people bouncing a girl on a trampoline canvas with a voice chanting a rhythm for the bouncers in the background, looping endlessly. The camera moved in circles – again and again. There’s definitely a parallel to ultra: constant motion, a trance-like state.

I also always try to include sound, especially spatial sound.

[ 19 ]

[ PST ] Sound filling the whole space is powerful. Headphones always create this awkward tension of how long do I listen? when do I pass them on?…

[ MV ] Exactly. I tend to feel uncomfortable in silent galleries. Just you and a guard – way too much pressure. I like bringing sound into the space. In group shows, it’s even nice when works bleed into each other a bit – it creates dialogue.

[ 20 ]

[ PST ] Do you experience anything like ego dissolution during races?

[ MV ] In a way, yes. And it’s always a humbling experience. Every time I’ve made a plan, I’ve finished much later than expected. So – overconfidence?

[ 21 ]

[ PST ] Which you might even need in this context?

[ MV ] Probably (laughs).

Last time, racing in Morocco, I thought I had trained incredibly well. Then I saw how fast some people were going… and wondered how that’s even possible. It put things into perspective. At the same time, it was empowering – being in those massive mountains, you realize how small you are. 

Mountains are both humbling and empowering. From afar, they seem impassible. At the top, you feel powerful. A rollercoaster on multiple levels.

[ 22 ]

[ PST ] Finally – should we all try ultraracing?

[ MV ] You don’t have to. But you could. It’s empowering. 

On a personal level, you discover something new about yourself. For longer races in the mountains, I’d recommend proper preparation. But for the events we organize in Estonia, almost anyone can show up – even with very little training. Nothing bad will happen to you. The worst case? A few uncomfortable hours. 

But when you finish, chances are you’ve discovered something new about yourself.

Credits

Art Direction by Diandra Rebase
Photography by Patrik Prints
Interview by Paula-Stina Tasane