“When you sift through the sporting world, only two widely recognised disciplines stand out as requiring competitors to move backwards for the entire race: rowing and backstroke swimming,” writes Whimsy columnist CLIVE WILLIAMS.

I’m walking backwards for Christmas; 

Across the Irish Sea; 

I’m walking backwards for Christmas; 

It’s the only thing for me; 

I’ve tried walking sideways and walking to the front; 

But people just look at me and say it’s a publicity stunt; 

I’m walking backwards for Christmas; 

To prove that I love you. 

–song lyrics by Spike Milligan

My grandniece recently won a single scull rowing race, adding another chapter to what appears to be a family tradition of excelling while going backwards.

Her father, my nephew, was also a rowing champion in his youth. Thinking back further, I recalled I too had competed in reverse – as a backstroke swimmer. It seems that going backwards is in our family’s genes.

That led me to ponder how many sports truly require athletes to move backwards as the core of the activity. Most sports involve occasional backward movement – tennis players backpedal to meet a lob and boxers retreat strategically to avoid a punch. But these are techniques, not the sport’s defining direction of travel. 

When you sift through the sporting world, only two widely recognised disciplines stand out as requiring competitors to move backwards for the entire race: rowing and backstroke swimming.

Beyond these two, it might seem that the world of backwards sports ends. But then a faint memory from my visit to Olympia resurfaced: I recalled that the ancient Greeks, who practically invented sports competition, also experimented with running backwards. It was a novelty even then, but it did exist – and surprisingly, still does today.

Backward running, often referred to as retro-running, is a modern competitive sport with its own organised events, dedicated athletes, and even world championships. Over the past few decades, official retro-running world championships have been held in places as diverse as the US, Germany, Italy, Austria, and the Czech Republic. 

The events span the full range of traditional distances: 100, 200, 400, 800, 1500, and 5000 metres, and even 10-kilometre cross-country courses. The first widely recognised modern championships took place in the 1990s and the sport continues to hold national and international meets.

Performances are remarkably fast. Elite athletes have clocked the 100 metres backwards in 13 seconds – only a few seconds slower than forward sprinting. The backwards marathon world record is an astonishing 3 hours 42 minutes. These are official verified achievements recognised by the International Retro Running Association (IRRA).

This unusual sport invites natural questions – the first being: how do runners avoid crashing into obstacles when running backwards? The answer lies in a combination of technique and course design. Retro-runners typically swivel their head or shoulders slightly to maintain a backward-angled field of vision, checking frequently over one shoulder. Organisers also minimise hazards with wide, closed-road courses, clear track markings, and a strong emphasis on safety. Just as rowers rely on a coxswain or mirrors, retro-runners rely on awareness and controlled technique.

Mirrored spectacles are not used in serious retro-running because they distort depth perception, delay visual input, reduce peripheral awareness, and make running at speed more dangerous.

Another obvious question is: “Would it help if human knees folded backwards, like a dog’s hind legs? Surprisingly, no. Dogs’ hind legs do not actually fold backwards; their joints are simply arranged differently along the limb.

Human locomotion depends on our knees folding forward for stability and shock absorption. Reverse-running athletes train their bodies to adapt, strengthening calves, hamstrings, and balance systems that we normally neglect.

While “fun-run” is clearly a contradiction in terms, I can see merit in Canberra introducing Australia’s only retro-running fun-run to raise revenue and help pay for the Gungahlin to Commonwealth Park tram – which, of course, is our chief minister’s famous contribution to backward public transport engineering.

On a lighter note: Billy rides into town and stops at the saloon. Unfortunately, the locals always pick on strangers. When he finishes his drink, he finds his horse has disappeared. 

He goes back into the bar, flips his pistol in the air, catches it above his head and without even looking fires a shot into the ceiling. 

“Which sidewinder stole my horse?!” he yells. 

No one answers. “Alright, I’m gonna have me another beer, and if my horse ain’t back outside by the time I finish it, I’m gonna do what I dun in Texas!”

The locals shift restlessly. The horse is soon back outside. After his beer, Billy saddles up to ride out of town.

A bystander asks: “Say, partner, afore you go… what did you dun in Texas?” Billy turns back and says: “I had to walk home.”

Clive Williams is a Canberra columnist