Words by Tom Reynolds
Zero Hour. noun
the hour at which a planned military operation is scheduled to start

Picture this.
It is not long after dawn and you’re standing slightly bleary-eyed at the coffee bar of a converted farmhouse in the south of France.
The coffee machine has not long been switched on and so you and your pals are standing around chatting and waiting.
Waiting and chatting.

A small dog is standing next to the patio door ready to head out into the day. On the other side of the glass three chickens are pottering around on the patio.
The communal dining table is part-laid, part-ready for the post-run pastries. Last night’s log fire is just about still smouldering, still giving a little bit of heat into the room.
Pretty soon the machine is ready and the caffeine brings you slowly, steadily into the world and into the day.
Pretty soon, you and your flat-white infused friends will head out for the first of two runs scheduled for the day.
Pretty soon, but not quite yet.
There’s no military precision here so you chat a little more, have another brew, talk a little more.
A cockerel is waking up nearby too, and the town church bells peal briefly in the distance.
While that subtle soundtrack plays out, you allow the departure time to stretch a little while you too stretch and prepare for the morning run.
A calm moment certainly not before the storm, rather a calm moment of kinship before the kilometres to come.
This is Zero Hour.



The concept of a Zero Run Camp has been kicking about ever since we kicked the idea about during a springtime retreat to the south of France in 2024.
One morning we were talking about our childhood and I was sharing a bit about my dad.
He was in the army and so my childhood was peppered with strict rules about shower times (two minutes maximum) and generally lots of chat about rendezvous times and Zero Hours.
The trip was already shaping up to be a direct opposite to that. He’d have been appalled; but I was loving it.
Myself and my friend Dan were working on making a film together and we were a bit stuck.
In need of a bit of headspace. Some time to both come together and take a step back.
Thinking time, running time, eating time. Downtime.
Luckily for us, our friends Mike and Joss Tucker own a beautiful farmhouse/b&b in France called Zero Neuf.
Put simply, it’s a sanctuary.
Mike makes a mean brew and Joss is the most amazing cook – using ingredients either from their garden or, failing that, from the farms and farmers nearby.
There is a swimming pool and a bakery a small run/ride away, in the local town.
Rolling hills and farmtracks offer mellow run routes galore while in the near-distance, the Pyrenees loom.



For three days, our days boiled down to this.
Run. Breakfast. Work (a little).
Lunch. Swim (dip). Run (a little longer). Dinner.
On one day we drove to those nearby mountains for a hillier, more challenging trail run.
But still, we didn’t rush.
Even the Pyrennean adventure was more about the post-run Vermouth than the vert.
In general, there was way more time horizontal on the sun-longers than there was running around, although we did plenty of that too.
It was an active, reflective, immersive few days and we loved it.
On our final morning we gathered again around the coffee machine at Zero Hour.
Waiting, chatting and then heading out in the Arieges for a cruisy six kilometre route along dusty riverside trails.
The final run of the weekend was an out and back. Appropriate given we spent most of the time going back and forth – speculating as to whether it was just us three who would enjoy a three-day break like this.
Or would some other like-minded people like to gather in the same way?
Would they too like a gathering where running is a focus, but not the focus.
A gathering in which the local region is consumed and celebrated both on foot and sur le table.
A gathering with zero expectations & zero rules.
A gathering that quietly unfolds every day at Zero Hour.
Starting slowly, and getting slower.
Prends ton temps. Take your time.
