Popping the Ultra Cherry - VUC 2013

Finally, I got the belt buckle. About time. Literally; I was dead last and really close to the cut-off. The finish area packed down and the race director anxious to get home. But it didn't matter; I finished it and can finally call myself an ultra runner. Now for some Aloe Vera oil for my butt cheeks.

Prolog
I can definitely say that I was better prepared for this race than my first attempt last year, though I realize now how laughably unprepared I was then. Never the less I did feel that I could have done a few more long runs in training, but I felt confident after 5-hour trail run with Matthew and a 3-hour recce of the race course in the weeks leading up to the race. Then I tapered as I usually do the last fortnight; way too much. I probably didn't run at all for most of the period and did some half assed jogs the last few days before toeing the line.

I felt more confident about finishing, even harboring a goal of finishing at around 12-13 hours, but thankfully the stupid optimist was calling the shots, because if I had listened to the realist inside I probably would have bailed and "overslept" when Matthew picked me up.

I had packed quite a lot of calories in form of bars, gels, nuts, candy and the bean-and-rice heavy burritos, dividing them in several zip-lock bags. Remembering how I struggled last time around I made sure I had more than enough, in fact too much.

I could have fed a third world village for a month with this. Which is genuinely depressing

The start in Holmestrand was at a sports club, with wardrobes and modern facilities - a far cry from NUC. We got there in perfect time, but the standard uncertainties of whether to change straight away, having a crap, packing the back-pack, picking up the racing bibs and maps, wondering if I had had a shit this morning or not, looking for the where to leave the dropbags, lubing up in public, putting on the shoes, and then finally going for a shit anyway when you hear some commotion and wipe yourself like your are under fire before you run out to the race director going through the race.

The race directors name is Thomas Pinås, and that Norwegian surname sounds comically close to how English speakers pronounce 'Penis', so Matthew giggled quite a lot.

"I can't take someone with that name seriously,"

Oh, look! The favorite to win this race, Simen(seaman, or, you know;) Ellingsen Rustad is here!

"..."

"And here's Smælly Kuntz with the starting pistol."

The Start
Matthew had spent some time to calculate the splits for several finishing times, it was a beautiful piece of excel work and we had also done a fateful recon of the first 20-30 Ks of the course so we planned to go out confidently slow in the back. The last time we were here we had spent most of the time wondering if we were lost or not, now we rode in the back just passing time and chatting. And by chatting I mean making fun of the other racers. We derided everybody in tights. People in Hoka One One shoes. Buff people in expensive gear. People with iPhones attached to their arms listening to dutch early nineties techno, no doubt. Old people who seemed to already be in pain - brave, but stupid. The guy who looked like a dickhead, he just did.

We entered the forest after a couple of klicks on road, behind a couple of fit guys running in-step. I was just about to point out that they looked military when Matthew interrupted me.

"I bet they are a couple,"

I didn't have a good comment. They were clean shaved, fresh-faced, fit and wearing the same tights and shoes. Army or gay? I was confused.

Still Having Fun

Hvittingen 13,8 K 
We had started to push a bit before the long climb up to Hvittingen, which was the third checkpoint. We had agreed to hike up easy as it was the first big ascent. I think we might have gotten a bit to preoccupied with putting some distance to the group we were running with because I was short on breath when we started up the dirt road up and I really didn't get it back for a while.

Matthew was eating and striding along on his unfairly long legs like he was going back to his cubicle from lunch while I was really struggling to keep up, feeling like a midget(which isn't too far off) taking 6 strides for his one. So much for taking it easy. But I felt some urgency too put some distance on the other guys, we thought we were in the back and there would be a long fast descent in a short while.

When we got to the top I forgot about my planned walking lunch and went up to lead us into the single track trails downwards. I could hear the rest of the group and I really wanted to lose them, so I went for it. I got to say that I think my edge is on technical and gnarly downhills, my ridiculously low center of gravity makes it almost impossible to fall over and my hobbit-feet always shuffle impossibly quickly to regain balance when I slip on wet rock. We went pretty fast down, perhaps unnecessarily so, but I had a blast.

"You kept a good pace there, eh?" Which was a relief to hear, since I feared that I had slowed us down on the way up.

Hanekleivane ~20 K
The weather was unseemly hot for late May, but then what is normal these days? We refilled water and cooled down in a stream in some shade before running into the leader of the 50K race.

"Way to go! WOOO!" We shouted and clapped, the poor guy almost tripped and looked liked he blundered into the serial rapist ward of a prison. We enjoyed cheering on the runners coming the other way, and I guess the Norwegian stereotype isn't know for this. But I realize I become the unfunny drunk funny-guy in a race.

"You're only two minutes behind, go get him!"

Kaldmodammen ~26 K   
We were doing pretty well, trying to stay in the shade when possible and dunking our heads in every other stream to cool down. I was worrying since I had hardly touched my food and only nibbled on nuts and some bars. We saw some guys lumbering in front of us and pushed a little bit to overtake them along a rural dirt road. When we overtook them I noticed the 50K bibs and thought we wasted energy on someone who were just about to turn around again for the shorter race. The first signs of fatigue were showing and I could feel my neck being warm. This will be harder than I thought.

Going uphill

We got to the aid station and the turn around for the 50k rejoicing and jubilant; the heat sapped our strength and the warm, flat coke was a godsend. Being Norwegian a slice of bread with a spread of salami is the most boring item in a school lunch pack, but at the aid station it was just glorious. It has never tasted as good, it tasted of victory.

I love the smell of salami in the morning.

We didn't stay in the gastronomic hotspot for long however, as we were looking for our dropbags. Someone said it was up ahead, so we went up ahead; a steep and rocky climb for about 100 meters until we got to the checkpoint which didn't have any dropbags. Matthew and I debated whether the guy we asked misunderstood us and we should go back or if we had enough food for the rest of the race. I was just tired and didn't want to head back down again because it would crush me mentally to climb back up, and I hadn't even gone through a third of my food. Matthew had packed lightly and was dependent of this resupply so he wanted to go back down again. I grudgingly went with him and filled my pack with a couple of zip-lock bags, which might have been a mistake - the pack was heavy and I hadn't even used up my first.

The Turnaround

"Faenfaenfaenfaen!" I was feeling sorry for myself; I was lost and shin deep in mud. I had managed to struggle up a long climb and knew that it would be a long descent down to the halfway point, if I found a way out of this nightmarish landscape that could be used as a location for scene for a film about the Somme 1916.

Suddenly I saw a runner peeking at me from the hill behind me; he waved and head down another direction. Fuck!

I was running downhill again, on a wide dirtroad, so my spirit soared again. But the halfwaypoint was still unbelievably far off and for every meter I ran downhill meant a meter of suffering back up.

Suddenly I saw Matthew again, he was hiking not so casually anymore.

"God, I'm finished, if you hurry up, you'll catch me," Yeah, right.

It got my racing instinct back up again and I pushed on.

Andorsrud, 41K
The guy who had waved to me strolled past, nodding and pointing to the car park just ahead.

"At-fucking-last!" was my response. My eyes were stinging from the sweat and I had realized that I hadn't lubbed up between my ass cheeks. They felt like they were glued to each other, so I grabbed one cheek and pulled at it - I didn't hear, but I swear I felt a tearing noise. Lord have mercy, it was painful, and it got even worse when a stream of sweat flowed down my crack.

Now I was in my municipality and at what I thought would be a critical point of the race - I had enough cash to take a bus home and feared that would be too tempting, but it was thankfully not even on my mind. Butthurt and warm I started on the climb back up.

I hiked hard, and actually sprinted up a steep section when I saw dead adder stretched across the road. I'm terrified of snakes and their smaller brethren.

Mapreading Blues

Dammyra, 47K

And here is where the race almost came undone. I got to the checkpoint and went straight up a smaller trail because of some plastic ribbons hanging on some trees. I didn't notice they were different from the green ones that had been used earlier and I didn't bother to check the map since it seemed obvious. So off I went for 3-4Ks before realizing I was completely off-course. I saw a energy gel cap on the ground and assumed it had to be one from the race until I found out, no, I'm definitely lost. I got up the map and dithered a bit before I decided trying a smaller trail to save time. After 15 minutes I got to my senses and backtracked, probably having lost an hour and, more crucially, my morale. From this point it was just a death march back.

I met a big swede on the way back to the course; he had kept getting lost in this race, but was cheerful, which didn't help me any. He chatted away and tried to urge me on, but I just wanted to be by myself and suffer in silence. At a small incline I just shuffled slowly and let him get away.

Now I had to loudly bully myself to run every time I had stopped or hiked. My legs were getting sore and my left knee felt very tight. I actually slapped my head a few times just to get running after hiking up a hill.

I really don't remember anything else than suffering and moaning at this point. I made it to the feedstation where the mr. Penis just arrived in his car and he had brought fresh pizza. He first offered me a ride, which I declined and then offered pizza, which I still can't fathom that I also declined.

"Are you sure? You don't look too good,"

"s,dfnjslkdlfns" I gibbered, I really couldn't string a coherent thought together and found it hard to explain why I just wanted to get on with it. Obviously I should have stopped for a few minutes to eat the pizza slice; it would have done wonders not just physically, but also given me a much needed mental boost. I trudged on knowing I had a lot of downhills ahead, which for once I didn't look forward to that as my legs were paying for the earlier ones I had bombed down.

Deathmarch 

The way down from the feedstation to Hanekleiva was just bad. My quads and knees were hurting, I had stopped to piss for the first time and it was the color of dark tea, my ass cheeks were on fire, I heard some runners catching up with me and it was getting dark as I stumbled up for the last, but long climb up to Hvittingen. It was a long, but fun and technical descent, now it was a stab in the heart of my efforts to get that damn belt buckle. It's here I questioned my sanity and why the fuck I had gotten myself into this situation. As in NUC I started to complain loudly about everything; absurdly abusing the landscape for being deceiving and the trails for making no sense.

When I finally got to the top the army couple caught up with me. They got to the ground, took off their shoes and started to eat - just taking a rest with neatness and precision. I squeezed out a few drops of coke colored piss and chatted with them. I didn't dare to sit down and told them about the strange tint of my urine. They said it didn't sound good. At all. That scared me into finishing this thing faster, so I left them and started on one of the most painful descents I've ever done.     

"How are you doing?" I checked my phone and I had just received a message from Matthew. I was closing in on check point 2 and was seriously considering just curling up to sleep under a tree. The army guys had overtaken me a long time ago and even though I was out of water I hadn't bothered to refill my bottles - I was a raving maniac at this point, giving my trademark abuse to a conspiring signpost. I just remember a dark forest with every norwegian, spanish and english swear words piercing the serene silence.

And the messages just got worse.

The Home Stretch   

I felt immense relief when I saw some lights in the distance and got to the farm stead, though it was short-lived as I stepped on the asphalt - I got some surprising jolts of pains up my legs and hips. Great. I had to walk a fair bit in the last couple of Ks.

I was on the verge of tears when a car stopped and a writer from Kondis(a norwegian magazine) got out to take pictures as he told me: "It's just 1100 meters left!" I guess he thought he was being encouraging, but you just don't say it like that. In my mind I was perhaps 800 meters off, now my sadistic brain started to count down: "1099 - 1098 - 1097... oh, for fuck's sake brain, thanks a lot!"

"You just couldn't say 1,1km, could you?" ©Kondis.no\Olav Engen

Matthew met me hundred meters of the finish and I tried to sprint in. It was just Mr. Penis who impatiently congratulated me and gave me five minutes to fill up some water before I unceremoniously changed to warm clothes and got in Matthew's car.

"Congratulations with your first ultrafinish, man. Now wear that buckle with pride."

The finish was quick and emotionless, all I wanted was to get home and go to sleep.

Epilogue
It was strange, I really hated the race and decided that I never would do this again, especially as I ventured into the shower and the unsurprising pain when water trickled down my crack. My colleagues thought I was nuts as I hobbled around in the office taking pride in that rather cheesy belt buckle that was so important to me, and I guess I could agree with them. It is nuts. It is bat shit insane. Nobody, not even me could see a point in the suffering. However I met up with Matthew for a few beers a couple of days later and we talked the whole night about the race and we enabled each other with this weird addiction, for some reason I was starting to look forward to the next race.

Pros
I finished. That's about it. The shoes and the hydration vest were good too.

Cons
*Food. I still hadn't found a good solution there. My energy was yo-yoing because of the erratic intake.
*Again I started harder than I should have. Especially the first climb and the first descent.
*Training. Even though I had prepared more for this than the previous race, I should have done more long runs and a lot more hiking.
*Map reading. The clue is knowing when you have to get the map up and getting better at comparing the terrain with the map. It was in the end an easy enough mistake, even the eventual winner of the race did the same, but for me it was an almost fatal blow to my morale.
*Mentality. One could say that since I finished I showed tenacity, but I think I should have done better if I had whined less and pushed myself on at a few points where I just gave up and started to walk.
*Preparation. Lubing my butt cheeks. Jesus...


 



  





  

Marathon Fail

Now I really didn't have any other ambition about this Easter Monday marathon than doing it as a long training run. Until a coworker heard about it and challenged me to go under his 3:26 time. Even though I wanted to tell him I wouldn't try to go for a specific time I guess he expected me to crush it easily enough and would take my "training run" approach as either an excuse or a belittling brag or perhaps both. So I quietly agreed. And I think that ruined the race.

I was at a good weekly mileage at that point with 90% of my runs on lovely snow packed trails and had only just started up some shorter runs on the few bare spots of asphalt I could find. The race route was really just outside my doorstep and consisted of a 10k loop around the river on road and some icy gravel paths. I had managed 2 loops of it before getting bored and going home on a training run in the previous week.

I woke up not feeling motivated and not feeling great, in fact I had to go to the toilet three times in the morning. The weather was crisp as I decided for shorts, fleece sweater and gloves. Because of the icy parts I went for the trail shoes even though they really don't make that much of a difference. Ice is Ice.

I got to an ok start with the 143 other runners, being really careful of my previous idiot starts and decided to keep the pace around 5 min per km. My legs felt a bit stiff and my shin acted up again, though not as bad as in the Egersund half marathon. The icy parts were as terrible as I had feared, but other than that it was a beautiful sunny day. I noticed a lot of people enjoying themselves and I was behind a couple of guys doing the half marathon chatting away, apparently having a great time - that's when I realized I wasn't enjoying it at all. Just after 10k I had the first thoughts of quitting. I felt fine physically, but my mind wasn't into it.

The half marathon time was 1:42 which is only 5 minutes slower than my half marathon PB and my legs still felt good, but I had to push myself mentally to keep going. I had just recently heard a podcast interview of the legendary running guru and physician Dr. Tim Noaks and his advise on finishing the last half faster than the first, so I guess that was my strategy. I thought I could pick up the pace, but even though I felt like I was  increasing the speed my watch told me otherwise. It can be devastating to see that in spite of your increased effort you're actually slowing down. At 25k my legs stiffened up, my feet started to ache and my hips were screaming. To make matters worse I started to taste my own breakfeast and when my Garmin announced 30k I scrambled behind a parked car and vomited. The race was over. I didn't even consider roughing it one more lap and I guess this was the excuse I needed to head home for my warm bed.

All in all it was a miserable race, even as a training run it was a failure, and I really struggle to take out a lesson from it. Was it the surface? The shoes? The training? The diet? Motivation? Or all of them combined? I guess I really hadn't a clear goal or plan for the race apart from it being in my neighborhood. If I had taken it as a training run I shouldn't have had worried about finishing times and splits. I obviously didn't prepare for racing it as I had spent the weekend working a heavy hangover and really neglected road running the weeks before. No, I'll forget about this one and come back next year with a clear goal and sense of purpose. I want that sub-3:30 time, even if I hate looped courses like that.

Though I limped back home in pain my legs and my stomach recovered quickly and I was up and running a couple of days later. For what it is worth my recovery time has dropped considerably the last month.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/291702582

First race of the year

Egersund half marathon March 9, 2013
21.1km 1:37:18, new PB

Finally the start of this years race season. I thought a half marathon would be a nice way to check my fitness and since there are few bare roads in this part of the country I had to travel to the Oil Capitol Stavanger and meet up again with the Original Bar Runner Phil. Just the notion of flying out to do a race gave me rather childish sense of professionalism, which went away when I ordered a couple of beers at an airport bar.

The Bar Runner has landed

Phil and I drove down south in the scenic west coast landscape to Egersund, which is a lovely little town where we stopped for a coffee as we were very early for a change. Phil let on that he hadn't trained at all and was worried that he would come in last and I was very nervous and feared that running on bare asphalt would destroy me. I guess we were preparing excuses for failure, but I think being nervous before a race is a good thing, though I was more giddy now than I can remember ever being.

We were the only ones wearing shorts, but we compromised with wearing gloves which I wouldn't regret as it was cool and windy. After warming up and proffering more excuses we went to the start and did a White Man High Five before counting down for the start.

Real men don't wear tights

My goal for the race was a new PB(1:45) and I would be disappointed if I didn't break 1:40, Phil said he expected a 1:35 and I guess I secretly hoped to better that.

The race started suddenly and I went off very fast. Way too fast, as it turned out. From the school and out to the road I tried to get in a good position among the lead runners. I overtook a lot of people and were perhaps 10-15 runners behind the lead. After a kilometer there were two groups falling in line against the headwind in front of me, taking turns in front. I was just out of reach of the second group, never gaining and struggling to keep up. My shins flared up and felt really inflamed, after 3K the group distanced itself and I got caught by several runners. My paced dropped and I struggled so bad I considered for a few moments of dropping out. I looked at my watch and I was surprised that my average pace was just 5:00/km because I felt really slow.

After the aid station at 5K I had let a lot of people pass me and it got to me, I tried unsuccessfully to keep up with a line of runners as the wind took its toll, but I was still low on energy. A lone runner struggled to overtake me so I decided to hang on behind him. He kept a steady 5 minute pace and he kind of shielded me of the wind so I could recover. It didn't take long for me to feel the strength coming back and my shins felt better.

I had to be disciplined not to pick up the pace and break away, I thought staying behind him until the turning point at the halfway aid station would where I would run off was the best strategy, but I felt impatient and wanted to pick up the pace.

At the turning point I ran up alongside him, offering to pull him along, but he just gave me a thumbs up and so I took off without feeling guilty of cruising in his wake for the last few Ks. Not long after I heard someone catching up was surprised when an older guy screamed past me, I thought it was my previous windshield who was behind me. The old guy was my new target and I picked up the pace once again. I was overtaking a lot of runners on the way back and I saw that I was also gaining on the Old Guy. Now I was running as hard as I could. My laces came undone and my face was raw from wiping my face with my gloved hand.

In the last straight stretch into Egersund I overtook an attractive girl, but I ruined my chance of making a good impressions as I almost tripped on my own shoelaces. In the last K the road turned to the right and went under a railway and I finally caught the Old Guy, he was surprised and started to pick up the pace. In the last climb I went as hard as I could and was on the verge of blacking out when I crossed the finish line.

A volunteer offered me some bananas, but the thought of eating just made me want to vomit. I went to the car and got something to drink and rest and wait for Phil.

http://connect.garmin.com/activity/282176253

Pros:
The finish was pretty good, I maintained a nice and steady pace from 10k and out. I think I recovered pretty well after the start and conserving energy behind the guy from 5k to 10k was an astute move.

Cons:
The Idiot Start. I never seem to learn. Instead of finding my own rhythm and pace I jockey for position and run on others. I really need to learn from that. I guess I could have shaved a few more minutes of the time if I had started easier.

In the end I got a new PB, but the start overshadowed the whole race for me, but it was soon forgotten as we had some beers and Jägermeister later that evening. Even though I really enjoy just the training runs in itself, it is also great to run with and compete with other people and see improvement. I don't train and run to compete, but it certainly helps bringing out the extra gear and effort.     

New Years Resolution

Now we write 20123 for the next few weeks and there's a natural point in time to end a season and start a new one. Of course, making a list of sorts is mainstream and boring, so I'll do just that, but I'll like to sum up The Bar Running Year of 2012. I guess a new years resolution should be ceremoniously announced for all to see and get ridiculed when I eventually fail it. As far as I know one is supposed to stand upright and state it will you have your eyes closed at the strike of midnight on new years eve. Unfortunately I was hardly upright and I were having my eyes shut at the time because of danger close fireworks. If I made a new years resolution I've forgotten it, so I guess a repeat of the last years one will do fine: To finish an Ultra.

Main Goal
That was of course my ultra debut, Nordmarka Ultra Challenge. Now I didn't finish, sadly, but as a foray into the unknown it taught me a few valuable lessons, most of which I've written about in the race report. Not everything is possible if you haven't prepared enough. In contrast to the half marathon and the full marathon debuts, were I also felt slightly unprepared training-wise, I manged to force myself through it with shear willpower. Before the NUC I had the same feeling, but assumed it was just the pre race nerves and that I would eventually pull through, though there is no way I can finish a race like that without better training.

Best Race
The Helteløpet in Telemark was a repeat of my first race there in that I really enjoyed it. The weather, the tactics(or the lack of it), the companionship and the beautiful scenery made it a special day. The trails were nice and run-able, and, apart from slicing up my heels and struggling in the last downhills it was as a good a run as I can do. I'm definitely doing it this year too.

Best Bar
Solli Bowling. Because I never go bowling and since it's great getting drunk on the company credit card. It was fun, at least the parts I remember, and the next day was like the film the Hang Over. I woke up in a train in a different county without my keys, jacket, mobile phone or memory of how I got on a train. The rest of the day was an epic effort to unravel the mysteries of the night before. There was a strip club, crashing a birthday party, getting off a buss to early in the middle of nowhere and probably trying to keep warm until the first train started in the morning. It was legendary and it was awkward the following Monday.

Watching The Big Lebowski before going out bowling and drinking
results in way too many film quotes and white russians.

Best Run
The Kongsberg-Drammen one, because it was somewhat spontaneous and it was just so full of impressions. I got the idea the night before and then decided that I would do it that morning before I took the train to Kongsberg. I remember it with a soundtrack even though I don't listen to music on my runs, but I guess an upbeat Sigur Ros song would fit. It was winter and I had a gorgeous red sunset behind me while I ran for the sparkling valley of Drammen. A cathartic running experience as one can have.  

Shoes of the Year
My trusty New Balance MT 101s, even though I bought the upgraded 110s, I won't throw these ones out yet. A remarkably light and minimal shoe, though with great grip and relative durability over the whole year. Yes, they took some beating, yes, they cut open my heels and yes, they slipped off my foot in almost every marsh or bog I splashed into, but they fit perfectly and were perfect as a transition to a more forefoot running stride. I ran at least a 1000 K in those shoes and hopefully I get to use them a little bit more this year.

What 2013 will bring
Unfortunately, the Normarka Ultra Challenge is cancelled for unknown reasons so I will not get my revenge, but I realize 2012 was the start and that this year will be the first full race year. I've learnt a lot from my trials and errors, this year I'll have to put my lessons to good use. As my friend and room mate said when I told him about my ambitions this year: "Dude, you didn't even finish one ultra last year and now you're signing up for three?" He didn't even take his eyes of the TV where he was killing for fun in BF3. I guess I didn't have good explanation, nor would he have heard it above the noise of the fire fight unfolding on screen, but his point was well taken.

When they eventually develop remote controlled robotic soldiers,
this is the guy to control them.

But then again you need that crazy optimism and insane persistence to keep putting yourself through all those hours of pain, sweat and exhaustion for an achievement that most other people I know would just shake their head disbelievingly at. So failing last year in what was truly an overly ambitious ultra debut I'm raising the stakes and will go for three this year. All or nothing.

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result."
-Albert Einstein

He was obviously thinking about ultra runners.

Race Report NUC 2012

Nordmarka Ultra Challenge is aptly named, with Ultra as an adjective, not a noun. It is a 83 km foot race across the forest north of Oslo, with 2 700 meters of elevation gain going through 22 checkpoints. In the end I was forced to admit defeat at Checkpoint 16, about 60 km and 13 hours from start, when I was 30 minutes behind the cut off time. I didn't feel devastated, I had just been too slow and ill-prepared.

The race started 05:00 Saturday morning in the middle of no-where. I had woken up in a sofa at my sisters apartment just three hours before and gotten on a taxi van with several other runners to the start. The nervousness and uncertainty had vanished, just leaving an unsettled stomach. I met up with Matthew, a Canadian living in Drammen, and we were fidgeting with our gear and wondering what to pack, what to wear and what to leave in the drop bag. I left the the trousers and was still undecided about my jacket. A Belgian guy, Wouter, strolled around in short, minimal tights and a short sleeved shirt and I guess that was the cue for leaving my jacket as well (I'd regret that later).

We gathered up, counted down and set off into the night. Straight from the start there was a long, steep climb that everybody hiked up. I was a bit worried since I felt a strain on my back that early, and wondered if I had trained too little with the back pack that was now heavier(yes). Thankfully it flattened out and I felt that the race finally started. It wasn't as bad going through the muddy trail in the night as I had feared. I felt good, the pace was just a bit slower than what I felt was manageable and there was a sense of companionship with a lot of easy chatter. I also enjoyed the light from the guy behind me as my headlight was really weak.

We cruised past the two first checkpoints easily without getting lost or any big mishaps(I think I fell only once). There was a long, slight ascent where some hiked and some ran. I felt like running it as I knew there were plenty of steeper climbs just ahead. Matthew, having the flu(!), was just hiking and he wished me luck as I set off. Reaching the climb on the narrow and technical trail I felt really uncomfortable again. Hiking was a lot harder on me and I felt faint, just 5-6 km into the race. I had some logistical problems with getting out the gel with the handheld water bottle and the map in one hand, trying to unscrew the cap of the gel with my other hand and my teeth while moving on increasingly muddier trails in the dark. I wasn't looking forward to repeating that complicated maneuver every hour. Suddenly Matthew trudged past and I felt compelled to pick up the pace.

Checkpoint 3, 7 km from start
The worst mud eased off at the third checkpoint and I followed a long line of bobbing lights down to a lake, farts and burps breaking the serene silence unashamedly and the sweet smell of energy gel filling the fresh predawn air. 

I caught up with Matthew again and we kept a good pace towards the fourth checkpoint.
"How's your flu, Matt?"
"Fine. Your stomach?"
"Ok, I guess, I burp a lot."
"It's better to let out some gas, both ends."
"Yeah, about that, I'm worried about the other end.. getting more out than I bargained for."
"Well, you wont be first to squat down, or the only one."

Keeping to the topic I fell ass-first into the mud, sliding a meter and needing help getting up again. We reached the checkpoint, almost 10 km into the race and starting on a climb south-west. A lady(Miriam, I think her name is) had caught up with us and we were witnessing a spectacular view as first sunlight broke through the early morning fog. We were traversing a ridge to it's highest point at 688 meters. We had a little short rest, getting in some food, taking in the view and having quick map check. This was new territory for me, as I hadn't run this far on my recces (brit. slang for reconnaissance). I told Matthew that the worst of the muddy trails were over, of course it was bold statement considering I only knew about 1/4 of the course. He smiled wryly. "We'll see about that."

The trail winded down and we ran as a group, staying with the Miriam and an older guy from Trønderlag, that seemed proficient with the map. After not seeing a blue trail marker for a while we realized that we were lost and had to back track. A little later we did a map check again and Miriam and the Trønder set off, Matthew and I weren't so sure about their decision. We followed another trail for a few hundred meters before we realized it was completely wrong. We met a Red Cross woman who affirmed that the two others were right all along. As we got to the gravel road we stopped by an ambulance. He told us that a runner in the race had fallen, getting a root in his eye.

Checkpoint 6, 16 km from start.
The gravel road was a blessing and we actually ran for a few k's. We got to the checkpoint where a guy who was taking pictures surprised us when he told us that we were in the middle of the pack. Only twelve others had passed. I was certain we were a trailing in the back of the pack. He also said that the guy who had injured himself was taken care off, and that he apparently could see with his hurt eye.

We climbed up a long and slender ridge that gave us the best view of the day. Though I struggled every time we were forced to walk, for some reason that drained me of energy and I felt better again as soon as I got to run again. Matthew had a pretty fierce pace when hiking I just couldn't keep up with, and I felt that I was slowing him down every time I led on.

Checkpoint 7, 20 km.
We finally caught the two runners again, the Couple, as I dubbed them, and decided to hang on to them as they were better with maps than us. We locked in as a group and set off on a long and fast downhill. Miriam and I were pulling away on every descent and every runable flat just to get caught as soon as we had to hike. Matthew and the Trønder pulled away on the long hikes and climbs. This happened for some time.

We got lost for a little bit, and had to explore to get back on the trail, when Massimo, a young Italian living in Norway, caught us. I was surprised that he was behind us and not in front, but I guess he had a more sensible race plan(which isn't much, as I had none) and a more sustainable pace.

"Have you fallen in a stream?" He asked, running behind me.
"No, why?" I felt the back of my shorts, completely drenched.
"Maybe your camelbak is leaking."
"Shit." I had filled my camelbak with energy drink, and I could feel the bottom of the pack dripping.
"I'll have to discard it at the next checkpoint."

Checkpoint 8, 24 km.
I got the bladder out, took a long swig and emptied it on the ground before I stuffed back in. I had a few mouthful of burritos and watched as Massimo went off and then Matthew. He said he'd just keep walking to get a little ahead as he wasn't in the best shape. Miriam and the Trønder had a longer rest and I stayed with them. The Trønder told us that it was wet, boggy and probably muddy terrain ahead. Great.

"This is just ridiculous!" Matthew scrambled up some boulders in a stream.
"You've heard of Barkleys?" I grunted an affirmative and looked up the "trail" - rocks, boulders, mud, water.
"It's like that, a hard course just to be hard so few as possible can finish."

We had fallen back some and were getting fed up by the unrelenting difficult terrain. As we were forced to hike  almost all the time, my energy level was getting really low, and to have a goal to strive for I was waiting to get to the checkpoint before having something to eat.  The slog from checkpoint 8 to 9 was the first real low point. We crossed in to a nature reserve, which explained why the trail was almost nonexistent. A couple of swedes with walking poles passed us. Eventually we caught Miriam again and I felt better as we got more runable terrain. Getting a little boost in energy as we caught the swedes. The Trønder caught us again, which was a bit deflating since he was just walking, having to give up running a while back. Matthew thought it was curious how Miriam always was pushing on and getting a little lead just for the Trønder to catch her later, every time. I think Matthew decided to follow that tactic too, but I just couldn't keep up with just walking so I had to follow Miriam.

Checkpoint 9-12
I can't remember Checkpoint 9, but some ways in between there and 10 another couple caught up from behind. We were chatting away and I felt pretty good. The woman, Ninette seemed to be well prepared and talked about the next cut off time at checkpoint 11. We seemed to be making decent progress, but not great.  I taggled along and I saw Matt for the last time, he wasn't looking too well.

I guess we kept a good pace and we must have been chatting a lot because I can't really remember much of the course until we got to checkpoint 11 with some time left to the cut off time. Ninette and the other guy I had been running with set of immediately, but my energy level was at bottom again and I needed to eat something solid. The problem with the burritos was that they were packed in the main compartment so I had to unstrap the back pack, zipper it up, throw down the waterbottle and the map before I could fish up the half eaten burrito. It was a hassle to do this every time I craved some solid food, as I'm not too fond of the gels and I had to conserve my energy bars that I had in the easy-to-reach belt-pockets.

The swedes came in, checked out and zoomed off while I was munching on my precious burrito. After drinking up the last of the water I decided to tuck away the waterbottle in the pack as soon I had refilled it in the next stream.

Somehow I overtook the swedes at a small stream, where we all filled up water. They stayed for a bit and I set off running for the most part. They eventually caught up when we hit a long, gradual ascent and we had a map check at a cross road where I could see Ninette and the other guy running down the wrong way. We shouted they were running the wrong way, but they didn't hear us(this happend alot, by the way, there always was a good spirit and sense of sportsmanship during the whole race). The swedes left me for dead, but I found comfort in a roll of Mentos I had forgotten in one of the side pockets.

Ninette and the tall guy zoomed past me before the top of the hill and the 12th checkpoint, encouraging me to keep up, but I just couldn't hike any faster and I wished them good luck. From the top of the hill and down to a lake I realized I could just slide the mapbook between my back and the backpack. I guess I slapped my forehead and let out a "D'oh!" because it really felt better having both of your hands free.

Another low point hit along the lake, apart from having to squat low in some bush and wiping my butt with some leafs, which was a relief rather than low point. I had been running along the rim of the lake getting to the 13th checkpoint taking a breath while emptying my shoes for the nth time of dirt and gravel. Just when I set off the Trønder walked up asking if the checkpoint was nearby. I was surprised and nodded and pointed down. As I ran a bit I realized he had taken an almost parallel route along the lake, on a gravel road! I guess it is a gray area thing wether or not that was cheating. He might have missed the trail, and I felt cheated that I hadn't seen that and taken that route as well. I decided to get a gap on him in the little piece of road that was left and ran hard until I had to turn into the wild again.

Now the weather turned nasty and I really could have used that jacket. It hailed at one point, and I was getting wet and cold. I also got unreasonably angry with the map for "lying" about the distance, realizing  that I had scanned and printed different sections of the map with different scales and resolutions. There was no way I could deduce the distances from landmark to landmark on the different sheets. I sacrificed accuracy for compactness.

Checkpoint 14, 50 km.
The course here went south in a narrow valley along, and sometimes on, a stream. The checkpoint was on top of a hill 630 meters high. The demoralizing thing about it was that you took of the main trail and had to climb up to the top heading back north again, tag the top and head back down again. It was a 200 meter climb from the valley floor up to the top. Just before the left turn to the checkpoint, I heard the Trønder closing in. I was pretty deflated when he strode passed me and only groaned when he asked me how I was doing. When I started on the climb to the top I met Ninette and the tall guy heading down. They looked rudely alive and fresh. I kept swearing and cursing, wondering why they put this unnecessary detour up this hill, it made no sense!

Finally I got to the top and I enjoyed my last burrito, getting some much needed warmth from the sun that suddenly broke through. Talking about breaking through, a guy just broke through the brush from the north, checked in and asked me if this was the way down. I watched him head down with my mouth open. Is everybody cutting corners? I checked the map and I saw he had no reason to come from that direction. Even if he was lost, that would be a stretch to claim to just have stumbled upon the checkpoint. But who is checking, anyway. It was all runnable from here so I kept going.

Checkpoint 15, 53 km           
The sun was starting to dip when I broke out of the forest and into a cluster of cabins and farms along a big lake. I guess I got distracted be the livestock looking vacantly at me so I missed a turn and ran 20 minutes on what felt like beautifully smooth and straight gravel road in the wrong diretion. A map check, a sigh and a slightly slower run back before I hit the right crossroad down to a little bridge that also was the checkpoint. I had been worrying about cut off times and found that I had little more than an hour to get to the next checkpoint. Which was 5 km away. I kept telling myself that I could do it, that I can do 10 K easily in an hour and so on to egg me on, but inside I knew it was hopeless. A friend of mine who was supposed to pick me up at the finish still hadn't answered me and confirmed and I was out of Mentos, both things worried and upset me. I gave it a go, but the 5 k to the checkpoint was just improbably long. The sun went down, it got a lot colder and the trails just got muddier and muddier. At least I didn't have to look at the map as much since the footprints of the earlier runners were clear. At this point I didn't enjoy the spectacular views along the ridge I was cresting as I was cursing, moping and shouting out in frustration.

A signpost indicating 3 km to Kikut (the checkpoint)
RODNEY: WHAT!! How can it 3 km left, I've run straight through this muddy shithole for like 4km!! No way it's 3 km left!! It's impossible!! F***** beep beep beep
SIGNPOST: Hey, dude, I'm just doing my job, man...
RODNEY: Sorry, I know it's not your fault, but f****...

I was losing my mind, feeling I should be closing in on the checkpoint, but never getting there. I was probably just a few minutes off when I turned left in an opening in the terrain, seeing grass beat down by what I assumed were earlier runners. I got to the top of a little hill and ran in to, some big antennas and a radiotower? I looked on the map and it didn't show any masts or towers in this area. The sense of relief turned to anxiety as I decided to backtrack, and yes, I'd turned too soon. Faeniforpultemøkkahelvete!

DNF(did not finish)
I finally got to signpost that pointed to the checkpoint, but I ignored it and went instead down another trail that should lead to a cluster of cabins along a gravel road. According to the race organizers(whom I hated intensely at this point) it was the easiest way to civilization if you had to drop out or missed the cut off at this point. I missed it by 20-30 minutes. Though I was out and my legs felt fine, albeit a bit raw and sore, I only considered to finish the distance only for a second. I could have, but didn't feel motivated to do so - the ridiculous amount of mud and waterlogged trails had killed off the last shred of trail running enjoyment I had. So I had to consider my way back to civilization. I knew the last 10 km of the route of the 20 left, but I really didn't want to go through that again, now in darkness with my useless headlight. Besides, I was really cold and starting to get hungry. There was a gravel road going all the way to suburbs of Oslo, but I really didn't have an idea of how, when and where I could get a bus. And I had gotten lost again. The little trail down to the gravel road was taking ages and I consider for moment what kind of injury would justify a rescue party and how I could inflict it.

I sent a text to the race director that I missed my cut off and had dropped out, and tried to call my pick up again. No answer. Shit! I called Matthew, he had dropped out ages ago and was back in Drammen. I got down to some houses and saw that there were cars and light. Thank God! I knocked on the door and made myself look pathetic, which really wasn't hard. I blamed a sprained ankle and asked if they could help me get back to Oslo. They were understandably reluctant, as they were preparing some dinner, but they gave me some hot chocolate while the older gentleman decided.
"What the hell, I need to tank up the car anyway."
On the way down I asked if they got bothered a lot by idiots like me.
"Yeah, you wouldn't believe," he said while smiling slyly. I guess I should have felt guilty, but I was cold, hungry, tired and beyond care.

Postscript
In the end I felt a lot less disappointed about not finishing than I thought I would. Yes yes, a great achievement getting so far and all that, but this is the first time I haven't finished a race or reached a specific goal I've set for myself. I'm surprised by not really feeling anything. I did give it all I had, I really don't see how I could have done much differently physically. The only thing that stuck out was the preparation, and here I got a ton of stuff to tweak before the next race. The gear, i.e. hydration systems, backpacks, food, shoes, needs to be changed or fixed for the next time. The training wasn't specific enough either.

• The backpack had too small pockets on the hip, or too few of them. They were perfect and accessible, but could only hold so many gels and energybars. It was really a hassle to get to the stuff in the main compartment. 
• The handheld waterbottle is great for faster, easier courses with aid-stations and when you don't need a back pack, it complicated things when I needed two free hands getting stuff in the pack. The bladder was useless - I carried a lot of weight for a long time for nothing in the end.  
• Less gel, more bars, I guess. Or the gels were fine, it was just the clumsy arrangement with the previous points that complicated things. I wasn't eating often enough at the start which seems to have played havoc with my energy level throughout.
• I love the shoes, my trusty MT 101's, but they are pretty worn and a hole in mesh above the toes let the left shoe fill with mud and gravel all the time and I had to stop and empty them several times. One of the toes is pretty bruised up after having pebbles gnawing on it. The lugs underneath where too worn down so I slipped a lot. And the heel caps cut into to my achilles heel, though it wasn't too bad.
• The mapbook I made was in the end pretty useless. I really should have just bought the map and covered it in plastic. 

The biggest mistake was not walking more in training, I mean, what good was all the hill workouts for if we hiked 99% of all the uphills of the course? From the first climb until the last I was walking, I was struggling and felt like I had spent more energy than I did while running the flats. Matthew said he liked the uphills because he could take it easy and conserve energy; I definitely didn't share that sentiment.

And finally, training in the same environment as the race. The two training sessions I did on the course were essential for getting that far, but it was nowhere near enough for finishing. It was really wet and muddy, I've repeated that a lot for a reason. My local training routes are on drier and wider, more accessible trails, which there were virtually none of in the race.

In the end, I can't say I underestimated the race, because I knew it would be hard, but I had prepared too little and too late. The winner finished in 12 hours and 22 minutes and 15 of 26 finished, so it was a slightly ambitious ultra debut for me.

Matthew and I complained that this wasn't really a Ultra Race more than it was an adventure, since we really weren't running that much and just slogged through in uncharted territory, and I think that we swore that we wouldn't do this race again. But I got to a point in the end after dropping out that I promised myself to beat this course one day, just out sheer vengeance for all the suffering it had caused me that long day. One thing is for certain, though, I've just gotten started with ultras.          












  

Getting Lost and Mad Cow Land Mines

It's less than a day and a half left to the Big Race, the Biggest Challenge so far, and I'm pretty nervous. I'm worrying if I've trained enough, if my preparation has been too slap-dash, if my diet has been good enough, if my shoes are too light or too worn. I guess it's normal to be anxious and feeling self-doubt before, and I'm aware of that, perhaps too aware of it and then that worries me too. It is starting to wear on my mood as well, even my  colleagues are wondering why I'm suddenly so grouchy and quick-tempered. Male-PMS and not getting laid, has been the most popular theories. Even my closest supervisor asked me if everything was ok. Now I just want to get to the start and get on with it.

"I'm fine, you asshole!"

The last couple of weeks have been rather slow, with little running. Once again I've excelled at tapering down, in fact, I've almost not run compared to two weeks before, which is probably too much. A couple of weekends ago I recced the start of the course, taking the train from Oslo and hiked 5 K from Grua trainstation to Mylla Lake where the start is to be held. It starts with an immediate climb which had me power walking up most parts of it. That was as steep as anything I've done, though it flattened out eventually and presented an hazardous wet and slippery mud trail over bedrock. I'm not looking forward to skeedaddle over that during the early morning darkness as I slipped and nearly fell a dozen times.

And just 3 Ks in I got lost. Suddenly it opened up, and I'm always weary when the the trees give way for open expanses of bog land. The trail markers ceased to present themselves, so I looked back, and to my horror I couldn't even see my own footsteps. I tried to recognize some land features, but clusters of trees all around barred a good view. I kept a southern bearing until I got to a hill, one that I mistakenly recognized on the map to be a slight elevation on the route. Well, the hill just got bigger and bigger until I realized I had been veering too far off to the west and that there really wasn't any marked trails around for quite some distance. In the end I got to some cliffs that gave a panoramic view of a big lake. If I could get to it's northern edge I would get back on the trail, even though it was just a kilometer away how the crow flies, I was unfortunately without my jetpack(left it home, doh!) so I decided to rough it out and scale down the cliff.

It's carrying that or food and water.

That didn't last long, I got down one ledge through thick pine trees growing stubbornly in this rocky terrain being cut, slashed and bitch slapped in the face by the branches. I came to my senses and back tracked all the way down to the foot of the hill until I got to a small animal track that eventually led me to the marked trails. I made a mental note of ALWAYS backtrack when lost.

Relieved and on, well, not that much wider trail, I got going again and eventually got to the second checkpoint. From there I headed up north east with plenty of climbing. And mud. I went in knee deep several times and the short distance between the checkpoints felt a lot longer. I finally got there and waded out in the lake to clean out the shoes.

The next checkpoint was at a signpost. I ran past three in quick succession, before I decided to do a map check. I wasn't sure of where the right turn was, so I went back fifty meters to a signpost that didn't really look like the right one, but I headed down south since it looked like the correct trail.

Here the trail was nice and solid. I heard some cow bells in the distance and suddenly ran into an enormous bovine face. My god the size of the beast! Just behind it there were some cow kids calves running off nervously. The grown-up cows was left for a delaying action, no doubt, and it was down to a stand off between us. As there was a few hundred kilos of difference between them and me, I started to wave my hands and croaked "Boo!" that resulted in them charging me for a heart stopping second before they turn around and ran off after the kids calves that had disappeared into the forrest. That was a clever and noble display off motherly bravery, and I do like that I was perceived as threat, though I bet they laughed when I stepped in some fresh dung a little later. A vicious and callously placed bovine land mine.

"Lol, like total fail, Daisy! What a n00b!"

After the Bovine Crisis, I once again realized I was lost, or I knew where I was; I just wasn't where I was supposed to be. I should have backed up whole lot more earlier, and, at this point I was too far off to backtrack to get to the next checkpoint. I was also too tired and just too fed up to continue further, so I called it a night and decided to hit a dirt road back to the train station. Looking on the map I saw that there was a red marked trail going straight to the road, as it seemed shorter than tracking back, so I went for that. The only problem was that it was marked red, which means ski trails. They are usually easy to follow since it goes through terrain that is covered with snow. And snow tend to cover marshes. Especially during winter, which it isn't now. So for the third time I paid for not following my own rule(can it be a rule when I've never follow it?) and had to wade across a smelly marsh.

I eventually got back to the train station, worried about what could happen when I  run that course on race day, in darkness. It doesn't bode well, but at least I know the first 10-15 kilometres of the start and the finish. And that I HAVE TO BACKTRACK WHEN I'M LOST! I can be incredibly slow some times.

Back TRACK,! Track back! Brack Tack! Braghh!

   

The Heroes of Telemark

The awesome Kirk Douglas, speaking with a flawless Vinjemål.

Finally, after two years since running Helteløpet for the first time, the Bar Runners was toeing the starting line in beautiful Rauland, Telemark. They've changed the course from road to trail, added a few ekstra kilometers and Bar Runners had doubled the number of starters, even though Keiko, the human whale, had dropped out. Kristoffer "Hard as Nails" Wilthil stepped up and was anxious to test his long running skills. We left early and chose the scenic route which gave us just enough time to grab some coffee, change attire and lubricate danger areas.

Kris has just applied some Vaseline in "privacy".

The weather was rather cold and the clouds were dark and heavy, promising rain and posing the jacket-or-no-jacket dilemma for a few people when we got on the bus to start. We got to wait in a hotel lobby because of the cold, so we decided to book a room while we were up there. It would be nice to save us the trouble of looking for rooms after finishing, being tired and muddy and all that.

Getting cocky before the start.

After visiting the bathroom a few times, we got out of the hotels comfortable confines and jogged out to the start with a few minutes to, well, answer natures call for the last time. We were definitely well hydrated, and perhaps a bit nervous. Five minutes to go and we stripped down, fired up the Garmins and wondered if we had time for a last twinkle. We were just leaking water.

Fighting the urge to pee

And we're off! We noticed right away that we were going at a very good pace, perhaps too good and suddenly it was a cacophony of beeps as a dozen Garmins announced the passing of the first kilometer.

I knew that my best chance to get out of the crowd would be on the first climb so I wanted to get in a good position for the move. I skipped and dodged around people up a small hill and noticed that I hadn't told Kris about the plan, he was a little behind me and I couldn't stop. We nodded to each other and I went off attacking the first long climb. I had hoped to stay with him for longer, but the competitive instinct kicked in and I had to get in position. 

I charged up the hill like a maniac and was at one point worried that I overdid it, but before I got to winded we headed out to a single trail that slowed me down. I was in the back of a long line and my impatience and urge to overtake runners caused the first setback. The trail was pretty technical with mud, rocks and bogs so it was tricky to scan for space to overtake somebody and focusing on where to put your feet at the same time. After a few cheeky moves I got what I deserved; I snagged my foot on a root and fell hard on my elbow and shoulder. I heard the guy behind me go "whops!" and possibly "That's right, m*********er, cutting in front of me like that!" under his breath. I scrambled up before he could go past me, bruised, a few gashes, though nothing but my pride hurt. 

After focusing on the ground for awhile, I got in behind an older fellow that kept a good pace. I called him the Asics Dude because of the socks and I would stay close behind him for much of the race. We were overtaking people fast and when we got out of the single trail and down to a lake I made my first mistake - I got out of the trail and hurled myself down a rocky slope to overtake a handful of runners. When I got down in one piece and on a broad gravel road I realized that I had shot up my quads for nothing. It was plenty of room to overtake people on for the next couple of kilometers. Oh, well. I got behind Asics Dude and started on the next climb into another single trail.

At around 10K I got into a gaggle of runners on my own level - getting ahead on the uphills and falling back on the downhills, though it was mostly flat and on dirt road so it was rather even. There was a tall, long legged guy I kept passing on every little climb just for him to shoot past me on the downhill. After yo-yoing like this a few times we spoke about this and he said: "Well, you're a Hobbit, so you climb better. Oh, a long descent ahead, see you later!"

Frodo Baggins.  (photo by Telemarkshelten.no)

We got some chocolate and electrolyte at an aid station by the cheerful volunteers before getting on some technical single trailed terrain again. I felt good and full of energy ahead of 10-20 people before I almost lost my shoe in the bog. When it happend a few times I stopped to tie it tighter on just for the whole group that I spent the last half hour getting past, running off. It was a mental blow and to make matters worse, I nearly lost my other shoe. Both of my band-aids on my heels had been worn off and the heel caps of my shoes were digging into my achilles. To top it off, it was pretty much all downhill from there, literally. My quads were shoot, and I had a hard time watching people screaming past.

The course would flatten eventually and I felt better and better, my spirit getting boosted as we got closer to the finish and more people and volunteers cheered us on. With only 4 or 5 K to go I had closed in on the group that had zoomed past me earlier. 

An older guy suddenly snagged his foot on wire and crashed down awkwardly. I stopped to help him up again when I saw his distorted face. 

"Are you ok?" I asked.  

"I think my back is shot," He said as I helped him up. I saw him limp off with his hand on the small of his back. It must have been sad to throw in the towel so close to the finish.

Just a 2 K from the finish and we turned into a road. I hadn't realized that it was a steep climb left and I could spot the Asics Dude way up there, powerhiking, no less! I got in my short-stepped, tippy-tappy climbing mode and tiptoed past the whole group ahead of me, getting 5 meters behind mr. Asics. The last 700 meters to the finish was all downhill and I just couldn't get past him. I crossed the line in 2:12:47 and went straight up to him, shaking his hand and telling him that it was nice to finally seeing him from the front. 

I went berserk at the food table and went in to collect the bag with my stuff. When I got back out again I could feel both my heels stinging. I got my shoes off and, man, it wasn't pretty. People walking past asked me if I was ok. "Yeah, 'tis but a scratch," I said, archaically.

"Worry thy not, Milady, I shall venture yonder to the Red Cross Squire and
have him heal my grievous wounds! Farethywell and Godspeed!"

But as I was looking for the Red Cross guys, a familiar blue shirt roared across the finish line, at an impressive 2:25:11. Kristoffer was worried about being last or not finishing after being reduced by shin splints the last few weeks, but this was a really great achievement. The Bar Runners made a good display and we were both thrilled by the experience. 25K across a beautiful landscape, with the sun shining and sharing the good feeling with hundred of runners and happy volunteers.

Kris' feeling good.

The positives

In the end it was a good race, I executed the plan of going for the few early ascents perfectly. I felt I maintained a good form and kept a steady pace, in fact, I was worried a few times in the flat parts that it was too fast. And the last climb up the road where everybody else were reduced to hiking I still had enough steam to float ahead, that felt really good and all the hill training paying off.

The weather was perfect and the organizers have picked an incredible route. 

The negatives

The shoes, or rather my lack of tying them on properly. I've had blisters before and just to be safe I put on some band-aids at strategic areas, but they came off when it got wet and my shoes almost slipped off. 

My downhills must be improved, my error at the first descent almost ruined the race later on. I guess it's down to rashness and impatience of getting ahead. 

Those two things bothered me, but in the end it was easily forgotten as we both were pretty elated and couldn't stop talking about running for the rest of the evening.

Medals are for kids and heroes, so we got
wooden plates.

Garmin Stats - Rodney
Garmin Stats - Kris

Finished in 2:12:47 as number 72 of 183 Men and in 10th in my age group of 31 starters.

Kris finished in 2:25:11 as number 112 of 183 and in 17th in his age group of 31.

Check out the video from the organizers. See if you recognize the clown at 1:54 and the happy couple at 4:02.

Please visit and like the organizers page