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

First Blood: The Bar Runner getting ambushed.

So I'm kind of fucked. And kind of saved. I'm now officially participating on the Nordmarka Ultra Challenge, a 83 K dash across the forests north of Oslo in, for me, unfamiliar territory. Unfamiliar until recently, that is. Because when I thought of signing up and read the website I assumed with unforgivable hubris that it would be on meters-wide gravel paths and gently rolling landscape. The distance wouldn't be a problem as I had many months to build up a sufficient mileage in my legs. But months passed and planned races were dropped as time and commitments didn't afford the necessary forays into the woods. The Euro 2012 dented the weekly mileage quite severely. And then I received the confirmation mail. Crap.

The Euros, a month of celebration of the finest football athletes
in the world and snack and beer. To hell with running.

Ok, I still had time to increase the effort, but I needed to almost double the training hours and I had to recce the terrain, though how different and hard can the route be from what I run almost daily?

Well, I've spent last week in Oslo during Norway Cup as a assistant coach for a youth team so I had the opportunity to test the course. The first trip was a slight miss since I forgot to bring the maps I had printed out and I ended a 20 K run 4-5 K south-east of the finishing area. But I learnt that the almost invisible paths I was running on was identical to what I could expect in the race. So it's not at all similar to my regular stomping grounds. Shit.

Not the straightest line of travel.

And saturday came and I got on the bus all the way up to the finishing area. I packed lightly for what I saw as an 20K, two-hour recce jaunt. A couple of gels just in case, my handheld water bottle and a map. The first few Ks(or the last few Ks as they will be in September) were on dirt road gently sloping downwards, but after the last checkpoint it turned pretty rocky, muddy, boggy, rooty and, I guess, pretty gnarly. The path was at times difficult to see, let alone follow, and I had to do map checks often and in the end constantly. My feet also took a punishment as I had some blisters from an ill-advised tempo run earlier that week on asphalt in my road flats, that and all the grit and sand grinding my feet, the sharp rocks trying to puncture the soles and natures Panji Traps slicing me up, my legs looked pretty horrible. It's going to be a long walk if I injure myself up there and it's not that unlikely considering I'll be seriously fatigued at that point. Damn.

20K in two hours was rapidly becoming unrealistic as the heat, the mud, the uncertainty at every crossroads  and my energy levels made themselves felt. It was hard and it was challenging. And even though I felt fresh at the first half and even considered going for 30K, it dawned on me that I spent a whole lot of time getting to the 10K point so I turned around feeling hungry and tired. I didn't have any pep in my legs for the long climbs and I even managed to miss a turn, backtrack a kilometer, just to spend a few minutes with the map before realizing I hadn't missed the turn after all. That was deflating. It was suddenly really hard getting back in time for the bus back so I cut the route short. And failed to reach the bus anyway. Fuck.

"Which way is north? Screw it, I'll make a hat out
of it and traumatize some children."

An elderly lady with walking poles I had zoomed past earlier on the last descent found me sprawled on the bus stop, defeated and an hour away from salvation, offered me a ride down to civilization. A touching gesture of kindness after I had probably scared her off the slippery and steep trails earlier.

So it was a skirmish turned into a rout, a brutal ambush from nature and a lesson in humility. I'm realizing that a finishing time below 15 hours will be ambitious and just finishing a mean feat in itself. I'll also need more food/gels, getting used to the backpack pronto, running in darkness(which I hate), getting better to read maps and being more patient.

The reason why I hate running in the forest at night.

In the end I understand what kind of colossal task I have undertaken, so I fear that I might have taken water over my head, but in the same time I've tossed the dice, I've put myself in a situation were I have to go through with it and it has worked before. It's pretty Sun-Tzu, if not Zen, and I'm sincerely looking forward to the race.

Garmin info here

Running uphill

The epic trail run. Yeah, it was epic and it was awesome. I've been getting more and more mileage up in the woods the last few weeks. Because it's essential to the three main races this year, since they're all on trails. But not only that, it is a really fantastic way of motivating one self to run when you're pretty bored of the usual routes around the river and the town. It gives the extra dimension of exploration and the surface breaks up the monotone rhythm of pounding pavement. 


On monday I did a 21 K run up my usual ascent up Blåstein and up to a cabin at 400 meters, but I kept going north further into the forest. It has been ages since I went that far and I really can't understand why I haven't been up there for so long. It's pretty rough and technical after 6-7 K's and some evidence of winter is still left it was a great experience to get up to Skimten plateau at 550 meters where I went often as a kid. I had hell of a way back home as I went a different route I wasn't familiar with. It was exciting as it was tiring when I spent some energy just to get my bearings straight. In the end I got back on track and got down very tired and very happy.

I couldn't get up again for 2 hours after this photo. The
worst thing is that the remote is juuust out of my reach.

This time I was supposed to go for 25 Kilometers and thought that I better take an easier route up to the woods, since I usually start to climb up 200 meters the first two K's after getting out the  door and that's a pretty hard warm-up. So I went for a about two K's on flat pavement before I swung up the hill. Even though I started easy, my legs felt heavy and I got winded pretty fast. So much for taking an easier route. 


And it got worse. 


The Mistake of Going Off the Track, example I.
I planned to go up a ski slope, but instead I went up along a gorge. Surprisingly it went well for the first few hills, even with natures trip wire, roots, laid up along the foot paths. But suddenly I veered out off the main path and out to a bedrock trail. It was overflowing with water from some recent snow melt, I assumed, and I also assumed it was a switchback trail so I kept going. But it was getting very western and instead of backtracking I cut off the trail and went straight into the thick shrub. It was a mistake since it was no paths and just dense lichen. I had to walk because I could feel myself reaching the lactose threshold. 


After a lot of cursing I got back to the foot path up the gorge, and my God it was breath taking watching the roaring stream 60 meters straight down.

My legs were too shaky to get to edge and it's
a nice and fatal drop for my iPhone down there.

I realized I packed too little for this run, because I was really lightheaded and my legs were low on energy on this first climb and I had only brought my hand held water bottle and three servings of energy gel. I sucked down one and hoped that would help some. The trails leveled out some and it went pretty well, stopping only at signposts and once to fill up the water bottle at a stream.  

Gamledammen, top of the climb. Unfortunately the sun bathing bikini  models'
agent made sure I couldn't get a wider angled photo.

I eventually got to more familiar territory and got up to the big lodge Tverken where I decided again to not follow the plan - I wanted up to the Skimten Plateau again, even after knowing it had snowed last night. So, after a quick and not at all thorough study of a mapboard, I raced up the really wet and rocky climb. I was hitting snow a lot sooner than the last time.

Some snow

 ..and

more snow, oh, and don't run on those logs, slippery
m***********s..

..and

******

..and of course

"It's May, goddammit!"

But getting over crusty snow isn't the worst, because after a slight climb and I got to the lovely bog plateau. It's fun and challenging to cross a big wet bog, but it was getting really cold and after awhile it kind of got painful to dip your feet in freezing water when you thought you found a solid piece of earth.

It's wet and it's cold. 

Of course I slipped and went knee-deep in.

Eventually I got through the worst and reached Skimtheia, the highest point of the area and a nice place to have a breather and suck down some more gel and water. I remember biking up here as a kid and I could see alot of bicycle tracks through the bogs, I just can't imagine how it has to feel like to crash and nosedive into the cold water. Though I guess the people biking here have a whole more hand-eye coordination than me. 

Skimtvarden. 

Feeling artistic.

The descent down to Eiksætra was slow and wet and cold, and fun of course. For every meter down in elevation I spent like five sideways trying to not run into more cold water. 

splash!

After a while I got down to Eiksætra which is a big tourist cabin near a lake, with several small cabins scattered around. It felt good to run on a big dirt road again, but I was going to make it a lot more difficult for myself, again. 


The Mistake of Going Off the Track, example II.
I had stopped at a mapboard for a few minutes planning my route back south and decided to follow the dirt road west before going south at a stream. Maybe I was tired, but I left the road too soon up a small track and hit south way too early on something that I thought was a stream, but turned out to be snowmelt on trail.

You can't even see the water trickling down.

So I started on a heavy ascent up to the platou again, off any paths and on a southerly bearing. It was pretty brutal and I decided to never to jump off a trail again. When I finally reached the top of the climb I knew I had chewed off a lot more then what I had bargained for. It was just lichen, marshes and lakes - in other words, wet and cold. I had to avoid the lakes and try for the small knolls. I think I spent an hour just crisscrossing this landscape getting more and more frustrated every time I dipped my toes in. It was getting painful every time splashed into the cold water and I was starting to get really tired. After taking my chances with just going southwest to what seemed like ridge I finally broke out into a narrow, but marked path. I went down along a 50 meter deep drop to one side and dense forest on the other. 

You can almost see Drammen there. S**t, just halfway home.

I stopped and took some photos(something I need to stop doing since it really slows me down.) when I realized that the faint cluster of buildings way down there were in fact Drammen. At least I was going in the right direction, but damn, that's far away. I followed the winding path further south until it abruptly ended up in a hellish scree covered in slippery moss. I didn't dare to take a picture of the wild descent.

I finally found my way to familiar terrain and it really was just downhill from there. My legs were pretty beaten and sore after a few hours too many in the cold bogs, so it wasn't a killer pace. I finally broke through the forest on shuffling feet and stopped in a supermarket gulping down some chocolate milk and some chocolate bars before dragging myself into the shower. All in all a great long run and some nice adventures. Lesson to next time, woolen socks is a must.  

FEAR AND SLOWTHING IN ENSCHEDE.

FEAR AND SLOWTHING IN ENSHEDE.

By Bar Runner Phil "the Instigator" Morris. 

Originally posted in the Bar Runner Facebook Group

 

Enschede Half Marathon 2012.

(Enchede is pronounced en-skeer-day a bit like 'I love you' in Norwegian.)

As previously stated my last run was a source of contempt and self loathing for me so I decided to do things right and prepare properly. As there were only 2 weeks since the last one where I had calf issues I had only trained once which was planned as 10 mins slow out and return fast but turned out to 7 mins out and then I just turned around and ran home as my leg was hurting and I didn't want to injure it (any more). So there was an element of logic to me not training beforehand however topsy turvy that logic may of been..

So, no drinking alcohol on Friday or Saturday and I had pasta for dinner both nights I made a point of drinking one or two sports drinks on the days beforehand to keep my hydration levels up.

The "sports drink" in question. Picture from Great Britain Olympic Marathon Team.

I have to say, for me at least, maintaing a good preparation plan was mentally very fullfilling, I felt great Sunday morning and was raring to go, confident in the knowledge a decent (for me) time was on the cards. I would of accepted anywhere between 1.58 to 2.03 as acceptably ok.

Sunday morning I had a few bananna's for breakfast - dunno why.. I heard somewhere they're good...something to do with pottasium I believe - and a sports drink and headed off to the event arriving....ONE HOUR EARLY!!!

Yea....I felt like a winner alredy ;) LOL!

As it was a bit chilly I jogged around warming up. Not smoking.

The sun came out just as we were forming up on the start, which I again took as good karma for the run ahead. Confidence was high.

I found the 1hr 55 pacer dude with his orange coloured ballons and away we went.

The first few k I was leaving the pacer behind and thought to myself Woa phil boy - easy tiger and slowed myself to maintain his pace.

At 5k the cramps in my calf started, I tried to block it out but it was really pissing me off more than hurting me to be honest I've never had injury problems.

At 7k the 1.55 dude passed me (and that was the last I saw of him LOL...).

At 8k I stopped and stretched my calf which pissed me off to as it's been years since I stopped or walked one step of a run.

The stretching did seem to help for a k or 2.

At 10k the 2.00 pacer passed me.

I felt like giving up I knew I was in for a shit time. But me not being in the business of quitting compounded by not wanting to give away any unnecessary joy to the haters I carried on.

I was running a few k stopping stretching and so on at this stage.

It started raining which soon turned to hail (?) but both lasted a couple of minutes only. No problem there I actually like running in the rain.

12k to 16k went ok really I guess, I was stopping and walking say 20 metre's or so every now and then.

I will say one thing I noticed and please read it all before you jump to any conclusions...

There are some real spazzy gymp type mother fuckers who run these here half marathons...I know, half the fuckers were overtaking me. 

Honestly there were people running with arms and legs flailing all over the place, one dude was flopping around so much I considered wrestling him to the ground and pinning his tounge to his lip so he didn't swallow the feckin thing...I thought he was having some kind of seizure!!

Google search of "gymp" resulted in this.

But, to be honest I salute these people more than natural athlete's for getting out there and doing it. And what could I say...I was a gympy mother fucker too, getting beaten by other gymps!

Another thing I'll say was the level of inspiration from these people was top notch too. A few times I'd stop and someone would say 'come on mate' (in dutch...and one dude in german) which always gave me the motivation to carry on. I did it to others too. I ran with maybe half a dozen men or women at different times gee-ing each other on till they left me or I left them. It was nice I gotta say.

At 17k the 2.05 pacer passed me and I thought right you gympy mother fucker, it's just pain, deal with it and stick with the 2.05 and you can still get an improved time then before.

It wasn't to be. Mental toughness was lacking I guess. From here on out I basically ran a k walked 50m and so on.

So I crossed the line at 2. (fucking) 15. Shit.

I had noticed on my last run my breathing was super easy and had put that down to not smoking on the startline, It was super easy here too. I came to the conclusion I'm running so slow that my heart rate is only slightly above normal therefore I didn't need to breathe hard!!

I blame was new trainers, as mentioned earlier. I'm going to replace them and try again on the 20th May in a cross country half marathon.

They may have cramped up his calves, but damn he looked fabulous!

To end on a positive note I would say to my Barruning amigo's what I learnt on this run is having a pre planned and perfectly exectuted preparation agenda is mentally very rewarding, as someone who took race day as any other day I found proper preparation extremely rewarding.

Taste of the Trail

After a week or two of gradually testing the foot on slow 10Ks on asphalt without any flare-ups it was time to get back on the program. I'm planning to start it in a couple of weeks so I better get in shape. I did a nice hill workout last week, 2 minutes x 6 and felt confident to hit the trails up the valley side.

I probably should have walked the first bit, 300 meters of elevation on the first 2-3 Ks is a pretty brutal warm up, and I hadn't reached the forest yet. When I reached the trail I was pretty winded, when I negotiated the first rocky hill I was pretty tired.* I walked up some of the worst inclines and tried to jog up the rest. Of course, the infamous Blåsteinsbakkene being just a series of insane inclines, I walked quite alot.

The one thing about trailrunning I've forgotten or taken lightly was the fact that you have to pay attention to where you're placing your foot. When it comes to road running the worst thing that happens is treading on dogshit (or horseshit, when you're running in Nedre Eiker), but the trail is strewn with natures evil little booby-traps, i.e. rocks and roots. When I almost stumbled for the third time I had to stop daydreaming about hooking up with Megan Fox around the corner and focus on the ground. Tripping on a rock was slightly more realistic than finding her jogging around here. Just slightly.

I finally reached a cabin at the 5,5 K mark according to the Garmin so I had some water, a breather and a long shiver. Even if it's spring, I was caught out with shorts and a technical shirt at 400 meters. It started to snow. Both my nipples pointed me home.

Now started what must be the high point of trail running, the downhills. Of course by fun, I mean "the exhilarating feeling of fear of smashing your face on pointy rocks because you can't f***ing stop". And in some places I skedaddled down sheet ice and crusty snow, which was equally fun/terrifying. When I hit the road again, my knees and thighs were quivering with exhaustion/fear. I think I've found a new addiction. All the stats here.

On another happy note, Bar Runner Team Member Keiko has put on his running shoes. According to rumors, it was rather reluctant and forced, but his efforts has been duly noted. Hopefully this will last longer than his attempted solo career as MC Cool Ice.