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 KWe 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.
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.
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.
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.And the messages just got worse. |
The Home Stretch
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...
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