After what feels like a short few kilometres on a trail I’ve reached the steps I’ve been waiting for. These steps go directly up taking the steepest trajectory possible but thankfully soon begin to take a more gentle route allowing for a few switch backs and a more gradual ascent. There is a dense canopy and the beginning of night isn’t far away — that twilight pre-darkness is beginning to creep in and I can feel that in a matter of minutes darkness will be upon me — I’m calm, there is no stress, concern or panic, I’ve been waiting for the darkness and surprisingly the start of the night brings a huge sense of satisfaction not anxiety. See, I’m ahead, actually way ahead, of where I thought I would be and not only that but for the past three hours I’ve been pushing to get to certain locations “before darkness hits”. That distance goal over these three hours has continuously been pushed back, which now that darkness is descending only brings comfort and satisfaction in how I’m executing.
I’ve been on the move for around 10 hours now. Slowly pushing forward in a gradual steady and undramatic manner. Exactly as planned. To explain, it is my third attempt at a solo 100km race, the first was completed in a team at the Oxfam Trailwalker as a hike in 29 hours, but this one I wanted to run as much as possible. Finish the damn thing as fast as possible. After that initial 100km success the second two attempts had both blown up with severe cramp, throwing up, a debilitating lack of energy and generally poor poor execution. Two DNFs — one at 62km and the second at 80km but both critically short of the 100km I wanted. Learning experiences.
Reaching the next kilometre road descent no head torch is required but as I start the next climb, a short but intense step section up Lion Rock night truly does fall and the torch comes out. Game on. Night time running is a favourite. Zoning out looking at nothing but a singular spot of light ahead is oddly peaceful and I begin to do the maths. If everything continues as planned I could potentially be done in six hours! What’s another six hours when you’ve been going for more than 10 already? I’m 65km into a 100km race and feel as good as one could feel. Nothing is laborious, everything is steady and within the control bracket of 5–6 out of 10.
Five, the effort level on a scale of 1–10 that I’ve chosen to execute the race. Average. Nothing special. Somewhat boring really but I was loving this chosen effort. It has quickly become comforting to reset to when it ever got too tough. “Slow it down, you’re working a 7 right now. Chillax and work at 5” So simple. The first half has been run in damage management mode and 5 is entirely possible — I’ve carried a knee injury into the start. The left knee can’t be much more than 60% fit — so moving at 5 is more than welcome. The back half consists of multiple long ascents so climbing at an effort level of 5 is highly appropriate.
Injury management mode has kept the pace slow at the start and I welcomed the chance to relax into this adventure. Idiots pass on early descents trying to gain additional places no more than two hours into the run — bibs noted and bibs seen again resting at aid stations not going anywhere. I wonder later if these “speed demons” finished the race — and was happy to watch them tumble their way down. Stoke level high, three aid stations come and go, white sand beaches crossed and picturesque coastal paths run but I’m eventually reduced to walking as the pain in the knee becomes to severe to maintain even the slowest shuffle. I wonder how much damage I’m doing and is this really worth it. I’m entering a low. I’m at the bottom of the first biggest climb of the day. Fantastic.
Back at 65km it’s cold, f*cking cold at points actually, but the cold helps keep the effort low and sweating at bay. There is no soul sapping heat induced exhaustion just a biting cold. The cold, which I find out afterwards stopped over 50% of racers is a blessing in disguise and I’m loving every drop in degree the #polarvortex2016 is providing. I arrive at CP8 greeted with cheers, an army of seemly endless helpers who were at my beck and call to process my needs as quickly as possible and music so loud I could hardly let these little dudes know what I wanted. So awesome. 11 hours in now and with so much enthusiasm around how could one complain. I’ll take a hot tomato soup, one large glass of coca cola and a handful of chocolates to go please.
Another 10km quickly pass I’m being checked for mandatory gear with nothing but the final few ascents lying before me. Time to conquer! 17km to go. The lows have passed, the legs are tired but motivation is in a good place. I’m enjoying the journey. As that first brutal ascent starts the finish line soon appears in the distance, which is both liberating and supremely depressing at the same point. A flash of a headlight appears atop the final climb and I feel nothing but pure envy towards that singular nameless light in the distance.
*Last hill (Tai Mo Shan). 1:20. I want this over with* — txt msg to support (CP9)
As I pass over the final and tallest hill with nothing but down before me I don’t reflect on the journey I’ve taken nor the time it took me to complete it. Honestly, I’m fed up and ready for this thing to be done. I’ve enjoyed highs and ridden out lows; I’ve made new friends who I’ll run against later in the season and enjoyed the company of someone all I shared was “lets go” and 10km together; I’ve run over white sandy beaches and over hills that provided majestic city views but none of that matters now. There are f*cking steps right in front of me and I’m furious. This is so unnecessary. I drag my weary body up over those final few unexpected steps, down the other side, around the corner and onto the last stretch of road. The lights, noise and general commotion of the finish line appear and I’m finally done. 15:42 hours after I started.
My body goes into shock trying to process what just happened to it and I throw up in the car on the way home. How’s that for a reward?
