tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81204979429521205832024-01-19T22:11:39.380-08:00Short stories from running around the worldA collection of short stories about my lifeMarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-26645615662403230822016-09-10T10:38:00.002-07:002016-09-12T10:34:20.968-07:00Mastering Zen. La Ultra - The High 333. 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBBIcFsfmnQN3XLqGDjyemRFXa5-qHrkgYTHpxTj7xTp4xc1a91SkKXAGOoXw9PB2u6lIh3eHKMoGLcWJPEu2CLvu1fWWwVeyg8sY93BYDdrLfdP7T_WrLxampSxT7rMvfngeY5BKt-k/s1600/14191996_1084733228261442_33762995820996676_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBBIcFsfmnQN3XLqGDjyemRFXa5-qHrkgYTHpxTj7xTp4xc1a91SkKXAGOoXw9PB2u6lIh3eHKMoGLcWJPEu2CLvu1fWWwVeyg8sY93BYDdrLfdP7T_WrLxampSxT7rMvfngeY5BKt-k/s320/14191996_1084733228261442_33762995820996676_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Whatever you do it will be insignificant, but it is important that you do it anyway.” Mahatma Gandhi</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpdMibuH9QlyXdHLJfBTAsfS0VS68r-NTM4mfyDi0oRcGkztCWZIGnY3PIZVG4kzRWm94ItD7Hg71-Y1eLAMjIFncl5BpyFM8e9UyQkN5KKm7RWntwY8009jcULbYieNBJGgkVQhK_qk/s1600/_X9A8478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpdMibuH9QlyXdHLJfBTAsfS0VS68r-NTM4mfyDi0oRcGkztCWZIGnY3PIZVG4kzRWm94ItD7Hg71-Y1eLAMjIFncl5BpyFM8e9UyQkN5KKm7RWntwY8009jcULbYieNBJGgkVQhK_qk/s320/_X9A8478.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5OaiTfWrH0vi4oK5UtDAll9i_QpCApS23XLrQbybbUcaGaCsbm0_7k1eyGqL9H7PE7ikX5HpV6csGEwozlksXI9O-ewMQ3ZqM7MVmLxH7TdKhMViIInwi6Y2-64ztJroJLAoFzV4X8Q/s1600/14079464_1078257555575676_1071493103328497825_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5OaiTfWrH0vi4oK5UtDAll9i_QpCApS23XLrQbybbUcaGaCsbm0_7k1eyGqL9H7PE7ikX5HpV6csGEwozlksXI9O-ewMQ3ZqM7MVmLxH7TdKhMViIInwi6Y2-64ztJroJLAoFzV4X8Q/s320/14079464_1078257555575676_1071493103328497825_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">La Ultra – The High 333 takes place in the region of Ladakh, in the Indian Himalayas. The region forms part of the ancient Tibetan plateau and is the highest desert in the world. Ladakh was an independent state but when India achieved independence from British control; and with the looming threat of a Chinese invasion in 1947, Ladakh decided to become part of India. The region is predominantly Buddhist and is the summer home to the Dalhai Llama. The border with Pakistan and China is only some 60 kms away and the military presence is enormous. Tensions between the countries at the time of writing seem pretty relaxed with soldiers playing chess with each other from across the Border. But things are not all peaceful and in the adjacent region of the Kashmir, in Srinagar recent unrest has resulted in gunfire and many people killed. Indeed, Angmo, one of the local Ladahki people that was on my crew could not return to work as the region had become too dangerous. But during the time of the race, the Indian army moved in in full force and stability has been returned to the region, albeit with the imposition of force.<br /><br />It is indeed an interesting region to visit.<br /><br />This was my third attempt at the 333 km version of the race, having failed the two previous times. The first time I was in the lead by 2 hours at 317 kms but I had collapsed and gone into shock, unable to complete the distance. Last year I had actually finished the distance but I had done so outside the time limit of 72 hours, arriving 54 minutes late. Clearly the distance and time limits were within my capability but had frustratingly slipped through my fingers as the finish line approached. I had decided to give it one more attempt before putting it down.<br /><br />The underlying difficulty of La Ultra – The High is not the distance in itself; but it is the altitude. Performing athletically at altitude exposes you to serious health risks, which you have to keep under control. High altitude sickness, particularly Pulmonary edemas are genuine risks that have to be mitigated with a lengthy acclimatisation period and a disciplined, serene approach when actually running above 5000M. Excessive work rates at these altitudes cause the body to break down quickly with often serious consequences. It is fair to say that it is a dangerous race. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The word “La” in Ladakhi means “mountain pass” so the name of the race; “La Ultra” literally means “The Ultra of the mountain passes.” You have to cross 3 mountain passes, Kardung La at 5400M, Wari La at 5300M and Tanglang La at 5350M. The distance is 333 kms long and it all has to be done within 72 hours. In describing the race, it is like having the environmental hazard of extreme conditions similar to Badwater except that you change the heat for altitude but with the imposition of extreme athletics and time controls as found in the Spartathlon. Indeed, the nature of the race is a sort of hybrid between these two emblematic races played out at high altitude in the Himalayas. Brutal. Rajat Chauhan the race director has indeed created the ultimate master piece of ultra-running art.<br /><br />In more recent years I have been searching for the pure zen state in my running; that state of complete balance and peace where nothing can perturb you, where thoughts enter and leave your mind at ease, where no thought is hung on to, but where no though is blocked either. It is an incredibly peaceful state devoid of any conflict. The state of mindfulness where only the present actually matters, where superfluous thoughts simply drift away. You become completely in tune with your body, completely synchronised to every micro detail and subtle change in your physiology. The beauty is that once the state is reached you can run in an optimised manner forever and ever and ever; the nirvana of the ultra-marathon runner. Many times I will go out to train and find the state almost instantly, arriving back home without any recollection of the run that I have just done, the state of disconnection with the clutter of life being virtually complete. Indeed, I have become very good at it but in huge races, the pressure of the event and the competition have meant that whilst actually racing, I have not entered the state at all. Indeed, it has been far from that where I have pushed my body conscientiously beyond its limits with sometimes disastrous results. It shorter, 100 km races I have had great results by pushing hard in the traditional athletic sense but this simply has not worked for a race like La Ultra – The high. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Clearly a change in approach was needed if I were to succeed in La Ultra and the obvious answer was to search for the zen state whilst running this enormous challenge. The delicate balance required to finish a race of such enormity is like running on a knife edge. Just one tiny loss of equilibrium and you fall off the side only to crash and burn as I had found out on the previous occasions. Maintain perfect balance and I would finish. But that is easier said than done, as the race itself generates a lot of tension. If there is any tension, then the state can’t be achieved. Lining up on the start line for a 333 km race at over 5000M generates a certain anxiety and destroys any opportunity of entering in the zen state. There is a cruel irony in that if the zen state is consciously searched for it is impossible to find. You have to let the state find you and for that you have to be completely at peace with yourself, completely balanced and completely relaxed, yet highly focused and tuned in on the task in hand. Not an easy task when you are about to cross 333 kms of the Himalayas at over 5000M running like a demon.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2rxisgVHDCcQEsd6Pwt2U0Z_l3NWQ9D9pFUTwLKY6mhhri5fFeVpW5NCHJvKYbmBwOmHdf341uf0mgJaoJ5vaAQ6Q3WDcu6xaz6QxHAKubr-5P2KbT6k-2OtbAnUEcSRyggjKxWTuVA/s1600/14053957_1075666602501438_1229290011971570409_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2rxisgVHDCcQEsd6Pwt2U0Z_l3NWQ9D9pFUTwLKY6mhhri5fFeVpW5NCHJvKYbmBwOmHdf341uf0mgJaoJ5vaAQ6Q3WDcu6xaz6QxHAKubr-5P2KbT6k-2OtbAnUEcSRyggjKxWTuVA/s320/14053957_1075666602501438_1229290011971570409_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>At the start line of the race in the Nubra valley at 8 in the evening it had started to rain and the Nubra valley had flooded a short section of the road that we had to cross. It wasn’t cold though and the thin jacket I had was perfect for keeping the rain off. We had sandals and we swapped the running shoes for sandals just to cross the flooded section. There were only four of us in the 333 km category with the majority of the runners doing the 111 km. There were a number of runners from the Indian Navy and we joked about when the boat was coming to ferry us across. On the bus over to the start line I had sat next to a friendly Navy officer called Hari. Hari had just climbed the Kang Yatse at 6200M as part of the acclimatisation for La Ultra and I asked him what his job in the navy actually was. “Oh, I’m in charge of firing the missiles.” He said, quite humbly and unassumingly.<br /><br />We all crossed the floods without incident and then started up the long hill to Lardung La at 5400M. I had started using a GPS watch to make sure that I didn’t run too fast but I found it rather distracting and really quite annoying. I like to listen to my body and run with the flow, do what feels right at the moment and constantly keeping myself in check with a GPS watch just doesn’t fit with me so I switched it off.<br /><br />The relief of switching the watch off cannot be understated and very quickly I settled into a pace that just seemed right. Not too fast, not too slow. And as the night advanced and the rain became colder I slowly climbed to altitude and I felt an intense feeling of happiness and joy running in this place. The clouds would break every now and then exposing the billions of stars in the Himalayan night sky, contrasting sharply against the silhouette of the mountains, but would soon close in again and rain some more. The flow was perfect and I ran with effortless ease up the hill until I reached South Pullu at 48 kms and 4700M above sea level. I had intended to get here at 7:15 into the race but in the end had arrived at 6:45. I was ahead of schedule but it had felt right. It had felt like the river of time had just delivered me here and that was simply the way it was going to go. I had tuned in and that was that.<br /><br />Upon reaching the Check point at North Pullu; Grant Maugn from Australia and Jovica Spajic, the Serbian Beast were just leaving. Grant commented that I had climbed that fast but I certainly had no intention of continuing at that pace. We all hugged and wished each other the best for the race. Grant and Jo continued and I continued to change into my warm clothes that I had left in a drop bag. Upon reaching North Pullu the race hits 4700M which is the height where the lack of oxygen starts to become an issue. I had already decided, before the race that from now on until the summit that I would drop the pace here and simply hike to the top. Grant and Jovica disappeared into the dust and I simply got on with the task in hand which was to get to the top amidst the light snow that was now falling. I put on my down jacket and covered that with a Goretex layer. Amidst the harsh, cold conditions at altitude and at night, I was warm as toast and was actually enjoying every second of the experience.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnitOrihaYVTuXIfWWmhqWbNrTams4KjbHQLtXO1qthqOd43y8vdUGMB2XPLVleendY9Zfoufaa4uHOl9_5UIlXqC6RMStfOQWRXeE0nkohydXK7TA_a7pjUNkJTyQBGfjTVpZ65qh4N4/s1600/14102226_1076518725749559_5992645052942663621_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnitOrihaYVTuXIfWWmhqWbNrTams4KjbHQLtXO1qthqOd43y8vdUGMB2XPLVleendY9Zfoufaa4uHOl9_5UIlXqC6RMStfOQWRXeE0nkohydXK7TA_a7pjUNkJTyQBGfjTVpZ65qh4N4/s320/14102226_1076518725749559_5992645052942663621_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Dawn broke just as I was summiting Kardung La which was surrounded by a freezing mist that swirled around the mountain pass painting a picture of incredible, stunning beauty as the surrounding mountains came into view, and then disappeared again as the mist closed tightly in. The water on the ground had frozen and had formed a hazy white broken surface due to the snow that had fallen, but the wind had stirred up the surface and it was easy to step on.<br /><br />From Kardung La until South Pullu the descent was a pleasant, delightful experience simply allowing the gradient of the hill to pull me down. As I descended the air warmed and even the sun came out which added to the pure joy of running in the Himalayas. Straight ahead, over the other side of the Hindus valley I could see the Stock range peeking through the clouds. The view reminded me of when I had climbed the Stock Kangri mountain just 2 years ago with José Luis Rubio and Ryoichi Sato. As I hit the 5000M mark I started to find even more energy, obviously due to the richer oxygen content in the air, it really is quite amazing just what 400M difference makes at that altitude and managed a happy, relaxed pace all the way to South Pullu where the crew car was waiting with a hot coffee and some food.<br /><br />The crew was composed of Andu, Stansin, Angmo and my wife Elena. Stansin had crewed me last year, Angmo the year before and both wanted to see me actually get to the finish on time. Elena had also decided that she was going to kick me all the way to the finish if that was what was required. Whatever happened this year, this was the last attempt. Whatever happened I was to put it down at the end. This was the last attempt. But it was the perfect crew, completely balanced, in tune with each other and very experienced. They knew what they were doing.<br /><br />From South Pullo to Leh, the road became busy with traffic but the run continued to be a pleasant experience, simply tuning into my bodies sensations and letting it do what it had to do. The crew were very attentive and I had all the food and drink I needed; the optimum combination for running well, but not too fast, or too slow. That sweet point in the middle where the flow is effortless, the mind is where it should be and the distance just melts away as time flows its inevitable course.<br /><br />At about 10 kms before Leh, we came across one of the many stray dogs that live in the area. I instantly recognised it as we had seen it before in Leh. It had been operated on and still had part of his body shaved and a visible scar from the operation. The dog also recognised me and instantly hooked into my pace following me just a few metres behind. When I stopped to get some food from the crew we gave some to the dog as well. Needless to say that he didn’t leave us until we arrived at the Goba Hotel in Leh for a half hour planned rest.<br /><br />But I couldn’t sleep, even though my mind was at peace I simply didn’t feel sleepy so after some 20 mins I got up and decided to get on with the job. But getting out of the room was going to be difficult. Somebody (Elena) had locked it from the outside! I shouted and Vikas soon came; releasing me from my temporary prison. Elena had decided I needed to sleep so what better way than to lock me in the room! A quick foot check and repair and we got once again on our way to Spituck. The road to Spituck isn’t a pleasant affair as it is a main road with a lot of traffic, but the journey transgressed quickly and within an hour and a half of leaving the Goba Hotel we were crossing the bridge just after Spituck village where the 111 kms distance finished. Rahul, one of the Indian runners in the 111 km category had just finished some 5 minutes before me. I had got to know Rahul on the 5 day Markha Valley treck, just 10 days before the race, which we had done as a means of fully acclimatising for the race.<br /><br />The next stage, from Spituk to Serthi follows a sleepy back road parallel to the Indus river but on the opposite side of the river to the main road. The valley is the epitome of a high altitude desert with barren and rocky features defining the landscape. Every now and then the road takes you to irrigated pastures and you are hit with moist air and greenery of an intensity that is hard to describe. It is a pleasant road with little traffic and although the conditions were good I started to find this section much more difficult than the previous 111 kms. Initially I just put this down to accumulating fatigue, having been on the go now for more than 20 hours but as we approached Karu, and the beginning of the second night took hold, my work rate dropped considerably. The sleep monsters came out in force and conspired with all their might that I should stop. But I was not having any of it and battled on regardless. Alex caught me up and overtook me on the way to his own 333 kms. He was going strong and I couldn’t keep up. <br /><br />Just after Karu, the crew and I all agreed that trying to forge on regardless was a waste of time and that a short sleep break was necessary to get things back on track. We laid the sleeping bag on the floor and I sort of fell into a restless sleep. I felt like I was sleeping but then I wasn’t, and then I was, and then I wasn’t again. Either way, when the crew woke me up all I felt like was vomiting. I got up and started walking with Stanzin along the dusty broken road to Serthi. He didn’t stop reciting Buddhist prayers all the time and although I had no idea what he was saying; the meaning was obvious. He was praying that I would break out of the low point and get back on with the race. Stanzin is truly a good person and although I am not religious myself, I have a deep respect for his. We walked all the way to Serthi and as I really hadn’t recovered at all by the broken sleep I had had, we checked into the check point and I laid down for another hours sleep at about 3 in the morning.<br /><br />But this time I fell into the most wonderful rest I have hadin a long time and when I was woken just one hour later I felt incredibly refreshed. It is amazing what one hour of proper rest can do and with a coffee just to get me going we started power hiking up the hill to Wari La at 5300M. As the dawn broke I was already above 4000M and Alex had once again caught up with me. We power hiked together for some time sharing stories about how the sleep monsters had attacked us both the previous night but Alex’s long legs meant he had a natural pace that was faster than mine and I slowly saw him drift off into the horizon.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0m_bMPYeEtzhccnrf1RqL6_1fHBM45Uw38AvIuKvBdLhc-sOyd5Uwc0AD5qHpfLBBFXS8QEqDOuKtlbklx9lphDAfvwLVWIlKJcNWnjMtrbALmO7CHH8yZhjod4GjYQxbM-IQBK0WqY/s1600/14054116_10153701064972021_4809027491459149294_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0m_bMPYeEtzhccnrf1RqL6_1fHBM45Uw38AvIuKvBdLhc-sOyd5Uwc0AD5qHpfLBBFXS8QEqDOuKtlbklx9lphDAfvwLVWIlKJcNWnjMtrbALmO7CHH8yZhjod4GjYQxbM-IQBK0WqY/s320/14054116_10153701064972021_4809027491459149294_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>But this is where I realised that I had reached a superior plain in my own ultra-endurance. In races gone by I would have kept pace with him, I would have upped m pace and matched his, I wouldn’t have let him get away. It was well within my ability to match his pace, push just a little harder, but it was ever so slightly away from my own equilibrium point and for the first time in my life it really didn’t bother me. I was so tuned in to me, so tuned into what I had to do that he left me behind and More importantly I had let go of my ego and I carried on at my own happy pace. The remainder of the climb up to the top of Wari La at 5300M was a really pleasant affair, I really didn’t feel like I was pushing it but my crew, especially Stanzin insisted that I was making excellent speed, much faster than last year and for a perceived effort that was much lower. The stunning moment though was when I reached the summit with very little conscious recollection of the actual climb.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglsnNyOnSC00YPiipKHesgHMxd6J05TMXPSwtMwev0im8A7e7I4LZSbBa0j_9dl6BQqRjlEVA_S5GMM-LAR9W_uqL3WcQDNnK_-Rd1urIqtQYm0yONa2LGmArM6c54OQC0stXqmmrDk0E/s1600/14034757_10153694891817021_6303601052355705529_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglsnNyOnSC00YPiipKHesgHMxd6J05TMXPSwtMwev0im8A7e7I4LZSbBa0j_9dl6BQqRjlEVA_S5GMM-LAR9W_uqL3WcQDNnK_-Rd1urIqtQYm0yONa2LGmArM6c54OQC0stXqmmrDk0E/s320/14034757_10153694891817021_6303601052355705529_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>The summit of Wari La looks straight across the Nubra Valley to the Karakorum range with Pakistan to the left and China to the right. Cotton wool clouds swirled around the almost 8,000M mountains in front of me casting deep shadows across the glaciers. It is a truly beautiful, stunning place to be and it was the raw beauty of the place that actually shifted my focus back into the real world. So completely absorbed had I been in the climb that I hadn’t really stopped to think at all. In an effortless expression of the zen state I had climbed the mountain and felt completely refreshed as a result. The run down was just as wonderful. I walked briskly down until I hit about 5000M and then started running again. The difference in Oxygen at 5000M is very noticeable and almost instantly I hit the zen state again. Before I knew it I was back at base camp and then back in Serthi. I remember stopping to admire the magnificent herd of Yaks at about 5000M that were grazing on the sparse vegetation but apart from that I remember very little, once again zoning out as I hit the perfect state of mind for running insane distances in the Himalayas.<br /><br />The section from Serthi to Karu though was far from the intense pleasure I had felt on Wari La. The road was under construction and most of it was just a dusty track. Hopelessly inadequate for the amount of traffic that was passing on the road. It was by far the most dangerous part of the whole race with cars, trucks, motorcycles and every kind of motor vehicle you can imagine and not a single one would take the slightest deviation to avoid a runner. The only course of action was to step completely off the road whenever a vehicle came along which of course destroyed any meditative state that could be attained whilst running. Even though I was able to maintain a good running pace, at some 230 kms into the race, the section took twice as long as I could have done due to the appalling conditions on the road. I came to the conclusion that one of the most beautiful places on the planet had to have one of the worst roads. That’s how balance works.<br /><br />Once in Karu things got better again and then I picked up a happy pace once again all the way to Upshi where we all stopped for a planned break of about 2 hours. It was 8:30 PM. We set the alarm for 2 hours later but I woke after an hour and a half. I used the other half hour to repair some minor foot damage before the crew gave me the order to start running again. <br /><br />Angmo joined me on the road as it was pitch black by now and as we entered the narrow gorge leading to Rumptse the darkness engulfed everything around me, shrinking the world to just the few meters illuminated by my head torch. But the darkness wasn’t at all foreboding and the cold air coming off the river was invigorating. When running with someone, I find it impossible to enter the zen state, their presence distracts me and I can’t hit that optimum state where time and distance just melt away. When things aren’t working out I often prefer someone there but when I am in total equilibrium I prefer running on my own. I can hit the state quickly and the kilometres become effortless. <br /><br />So Angmo re-joined the crew vehicle and along with Elena fell soundly asleep on the back seat of the car. Stanzin and Andu stayed awake all night and kept me fuelled up, working diligently to keep the machine running. Alex’s flashing light was only about a kilometre ahead and would appear in view every time the bends in the road coincided. And I just kept on, and on. Ticky tacky like a little baby pig trotting happily through a field until we came to Rumptsi, the final camp before the last big mountain pass Tanglang La at 5350M. Elena had now woken and had been busy on the calculator and gave me some wonderful news. According to her calculations I could have a full half an hour of sleep and still maintain schedule before we headed up the pass. It is impossible to understate the feeling of joy at being able to lie down and sleep for an extra half hour that hadn’t been previously planned. A rare luxury in the rarefied barren high altitude desert that is Ladakh.<br /><br />The crew woke me exactly half an hour later and poured a hot coffee down my neck. Within 5 minutes I was on my feet and heading up the pass. It was dawn and the locals were just starting to go about their business. I crossed and old Ladakhi looking lady with a young child, maybe 7 or 8 years old walking on the road. When I overtook them they sped up and both sped up and matched my pace with massive beaming smiles on their faces. The old lady said something that I didn’t understand but I replied “School?” to the grand daughter and the little girl said “Yes!” “School”. The Grandmother was taking her grandchild to school and they actually ran with me on the road for an absolutely delightful 10 minutes until they arrived at the government run school for Tibetan refugees. A stark reminder of the genocide and subsequent displacement of the Tibetan population just some 100 kms over the border. The Ladakhis and Tibetans have always seen themselves as related and now the province of Ladakh is the home to many Tibetans, not able to return to their homeland.<br /><br />After they left me, the climb up Tanglang La was just as enjoyable as Wari La. Once again I have very little recollection of any details; such was the perfect state of my own mind during the climb. I was neither thinking, nor not thinking. The climb belonged to an ethereal flow and it was that flow that was carrying me along. Even stopping for food from the crew wouldn’t break the trance although I can remember eating boiled eggs and potatoes with olive oil somewhere along the way that Elena had lovingly prepared. I also remember Jovica stopping and hugging me on the way back after smashing the race in 60 hours together with Grant. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrvLuRTg1s2Rrlq8euMlTpnD9dI00-YwLRUCh5k62S0FP6J1VkkaAcBzl4jPkAqdiRdJwoAGJvqOu2HuvRun3iuVFdX2aePLgx1XkhjrcI9FlYm0VkmA29aiaeSuNySnnLDKRwqhKDaw/s1600/IMG-20160905-WA0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrvLuRTg1s2Rrlq8euMlTpnD9dI00-YwLRUCh5k62S0FP6J1VkkaAcBzl4jPkAqdiRdJwoAGJvqOu2HuvRun3iuVFdX2aePLgx1XkhjrcI9FlYm0VkmA29aiaeSuNySnnLDKRwqhKDaw/s320/IMG-20160905-WA0003.jpg" width="320" /></a>At the top we stopped for a photo and then looked at the clock. It was 64 hours exactly into the race. With a full 8 hours to finish the remaining 25 or so kilometres all I had to do was roll down the hill. I had covered over 300 kms and strangely I felt just great, but when I tried to run downhill, my legs simply behaved like blocks of concrete and refused to run. So I walked to the finish, that my legs did allow. Everyone from the crew took it in turns to come out and walk with me and although their presence meant that my meditative state was lost I valued their company for all the diamonds in the world. They had all helped me get here and these were the final moments that we should all enjoy together. It was an especially special moment out there with my wife Elena. She had been on the crew and had paced me a lot of these last kilometres. It was important for me that we finished this together. Stazin had been the rock he was last year but with a much better result. Ango too, she was simply wonderful. Andu, the driver was awesome. The perfect team and not a single cross word was spoken. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6tqqCaPuQo1qlD3rMF9Bjhn_dTuSLS8GJfkCZ8FE7-nSffH-udn1wnsOI_uBqwSjd9zLkyaVxqC0QauALe5wAfbaI8vmPNavTuQRhK97wlAKubj4gwvYm_OurO6Zq_CmXRCIlDSm75g/s1600/FB_IMG_1471402757431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6tqqCaPuQo1qlD3rMF9Bjhn_dTuSLS8GJfkCZ8FE7-nSffH-udn1wnsOI_uBqwSjd9zLkyaVxqC0QauALe5wAfbaI8vmPNavTuQRhK97wlAKubj4gwvYm_OurO6Zq_CmXRCIlDSm75g/s320/FB_IMG_1471402757431.jpg" width="240" /></a><br /><br />We all embraced in a long line of people as we crossed together in just under 69 hours where a bottle of Godfather beer was thrust into my hands and promptly got poured down my neck. Alex came in an hour and a half later, ecstatic at his achievement. He had really toughed it out in the end but had made it. </span><br />
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<br /><br /> <br /><br />Reflections<br /><br />La Ultra - The High 333 in under 72 hours is such a massive challenge that it requires not only a team of people to support you all the way but it also requires you to give the very best of yourself on all levels. You have to remain incredibly strong, both physically and mentally but more importantly you have to let go. Let go of your ego, let go of your anxiety, I mean really, really let go and learn to flow with the tide of time and tune into your most inner of beings. You need to let all the clutter in your life fall away and set about the only task that matters at the time. Running an insane distance in the Himalaysa. The zen state is real and once you learn how to achieve it you can do amazing things.<br /><br />The Gandhi quote at the beginning of the article “Whatever you do will be insignificant. But it is important you do it anyway.” Really sums it all up. Gandhi I believe; meant that you should remain humble in everything that you do. I am neither a better or worse person for doing this. I have learned that letting go is not easy but when I do let go I am capable of being the best I can be. What I did was insignificant, but it was important for me that I did it.<br /><br />I bowed before these mountains and they let me pass.</span></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-75098854266793958512016-01-29T21:58:00.002-08:002016-01-29T21:59:49.945-08:00Impossible<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/150464208" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen allowfullscreen></iframe>
<p><a href="https://vimeo.com/150464208">IMPOSSIBLE - Trailer</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/upslope">UPSLOPE PRODUCTIONS</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-24587730365389595472015-08-30T05:53:00.000-07:002015-08-31T01:25:39.689-07:00Weakness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfT87rrGhyRSi12MkkBFtZjSvn7dkt6lL7Om0J1MqkMgJAuwXNe0XxE1WuOcjqM4NoXLuFFrapppxjcHNWx0G5K2NqFhccx3ZTgh50xKCYL5VlTzI7YoO4-Ruvv3kupNVmcLan73jxe2U/s1600/11855690_10204626165481286_4630881875229634003_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfT87rrGhyRSi12MkkBFtZjSvn7dkt6lL7Om0J1MqkMgJAuwXNe0XxE1WuOcjqM4NoXLuFFrapppxjcHNWx0G5K2NqFhccx3ZTgh50xKCYL5VlTzI7YoO4-Ruvv3kupNVmcLan73jxe2U/s320/11855690_10204626165481286_4630881875229634003_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"One who conquers himself is greater than one who conquers a thousand times a thousand on the battlefield." <br />~ Gautama Buddha<br /><br /><i>“Dear Rajat;<br />You really have created the world's finest masterpiece of ultra-running, a canvas of 72 hours long by 333 kms wide in the Indian Himalayas. Upon this canvas are the runners, the artists who paint their art as they make their way over the most beautiful of majestic mountains. But I have a problem. I spilt the paint, I was clumsy and the art I left behind on your perfect canvas is flawed. The paint ran over the edges and that just won't do. Art is meant to be perfect and anything less just isn’t art. It is a mess. I will have to start this painting again.<br />Your good friend, Mark"</i><br /><br />I wrote these words to Rajat, the Race Director shortly after La Ultra – The High. I had actually covered the 333 kms in Ladakh, the Indian Himalayas on foot but I had arrived late, 54 minutes to be precise on top of the 72 hour time limit. This was my second attempt at this distance in the Himalayas and my second failure. Last year I had even been in the lead at km 317 but I had collapsed, totally exhausted and spent. I had gone into shock. This year should have been my year; I was extremely well prepared and very, very fit. During the build up to the race I was quite able to run; and I mean run, uphill up to 5400M.<br /><br />Whenever we feel that we underperform on a race it is a natural thought </span><br />
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process to look for the reasons behind why we failed to perform. This isn’t the same as finding excuses. Excuses are nothing else but false reasoning to make up for otherwise inadmissible weaknesses that the runner cannot actually come to terms with. In writing this little piece I am certainly not making excuses, on the contrary, I am seeking to understand what went wrong so that I can correct the weakness and come back stronger. Like I said; I should have blown the race out of the water. So why didn’t I?<br /><br />The race truly fell apart for me on the second day where I lost a lot of time. When I finally managed to gain control again, and in spite of making good progress afterwards, I was unable to make up enough of the lost time to enter within the time limit. What I think happened is interesting, because it exposes a weakness that I never thought existed in my own repertoire. It all started in the first leg of the race on the way up to Kardung La at 5400M.<br /><br />During this first leg I felt incredibly strong and even though I was consciously pulling myself in from going too fast by the time I had got to North Pullu I had already gained half an hour over what I had done the previous year. By the time I had got to the summit I was a full 2 hours ahead of last year’s schedule. In running at altitude, pace is everything and going too fast exposes you to serious health risks, mainly a pulmonary edema. When I summited, I was already questioning myself as to if I had gone too fast or not, whether I had exposed myself needlessly to the ravishes of altitude and would I pay the price later on. Last year a couple of talented runners had really flown up Kardung La and had subsequently ended up in hospital for precisely that reason.<br /><br />So on the second day, when I was climbing Wari La at 5300M and I started to have difficulties breathing, the little seed of paranoia that was sown the previous night started to take root in my brain. My breathing became more and more laboured and bore nothing in resemblance to how I had performed at the same altitude during training. Interestingly I also started to have severe pains in my legs, particularly with the tendons on the outside of my left knee. But by far the most alarming symptom was the difficulty I was having breathing. <br /><br />So the thought started to go round and round my head, all the false logic backing up the original false premise. The mind is absolutely wonderful at circular arguments and within a short space of time I managed to convince myself that I had a pulmonary edema. And the more I convinced myself of that then the more difficulty I actually had breathing. When I got to base camp I promptly checked in with the doctors and they gave me a thorough examination. But there was just one problem; they didn’t actually find anything wrong with me! Now that really threw me, and to be quite honest my original reaction was that they had gotten it wrong. But they checked and checked and checked again and I had absolutely nothing wrong with me. Accepting this was difficult; I was so convinced that I was sick that undoing the false logic and circular arguments took some time. Besides, I was still finding it difficult to breath.<br /><br />Eventually Rajat, the Race Director gave me a tough order and simply told me to get on with it and that I was making excuses. My wife helped him out.<br /><br />So, I got up, actually felt OK and started running again. I even felt good and started to run at a decent pace. Ultimately my recovery wasn’t enough to recuperate the time I had spent down, I finished but just outside the time limit allowed.<br /><br />After the race Rajat wrote this message to me: <i>“I want you to read this transcript of an interview with Prof Tim Noakes. https://www.bulletproofexec.com/podcast-transcript-3-hacking-fatigue-with-tim-noakes-plus-more-4-hour-body-fun/<br /><br />A bit that you'll definitely enjoy is below:<br /><br />I have this really interesting explanation for why an athlete comes second, and particularly if it’s a close race. In my view, the athlete who comes second justifies the performance by producing symptoms which are more severe than they really need to be. “Oh gee, this symptom, I really tried my hardest but I was exhausted.” In fact, that’s a justification.”</i><br /><br /><br />Could it be that the mere thought of something going wrong caused it to </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">actually go wrong? At least in the brain? The overriding physical evidence was that I was fine, in spite of how I felt. In short It certainly does look like I managed to invent it all, a little catastrophic fantasy all in my own little head that bore scat resemblance to reality. But what still impresses me is the power that it had over me. It went far beyond the intellectual. <br /><br />As part of my own race plan I planted little prayer flags at the start and at the major peaks along the race. I did this out of respect for the mountains and for the Ladakhi culture and people. On each one I wrote a little message. One of them wrote “Fear is the mind killer” Oh the irony.<br /><br />Huge thanks: To my crew Stanzin, Nono, Priyanka and the driver Tundup. Only they know what they had to put up with; but they got me to the end. I finished totally broken, the realisation that inspite of giving it everything I had on that final descent, that I wasn't going to make it in time was just heart breaking. I went to a very dark place before accepting reality and just aiming to finish the distance.<br /><br /> I now have to go back and take care of my inner self again. I have always been </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">mentally strong and taken it for granted. Alas, it has also been something that I have neglected in recent years which I must again nurture back to full strength.</span><br />
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Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-55697084174681719962015-07-08T07:31:00.002-07:002015-07-08T08:51:11.480-07:00The importance of fat metabolism in ultra running<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Never has a topic, not just in ultramarathon running but in
the nutritional world in general been subjected to a generalised
pseudoscientific analysis as that of diet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is of course very natural for every athlete to
contemplate and analyse every aspect of their training in order to improve
performance and that includes diet. The chemicals that you put into your mouth
ultimately translate into performance and it is natural to analyse what is the
optimum combination of these chemicals that lead to a best performance in an
event. But diet is not just about optimum performance; it is about generalised optimum
health as well. The two are closely related as without optimised health there
can of course not be optimised performance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will argue a case that a diet for optimised health is
indeed a diet for optimised performance but that the diet during that optimised
performance is actually radically different from the diet that lead to that
optimised performance.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the introductory sentence I mentioned that the subject of
diet is one that has been subjected to more pseudoscientific (bad science) analysis
than any other, not just in the world of ultra-running but in the dietary world
in general. Body biochemistry is hideously complex with interplay of literally
thousands of biochemical pathways, a symbiosis of which is a long way from
being fully understood. It would be fair to say that at best we only partially
understand these mechanisms and at worst completely misunderstanding them
leading to practices that not only do not lead to optimum performance but that
actually harm it and our general health in the process. I am not saying that
these authors set out deliberately to mislead but when there is such a large
interplay of a ridiculous number of parameters it is frighteningly easy to
arrive at incorrect conclusions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Bad Science</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In writing this piece I will draw attention to the fact that
I have a Ph. D. in science (Physical Chemistry). I do so, not to boast about my
academic credentials but to draw attention to the fact that I am trained in the
scientific method and more importantly I am trained in spotting bad science.
Diet is certainly not my academic specialism but as an ultra-endurance athlete
it is one that I have a great deal of interest in and one that I have studied
extensively. Perhaps the most important thing I have discovered from my
research on the topic is in spite of huge amounts of data that actually exist there
is a huge lack of what I would describe as hard understanding on the topic and
the subsequent substitution with what is otherwise known as bad science. And
for those of you that prefer a bit of straight talking; that’s “Bullshit” in
American English or “Bollocks” in British English by the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The term “Bad science” which has been popularised in Ben
Goldacre’s excellent book with just that name “Bad Science”. (<a href="http://www.badscience.net/">http://www.badscience.net</a>) It does not
mean for one minute that these conclusions are actually wrong. What it means is
that the conclusions have been derived on incomplete data. But before analysing
what we mean by bad science, let’s look at some “good, hard science” and then
make a candid comparison. Newton’s laws on motion can be described as good,
hard science. Newton, about 300 years ago formulated a set of very simple
equations that were able to describe the whole of the then known physical word.
These laws and his equations, whilst not only being very simple were extremely
powerful. They had a predictive nature about them that is fundamental to the
concept of good science.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Describing what we know about diet and ultra-running performance
can indeed be described as bad science. This is not at all surprising as it is
a hideously complex topic and isolating parameters that can be studied in order
to determine their precise effect on performance to the degree of accuracy that
Newton was able to describe the effect that mass has on acceleration and on the
applied force when he formulated his second law is close to near impossible.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to describe a sports diet in such a way as
to say that increasing your intake of x% of y ingredient will lead to a z%
increase in performance; Alas it is not so. Not only does the diet effect performance
but also a host of other environmental factors that over a prolonged period of
time simply cannot be controlled. In studies of this nature there is a
generalised absence of what would be the control group, for no other reason
than nobody really knows what the control group should actually be. At best we
have “best attempts” to isolate factors and study them but in spite of
tremendous efforts on the part of the researchers they remain in the realm of
bad science simply because of the impossible nature of isolating the parameter
that is being studied or of simply establishing a valid control group, exempt
from being corrupted by other factors. This doesn’t mean their findings are
incorrect, only that they are flawed as a scientific endeavour. It also doesn’t
mean that we haven’t discovered anything; on the contrary, there has been a
major advancement in our knowledge on the topic. But wading our way through the
myriad of scientific complexity is a daunting task, especially when so much
research tends to be contradictory. Translating all of this science into a
practical diet, that is easy to follow and that leads to a genuine optimum
performance for a particular individual is near impossible, especially when we
include the different genotypes of all of the athletes that may be interested
in this material.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What we are left with is a philosophy, a set of general
rules that certainly have a lot of valid use, but are by no means a detailed
recipe for success. Many authors have tried to do just this and as would be
very natural for a topic of this nature they have evoked the theory of
evolution and justified diets on what our bodies had adapted over millions of
years of evolution to eat. Whilst I believe that this approach can successfully
lead to identifying the major trends in an optimum diet, I do not believe that
it can lead to optimum performance in a race. Our ancestors generally had
access to poor quality foods and developed highly efficient systems for
extracting energy from these foods. By injecting high quality, energy rich
foods into this system we can give it an extra boost leading to even greater
performance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So then, on to the bad science. It is unfortunate,
especially after the introductory paragraphs but the nature of the topic is
such that it is all we have. What I will express is of course is simply an
opinion. I consider it to be a valid opinion though as it is at least coherent
with what I know intellectually and what has worked well for me in running ultra-marathons.
I will argue a case, based on evidence but much in the way that a lawyer would
argue a case in court. I will be coherent in what I say and I will back up with
as much data as I have available. However, it will remain an opinion albeit an
informed one; based on my own academic research as well as my own experience in
running ultramarathons. Ultimately it will be another piece of bad science,
although I will argue there is a lot of truth in what I am offering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This lack of hard data has been summarised in Mark Hine’s
excellent book “Our natural diet” (<a href="http://www.markhines.org/Our-Natural-Diet(2857229).htm)">http://www.markhines.org/Our-Natural-Diet(2857229).htm)</a>
where Hines draws attention to these very problems and offers an interesting
synopsis of what may well indeed be our natural diet. But is our natural diet
the same as an optimised diet for ultra-endurance running. It is an interesting
question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The diet for an ultra-endurance athlete has to allow the
athlete to achieve the following goals. First and foremost has to be the
ability to maintain a prolonged effort over a prolonged period of time.
Following that the diet has to provide enough energy for adequate training,
allowing the athlete to achieve his or her goals. Coupled in has to be the
aspect of good health. A sudden burst of energy for training purposed does not
necessarily constitute optimum diet if we are considering our long term health.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back to the bad science then. In the void of any hard
reliable data upon which to make any hard scientific conclusions the developed
world in general came to the conclusion in the 1980s (<a href="http://understandnutrition.com/2013/05/08/the-low-fat-diet-why-it-was-so-popular-and-where-it-stands-today">http://understandnutrition.com/2013/05/08/the-low-fat-diet-why-it-was-so-popular-and-where-it-stands-today</a>)
that fat was bad. As athletes, weight is one of the most important aspects that
have an effect on performance. Carrying a couple of extra kilos has a huge
effect and slows you down so there is immense interest in keeping that weight
off, or losing it if we carry too much of it. So when the general opinion in
the field was that eating fat made you fat, we all diligently followed our low
fat diets, convinced that this was the only way forwards to optimum performance.
The problem is that this mind set has recently been shown to be complete
nonsense. (<a href="http://realmealrevolution.com/">http://realmealrevolution.com/</a>)
Noakes is in my opinion one of the very best sport’s scientist ever in the
field. Not only because he has written a host of literature based on actual
research but because he is willing to change his opinion and recognise that he
was wrong with previous conclusions that he had made. His book “The Lore of
running” is the staple reference point for any runner that is seriously
considering a fuller understanding of the science behind the sport.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So then, back to the fat. Our bodies are tremendously
adaptable and we are capable of adaptations in our diet that allows us to
extract the necessary nutrients from our food so that we may go about our
business. When we reduce or even eliminate fat in our diets, in an attempt to
lose weight our bodies adapt to this regime. If the major source of calories is
then carbohydrates our bodies become adapted to processing carbohydrates, and
that includes converting the carbohydrate into fat to make up for the very lack
of fat. The very biochemistry of our bodies changes in order to extract what is
needed. And fat is needed. It is not only needed for fuel but also it plays an
important role in cell protection and hence reduction in the risk for cancer. (<a href="http://www.thenaturalvet.net/Fats-and-Their-Relationship-to-Cell-Membrane-Function_ep_61.html">http://www.thenaturalvet.net/Fats-and-Their-Relationship-to-Cell-Membrane-Function_ep_61.html</a>)
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A host of studies analysing glycogen (Carbohydrate) stores
and performance arrived at the conclusion that at least up until the marathon
distance that the primary fuel for performance was glycogen. In other words
stored carbohydrate and athletes went to great ends to optimise these stores.
These included the low fat high carb diets as well as the famed carbo loading
regimes that athletes undertook the days previous to a race. Carbo stores in
the body can typically last for 2-3 hours which is just the right amount for a
marathon. When the carbs run out, the athletes experience the wall effect with
the subsequent dramatic decrease in work rate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Studies on triathletes, particularly for the Iron man distance
(<a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4445872/">http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4445872/</a>)
clearly demonstrated that the top athletes could not be burning carbohydrates
as the major energy source for the duration of the event. They were winning
races in about 8 hours, a supposed full 5 hours over the point when their bodies
ran out of glycogen. Not only that, but at the work rates involved, whatever
mechanism was producing the energy it was just as efficient as the carbohydrate
burning mechanism of the marathon runners and lasted a lot, lot longer. It is
this precisely this latter mechanism that we are interested in in ultra-running
if we are to truly unleash our potential.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, in the low fat, high carb diet the body is being
constantly trained for precisely that combination and never really learns to
burn fat. The body becomes adapted to carbs as the primary fuel source, so when
the carbs run out, the body subsequently crashes. But it doesn’t crash because
it has run out of fuel, it actually crashes because it doesn’t know how to burn
the huge reserves of fat fuel that it still has. It is little wonder that
whilst on this diet, study after study has demonstrated that it was the amount
of stored glycogen that affected endurance performance and every possible trick
was used to get more carbs into the body. (<a href="http://musclesound.com/glycogen-role-in-sports-performance">http://musclesound.com/glycogen-role-in-sports-performance</a>)
Once the carbs ran out, the athlete hit
the wall. The problem was though, that this still didn’t explain the top
performances of the top triathletes as they were able to keep up work rates
comparable to the top marathon runners but clearly they were not hitting the
wall at 3 hours. They weren’t even hitting it 3 hours later. What was
happening? And then came the revelation that shocked the sports science
community: These athletes were not actually following a low fat diet after all and
they were compensating with significant calories from fat. Not only that but
the athletes actually confessed to “cheating” on their trainers prescribed diet
and were eating considerable fat as well. The conclusion being of course that
these athletes were fat adapted. They were not actually using carbs as their
major energy supply but fats; stored body fats. Their bodies were so efficient
at burning fats that they were capable of comparable work rates to the top
marathoners of the day who were burning carbs. So instead of focusing on
improving our ability to store glycogen we should be training our bodies to
burn fats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So the low fat diet recommended by so many sports nutritionists
would not only appear to be highly mistaken for an ultra-runner but it would
also appear to be a major hindrance in achieving optimum performance. By eating
a low fat, high carb diet, the body becomes adapted to metabolising carbs, and
more importantly it becomes very poor at metabolising fats. What we need to do
is move to a high fat low carb diet in order to train our bodies to burn fat.
When all we have is fat to burn, the body adapts to burning fat, and when the
body is properly fat adapted it can run and run and run for a very long time. And
this is precisely what we are trying to achieve in our ultra-running.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So the high fat diet has suddenly become fashionable and there
is a growing trend in the sport towards it. With the same mistaken evangelism
that promoted the low fat diet, we now seem to be becoming obsessed with the
low carb diet. Carbs, at least to some extent have become demonised and a
dietary backlash against carbs is now being observed. But going completely the
other way isn’t the answer either. Those elite triathletes that were sneaking
fats into their diets and doing the top times in Ironmans weren’t just only
eating fats. They were eating considerable carbohydrates too. More
specifically; carbohydrates were the official staple of their diets but, and it
is an important but; they were eating considerable fat too. In other words, and
this is where we come full circle; <b>they were eating a balanced diet!</b> This of
course actually makes good common sense. Extremes in general are bad and often
the best way is somewhere in the middle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The “high fat - low carb” paradigm is equally misleading as
the “low fat - high carb” one. Both terms are inherently mistaken and both lead
to considerable imbalances for what can be considered as being optimum
performance in ultra-endurance athletics. What we should be talking about is
simple shifts in the percentages of these nutrients, and subtle shifts at that.
Barry Spears “The zone diet” (<a href="https://en.wikipidia.org/wiki/Zone_diet">https://en.wikipidia.org/wiki/Zone_diet</a>)
does just this and whilst anyone trying to follow this diet will require a
degree in biochemistry to understand what he is going on about, the message can
be neatly summarised as eating a bit more proteins and fats and a bit less
carbs. Instead of eating 60% carbs, Spears recommends approximately 40% carbs
with 30% fat and 30% protein. This can hardly be called a low carb diet as
carbs still make up the greatest proportion of the macro nutrients but it is
never the less an important shift from the more established traditional
marathon runners diet. More to the point, the USA national swimming team that
Spears coached whilst on his diet ran riot in the in 1980s and
took pretty much all the medals that were worth having in the USA. Clearly he was on to
something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Training the fat metabolism.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first stage in training our bodies to metabolise fat is
clearly to increase the fat in our diet. (<a href="http://www.bodybuilding.com/fun/how-eating-more-fat-helps-you-lose-more-weight.html">http://www.bodybuilding.com/fun/how-eating-more-fat-helps-you-lose-more-weight.html</a>)
This doesn’t mean eating massive amounts of fat like the famed Atkins diet but
simply shifting the emphasis of the diet towards fats. Remember, we are
adjusting the percentages without making major jumps. 30% of total calories
from fat, on a day to day basis can be considered as a healthy “high fat” diet.
(<a href="http://www.mensjournal.com/health-fitness/nutrition/why-experts-now-think-you-should-eat-more-fat-20141020">http://www.mensjournal.com/health-fitness/nutrition/why-experts-now-think-you-should-eat-more-fat-20141020</a>)
But also an important aspect of training fat metabolism is to train when the
body is depleted in carbs. This can best be achieved first thing in the morning
and training before having anything to eat. Whilst the body will not be
completely depleted as the glycogen reserves will not be empty, they will be significantly
depleted and as all food from the previous evening will be digested it will at
least force the body to access the reserves and this includes the fat reserves.
It is important not to force the body too hard straight after waking up,
especially as we get older and lose the elasticity in our arteries but by all
accounts, a lower work rate leads to a higher percentage fat consumption,
although total amount of fat burned increases with exercise intensity. (<a href="http://fitnesshealth.co/blogs/fitness/14112669-best-heart-rate-to-burn-fat">http://fitnesshealth.co/blogs/fitness/14112669-best-heart-rate-to-burn-fat</a>). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Personally I train religiously every day before work for about an hour. I take
a coffee to get me going and then hit the road no matter what. Consistency and
the formation of the habit are absolutely crucial in provoking the fat
adaptation to take place. It is a slow process and not something that happens
quickly. If you chose this route to ultramarathon success you have to be
prepared to forsake short term gains for the long term ones. Training for
ultra-marathons is even more arduous than the races themselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The major component of any ultra-distance athlete’s training
programme has to be the weekly long run. Out of racing season this will
typically be anything between 4 to 6 hours with the occasional 10 hour run for
me. On these runs you have to eat whilst you run and although I have no
scientific evidence or research to back up some of the following statements, I
can say that my own personal experience more than justifies what I am
recommending. We are interested in burning fats, but to burn fats we also need
to burn carbohydrates (<a href="http://www.sport-fitness-advisor.com/energysystems.html">http://www.sport-fitness-advisor.com/energysystems.html</a>).
A useful analogy is that of the pilot light and the major flame in a furnace.
Without the pilot light of the carb flame burning, it is impossible to ignite
the major fat flame. To this end it is important to consume carbohydrate during
the long runs as without them, the fat flame does not burn. But the trick and
it is a difficult trick to master is to consume just enough to keep the pilot
burning, thus forcing the major fat flame to keep burning. Too little carbs and
the flame goes out, too much carbs and the body takes the easy way out and
burns them, at the expense of the fat flame. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So just how much carbs should you eat on you long training
runs? There really is only one answer to that as far as fat adaption goes and
that is as little as possible. When you feel your energy beginning to dip then
that is definitely NOT the moment to take the carbs. This of course flies
directly in the face of traditional advice which recommends taking carbs on a
regular basis precisely to avoid this dip. Only when you are starting to feel
light headed and that there is a considerable loss in performance should you
eat them. And they should be relatively difficult carbs to extract as well such
as fruit. Personally I go for the dried fruit as it is energy dense
relative to the weight you have to carry. Gels are absolute no no’s as far as
training runs are concerned. You will take just enough to lift you out of the
downer, and absolutely no more if you are genuinely interested in adapting your
body for fat burning. I am a great fan of dried fruit and nuts. The dried fruit
contains the carbs and the nuts contain lots of fat and proteins. At this point
I need to point out that this is what seems to work for me. This is definitely
not a statement based on a literature research. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In taking this strategy it is very easy to get it wrong. In
a carbohydrate depleted environment you are essentially starving yourself. We
have seen that carbs are important in the fat metabolising process and the
complete absence of them in the body can be catastrophic. Indeed, the body will
simply not allow a complete absence of them in the body and it has been show
(<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gluconeogenesis">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gluconeogenesis</a>) that in the absence of glucose in the blood, the body
manufactures glucose by catabolising proteins. The brain mostly functions on glucose
so the very survival of the organism depends on carbs being present in the
system and will not allow zero point to be reached and starts to manufacture them internally. In lay terms that is tantamount to the body eating its own muscles and that
is clearly counterproductive to any sports performance.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Clearly though, the purpose of all this is to promote fat
adaptation and must not be confused with other aspects of training. This
requires some considerable discipline and self-knowledge as this will almost
certainly equate to slower times in the training runs compared to fuelling them
with a carbohydrate rich foods. Indeed, on a typical 50 km training run that I
often do, I will deliberately set out without eating breakfast. On a day with
breakfast this will often take me 4:40 at a reasonable training pace. Without
breakfast it always takes more than 5 hours, sometimes even longer. A casual
observer will immediately point out that you can’t train properly without
having eaten breakfast as you are clearly not working as hard and that the
difference in times proves the point. However, the whole point of training
whilst in a fasted state is not speed per se but is all about developing the
fat adaption. Continuous races that take place over several days are not won on
speed. They are won on endurance, and endurance is all about development of the
fat metabolism mechanism in ultra events.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Other legitimate aims of any training session such as
increasing your aerobic capacity and the development of speed clearly cannot be
achieved by taking this strategy and more carbs should be consumed. Indeed,
when I want to practice race pace, or develop speed I will always eat
breakfast. For speed the body needs to be well fuelled. However, I would argue
that the major purpose of the weekly long run for an ultra-distance athlete is
to promote endurance and fat adaptation. Improvements in aerobic capacity and
pace are the realm of shorter distance higher intensity workouts. The fact that
the training run takes longer should not be the issue here, you are training
for performance on race day and that will require shorter term sacrifices. But
little by little, especially if you start to keep accurate records of your own
training you will notice improvements in speed and endurance as the fat
metabolism starts to become more efficient in your body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Race day.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On race day we are all looking for a maximum performance. An
ultra-marathon race for me can be easily divided into two sub categories as far
as nutrition is concerned. The first are the 100 k races on tarmac or good
trails. They are fast races and typically take less than 12 hours. My last 100 k
clocked in at 8:49 which is not too shoddy a performance for a 51 year old. More
importantly, my pace was extremely uniform and at no time during the race did I
run out of energy or hit the wall. In this last race I didn’t eat breakfast.
Not because it was part of the race plan but because I simply wasn’t hungry. Hunger
is a good indicator to if we actually need food or not and for an ultra-run, I
am not in favour of forcing the issue. I had a good fatty meal of sausages, ham
and eggs the night before with just a few chips so I knew my reserves were
full. I was also less worried about the absence of breakfast as I know that my
fat burning metabolism is good. During the race, as soon as I noticed even a
slight drop in speed I would drink an energy drink, or take a gel. The purpose
of race day is to perform. Race day is when you get back what you put in and
then, and only then is when you fuel your body for maximum performance and that
means carbs. The train low, compete high strategy has indeed gainded popularity
amongst many elite athletes. (<a href="http://awordonnutrition.com/sepost/train-low-compete-high-a-quick-summary/?type=article">http://awordonnutrition.com/sepost/train-low-compete-high-a-quick-summary/?type=article</a>)
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When you have trained properly in a carb depleted
environment you have developed your fat metabolism to the full and when you
finally inject considerable carbs into your body whilst running it is like
igniting it with rocket fuel. The high consumption of carbs during the race not
only keeps the pilot light burning brighter but also allows this very pilot
light to ignite even more fats as though they were being burned in a blast
furnace. What you are doing on race day by taking in high quantities of
concentrated carbohydrate is actually providing an optimised environment for
the burning of fats. And that leads to optimum performance. It is easy to
understand the origins of the mistaken carbohydrate paradigm for optimum sports
performance in ultra-distance athletics; the true function being that carbs
facilitate fat burning. However, the underlying point, and it is one that
cannot be stressed with sufficient force is that this only works in fat adapted
athletes. During training it is a low carb diet; in a race it is high carbs
still.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For any race that takes over 12 hours we require a different
strategy. My own experience on relying on carbs and my internal fat store alone
simply does not seem to cut it. Races over the 100k distance can take anything
between 24 and 72 hours; at least for the kind of races that I like to do and
the fuelling strategy returns to what could only be described as a typical
balanced diet, at least in terms of the macronutrients. I will go for
concentrated foods as in fibre depleted but certainly the combination of
macronutrients resembles a typical food pyramid. After 12 hours I can only
imagine that my fat reserves start to fail too. I clearly have much more fat to
metabolise, I can see it; but after 12 hours it certainly appears that all of
the readily available fat seems to have been burned and that accessing that
second store of fat requires a bit more work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The pace that the longer runs are run at is quite a bit
slower than a typical 100k and that means that eating solid food is not only
feasible but is actually quite pleasant as well. The intake of solid food early
on in the race, and by that I mean a good combination of carbs, fats and
proteins seems to keep me going for a very long time indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A particular revelation in my own experience took place when
I was running the Badwater ultra marathon in the States. About the half way
point I switched to eating sandwiches that were soaked in olive oil and that
seemed to pick me up and give me a massive boost of sustainable energy, far
above the energy levels that I was experiencing by eating carbs alone. The
combination of the carbs, and I strongly suspect the oil, provided a huge amount
of fuel that went straight into the furnace. So, is it possible that we run out
of available fat reserves too? And by replenishing these with readily
digestible fats like olive oil we substitute the readily available fats in our
bodies? The fat burning mechanisms in our body are already fully activated and
all they need are the fats to burn. This would indeed be a great topic for a
scientific study but in the absence of which I will simply try to perfect the
method empirically on my own experience. Eating fats after 12 hours into the
race it would certainly appear; equates to optimum endurance performance in the
longer events.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Summary.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Summarising then, fat is the major energy provider during an
ultra-endurance event and as such athletes should be training in such a way as
to promote this biochemical pathway in the body and this means training in a
carb depleted state, typically fasted and before breakfast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As a general rule, an ultra-endurance athlete should be
eating a balanced healthy diet but one that is subtly shifted towards fats,
with no radical exclusion of carbs. Carbs are still very important.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">During a race the athlete needs to consume more carbohydrates
than in training in order to reach optimum performance and the longer the race,
the more important are the fats and these have to be consumed to maintain performance.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">And finally, before I get slated for the “bad
science” this is just a synopsis of my experience and stuff I have read. I’ll
leave it up to the actual sports scientists to collect the </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">data
and verify the hypothesis.</span></span>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-19913669847204004852015-03-11T11:50:00.000-07:002015-03-11T11:50:02.666-07:00The Tattoo<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Let me tell you about my tattoo.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDb8x09NpcAzlvBdLX8tALpbMVRARExTDNQ5jNrAVbgVhN3w2fZLqN6G0GqBTMz039jg0WmiJP6AArbqnYGSQh9lgZtxK7Dw3Tymx8Tnxe7-3P8NvLAji6sGSlFUGBaa11Gcz0R8vz7g/s1600/DSC_0219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDb8x09NpcAzlvBdLX8tALpbMVRARExTDNQ5jNrAVbgVhN3w2fZLqN6G0GqBTMz039jg0WmiJP6AArbqnYGSQh9lgZtxK7Dw3Tymx8Tnxe7-3P8NvLAji6sGSlFUGBaa11Gcz0R8vz7g/s1600/DSC_0219.JPG" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Most people see the tattoo and simply associate it with a
runner. Those in the know associate it with Phiedipides and the Spartathlon.
Clearly, to carry the tattoo is to have finished the Spartathlon but the true meaning
is in fact much deeper than that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Just over 20 years ago I fell whilst rock climbing and broke
my leg just above the right ankle. The leg was literally snapped in half and
the foot hung on by just a few tendons. I was helicoptered out by the rescue
team and then had emergency surgery in hospital. The doctors told me I would
never run again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Then in the 80’s the story of Phiedipides running from
Athens to Sparta in 36 hours was considered impossible, nothing more than<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a curious ancient anecdote blending in with
Greek mythology of impossible feats and impossible creatures and gods. That is
until John Fodden and his team set out to prove that it was indeed possible,
and that Phiedipides did indeed run between Athens and Sparta. The rest we all
know, which is now ultra-running history with the birth of the Spartathlon, the
world’s greatest race.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So the real meaning of the tattoo is that nothing is
impossible, neither the injury nor the feat. The only limits are those in our
heads and they are only there to be broken. The tattoo is on the leg I broke,
although you have to look carefully these days to see the scars. So whenever I
doubt myself I only have to look and see down Phiedipides to remind me that
nothing is impossible. Phiedipides will always be the myth that is to be
broken.</span></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-76204052734735219782015-03-01T09:40:00.001-08:002015-03-01T10:12:11.757-08:00Reflexión de un viejo cientounero.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSwAwizidZIeB5-XjGew2n46d_yfbwOfsYtM1s902UEksnOYyR1xkR9TgZYG04VoGSyACiycyWDeFLad9YVucTfi88lAGuTlL45Q5-2ivwYUqIp2REQcRQ-HUwr0YzAwvc-npbhL1jnY/s1600/20140814_184914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSwAwizidZIeB5-XjGew2n46d_yfbwOfsYtM1s902UEksnOYyR1xkR9TgZYG04VoGSyACiycyWDeFLad9YVucTfi88lAGuTlL45Q5-2ivwYUqIp2REQcRQ-HUwr0YzAwvc-npbhL1jnY/s1600/20140814_184914.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Para entender lo que significan los 101 de Ronda para mí hay que comprender mis raíces. <br /><br />Desde que puedo recordar, siempre he empujado mis límites al extremo. Encuentro mi camino en la delgada línea que separa la bravura de la locura, íntimamente atractiva e estimulante. De joven, a mis 20 añitos, practicaba piragüismo de aguas bravas en el Reino Unido y escalada de roca; siempre buscando un tramo del río más exigente o una pared más expuesta, que empujaban mi limite técnico y psicológico un poco más allá. En aquellos tiempos corría sólo para mantener la forma.<br /><br />Un día, cuando me encontraba en una vía psicológico, viajando en un espacio vertical liso y sin protección, me caí y me rompí la pierna derecha. Había 5 trozos de hueso independientes, la pierna estaba rota a 90º y el pie me colgaba de un par de tendones. El rescate fue dramático, me tuvieron que sacar en helicóptero y trasladar a un hospital para cirugía de emergencia.<br /><br />El cirujano que me operó dijo que ahora, con la placa de titanio que llevaba dentro, la pierna era más fuerte que nunca, pero los demás médicos dijeron que jamás podría volver a correr, que las lesiones eran demasiado fuertes y que debía aceptar mis nuevas limitaciones (además de la rotura evidente se habían cortado varios tendones que tuvieron que ser cosidos y el pie estaba totalmente fuera de sitio).<br /><br />Pero creo que nuestro destino está enteramente en nuestras manos y no les escuché. Empecé a correr como un demonio sobre compensando con la pierna izquierda, a pesar del dolor y la falta de flexibilidad en la derecha. Muy poco a poco volví a recuperar la forma y a correr de nuevo, con un estilo un poco raro, pero era correr. Conocí a José Luis Rubillo Gallego y juntos empezamos a entrenar y competir en carreras de orientación.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkpE0vXBfsOc_TTvfvVSu7t1KF3NxZIEjqJMWlWOy2jrz9r4V1kSWHEt8rLGjTE_3TUmsx2zWKEWR_j6NaF3qSPRdtzQQpxtGrfSWdsegfi628s5AXXWmzjLmREudpZ3rKiwWiGo9g1Q/s1600/20140814_184921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkpE0vXBfsOc_TTvfvVSu7t1KF3NxZIEjqJMWlWOy2jrz9r4V1kSWHEt8rLGjTE_3TUmsx2zWKEWR_j6NaF3qSPRdtzQQpxtGrfSWdsegfi628s5AXXWmzjLmREudpZ3rKiwWiGo9g1Q/s1600/20140814_184921.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /><br />Lentamente fui olvidándome del accidente, entrenando cada vez más fuerte, pero un día bajando una pendiente muy pronunciada aterricé bruscamente sobre la pierna izquierda provocando que la tibia penetrarse dentro de la rótula. El dolor era más intenso aún que con el accidente previo y tuve que parar en seco. Resolver el problema de la rodilla me costó dos operaciones y dos años fuera de juego. Estaba totalmente desconectado del mundillo de correr cuando José me contactó para volver a participar en una carrera de orientación juntos, el Rally a Pie del grupo de montaña Amadablan de San Pedro de Alcántara. Estaba muy fuera de forma, con un considerable sobrepeso, pero José insistió y volvimos a competir. El tiempo aquel fin de semana era horrible, con visibilidad entre 2 ó 3 metros y a pesar de ser el atleta con la peor forma de todos, conseguimos ganar porque no nos perdimos.<br /><br />Y un día nos enteramos de una carrera militar cívica organizado por los Legionarios Españoles en Ronda con una distancia de 101 kilómetros que pasaba por la serranía y que por lo visto tenía un excelente organización. No podíamos creer que no hubiéramos sabido de esa carrera antes, pero eran los tiempos antes de Internet y no nos había llegado la información. ¿Cómo era posible que nos hubiésemos perdido las 3 primeras ediciones? ¡Esa carrera estaba hecha para nosotros! La emoción de haber encontrado algo tan fantástico era máxima y con lesiones en ambas piernas, equilibrando cada vez en una, comencé a entrenar en serio de nuevo. Perdí peso, lo que me ayudó a correr mediamente bien de nuevo. No tenía la velocidad de antes, de hecho iba bastante más lento, pero podía correr y mis intenciones en mi primer 101 eran simplemente acabar la prueba. Con eso me daba por satisfecho.<br /><br />Mi primera participación en los 101 de 1999 fue un desastre. Lo recuerdo muy bien. Estaba usando unas zapatillas media talla pequeñas para esa tipo de recorrido; zapatillas que en distancias inferiores me habían servido muy bien, pero que esta vez me iban a castigar y dejar sin uñas en los pies. Perdí 9 de las 10 en aquel viaje a pie por la serranía de Ronda. Pero más doloroso todavía fue abandonar la carrera en el cuartel. Muy a mi pesar tuve que reconocer que con los pies destrozados no podía acabar aquel año. Me quedé con la miel en los labios: el ambiente tan cálido de la carrera, el buen rollo con los soldados, el compañerismo tan fuerte con los demás corredores y marchadores, ¡y el recuerdo de mi fracaso! Nunca había fallado en una carrera y para mí eso era un desastre.<br /><br />Desde ese momento los 101 se convertirían en obsesión. No pasaba un solo día que no pensara en aquella carrera. Cada vez que salía a correr tenía la mente puesta en esa prueba y en aquella época era el santo grial para mi mundo. Me hice amigo de Oscar Pajares, principal organizador dentro de la Legión, que se convertiría en una especia de héroe para nosotros.<br /><br />Acabé los 101 el año siguiente en algo más de 18 horas. El invierno previo había estado bastante enfermo, sin poder entrenar mucho a pesar de las ganas, y la terminé andando. Me costó todo lo que tengo dentro, incluso varios desmayos, pero acabé. Crucé la meta con lágrimas en los ojos. Nunca en mi vida me he sentido tan reventado, nunca he estado tan cerca del límite absoluto de mis capacidades físicas, emocionales y psicológicas, mi tolerancia a dolor; pero a su vez nunca he experimentado una sensación de éxtasis tan fuerte al simplemente acabar una prueba. Descubrí que me siento más vivo cuando me siento más muerto. La adicción total había empezado e iba a marcar los siguientes años de mi vida. De hecho me sigue marcando.<br /><br />Desde entonces he participado en casi todas las ediciones de los 101 con mi mejor marca en 9:50. He realizado algunas de las pruebas más exigentes del mundo incluyendo la Badwater que pasa por el Valle de la Muerte en los EEUU, The High en el Himalaya y la Spartathlon en Grecia. Esas carreras son desde luego más potentes que los 101 de Ronda, más largas y en condiciones más extremas. En todos los sentidos de la palabra me considero un ultra fondista muy experimentado. He estado en lugares donde pocas personas se atreven a ir, he visto cosas que pocos han visto porque mi cuerpo me ha llevado a esos lugares remotos. Y todo eso porque había una carrera organizada por la Legión de Ronda que sembró una semilla de ulrafondista en mí. Pero no solo para mí, sino para muchos de mis amigos, es la prueba que realmente nos inició en este mundo.<br /><br />Los 101 de Ronda siempre tienen un lugar especial en mi corazón, espero participar todos los años de mi vida mientras pueda. Porque esa carrera, ese ambiente tan único, ese inicio tan poderoso me dejó marcado en la manera más positiva posible. <br /><br />Mark Steven Woolley<br /><br />Ultrafondista</span>Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-54476233028459770812015-02-24T03:43:00.001-08:002015-02-24T04:15:23.697-08:00Take the “Ultra” out of Ultra Running.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXPvwyI6ejCjD3sbkpD2owbnrfU-dnVqWZvCHeVM61evy7WwxGhVHMbFGme7hFdkOg6jaA3NkYqGE76PiZ-6MF1weS_07IfkmewXtNS9Uten98Fdg8L8ps3np4DyNvWZYgUEsomJEg1Y/s1600/DSC_0527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoXPvwyI6ejCjD3sbkpD2owbnrfU-dnVqWZvCHeVM61evy7WwxGhVHMbFGme7hFdkOg6jaA3NkYqGE76PiZ-6MF1weS_07IfkmewXtNS9Uten98Fdg8L8ps3np4DyNvWZYgUEsomJEg1Y/s1600/DSC_0527.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was first attracted to running very long distances when a
friend rang me up out of the blue and asked me if I would partner him in a long
distance orienteering event in the local mountains at the weekend. One day
later we had our hearts in our mouths in a spectacular mountain race where I
think we ran something like 80 – 100 kms that weekend and in an instant I had
fallen in love with the game. I used to mountaineer and rock climb in those days and after
the race all I would wish for at the weekend was bad weather so that I could go
and run. Good weather obliged me to go climbing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There was no organisation, there was no training plan, no
specialist equipment, just pure unadulterated anarchy and lots and lots of fun.
It was in the day that the term “Ultra running” hadn’t yet been coined, at
least not where I lived and played. There were just a couple of organised races
a year and we would wait eagerly all year long to take part and then we would
run our little hearts out in the hills. There was no strategy to our races; we
would simply run as fast as we could and for as long as we could without wiping
out. We would buy the cheapest shoes we could find and any hint of technical
kit was where we had stitched something together ourselves, or to simply stop
what we had from falling apart. Sometimes we would actually win a race but the
driving force behind us was simply the immense fun that we would have whilst
running. Don’t get me wrong, we were tremendously competitive but the fun was
in the competition and much less so in the result. We always tried hard to win,
it was that urgency of the competition that gave me such a buzz but if we
didn’t win we were the first to congratulate our friends on their victory. In
those days we were all close friends, there weren’t actually that many of us
and we didn’t give a flying f*** as to what anybody outside our little insular world
thought of us.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGVuLLNQiZP4g2YM0ySTseruVIGxT5BZ1igti7INFsobNPc7Pzip0ct9iZBOrmT6ksVFDctHadScVD_vY8jOfU-1e-AHjbiQ-fwcWGUpvLrDBS70VZ8_69RvIV5-iulK1KwNM4glPrW0/s1600/DSC_0604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGVuLLNQiZP4g2YM0ySTseruVIGxT5BZ1igti7INFsobNPc7Pzip0ct9iZBOrmT6ksVFDctHadScVD_vY8jOfU-1e-AHjbiQ-fwcWGUpvLrDBS70VZ8_69RvIV5-iulK1KwNM4glPrW0/s1600/DSC_0604.JPG" height="320" width="214" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That was in 1989 and our little world has grown a bit since
then. Initially I enjoyed the growth as there were many more friends to go out
and play with. The same raw passion was there and then, being a seasoned
mountain runner with some experience I derived a great deal of pleasure in
advising the youngsters that were coming into our sport. They delivered a raw
energy that us older folk no longer had and we too, were part of their success.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But as the sport grew in numbers the closeness that was
prevalent in the early days gave way to a kind of dumbed down group think that
betrayed its soul. People started to appear that were only concerned with
winning, or being overly obsessed with their rank in a race. People started to
become more obsessed by the trivia and with the details of the kit they had
than simply getting out and running. “World records” started to appear that
clocked the fastest time to do some local distance with some quirky addition. But
above all, what most appalled me was the beginning of a kind of ultra-running
fascism where people were declaring that their way of doing things was the only
way and that anything else was invalid. On top of that people even became
aggressive with it. Whilst I have always got along well with pretty much
everyone, this new brand of “Ultra” runner certainly wasn’t my brand and so I
sought out that pioneer atmosphere elsewhere in longer and more difficult races.
The mainstream “Ultra” races had become corrupted.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have found what I am looking for in the big, big races.
The edge had simply moved along a bit and at the edge lived the pioneers.
Badwater, Spartathlon, The High. The people that got to take part in these races
were pure in spirit, and I had the enormous privilege to rub shoulders with not
only some of the world’s best athletes but also some of the world’s purest
athletic souls and some whom I now consider amongst my closest friends. The “big”
races it would seem continue to attract people with the sporting values that I
admire.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLzNr0dmC1dpPd0PMPXtNBawcCKKwkcoRUKyTzyvy0O7fy75T7OVWf_Vum3ALgw4qmtmjYhjP8GPMiNOlSGgO-brS_LAZU_1R0uR0owLhrvzXysmy7G2otyj0gjijxq4XLmVZN6M9pmk/s1600/375612_10200193300542433_1437937554_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLzNr0dmC1dpPd0PMPXtNBawcCKKwkcoRUKyTzyvy0O7fy75T7OVWf_Vum3ALgw4qmtmjYhjP8GPMiNOlSGgO-brS_LAZU_1R0uR0owLhrvzXysmy7G2otyj0gjijxq4XLmVZN6M9pmk/s1600/375612_10200193300542433_1437937554_n.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">An “Ultra” run or race is technically considered to be
anything longer than a marathon of 42 kms. So a 50k is indeed a legitimate “ultra”
race and anyone that finishes can indeed call themselves a legitimate “Ultra”
runner. And that sounds just so really cool. The problem is though that it is just
too easy. To complete an “Ultra” these days all you have to do is run a bit
longer than a marathon and you can give yourself a cool title that will impress
your friends. With just a few days training a week and being moderately fit you
can take part in, and have a reasonable chance of finishing one of these races.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I have absolutely nothing against this and I have
every respect for anyone who takes part in any event of any distance.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But the problem radiates from the “Ultra” word. The word “Ultra”
suggests extreme, it suggests beyond the norm and it suggests special. It
suggests that the person that has finished an “Ultra” is out there, on the edge
and is pushing the limits of human endeavour. This is clearly and often not the
case, especially in races with generous cut offs. Now I am going to say this
again; I have no problem whatsoever in people doing this, people who push their
own limits, finding their own edge, finding just how far they can go have my
every respect. These people are pure in soul and I identify with you.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But amongst the masses there are now a considerable number
of people that are not actually in love with the sport but in love with their own
image. The barrier to being an “Ultra” runner is simply too low and with
minimal effort you can paint a public image of yourself that is far removed
from the genuine sacrifice that is needed to reach your own true edge of human endeavour.
Not only that but with “World records” being set simply for doing obscure runs
under obscure circumstances “Ultra” running is even losing its credibility.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So then, I say we take the “Ultra” out of ultra-running. We just
call it running and we stop pretending that we are cutting edge athletes
because we have “Ultra” in the title of a race we just did. The truth is that
the majority of us are far from the cutting edge, we are mediocre at best and to
use the word “Ultra” to describe what we are doing is to blur reality into
making us look better than we really are and that ladies and gentlemen is
tantamount to a lie.</span></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-28550300976953481832014-08-31T07:13:00.003-07:002014-08-31T08:03:53.644-07:00The Worlds Cruellest Ultra marathon. La Ultra The High 333<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The worlds cruellest Ultramarathon. (A
story about an epic fail)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioK0brER_im17XzvkWTgzKGlcL7AlF6rmHeOGDmT7qR5NAo3UVANdN3P0VKNu6baRvwT9oPEpjbZb-s8o3grG1Dcpm7ba61BB0Ziv6EkwRWxt7sbhW_wrXuIxOhxaIBkDYZ5wRKFzWuII/s1600/20140806_100141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioK0brER_im17XzvkWTgzKGlcL7AlF6rmHeOGDmT7qR5NAo3UVANdN3P0VKNu6baRvwT9oPEpjbZb-s8o3grG1Dcpm7ba61BB0Ziv6EkwRWxt7sbhW_wrXuIxOhxaIBkDYZ5wRKFzWuII/s1600/20140806_100141.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">La Ultra, The High 333 is billed as the
cruellest ultramarathon in the world. In a hotly disputed arena for the world’s
toughest race, La Ultra simply states that it is the cruellest and subtly
avoids entering into the pointless argument over which is the toughest and in
spite of not giving the “cruellest” title much significance I was to find out
the full meaning of cruel.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It all started on a mountain top in Sierra
Nevada range in the south of Spain, just under a year ago, with a face book
conversation with Rajat Chaugan from India.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rajat: “Are you coming to la Ultra next
year?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: “No, I am not really interested in
repeating 222 kms in the Himalaya, I have done that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rajat: “What if I made it 333 kms then?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me: “Sure!!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so it was, Rajat had managed to entice
me into another Himalayan ultra-running adventure in spite of having decided to
move on and do other things. In fact, I had already agreed with my close friend
José Luis Rubio that we would climb a Himalayan Peak during the summer.
However, the 2 objectives were completely compatible and we decided to get to
the Ladahk valley early, climb the Stock Kangri mountain at 6153M, rest for a
couple of weeks and then run La ultra, the High 333, with José crewing for me.
Our respective families would meet up with us when we come down from the
mountain and then we would all be involved in the race. What could possibly go
wrong with such a perfect plan?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIC6Zj7Ujsy8TAeEgXClwM51atB31Q_u0m1V17Z1BgHbtPyP7mup-2R5MNglEL6PsjfAxjBoL36Xlf3xQcMh5KO_lky3zvnx-3XOw3T4IFY-Oa-JLuLVuBBnR0_Z-nLEaTNeujlNzVh8/s1600/20140804_104309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrIC6Zj7Ujsy8TAeEgXClwM51atB31Q_u0m1V17Z1BgHbtPyP7mup-2R5MNglEL6PsjfAxjBoL36Xlf3xQcMh5KO_lky3zvnx-3XOw3T4IFY-Oa-JLuLVuBBnR0_Z-nLEaTNeujlNzVh8/s1600/20140804_104309.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJm8CSb07p62_0WTIsocfseCZu8elSAfz3vUayLM3VG5iaOW7hg-89wMpS2tzcg06spiSyzwzl-lxBiJtfVKwe0UXThZViPfJiVcLGrKVke-keapvib8QGarM_tAjCeEYeYdfAD3nKQK0/s1600/20140805_062030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJm8CSb07p62_0WTIsocfseCZu8elSAfz3vUayLM3VG5iaOW7hg-89wMpS2tzcg06spiSyzwzl-lxBiJtfVKwe0UXThZViPfJiVcLGrKVke-keapvib8QGarM_tAjCeEYeYdfAD3nKQK0/s1600/20140805_062030.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Stock Kangri climb was one of the most
enjoyable experiences I have ever had. We had decided to go with a small
commercial expedition, simply because it meant that we didn’t have to deal with
the logistics. It was a good call as all we had to do was climb and hike as the
rest was taken care of for us. A well known Japanese ultra runner; Ryoichi Sato
joined us, and although there were a few translation problems, the group
quickly gelled into a buzzing happy unit. Indeed; the guides Tenzing and Padul
were quite taken aback by how fast we hiked and climbed, but their pride always
surpassed us and especially the younger lad; Padul always managed to stay in
front. Many years ago I would never have considered a commercial expedition but
these days, as well as being considerably older I also consider that I am
helping out the local economy. They need it, Ladahk is a poor region. The
guides were extremely competent and friendly and on the 4<sup>th</sup> day, after
having left the village of Stock and after having progressively climbed higher
and higher, allowing our bodies to acclimatise we saw ourselves on the Summit
at about 7am. We had left at 12:30 in the middle of the night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">La Ultra. The High. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After coming down from the mountain we all
met up with our families and had an extended 2 week rest before the race
started; this was all too short but it was great to meet up with old friends
from the 2012 edition and make a few new ones. The day before the race started,
we had to go to the Nubra Valley and get ready for the race.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The race started at 10:00 pm and followed
the Nubra Valley until the fork in the road indicated that we turn right and
head up to the Kardung La pass at 5400M. The climb was steady but relentless and
I spent some time running with a few of the others, John Sharp, Jup Brown and
Jason Dunne, enjoying the conversation whilst it lasted but both John and Jason
stormed ahead which left me for the most part running on my own, as Jup was
running a little slower. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZGoIYHEn9VSIu8E3RSIFYiOBPc_fF4N3FR7ZIEzD1NrzdwzvB1MYb8utDTbQp5eH1X4vmNg8KKp3SMR_eGU2cm0zcgBc11rRIf9GaJ6weRSO539beaplM5xBxiBKGhl2jqh1eh1JnbvA/s1600/10622919_808593479171558_5817993713232917453_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZGoIYHEn9VSIu8E3RSIFYiOBPc_fF4N3FR7ZIEzD1NrzdwzvB1MYb8utDTbQp5eH1X4vmNg8KKp3SMR_eGU2cm0zcgBc11rRIf9GaJ6weRSO539beaplM5xBxiBKGhl2jqh1eh1JnbvA/s1600/10622919_808593479171558_5817993713232917453_n.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I got higher the temperatures dropped pretty fiercely.
At North Pullu I had a down jacket waiting for me and I eagerly grabbed it
whilst Molly Sherridon made me a hot drink. We were later told that the
temperatures were between – 5 and – 8ºC ….. and I can believe it. I remember a
moment when Alex exclaimed that he was developing frost bite and had to get
into a support vehicle to thaw his hands out. Personally I didn’t have problems
with the cold as I had good clothes.</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5awkTQJFGdDumOZNFD_3CtHw1f7yQSzfNqCldT981P9sNN-g1wpYRwvYWv57lpVxhl2mL0alSqPDqZi3BYIMfhsI-nh9qpY0kSbP1cge0ey-S0ziSlw61AZFRXr5Xjtfs4YjQGqgrM8/s1600/10615561_702153039852798_6201451283189858638_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz5awkTQJFGdDumOZNFD_3CtHw1f7yQSzfNqCldT981P9sNN-g1wpYRwvYWv57lpVxhl2mL0alSqPDqZi3BYIMfhsI-nh9qpY0kSbP1cge0ey-S0ziSlw61AZFRXr5Xjtfs4YjQGqgrM8/s1600/10615561_702153039852798_6201451283189858638_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the dawn broke I found myself running on
and off with Sato. He seemed to be having a bit of a tough time, as was I,
especially as we were both over 5000M at this point and the hypoxic conditions
meant that any physical effort took a lot out of us. We both slowed to a power
walk and soon Sato left me behind. I had learned long ago that fighting the
altitude was useless and I opted for a pace that didn’t leave me exhausted.
There was still a long way to go.</span></span></div>
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<br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I got to the summit Sato was in a car
resting and didn’t look too well. I greeted him, ate some food and then said my
farewells; Satu was soon to be retired from the race on medical grounds. A
great runner but the altitude is cruel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I descended I soon became much more alive
and upon hitting the 4800M mark I found myself running again. At this point Kim
Rasmussen from Denmark caught me. We ran together for a short while but he was
going stronger than I and I let him go. There was still over 250 kms of race to
go and anything could happen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RneMrOPufe4VgW8AWtwTHSdNd4ZUZvZg_UCKVaHoePKAvy8InPuLK4SPB6fcYDnTH_QNGYA91a257Fgs3q0gmHXwJyFcJ1XePjpspo9gl4Q64b-PscF4qFm80HQxLcDG0cb_4q4SyAU/s1600/20140818_080902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0RneMrOPufe4VgW8AWtwTHSdNd4ZUZvZg_UCKVaHoePKAvy8InPuLK4SPB6fcYDnTH_QNGYA91a257Fgs3q0gmHXwJyFcJ1XePjpspo9gl4Q64b-PscF4qFm80HQxLcDG0cb_4q4SyAU/s1600/20140818_080902.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the 90 km point, a curve in the road
with a giant painted frog, called Kardung Frog, my crew; Jose Luis, Javi my son
and a local girl called Angmo, a martial artist expert was waiting for me. From
this point onwards we were allowed a personal crew and all the runners in the
333 km race had opted for a personal crew. From this moment on I would always
be accompanied; I would never be alone. Coupled to the crew where Elena, my
wife and Bea, Jose’s girlfriend who seemed to be having a great time filming
the whole event.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Upon reaching the Goba Hotel checkpoint in
Leh I had a short rest and then ran comfortably down to the village of Spituk.
Here the run ran alongside the main road and the dust thrown up by the trucks
was really unpleasant. I pulled the buff over my mouth and nose and just pushed
on, hoping to get onto the back road as soon as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAlAjv8kqI2iHZl0CUpPRTNBxjI9JF5CTmqHJ-bjnG6RKuCbSxeHkfwB7M6_nmzXzLk6x4PeqnowRBVtyfJTp9LjAqhbaT-EzkKBkNRpX4mOoM31JBrUUbFe9QkGhkKbD4SftvsRvBjI/s1600/20140818_190209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAlAjv8kqI2iHZl0CUpPRTNBxjI9JF5CTmqHJ-bjnG6RKuCbSxeHkfwB7M6_nmzXzLk6x4PeqnowRBVtyfJTp9LjAqhbaT-EzkKBkNRpX4mOoM31JBrUUbFe9QkGhkKbD4SftvsRvBjI/s1600/20140818_190209.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once off the main road, we entered into a
quiet little back road of varying quality. At the start it was quite good but
as the night approached the quality of the road deteriorated considerably to a
point where the support car had quite a hard time in getting across. We crossed
a point where John Sharp had staked out and soon after we had all decided that
it was time for a few hours’ sleep. You reach a point in the middle of the
night where you are not really making much progress and this is the best time
to sleep. A couple of hours later we all felt much more refreshed and it was
time to hit the road again.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimvyNOpMl-iOpf6_8Nxyhc4aCyro0pRBYOW6EHyugyQlP5J20b8UA0i_xtH41o8vNwEuJClbsrzlprRf49KcsNAklWCJD4WiqKeGB13oDB8wFCNomxutMkOSIhQ9OmmF8gR0czRCIn89Q/s1600/10458063_10203754914946042_1768354926500791148_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimvyNOpMl-iOpf6_8Nxyhc4aCyro0pRBYOW6EHyugyQlP5J20b8UA0i_xtH41o8vNwEuJClbsrzlprRf49KcsNAklWCJD4WiqKeGB13oDB8wFCNomxutMkOSIhQ9OmmF8gR0czRCIn89Q/s1600/10458063_10203754914946042_1768354926500791148_n.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We soon got to Serthi and then the climb to
Wari La at 5300M. It was daytime now so the cold temperatures that we had
experienced on Kardung La would now be avoided. The climb was pleasant, if long
and slow but we soon found ourselves on the summit where we stopped for a
little while to eat. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2moe3xSWXbaiOMgCkOiIp5Stc1qvxWB-wR7qKD7A5FV55__KTEoB-S7_EHo4emNxB_LXiLurcnWM5FPUM5JIc9TQYTWvdnfTmTp-x7TpZDEBRWIDdSjNj4IEX3J0UMO673M2vOBkBdc/s1600/10577185_10203754915986068_1007895062692031903_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2moe3xSWXbaiOMgCkOiIp5Stc1qvxWB-wR7qKD7A5FV55__KTEoB-S7_EHo4emNxB_LXiLurcnWM5FPUM5JIc9TQYTWvdnfTmTp-x7TpZDEBRWIDdSjNj4IEX3J0UMO673M2vOBkBdc/s1600/10577185_10203754915986068_1007895062692031903_n.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jup was here and we chatted for a while before descending.
It was here that I felt just great and I literally ran happily and joyously
down the mountain as if I didn’t have a care in the world in spite of Jose’s
warnings to take it easy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHn3XQcinRo-6gaVoZs3vxzsxGrta19WVgWorxZd0w8iMQTgLCAcYfs-m0T7QkJMydFChziubkBjFb7UR0XD5tluvtD3WagO3zV0y1aWEQ1bzEc5C0aZgGMVHzzejNMJMRlYA2lWurTKY/s1600/20140820_043754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHn3XQcinRo-6gaVoZs3vxzsxGrta19WVgWorxZd0w8iMQTgLCAcYfs-m0T7QkJMydFChziubkBjFb7UR0XD5tluvtD3WagO3zV0y1aWEQ1bzEc5C0aZgGMVHzzejNMJMRlYA2lWurTKY/s1600/20140820_043754.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We soon reached the valley floor and then
onto Karhu. At this point the secondary road joins with the main highway which
goes on for about 15 kms before a turn right takes you up a narrow valley and
then on to Tanglang La. At about 5 kms before reaching Upshi, with some 230 kms
in the legs I felt exhausted and Jose promptly called it a day and we all
slept; perhaps a little longer than we should have but all I can say is how
wonderfully refreshed I felt. On to Upshi we went and then into a narrow gorge
and on to Rumpsi at the base of the climb.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The climb up to Tanglang la was pure
delight and the same sensation that had invaded my body whilst climbing Wari La
invaded me again. I soon caught up with Kim who was having difficulties so I
shook his hand, hugged him and wished him all the best, it was a race after
all. The atmosphere was electric, with everyone congratulating me and wishing
me well. We soon made the summit and with just 24 kms to go I settled into a
gentle but happy trot using the gradient of the hill to aid my advance. At this
point I thought it was all in the bag. How could I possible thing otherwise, I
felt great, I had a 2 hour lead over Kim, what could possible go wrong?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwP-30cO9OfEMUony7R7LUvpP8rV5N3gQvBjWKuokbbOaRapwtHV1wMy89m7VgKnBivhyphenhyphen0aB4j7zdMK_LRRasncPkWQyoA2mtWgmIpqL5OKraCrTxktpTy1Pz8nRdahfzZBmMb7f5Cak/s1600/20140820_122247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFwP-30cO9OfEMUony7R7LUvpP8rV5N3gQvBjWKuokbbOaRapwtHV1wMy89m7VgKnBivhyphenhyphen0aB4j7zdMK_LRRasncPkWQyoA2mtWgmIpqL5OKraCrTxktpTy1Pz8nRdahfzZBmMb7f5Cak/s1600/20140820_122247.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first 5 kms coming off the top were
enjoyable in spite of some heavy trucks throwing up a lot of dust from the track
that they were slowly converting into a road, but then the track crossed an
open section of mountain with a strong, cold cross wind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Upon reaching the support car I climbed in,
just to get warm again but then things got very quickly and alarmingly out of
control. I started shivering and then went into deep, uncontrolled convulsions.
Jose quickly took control and covered me with every available sleeping bag and
item of clothing but by then my body had gone into shock and I was all but
paralysed, except for the uncontrolled convulsions. The medic Razwin arrived
and took over, he put even more layers on and measured my temperature; 37.5ºC,
half a degree above but I still couldn’t stop convulsing. After a couple of
hours laid down during which time Kim had passed me it was obvious that I
wouldn’t recover in time to finish. Jose made the actual call to quit. I didn’t
argue with him, I knew I was beat. At 318 kms, at 5000M, with only 15 kms to
the end I was well and truly beat, I couldn’t even stand up. Out of it. There
was nothing I could do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So Kim Rasmussen became the first and only
person in the world to cover 333 kms in the Himalaya in hypoxic adverse
conditions in a single stage foot race. He did it in 71 and a half hours. My
sincere congratulations go out to him as he is a genuinely lovely person and I
am happy to be beaten by him. He deserved to win.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And finally a race account could not be
finished without a special mention to the crew and to my family. They had kept
me going during some very tough times, and Jose, especially had made sure that
every detail had been taken care of in order to keep me going. In the end I
failed, I came so close yet the finish line may as well have been another 333
kms away for I was simply unable to make those last few kms. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I now have unfinished business out
there. In many ways that is a good thing; it gives me something to work on,
something to focus on, something to spend the next year dreaming about for I
now just have to go back. And finish.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cheers!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mark</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-61348448082489433852014-01-04T01:02:00.000-08:002016-01-30T23:46:27.528-08:00How to train for Spartathlon.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIk73v4N_L_IjTDMeKCVYyioyfAA697B74U6bWypJlssXVTdZipsh-2t2NcayH6I5CVFiBgibZm-rz4FZVWgNpSnS6ZiQSPt9EeVMO6MRLq1N8jtLs3rNDZYoqk3lRPfnTf3tl8ExsMY/s1600/313054_2086152840630_640318981_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIk73v4N_L_IjTDMeKCVYyioyfAA697B74U6bWypJlssXVTdZipsh-2t2NcayH6I5CVFiBgibZm-rz4FZVWgNpSnS6ZiQSPt9EeVMO6MRLq1N8jtLs3rNDZYoqk3lRPfnTf3tl8ExsMY/s320/313054_2086152840630_640318981_n.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">How to train for Spartathlon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In writing this little piece I need to say that it is
completely and utterly subjective and written from my own little viewpoint as a
middle of the pack, middle aged, of average ability ultra-distance runner. I
have started Spartathlon 6 times and finished 3 times and all of the finishes
were smack bang in the middle of the pack of finishers. Not the fastest but not
the slowest either. To put this in perspective to other measurable distances I
have clocked 8:27 in the 100 kms and 190 kms in 24 hours on the track. Not that
fast, or great but not that slow either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What I will describe here is more of a training philosophy rather
than a training plan, but I hope it is useful and that it helps at least a few
others achieve success in the Spartathlon. I have a couple of friends in mind
when I am writing this so if this article actually helps them then I will
collect my beer at the next post-race celebration. So these are my recommendations
for a 50 something year old amateur athlete who wants to finish the Spartathlon
before old age creeps up on them.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo90APnwxxHfQlnBCo0HNcCqhfJnVwA_d90jm41kkKF1u-o4dgA9UGXCNBeSMzrnpHQIgmSaQDr41g1jWnZqfmP6G9YoHu6CBR3_ngLziTnOLhLdx_gDbNb0s7bqA3gMckMZM_24getf8/s1600/1511321_268186059998745_1928276405_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo90APnwxxHfQlnBCo0HNcCqhfJnVwA_d90jm41kkKF1u-o4dgA9UGXCNBeSMzrnpHQIgmSaQDr41g1jWnZqfmP6G9YoHu6CBR3_ngLziTnOLhLdx_gDbNb0s7bqA3gMckMZM_24getf8/s320/1511321_268186059998745_1928276405_n.jpg" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">John Fodden summarises what it takes to finish Spartathlon
in a beautiful, simple quote: “I shan’t wish you luck because if you haven’t
trained properly, luck will be of no use. And if you have trained properly then
you don’t need luck.” I like to add that “Luck starts at 5 in the morning.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But just what is training properly for the Spartathlon?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">AND JUST HOW HARD IS IT TO FINISH?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I really don’t like qualifying a race as the hardest or the
toughest or baddest or whatever based on a subjective opinion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many races claim to be the toughest or the
most difficult but the truth is they are only playing to a public that are all
just too eager to buy into the image of the event where they imagine themselves
as the “toughest in the world”. However, what I will say is that the
Spartathlon is the race that I personally have found the most difficult and demanding
just to finish. The reason is simple. You must run 246 kms in 36 hours. The
Spartathlon is the epitome of an ultra-distance athletics race. It is ultra-distance,
it is athletics and it is a race. And there you have it. Most people in the
“ultra running” world can understand the distance and the race element without
too much explanation but I think it is the “athletics” part that the vast
majority of people that present themselves on the start line fail to fully
comprehend. The act of fighting in battle for an ancient Greek warrior was incredibly
athletic and it should come as no surprise that Milatides chose only the very
best athlete to deliver the message to the Spartan king. I repeat; the very
best athlete. So when Herodotus documented this original feat of Phiedepides,
we are talking about the very best warrior athlete of the day. Not a plodder
and certainly not a long distance walker. If you are considering doing the
Spartathlon you need to comprehend this little fact. Far too many do not.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Unlike many other ultra-distance races, the Spartathlon
forces you to run almost all of the time. The moment you ease up the pace you
find yourself against the time barriers and they are brutal. As a result you
have to be extremely physically and mentally well prepared to finish. Note that
only 33 % actually finish and this against a back drop of having to present a good
solid ultra-running CV to enter. And this brings me to the first major point:</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Spartathlon qualifiers: They are far too soft. You can
qualify for the Spartathlon by doing a 100k in 10 hours 30 mins, or by doing a
200k race inside the time stated by the organisation. For a start, the 100k
distance isn’t really a good indicator for a 246 km race and let’s face it,
10:30 is way too soft. If you can just break 10:30 in the 100k on your best day
you will almost certainly not finish the Spartathlon. I hope I don’t sound too cruel,
but that is the truth. If you can just break 10:30 don’t waste your time or you
money, you will only be disappointed. Most people I have spoken with that have
actually finished have the 100k time in at least less than 9:30, most under 9
hours.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A much better qualifier would be the distance covered in a
24 hour track event and the word on the street is that you should be able to
clock up at least 175 – 180 kms. The cut off in the Spartathlon is 172 kms in
24:30 so 175 – 180 kms in a 24 hour, flat track race would approximate to this ….
Except that you still have 80 kms to go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Clearly it is a race that is very, very difficult. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2iqn6xMU1z0zp2lxsoXEmyrIcT8cwHKcjP9n7qc9q-uvVnMc5NzWSWAIOzDEZkusZiBZ7x0AUaePH6Tt3yBoD0et4GMTvJYLBPX63owl6UUqa68bU0GFs5FKijhVbIX1poLLudJ7FVxU/s1600/1378492_10200423295175967_1610384099_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2iqn6xMU1z0zp2lxsoXEmyrIcT8cwHKcjP9n7qc9q-uvVnMc5NzWSWAIOzDEZkusZiBZ7x0AUaePH6Tt3yBoD0et4GMTvJYLBPX63owl6UUqa68bU0GFs5FKijhVbIX1poLLudJ7FVxU/s320/1378492_10200423295175967_1610384099_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For someone who has had success at mountain trail races it
is also a very deceptive race, especially if you come with a lot of experience
and a strong curriculum in mountain conditions. The main feature of the
mountains are the changes in pace and therefore the continuous changes in the
muscles used. In the Spartathlon there very few changes of pace and that tends
to load certain muscle groups more than others. The road also takes its toll in
a way that the mountains do not and the body must be prepared for the pounding
of the asphalt. I remember all too well my first attempt after the UTMB in
2007. I finished the Tour very comfortably but the Spartathlon left me with
trashed legs after a meagre 70 kms because I was not accustomed to running on
the hard road. I was obviously very strong in the mountains and very bad on the
asphalt. The mountains did not prepare for the asphalt of the Spartathlon. Running
on a hard road surface has nothing to do with running trails and so here is my
first major tip:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">YOU MUST TRAIN ON ASPHALT.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">To succeed in this kind of race you have to know how to run
with maximum efficiency. Ie , with the minimum expenditure of energy. And if
you want to finish the Sparta that has to be the only goal of the year. Other
races are nothing but fun and training sessions in racing conditions. And since
it is so difficult I would recommend that at least 70 % of all training is on
asphalt.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For the year that I first had success, I trained with a GPS
heart rate monitor . I set the speed to 10 kms per hour and I experimented with
different positions, postures, stride length, arm positions etc. , etc . in
order to find the most effective and efficient way to maintain this speed. I started
with 125 pulses per minute to keep 10 kms per hour and got to 106 just by polishing
running technique alone. Clearly this already gave me a huge advantage over my
previous technique with no actual gain in fitness. The moment you discover the
technique it then takes lots of practice until it becomes firmly engrained in
the subconscious and it becomes the most natural thing to do. Basically there
are almost no foot lifts and the foot almost glides over the surface of the
road, which cannot be done in the mountains without a face plant into the rocks.
The arms are kept low and the torso kept straight and leaning ever so slightly
forwards with your head facing forward. I also learned a lot watching the
runners in 24 hours races. Think of efficiency when training, not speed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As far as the amount of training involved I have a very
simple philosophy. You train when and however you can, but for an
ultra-distance runner you must maintain a very high volume. Why no set plan? Well,
because I work and have a family and they have to come first. In my case this
means I have to get up at 5 every morning to train but if I do not, I know that I
will not finish the Spartathlon. As a general rule I will train 2 hours a day
in 2 sessions during the week, one before and one after work with long runs of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>5 or 6 hours during the weekends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I will do
some 160 to 200 kms a week, week after week, for at least 4 – 5 months before
doing the race. I will take a full day off every 7 – 10 days where I will do
nothing. But be aware, most of this is at a slow relaxed pace. Only slightly
faster than the speed I will use to run the Spartathlon. That is about 11 to 12
kms / hour, no more. These are not junk miles, as some often mistakenly assume.
You are not just training your body, you are training your mind just to keep
going…and going … and going. You will need that in the race and this last point
cannot be stressed enough. However, I will still put in a couple of speed
sessions a week just in case I want to do a fast race like a 100k. The vast
majority are slow sessions that allow me to be fully recovered for the next session.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And a major factor that is often overlooked in preparing for
the Spartathlon is the psychological preparation. This is where the relentless
high volume really gives major benefits. With so much running your mind will eventually
adapt to a state where running at 10 kms an hour is the normal state for it to
be. This means that your new comfort zone is running and when those demons at 3
in the morning come out to haunt you can happily revert to your comfort zone
which is running. If you can get up at 5 in the morning and get out on the road
without even thinking about it, and then again every evening when you finish
work, again without thinking about it you are probably well on the way to a
Spartathlon finish.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, if you do need a bit of luck, remember that luck starts at
5 in the morning, every morning for months upon months before the Spartathlon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mark</span></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-87750743279684093882013-10-13T05:47:00.003-07:002013-10-13T05:51:43.300-07:00Spartathlon 2013<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0LMUxhVKsxUnztDePxCNnbDvrLQjVT3DsKaugo5LhjNxpJMVH9kzGcEj0HTDYkhtNJlmH3tXodNRQqAPUC9MSEWa9Lo-7YOtmZGjiURhUaB2KQsaKBL3WcdjMtd8QeRIoaOfU-GHxR4/s1600/1379485_10153349935440179_463041456_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0LMUxhVKsxUnztDePxCNnbDvrLQjVT3DsKaugo5LhjNxpJMVH9kzGcEj0HTDYkhtNJlmH3tXodNRQqAPUC9MSEWa9Lo-7YOtmZGjiURhUaB2KQsaKBL3WcdjMtd8QeRIoaOfU-GHxR4/s320/1379485_10153349935440179_463041456_n.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">OK, I admit it; I am on a crusade. This is the year that I
reach 50 years old, the magic half century of life and the psychological
turning point for the vast majority of the population into a decadent decay
period which is characterised by long years of poor health, one that ultimately
leads to a premature, unpleasant death; that is if they haven’t turned before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My work is with young people; I am a teacher and these
youngsters look to us adults for inspiration and for guidance on how to conduct
their lives. It is an incredibly influential period of their lives and the
philosophy that embeds in their heads is essentially that by which they will
live the remainder of their lives. But how many times to these youngsters hear
the message to eat healthy, do some exercise, not to smoke only to look at the
person delivering the message who is overweight, visibly unhealthy and who is clearly
not ‘walking the walk’? And then they look around themselves and see a society
where all the older people are actually getting old, looking old and suffering
from poor health. Such is the extent of the poor health that they grow up
thinking that it is indeed normal and that the message they are hearing is just
an extravagant lie. All the youngsters see is hypocrisy and they become cynical
and reject the message.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So then, what better way to spread the message than to do
both Badwater and Spartathlon in the same calendar year that I reach 50. I
finished Badwater this summer and that has been written about in another blog
post.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the 4 previous attempts at Spartathlon I had failed twice
and finished twice. The score was even and this was the decider. The stakes in
my mind were high; all the students at school were really interested in this “old”
guy running this insane distance in this ridiculously short time. The news was
published on the school website and the pressure of putting in a solid performance;
so as to demonstrate beyond any doubt that I practice what I preach to these
adolescents was at a maximum. Maybe for people outside the teaching profession this
may seem a little strange, indeed, it will seem strange to many of those in the
profession too but as I said earlier, I am on a crusade and if I leave a
legacy, however small it will be that we can live a healthy and active
lifestyle right up to the point that we die. At 50 I am still young!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3m5AVCIRyFsnqkfPp_gbbfPvpxNBWTkc9xCIFYCiMRwyUOh3ROJoh1K6TsNmd2H0MEt97PxPvNlADlglyTQv3cDuAAR16vKMj_9HFcXBjrnD_X4QtL_-pDpT5CX_GP396s9bFRPV3PR8/s1600/1305427_10202065701635198_1046814972_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3m5AVCIRyFsnqkfPp_gbbfPvpxNBWTkc9xCIFYCiMRwyUOh3ROJoh1K6TsNmd2H0MEt97PxPvNlADlglyTQv3cDuAAR16vKMj_9HFcXBjrnD_X4QtL_-pDpT5CX_GP396s9bFRPV3PR8/s320/1305427_10202065701635198_1046814972_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Spartathlon race feels very familiar now. The arrival at
the London Hotel, the pre-race tension, the daft jokes with Rob Pinnington and
the general banter with all the other runners is just great fun. I have been
playing this game for some time now and this was a time to meet up with many
old friends. James Adams and Robbie Britton who I had trained with in Spain
just a few weeks ago were buzzing, James as the British Team captain and
Robbie, who was determined to “smash it”. Both inspirational guys but I had my
focus purely on the finish. I had to beat this beast just one more time.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RHMo6YVPJtwTf16BXES-1RmMuH81B746GNOBV0sHLUk1VlugZ7jF9hCIaZxMJVSGnAu1_Q3HL3Lwi77QNBfcoOs46BMDKSPaoLCw90UgWV0OrWIf3Q19QY3JtIssuqoUC2H7eJ3_GFI/s1600/1377211_587539647959621_537966510_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RHMo6YVPJtwTf16BXES-1RmMuH81B746GNOBV0sHLUk1VlugZ7jF9hCIaZxMJVSGnAu1_Q3HL3Lwi77QNBfcoOs46BMDKSPaoLCw90UgWV0OrWIf3Q19QY3JtIssuqoUC2H7eJ3_GFI/s320/1377211_587539647959621_537966510_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">At the start of the race I spent some time talking to the
Argentinians. I have written a lot in Spanish and many of these people know me
from my writings. I met Gerardo Re in Badwater this summer and we had a lot to
talk about. Nico kierdelewicz lives very close by and we had trained a few
times together before the race. Like I said, I just love the pre-race tension
and the nervous laughter but my laugher wasn’t nervous, it was simply childish
joy at being surrounded by like-minded nutcases.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So at 7 in the morning we left the Accropolis and started
our journey to Sparti. The race developed well, Rob Pinnington quickly hooked
into my pace, using me as a pace setter so that he didn’t go too fast. In this
race pacing is everything and starting out too fast is paid for by failure. But
after some 5 hours of bad jokes and a lot of laughter Rob fell behind as the
heat of the mid day sun started to bite. Then I was on my own for a long time,
casually passing others or being passed myself. I came across Paul Ali, I
overtook him. Then he overtook me, so I overtook him again ….. and on and off
like that until about 20 kms to the finish! Paul is true a warrior, of that
much I can attest, and although he was having obvious difficulties with the
race he just kept at it until he finished. Respect!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On the other hand I was on a roll and felt just so strong. The
kilometres fell away and I simply flowed through those ancient mountains where
so many warriors have fallen in the past. The connexion was complete and I was
just completely in the zone and running was just so easy. That is until about
150 kms. At this point I was having difficulty with eating and keeping the food
down. This isn’t at all unusual as it coincides with the small hours of the
morning and my body shuts down. The mountain came and went but I had slowed
down quite a lot at this point and the 2 hour margin that I had accumulated
started to be lost.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">When the sun came up I started to feel a whole lot better
but my legs were heavy and I couldn’t recover the pace that I normally do after
the night. I was eating again but the legs weren’t responding, they were like
planks of wood and it took all my mental effort to move them. They did move,
and the moved sufficiently but they didn’t flow. No matter how hard I tried I
just couldn’t connect to the beast within and every step was a struggle. But
there’s the point. I knew I would finish. There was absolutely no doubt that I
would finish. I had a comfortable margin and all I had to do was to hang in and
move towards the finish. That’s why the beast stayed hidden, he knew I didn’t
need him.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBF58xpRxD1COBFAL7o1mEFkYar6NBnGNFEHc7Wjr889JowpYDEVwQpxDmQ8lZ1oai-Z73653k1hOWDpSIcYUEl5tbsF52nFnfP7Sr98AhdqejQ30FSXakuXDK_urbYc27p42mU9k7pk/s1600/528236_10151944607407386_1889075103_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBF58xpRxD1COBFAL7o1mEFkYar6NBnGNFEHc7Wjr889JowpYDEVwQpxDmQ8lZ1oai-Z73653k1hOWDpSIcYUEl5tbsF52nFnfP7Sr98AhdqejQ30FSXakuXDK_urbYc27p42mU9k7pk/s320/528236_10151944607407386_1889075103_n.jpg" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The finish is Sparti eventually arrived and the Union Jack
flag was thrust into my hand as I approached the finish line. The tunnel of
people leading the way to Leonidas’s statue was lined with the carnage of
runners that had failed, including many from the British team. They cheered me
on all the same and then I remembered why I was here. Finishing the Spartathlon
is always emotional. It takes so much out of you to get here that the ecstasy
of touching and kissing leonidas’ foot are simply overwhelming, and of course
the crowd goes wild every time someone finishes. The Spartathlon finish is
simply the best finish in the world. Woolley 3, Spartathlon 2. Game set and
match, and at 50 to boot!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqafDRdANl-cJgI6LkiBk1jzHwSDjy8MAZZSAV3Ujm3Up_yuyshd4Kms_uLPZJE0jVfUTAEt640fln2HEPr5DRgmfrXsEBRhQdqGILSs_d0g8uwfJwzRHGfg_NBuH48dcVwzr8CtLqeY/s1600/1380015_10151917619781047_776870406_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqafDRdANl-cJgI6LkiBk1jzHwSDjy8MAZZSAV3Ujm3Up_yuyshd4Kms_uLPZJE0jVfUTAEt640fln2HEPr5DRgmfrXsEBRhQdqGILSs_d0g8uwfJwzRHGfg_NBuH48dcVwzr8CtLqeY/s320/1380015_10151917619781047_776870406_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Spartathlon is the greatest footrace on Earth. This year
I actually found Badwater tougher with the 55ºC heat but Spartathlon is still
the greatest. Why? Because it just is, that’s why! It is impossible to explain
and the only way you will ever know is to take part …. And finish. And that’s
the rub. Most don’t. The physical demands on your body are enormous but the
mental stress of the race is greater still. The race unleashes ancient demons
that haunt the runners right from the very start and that do their very best to
derail them. They usually win. It’s the battle with the demons that makes the
Spartathlon so difficult and that make the finish so special as it means that
you have beaten them in battle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Many people have asked me what it takes to finish the Spartathlon,
now that I have had 3 successive finishes. Well, that’s easy: Be like a Spartan
warrior. No retreat, no surrender and be supremely fit. You will either return
on your shield or with it. It really is as simple as that and any compromise on
that philosophy will result in absolute failure. The only prize in Sparti is
the finish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As far as my crusade is concerned, I hope that I have set a
good example to the students at school. I hope that they are starting to see age
as a mind set issue rather than how many years you have been on the planet.
Remember, you don’t stop running because you get old, you get old because you
stop running.</span></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-91704155381653626992013-08-24T07:38:00.001-07:002013-08-27T03:38:43.307-07:00Fat Dog 100<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Fat Dog 100</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC5P3PjVuV6Qs0oMuabQyPSfgd6bOZJL0pOdlNLCvlez_kcq6enFnWQMVYZhv0Gg3QQUfFUgYFxNwpP6ameYRxnIUWlFu_kStjmLESg59pRUKc0oOgQe1Et86t0tZFotU4KOr8fKuWGLw/s1600/20130817_063415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC5P3PjVuV6Qs0oMuabQyPSfgd6bOZJL0pOdlNLCvlez_kcq6enFnWQMVYZhv0Gg3QQUfFUgYFxNwpP6ameYRxnIUWlFu_kStjmLESg59pRUKc0oOgQe1Et86t0tZFotU4KOr8fKuWGLw/s320/20130817_063415.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Fat Dog 100 is a trail race, or rather a collection of trail
races that take place in the Cascades mountains in British Columbia in Canada,
about 3 hours’ drive inland from Vancouver. It is a fairly low key event
organized by Heather Macdonald and Peter Watson from Mountain Madness and is an
absolute diamond in terms of a spectacular, tough and genuinely beautiful trail
race. There are several versions. 120, 70, 50, 30 and 20 miles. Clearly the
organisers are trying to allow for all ability levels and I signed up for the
70 mile (114 km) version. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmvcXSO-iOTQRee1guO-M2h3OGyNt0Bi4kNVyEh8nBTGh9Xm37b0QtXRwAeL1rzcLr_TFghvNpRLuKtzerdQ8bjKVyDcuJLkZejryYSu2gkA5cb9wQGKr1YuVXT-dUcgaDaYFaXK22Vsk/s1600/20130819_123307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmvcXSO-iOTQRee1guO-M2h3OGyNt0Bi4kNVyEh8nBTGh9Xm37b0QtXRwAeL1rzcLr_TFghvNpRLuKtzerdQ8bjKVyDcuJLkZejryYSu2gkA5cb9wQGKr1YuVXT-dUcgaDaYFaXK22Vsk/s320/20130819_123307.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wouldn’t normally sign up for a “soft” version of a
race but I had just finished Badwater a month earlier and the Spartathlon is
just around the corner. What I needed was a good training run and 114 kms
through the mountains of BC in Canada was just the ticket. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hCvRAkPJcgD3A-cXqxvGwlUSq3Q-HuovJr5Y3JgHBA91fF0PwBQz4EtQe4qYfTwD2wQWItc1mNUIbA40NOJKnYUVr5CkesdMYtZqx_yWQqDshi2S-coxYWVP77KTS-9btjRUo0hZPXs/s1600/20130819_111950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hCvRAkPJcgD3A-cXqxvGwlUSq3Q-HuovJr5Y3JgHBA91fF0PwBQz4EtQe4qYfTwD2wQWItc1mNUIbA40NOJKnYUVr5CkesdMYtZqx_yWQqDshi2S-coxYWVP77KTS-9btjRUo0hZPXs/s320/20130819_111950.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If Badwater in Death Valley was the home of the Balrog, then Manning Park must surely be home to the Elves. From the very start my idea
was to run well within my ability, not to push too hard and just get some
quality training done in a spectacular setting. The 120 mile version would have
left me trashed and that was not what I wanted at the moment. This year I reach
50 years old and I have set myself the target of doing both Badwater and the
Spartathlon in the same calendar year. Great way to celebrate 50 years old eh? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The race started at the top of a mountain after having been
bussed up to the start line from the Manning Park resort where we were staying.
There were only 15 of us signed up for the 110 km distance and it felt more
like a casual get together with a few friends rather than an actual race that I had travelled to the other side of the world to find. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Very quickly I found myself
running with 2 young lads in their 20s called Ian and Juan. They looked pretty
fit but they were running at a decent pace that suited me so we sort of formed
a group and ran together sharing stories and tales of adventures passed.
Although the pace was probably above what I wanted to do I felt a lot safer in
a group because this was bear territory and these locals at least knew what to
do should we see a bear. Me? I didn’t
have a clue!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ian explained to me that there are 2 kinds, the Grisleys and
the Brown bears. Now, the Brown bears are pretty soft and apparently if you
make some loud noise at them they just sort of wander off and get out of the
way. … yeah … right……as if! … and the Grisleys? …”Well…..” said Ian. “That’s
another story, they don’t get frightened easily and it’s best to stay out of
their way.” “So what if they attack?” said I. “Try to stay calm and play dead”
was the answer! Ian explained carefully to me that the bear would probably test
the body to make sure that it was indeed dead and that you have to be a really
good actor, especially if the bear bites your head. What!!? “The bear bites
your head!!”; “Yeah, just play dead, if you bottle it you’re dead” was his reply.
“You need to be pretty chilled about it.” After this conversation I decided
that the best thing was just not to meet a bear. Any bear! We ran down the most
well maintained trail ever along the broad ridge of the mountain at about
2000M, which after about 20 kms turned into a knife edge and then descended
steeply into a dense forest of dark green Douglas firs. I stopped to sort out
my shoe laces and Juan zoomed ahead. Ian needed the bathroom so that worked out
fine and we kept running together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At this point, a young girl, also a twenty something zoomed
past and left us in the dust. Now, for Ian this was clearly too much and it was
obvious that his manly pride was at stake here and not getting chicked was far,
far more important than listening to some old geezer and a few stories of
Badwater with which Ian moved up a gear and then left me in the dust. I sped up
for about 100M but then remembered that this was a quality training run and
that trashing myself was not what I needed right now. Not that I would have
been able to keep up anyway. Ian went on to win.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But that of course left me on my own with all those bears. I
would have to rely on the runners before me scaring them away. Now there
weren’t exactly too many of us out there in the mountains and we were all
spread out over a very large distance. The truth is I was completely alone and
the only people I would see were at the check points which were separated by
approximately 15 kms. But being on your own in the back country is simply an awesome
experience, the rawness of it all, the connection with nature, the pure adventure.
This is what trail running is all about and I just loved the solitude. The body
moving freely and elegantly through the forest, just like our early ancestors
did when they hunted down their prey, except of course that I didn’t have a bow
and arrow and they didn’t have Hokas. So
much more exciting than some of the tame, oversubscribed commercial trail races,
completely lacking in soul I have done in the past where the only imminent
danger is being stabbed with another runners’ pole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyn-IpPz3nQJ6o8M707z03z4zOKYKKdDGdVp3CM9ahElYHkpx-pzeHshJQSCqAHZEkY5YtcBah2QWKop34XJQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The trail now wove down the steep switchbacks along the mountainside
and eventually turned into one of the most ancient forests I have ever been
through, full of giant, knarly old trees steeped in long lost memories. The
forest floor was covered by a layer of ferns and bright green vegetation. From
the size of the trees I would estimate that they were at least 400 – 500 years
old, Redwoods and Douglas firs mostly but the most outstanding feature of the
forest floor was the complete chaos of fallen trees and the imminent decay that
subsequently unfolded after the death of the tree. The trail followed the
Skagit river and was very humid, the trees retaining all the moisture from the
river and even though it wasn’t very hot I was soaked in sweat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyp4k7BSxaKwlAeEgnbQA1xCEEH0Yh9JFjOfP-YBDLmR5pZGwaBPL9fSAJOZJceSshqHOkh4qKiOpA81LgWxA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And through
this chaos wove the trail, sometimes it would close in and only the pink trail
markers were the only indication that a trail even existed but mostly the trail
was well maintained and cleared. Now, supposedly the trail is maintained by the
park officials but I was convinced that this was really the work of the Ents,
for not only do they look after the trees but they also make for the passage of
men. This surely must be Middle Earth and this must be Fangorn Forest. Surely the
Elves must be here too and it wouldn’t be too long before I saw one, and I was
convinced they would come to my rescue should I actually get to meet a bear ……
or worse, the killer mosquitoes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqRhmw6rJPGRBk5aYbfUgcz_kdGB9X6LJTtDfyXh9NXHhaNdrDH4OmSgZ1rLNlFELYt361WXLb31bQ1vfB390xtZucQPqqSoIlS7ZL162PRRGAq6-VCgQ5wi36zmaRzZs21StYhdB1ec/s1600/20130819_111111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqRhmw6rJPGRBk5aYbfUgcz_kdGB9X6LJTtDfyXh9NXHhaNdrDH4OmSgZ1rLNlFELYt361WXLb31bQ1vfB390xtZucQPqqSoIlS7ZL162PRRGAq6-VCgQ5wi36zmaRzZs21StYhdB1ec/s320/20130819_111111.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, for pretty much all this time I had actually been running
and I hadn’t quite appreciated that the mosquitoes were out looking for easy
meat. As you are running, the body movements actually make it difficult for
them to land and so you don’t actually get bitten much. But when you meet a
steep uphill that is another story. Shortly after leaving the check point at
the 81 km point there is a steep uphill for 13 kms where you gain 1500M. This
is powerwalking territory and this is where the mosquitoes attack! For the most
part I managed to keep them at bay by waving my arms around my body but then I
had to take a leak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnuNfC1R6lvl1UFXId602182XXAEgwbFcgNb1IbZuffMKz-OYoqL3tWrQXgVmHEmiWSvnHwWTV-ytWKAQORKq7H6VZJ4XN1X28XaIFwfdORJPbTWhkz3hGTnKj7gLvJx8aiHqPApqgL8/s1600/20130819_104613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnuNfC1R6lvl1UFXId602182XXAEgwbFcgNb1IbZuffMKz-OYoqL3tWrQXgVmHEmiWSvnHwWTV-ytWKAQORKq7H6VZJ4XN1X28XaIFwfdORJPbTWhkz3hGTnKj7gLvJx8aiHqPApqgL8/s320/20130819_104613.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, when you are taking a leak and you have a certain piece
of extremely sensitive and valuable flesh exposed there isn’t anything in the
whole world that you wouldn’t do to protect that piece of flesh. The thought of
just one killer mosquito getting through your body defenses and biting that
most sensitive of body parts means that all personal defenses are redirected in
that area, leaving all others horribly exposed. You have one hand holding it
still so that you don’t dribble all over your legs and the other is waving and
swiping madly at the air trying to ward off the little savage flying biting animals.
And believe me, the mosquitos take full advantage of this and within a mater of
seconds you have several hundred of the little beasts chomping away on anything
they can get their teeth into. I mean, they even entered my mouth and flew up
my nose. I was wearing a thin shirt and this was simply not enough of a defense
and they proceeded to bite me all over my back and shoulders. If it wasn’t so
utterly unpleasant I would have marveled at the supreme coordination skill of
these little insect assassins, waiting for the perfect moment and then launching
a beautifully coordinated attack as though they were on a military raid deep
into foreign territory when the enemy was preoccupied with other business. Just
where were those bloody elves when you needed them?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The only remaining defense was to get out the Goretex
jacket. I was already sweating profusely due to the virtually 100% humidity in
the forest and putting the jacket on, zipping it up, hood included which just
added to the extreme dampness of the whole situation but at least it kept the
mosquitoes out. The climb carried on and at about 1500M the temperatures
started to drop rapidly and it was evident that the mosquitoes couldn’t handle
it. At this point I came across an aid station in the middle of nowhere that
was playing the blues. Awesome!! At 1800M the mossis were no longer a problem
and I took off the jacket and changed the shirt for a dry one that I had in the
bag. At 2000M there was a gentle breeze blowing and it was the most wonderful
sensation you could possibly imagine blowing in my face as the crest of the
trail was reached, rising briefly above the tree line and giving rise to some
spectacular views of the glaciers on the side of Frosty mountain, doused in the
last timid light of day before nightfall. I passed a check point perched on the
mountainside where a guy called Peter (The co-director) handed me some more Pringles
and the energy surged again. Pringles work pretty well you know as fuel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDotUn5WQBm0hmyzpoo91KwIHvCcSdf4PdWkb2RQUKqXXo6U42gkOXkgw8TBcZEOnqO3H7eMFbVS40RPsvRZusxBJOpPt_No9YCxzUkanMD4WWy5oiYT8bo5zb2-BETl1oOgf19D1q-xg/s1600/20130812_202157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDotUn5WQBm0hmyzpoo91KwIHvCcSdf4PdWkb2RQUKqXXo6U42gkOXkgw8TBcZEOnqO3H7eMFbVS40RPsvRZusxBJOpPt_No9YCxzUkanMD4WWy5oiYT8bo5zb2-BETl1oOgf19D1q-xg/s320/20130812_202157.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The trail followed the Skyline ridge with a few steep rather
technical sections in between but as it was dark I couldn’t see the distance of
the fall to the ground which may have been a good thing but I was actually a
little disappointed as I could imagine that the view must have been absolutely
spectacular. As it was, all I could see were shadows and I had to image it.
That is when I thought that I should have run just a little faster so I could
have seen it all in day light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The final descent to Lightning Lake and the finish line was
the most perfect trail you could possibly imagine The trail rapidly came into
the tree line and the stars disappeared. It was all downhill and not too steep,
covered with a fine carpet of pine needles which meant that it was supremely
runnable to which I turned the headlamp on full and simply took off all the
brakes and let myself fall with gravity along this most wonderful of trails.
The lights that were following me disappeared and I was on my own running in
the blackness of the forest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I saw the finish line I was actually a little
disappointed. I was enjoying myself so much in this savage remote forest that I
didn’t want it to end. I had connected to my soul and I had flowed through the
trail as well as I could possibly have hoped for and felt at complete peace as
I did, the solitude and remoteness of the trail was simply awesome. I can
safely say that it was simply one of the most enjoyable runs I have experienced
in a very long time. Just a shame I didn’t see a bear, that would have made it
perfect!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Reflections.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBufmZ_AzjgizeU0nd5QfKS8XdVxr3UtzskLoqYbvtuJ_CTVRBrdeujzvKmmAxCoAfJ6dJooHw90yaY6iT7TBKFqLKLxRGzJDOIfjmNU0X7vlXUVH_ZCTkVDmA3WKpYMIbu_KbECNBDY/s1600/20130819_120005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBufmZ_AzjgizeU0nd5QfKS8XdVxr3UtzskLoqYbvtuJ_CTVRBrdeujzvKmmAxCoAfJ6dJooHw90yaY6iT7TBKFqLKLxRGzJDOIfjmNU0X7vlXUVH_ZCTkVDmA3WKpYMIbu_KbECNBDY/s320/20130819_120005.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I set out to run a lively run and not try to race at all.
The objective was to use the event as a quality training run for the
Spartathlon in a months’ time and I think I did just that. I did the 114 kms
and the 4000M of climbing in just under 18 hours. Most of the trail was really quite
runnable, on well-maintained trails interspersed with steep up hills linked
with some quite technical sections. The organization was impeccable and did
exactly what it said it would. The volunteers and race staff were really,
really friendly and generated a magnificent family atmosphere. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The event is an absolute gem, but be aware,
this race is seriously remote and I would recommend it only for people that are
comfortable with being on their own, for long extended periods of time in a
remote setting in the middle of the mountains in bear country. If anything goes
wrong you really are on your own and you have to know how to deal with it. Personally
this is exactly what I was looking for, the exact opposite of my last race, the
Badwater where you even have a crew following you all the time. I would have
loved to have seen a bear but I didn’t. I saw deer, squirrels, ground squirrels,
masses of different birds and thousands of mosquitoes but no bears. I believe
they are there and maybe I will have to come back just to find one. That would
be really cool!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzsrhVqv3O0XXuxmf7-G-Hz_GFVergshIWnuZKwiYW1-D4H0TgsmU4rN15sk_c9HVRpcwW3w32anLjd2Y6rBem2gAGoeFLXXXPKLqOj3KnLfY91P8-T4qTI1YtLh_38PWpZuMqNy2_LZk/s1600/20130815_144132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzsrhVqv3O0XXuxmf7-G-Hz_GFVergshIWnuZKwiYW1-D4H0TgsmU4rN15sk_c9HVRpcwW3w32anLjd2Y6rBem2gAGoeFLXXXPKLqOj3KnLfY91P8-T4qTI1YtLh_38PWpZuMqNy2_LZk/s320/20130815_144132.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Would I recommend this race to other Europeans?, …… it is a
long way to travel. Absolutely!!!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-53374975014327845012013-08-18T16:01:00.000-07:002013-08-18T16:03:09.118-07:00Encuentro con un Balrog. Badwater Ultra Marathon 2013<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Encuentro con un Balrog. Badwater Ultra Marathon 2013<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Por Mark Steven Woolley</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGVuLLNQiZP4g2YM0ySTseruVIGxT5BZ1igti7INFsobNPc7Pzip0ct9iZBOrmT6ksVFDctHadScVD_vY8jOfU-1e-AHjbiQ-fwcWGUpvLrDBS70VZ8_69RvIV5-iulK1KwNM4glPrW0/s1600/DSC_0604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGVuLLNQiZP4g2YM0ySTseruVIGxT5BZ1igti7INFsobNPc7Pzip0ct9iZBOrmT6ksVFDctHadScVD_vY8jOfU-1e-AHjbiQ-fwcWGUpvLrDBS70VZ8_69RvIV5-iulK1KwNM4glPrW0/s320/DSC_0604.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Los balrogs son criaturas desagradables y demoníacas
que habitan los más profundos abismos de la tierra. Se rodean de fuego y
oscuridad y vienen armados con látigos en llamas. Al final de la Primera Edad,
la mayoría de los balrogs fueron destruidos por los elfos en la <i>War of Wrath</i>, pero algunos permanecieron
escondidos en los hoyos más inaccesibles de la tierra. Se rumorea que uno de
ellos vive en el <i>Valle de la Muerte</i>,
y que el intenso calor que hace allí se debe a esa criatura y no a las
condiciones geográficas y climáticas. No es como la ciencia moderna nos ha
hecho creer, sino que se debe a un balrog enojado, su enconado odio e ira por
la muerte de sus hermanos libera enormes cantidades de fuego en el valle. La
única criatura que rivaliza con el balrog es el dragón, pero como todos
sabemos, los dragones son sólo un mito fantástico en las mentes de los seres
humanos y no existen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Así nos encontramos de nuevo en el <i>Badwater Ultra maratón</i>, esa carrera que
comienza en Badwater y cruza el foso de fuego que se conoce por el nombre del Valle
de la Muerte. Este iba a ser mi segundo Badwater, después de haber terminado la
carrera en 2010, aunque con ciertas dificultades. Había perdido el conocimiento
por la intensa deshidratación y tuve que tomar un descanso forzoso en el
hospital de campaña de Stovepipe Wells. En el transcurso de algunas horas me recuperé,
me sentí mejor, volví y terminé, pero el arte de correr el valle quedaba viciado.
Mi intención al volver este año era perfeccionar este arte para correr la
carrera perfecta, pintar el bello arte del ultra-corredor pasando por el Valle
de la Muerte. El Valle es el lugar más caluroso de la Tierra y es este factor
por sí solo el que los corredores deben desafiar. Claro, Badwater es un largo
camino -135 millas o 217 kms para ser exactos- que cruza un par de collados de
montaña y termina por la larga ladera de la montaña más alta de los bajos EEUU,
con un desnivel acumulado de más de 4000M, pero para un ultra-corredor experimentado
estos factores realmente no representan nada fuera de lo común. No, la
verdadera cuestión en Badwater es el calor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGDsYRYHr9JTNP9SDngX8cT-03K_OoMCapB7EjiF2D882o9ITd4gF_H6DOTkl-pn8H5QeVqzxS4m9b7P0hHpJs31qwC-SzNTj9w5IMkwLyEyl8Md_PE_I_AIj1N2WhoiBNsh1lL3D3vI/s1600/DSC_0477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcGDsYRYHr9JTNP9SDngX8cT-03K_OoMCapB7EjiF2D882o9ITd4gF_H6DOTkl-pn8H5QeVqzxS4m9b7P0hHpJs31qwC-SzNTj9w5IMkwLyEyl8Md_PE_I_AIj1N2WhoiBNsh1lL3D3vI/s320/DSC_0477.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Pero si alguien piensa que esta increíble carrera la
protagoniza el corredor está muy equivocado. Badwater es todo un trabajo de
equipo: el equipo de apoyo. Para realizar la carrera necesitas un equipo de
personas que te siguen y atienden tus necesidades, pero lo más importante es
que en realidad te mantienen con vida en el más inhóspito de los lugares. El
calor es tan intenso que sin su ayuda te secarías como la hoja amarilla que
muere en otoño, y cae al suelo vacía, carente de toda humedad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Así pues, ¡olé con el equipo de apoyo! Poco después
de recibir el correo electrónico de aceptación de Chris Kosman, publiqué un
anuncio en Facebook: <i>BUSCO HOMBRES PARA
VIAJE PELIGROSO. SALARIOS PEQUEÑOS, CALOR INTENSO, LARGAS HORAS DE COMPLETA
LOCURA, PELIGRO CONSTANTE, REGRESO A SALVO DUDOSO. HONOR Y RECONOCIMIENTO EN
CASO DE ÉXITO… NECESITO TRIPULACIÓN PARA BADWATER</i>. Era un adaptación del original
con el que Shackleton buscó tripulación para
abordar el Endurance en la fatídica expedición a la Antártida a finales del
siglo pasado. Con este anuncio Shackleton llenó su barco con personas de ideas
afines y yo conseguí mi equipo para Badwater en menos de una hora. ¡Pobres
almas descarriadas!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Javi Woolley: Mi hijo de 15 años. Hace 3 años su
hermana mayor Laura tripuló para mí en
el primer Badwater cuando tenía esa misma edad. Javi disfrutó inmensamente con
la idea de ir al desierto más caluroso del mundo. ¡Secretamente disfrutaba con
la idea de patear el culo de su padre para variar! Creo que lo más importante
que se puede legar a los hijos son experiencias. ¡Y Badwater es sin duda una experiencia!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jari
Nyman: Un querido amigo desde hace 25 años. Solía entrenar a lo bestia con Jari
en el gimnasio hasta que nuestros intereses deportivos se separaron. Jari es
ahora uno de los mejores artistas marciales de Jeet Kun Do del mundo y le
fascinaba el ultra maratón de Badwater. ¿Qué fue lo que llevó a estas personas
a estos extremos?, se preguntaba, ¿qué les permitió seguir adelante? Sólo había
una manera de averiguarlo y era unirse a
la tripulación.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOx-IcdpxBON1KYCTdp9BP9uXpFuWhjOdYnhWVsiTNrYk_Hiaxp3VyrnN8MSLgqMVLgUxfX_cIyHsNH653mPgd6K8hqnRHRYmunp5tGtQb4R1VTkt7HY5TfHdaYXnNK-S0pJM0n3_XxPs/s1600/1000411_10200833180806419_1751836846_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOx-IcdpxBON1KYCTdp9BP9uXpFuWhjOdYnhWVsiTNrYk_Hiaxp3VyrnN8MSLgqMVLgUxfX_cIyHsNH653mPgd6K8hqnRHRYmunp5tGtQb4R1VTkt7HY5TfHdaYXnNK-S0pJM0n3_XxPs/s320/1000411_10200833180806419_1751836846_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stephen
Sutton: Otro buen amigo de mis días en la universidad. Stephen es un magnífico
deportista y en la facultad pasamos muchos, pero muchos momentos juntos escalando
y haciendo alpinismo, cuando en realidad deberíamos haber estado estudiando.
Nos metimos en tantos líos juntos que es un milagro que los dos estemos todavía
vivos para contarlo. Compartimos casa juntos, pero perdimos el contacto hará
unos 20 años. Tras encontrarnos otra vez en Facebook, ¿qué mejor manera devolver
a vernos que hacer la Badwater?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jup
Brown: Conocí a Jup el año pasado durante <i>The
High</i>, una ultra carrera de 222 kms en el Himalaya indio. Vió por casualidad
que tenía una plaza vacante para Badwater y se puso en contacto un par de semanas antes de la carrera
por si también podía sumarse a la fiesta. De inmediato le dije que sí. A pesar
de que no conocía a Jup de mucho sabía que encajaría a la perfección, habíamos
pasado 3 semanas juntos en el Himalaya y me bastaron para saber que es un
artista de primera en condiciones extremas. Se le puede reconocer al instante, es
el kiwi blanco pálido con largas rastas rubias y quemadura solar crónica.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Vicente Vertiz: Vicente es un amigo cercano de
muchas batallas ultra, incluyendo mi primer Badwater. No pudo venir este año,
pero fue parte del equipo desde el principio y se merece su mención. Algunas semanas
antes de la carrera fue operado de un ojo con complicaciones que le obligaron a quedarse en casa. Sé que
estaba decepcionado, pero cuento con todas las aventuras que todavía tenemos
por venir.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Luis Guerrero: Luis en realidad tenía plaza de
corredor en el Badwater de este año, pero tuvo que renunciar por compromisos de
trabajo. Cuando supo que mi equipaje se estaba retrasando me envió rápidamente un
paquete de material para la carrera, incluyendo zapatos de mi talla, a través
de otro corredor mexicano. ¡Luis no estaba allí en persona, pero era sin duda del
equipo! Dice el refrán que se necesitan amigos hasta en el infierno. ¡Bueno,
ahí estaba yo a las puertas del infierno necesitando a mis amigos! ¡Muchísimas
gracias Luis!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIpki-bx98es1zKOgUL-zywyWfBicnkbvwqjz6Yv_4oudKKTtGMQWKwmqgjQjGBXZM-j4QsEOJDxS2U6Y5xXQCK2vcIm_F7mi9Vq8pJo-BuWvqfqMwseboKgKLU0zZgQ74G7UM3lSGYY/s1600/DSC_0514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIpki-bx98es1zKOgUL-zywyWfBicnkbvwqjz6Yv_4oudKKTtGMQWKwmqgjQjGBXZM-j4QsEOJDxS2U6Y5xXQCK2vcIm_F7mi9Vq8pJo-BuWvqfqMwseboKgKLU0zZgQ74G7UM3lSGYY/s320/DSC_0514.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Al comienzo de la carrera, en la salida de las 8:00
AM, la temperatura ya era bastante alta y tras la cuenta atrás</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">estábamos en camino. Todos con nuestro propio
viaje personal por delante y cada uno con su propia motivación personal para
hacerlo. La mía era pintar el arte perfecto, expresar el perfecto movimiento
del cuerpo; la carrera perfecta. No me refiero a ganar o llegar antes que
otros, ni siquiera a correr particularmente rápido. Lo que esto significa para
mí es que lo hago de una manera sumamente elegante y al máximo de mi capacidad.
Significa que mantengo todo bajo control y simplemente fluyo a través del
valle, totalmente sintonizado con la naturaleza y profundamente conectado a mi
alma interior. Significa que encuentro la paz absoluta mientras corro,
completamente desconectado del mundo. Sólo importante el momento presente. Sin
embargo, una criatura mítica que algunos se atreven a comparar con un dragón,
iba a hacer todo lo posible para que no fuese así.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8EB2PvjhRmaCJdRWLcHFyhgQ-rzWiLMQl7k1zsraIeTYqvoKJWDPaDcA6gVmGXIzP1Ju6ARfOHG7VNJ9lV-urjnZtS_GSrQ5ww7FM-SH9e05VOCdcFDEQQ5y9-yoozWuG5cEOREo-9vY/s1600/59188_440962909350132_705922180_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8EB2PvjhRmaCJdRWLcHFyhgQ-rzWiLMQl7k1zsraIeTYqvoKJWDPaDcA6gVmGXIzP1Ju6ARfOHG7VNJ9lV-urjnZtS_GSrQ5ww7FM-SH9e05VOCdcFDEQQ5y9-yoozWuG5cEOREo-9vY/s320/59188_440962909350132_705922180_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">El inicio de la carrera fue muy agradable, bastante
tranquilo a pesar de las temperaturas cada vez más altas. De hecho, a las 8.00
horas ya estaba <i>quite hot</i> (bastante
caliente), algunos grados por encima de la temperatura corporal, no habiendo
pasado siquiera por la fase <i>a bit hot</i>
(algo caliente). Era un buen momento para hablar con otros corredores y pasé un
rato muy agradable conversando con Ian Hughes de Escocia, Dave Clark, Seow Kong
Ng y algunos otros que estaban corriendo más o menos la misma velocidad que yo.
Hasta Furnace Creek no se permiten los <i>pacers</i>,
pero después de ese pueblo sí, y Jari, ansioso por probar este juego de correr
por el Valle de la Muerte salió a la carretera para correr a mi lado. No estoy
seguro de quien estaba disfrutando más, él o yo. Pero esa es la esencia de
Badwater, ya sea corriendo o en la tripulación, todos tienen una experiencia que
está fuera de este mundo. Todo es tan intenso, tan inmediato. Steph y Jup
salieron después y todo el mundo parecía estar asombrado y alucinando al darse
cuenta de dónde estaban, lo que estaban haciendo y que todo eso estuviese
sucediendo aquí mismo, ahora mismo en el Badwater Ultra maratón en las
profundidades de la fosa del Valle de la Muerte.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Es posible que te preguntes cual es la diferencia entre
</span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a bit hot</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> y </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">quite hot</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. Hago este inciso en mi lengua adoptiva para que no se
pierda el giño que escribí para los lectores estadounidenses </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(de paso os doy una pequeña lección formal en inglés
británico de calidad; después de todo, fuimos nosotros los que inventamos el
lenguaje, tome usted nota, por favor). En Inglaterra diríamos que el Valle de
la Muerte es definitivamente </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a bit hot</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
(algo caluroso), la forma normal de decir que algo está caliente. A veces, si
hace un poco más de calor todavía decimos </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">quite
hot</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> (muy caluroso). </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Quite hot</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> es
sin duda un poco más caliente que </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a bit
hot</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. Si la temperatura </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">sube aún más
y hace más calor todavía, tendríamos entonces que referirnos a ello simplemente
como </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">jolly hot</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> (caliente de cojones, ¡creo
que se expresa aún mejor en castellano!), y eso es lo más caliente posible. ¡Este
año fue sin duda un año </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">caliente de
cojones</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> en el Badwater Ultra maratón! Tal vez la organización de la carrera
debería adoptar esta terminología ya que es mucho más fácil de usar y entender
que todos esos grados que sólo sirven para liar la cabeza.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pFeLeAqpc0C-vFHn44hvSAiUqf5whyphenhyphenqMlYRShtn8pB37J1E9Zd-0rzwV_MXvL4ia3g7KPHKKeDmzM2QMrEMKBlrDb-nh0Tmi_wZ91GLIOZor2aLfFSf1u0XO-09fEaUc68sLwj0I3QI/s1600/1011958_10200797976286328_470184656_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pFeLeAqpc0C-vFHn44hvSAiUqf5whyphenhyphenqMlYRShtn8pB37J1E9Zd-0rzwV_MXvL4ia3g7KPHKKeDmzM2QMrEMKBlrDb-nh0Tmi_wZ91GLIOZor2aLfFSf1u0XO-09fEaUc68sLwj0I3QI/s320/1011958_10200797976286328_470184656_n.jpg" width="304" /></a><span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Al aproximarnos a Stovepipe Wells, después de unas
40 millas y después de mantener un ritmo sumamente cómodo y uniforme desde el
principio empecé a sentir el calor. A pesar de los intentos fervientes de la
tripulación por mantenerme fresco mojándome
y poniéndome hielo en la cabeza, el calor era simplemente brutal. Los fuertes
vientos levantaban la abrasadora arena amarilla de las dunas y azotaba los
corredores que intentaban hacer su camino a través del valle. Tiré hacia abajo
de la visera de atrás de la gorra en un intento inútil de proteger mi cara pero
era en vano, la arena quemaba igual y el viento quemaba aún más. Estábamos en
un auténtico horno de convección, me sentía como si me estuvieran cocinando.
Stephen estaba conmigo en ese momento, me seguía un par de metros atrás y
recuerdo que le decía que deberíamos frenar un poco. Cualquier intento de forzar
el ritmo bajo esas condiciones podría dar lugar a una catástrofe. Stephen
estuvo de acuerdo y se desaceleró a un paseo a paso ligero. Pero todavía hacía
mucho calor y continuaba <i>cocinándome</i>.
<i>Caliente de cojones</i> significa precisamente
eso, <i>caliente de cojones</i> y como acabo
de explicar eso es lo más caliente posible. <i>Caliente
de cojones</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnnUyRG_sQGJiU0PZaAJQxC1rJdBDDfFpMh7U0ysuHBPKPucdi07O6SBaEPrBJf23dD-cgzjYR57IREww6wW6vqffRjX5udeKAVPAgOhkP8xEkGSjaotKOXLHhcwWLdpUMxiB38F07OU/s1600/1005203_10200833188566613_105993889_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnnUyRG_sQGJiU0PZaAJQxC1rJdBDDfFpMh7U0ysuHBPKPucdi07O6SBaEPrBJf23dD-cgzjYR57IREww6wW6vqffRjX5udeKAVPAgOhkP8xEkGSjaotKOXLHhcwWLdpUMxiB38F07OU/s320/1005203_10200833188566613_105993889_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">¡Y entonces fue cuando me encontré con el balrog!
Mira, no se conoce a un balrog todos los días y, créeme, realmente uno no
quiere. El balrog es una criatura pestosa y malvada ya por sí, y para colmo éste
estaba muy enojado y me sopló fuego directamente a la cara. Supongo que se
había cabreado porque los demás corredores no le prestaban mucha atención o tal
vez sólo tenía un mal día, recordando la paliza que Gandalf le había dado en
las minas. De todos modos no le hice caso y seguí adelante, cosa que sólo sirvió
para empeorar su cabreo. A los balrogs no les gusta ser ignorados. Respiré un
poco más con la intensidad de su puro fuego cayendo sobre mí y caí inesperadamente
al suelo del desierto. Estaba total y completamente aturdido. No lo vi venir.
En un unos pocos minutos pasé de estar completamente en control, de sentirme en
la cima del mundo, a ser un guiñapo arrugado y patético en el asfalto. En carreras
pasadas, cuando he tenido un problema grave siempre lo he presentido con
anterioridad. Si no hacía caso de la advertencia pagaba las consecuencias, si prestaba atención y ajustaba los
parámetros navegaba más o menos la situación. Pero siempre había algún tipo de
señal que me advertía de ello. Esto era muy diferente. Un momento estaba
perfectamente y al siguiente me vi en el suelo. Tal es la cruel ferocidad de los
balrogs. Me vino a la mente esa escena en la que el Terminator se cubre de
nitrógeno líquido. Trata de moverse y se le rompe la pierna, seguido de sus
brazos y finalmente toda la máquina cae al suelo. El Terminator, tan convencido
es de su propia invencibilidad, observa el proceso incrédulo.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn14thk5LOI52zXqLouDGafRjO5tpmg56y3e5uGkt_pZM3aqFDAqOW42yuyXD4-yHiaEEJWdqxvvwTU_p52UspRinAeo2sVL709-21En_MOiIME0377LJ7x1GOVtQ-0jSZvqaBXdlkagI/s1600/556984_10200833215727292_1690207359_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn14thk5LOI52zXqLouDGafRjO5tpmg56y3e5uGkt_pZM3aqFDAqOW42yuyXD4-yHiaEEJWdqxvvwTU_p52UspRinAeo2sVL709-21En_MOiIME0377LJ7x1GOVtQ-0jSZvqaBXdlkagI/s320/556984_10200833215727292_1690207359_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Me levanté, traté de moverme, pero volví a caer.
Stephen estaba horrorizado. Lo intenté de nuevo, pero esta vez ya no tenía control
sobre la caída y me derrumbé sobre la arena a la orilla de la carretera. Toda
esa encantadora ropa blanca que se usa en el desierto emborrizada de arena. Al
menos todavía estaba mojada, pero a la velocidad que se estaba secando no iba a
durar así mucho. ¿Y luego qué? Sin el efecto del enfriamiento de la ropa mojada
el proceso de cocción comenzaría en serio y entonces continuaría con la momificación.
¡Yo no quería momificarme! ¿Dónde diablos estaban los tripulantes? Estábamos
justo en una curva y la tripulación, aunque sólo un par de cientos de metros más
adelante, estaba fuera de vista. Ellos tampoco podían vernos y no tenían
conocimiento del desarrollo del drama. Me habían estado revisando con
diligencia cada milla, lo que parecía un montón. De hecho, parecía excesivo.
Nadie, ni siquiera yo, tenía la menor idea de que esto podía pasar. No habíamos
tenido ninguna advertencia.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Conseguí incorporarme y sentarme sobre la arena allí,
incapaz de nada. Stephen se encontraba en un dilema, no sabía si dejarme y
correr a por el resto del equipo o simplemente descansar junto a mí protegiéndome
del sol con su sombra. Otro corredor pasó; no sé quién. Stephen le pidió que
alertase a nuestra tripulación. A continuación pasó otro corredor más y Stephen
dijo lo mismo. Pero lo más extraño de todo esto es que de cabeza yo estaba 100%
coherente. Entendía perfectamente lo que estaba pasando, era mi cuerpo el que no
respondía. Pero eso también era un problema, porque sabía lo que significaba y
eso me daba miedo. ¡Si no me refresco pronto entraré en un estado muy peligroso
y sentado en el suelo del desierto no había manera de refrigerarse! Estaba
completamente indefenso, necesitaba que me rescataran. No era un pensamiento
cómodo. No era la carrea perfecta. No era el arte perfecto.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Después de lo que pareció una eternidad, en realidad
sólo unos pocos minutos, la tripulación se detuvo y me subieron al coche como a
un saco de patatas. El aire acondicionado estaba a tope y me fueron cubriendo con
hielo. Donde podían meter hielo lo metieron. Dondequiera que el hielo se
resbalaba colocaron bolsas grandes y me empapaban con toallas de agua helada.
Ahora tenía frío, quiero decir mucho frío, otra sensación jodidamente
desagradable, pero la movida funcionó y la temperatura corporal comenzó a bajar.
Unos minutos más tarde me estaba viendo un médico. A menudo esto no se dice,
pero los médicos de Badwater son
absolutamente impresionantes. Hacen un trabajo magnífico detrás de la escena.
En ninguna carrera de las que he hecho he visto médicos tan eficientes, tan
profesionales y serviciales. Normalmente en un estado así te habrían retirado,
pero no en el Badwater. Tratan de ponerte en forma lo suficiente como para que
vuelvas a la carrera, para que acabes. Los médicos en Badwater no te compadecen
sino que te arreglan, te dan una pata en el culo y te dicen que vuelvas a la
carretera. Ellos nos entienden y por eso les estoy eternamente agradecido.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Todavía tenía la tensión arterial baja debido al
golpe de calor, aunque la temperatura corporal ya era normal. El médico me
había dado la orden de entrar en el hospital de campaña Stovepipe Wells, que
estaba a sólo a un par de kilómetros y Jup quería que plantáramos la estaca,
pero yo me negué y me acerqué al hospital andando poco a poco, descansando cada
medio kilometro hasta que estuve allí. Ya no había ni rastro del balrog a pesar
de no haber bajado la temperatura. Sólo puedo suponer que estaba pensando que
me había ganado y se habría ido a cazar a otros corredores. Es una criatura muy
cruel, me deslicé en silencio para que no me viera; de hecho no nos volvimos a
encontrar, así que supongo que tuve suerte esa vez.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">El hospital de campaña de Stovepipe Wells era una masacre.
Había corredores y miembros de distintas tripulaciones por todo el lugar y me
consoló saber que no estaba solo. ¡No era el único con un choque térmico, o perseguido por un balrog! Algunos incluso
parecían cocinados por el aliento de un dragón, pero los dragones no son reales,
¿verdad? Me registré con un médico y me comprobaron la tensión entre otras
cosas. Efectivamente aún la tenía muy baja, no entendían como había llegado
hasta allí por mi propio pié. No pongo los números aquí porque dan miedo, pero
los que estaban conmigo saben. Los médicos hicieron preguntas detalladas, entre
otras cosas sobre mi consumo de sal y luego nos dieron la noticia: ¡sólo estaba
tomando la mitad de sal que debía! Habíamos seguido las instrucciones de la
botella con diligencia, pero el calor en Badwater es tan intenso que deberíamos
haber duplicado las cantidades. Me dieron a beber una solución salina que debe
ser una de las bebidas más desagradables que he probado en toda mi vida, pero
sin duda hizo su trabajo. La presión arterial volvió a la normalidad y la vida
comenzó a fluir de nuevo por el cuerpo de este viejo perro. Habían golpeado al
perro, sí, pero no estaba derrotado. Durante este tiempo la tripulación estuvo
siempre conmigo, se turnaban para obligarme a beber aquel asqueroso líquido.
También se tomaron un tiempo para refrescarse en la piscina al otro lado del
patio, que también fue un acierto.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A las 3 horas de la llegada al hospital todo volvió
a la normalidad: tenía trabajo por hacer. Así, a medida que más personas
llegaban para ser vistas por el personal médico, dejé la cama y salí junto con
la tripulación a caminar por la colina hasta Towns Pass. Me sentía mucho mejor,
más vivo. De hecho, me sentía igual que sólo unos minutos antes del encuentro
con esa asquerosa y desagradable criatura del mito. Me sentía genial. Todo el
mundo tiene sus fortalezas y debilidades y el calor extremo es, obviamente, una
de mis debilidades, pero la capacidad de recuperación y de rebotar tras una
crisis siempre ha sido mi fuerte. ¡El balrog no contaba con eso! A pesar de
este incidente, nunca (pero nunca de verdad) me planteé que no podría terminar.
Aunque era evidente que no iba a hacer una buena marca, no se me pasó por la
cabeza que todo hubiera terminado. Los ultramaratones funcionan así, hay
problemas. La cuestión es cómo hacer a esos problemas y esto es lo que marca la
diferencia. Sí, Woolley, levántate del suelo y a empezar de nuevo, es tan
simple como eso.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTuWHlED0T8nLGKeeGgV6in2AccHMZThSyR3XWal2BGmh0uUDENw2R_gRiiE6n9xnKjxwdenkrbuhKSb6zV58yHAfNwC3siieX97rEfS7mAVKb7__2H3DB_DbnG-GzaYIKEBw6gJzjng/s1600/1000521_10200833224327507_521048862_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTuWHlED0T8nLGKeeGgV6in2AccHMZThSyR3XWal2BGmh0uUDENw2R_gRiiE6n9xnKjxwdenkrbuhKSb6zV58yHAfNwC3siieX97rEfS7mAVKb7__2H3DB_DbnG-GzaYIKEBw6gJzjng/s320/1000521_10200833224327507_521048862_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ahora el equipo era un equipo con una misión. Estaban
aún más resueltos a llevarme a meta que nunca. Durante la primera parte de la
carrera me habían dejado pensar que yo controlaba mi destino, pero ahora no
ocultaban que las decisiones las iban a tomar ellos. Mi trabajo era correr y
meterme en la boca todo lo que me iban dando, ¡y eso significaba pastillas de
sal! ¡O no, qué asco! Realmente odio las pastillas de sal y las pastillas de
sal me odian a mí. Es por eso tomo la sal en solución, pero a la concentración
recomendada por los médicos esto no era posible, así que no había más remedio que
tomar pastillas. Mi estómago todavía se sentía un poco delicado después del
incidente anterior, así que al forzarme a tragar una pastilla de sal el
estómago se rebeló rápidamente y la humedad del suelo del valle subió pero que
mucho.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Vomitar de esa manera me hizo sentir más fresco,
pero dudo que el sentimiento se extendiese a la tripulación, que limpiaba vómito
de sus calcetines y zapatos. Parecían un poco perplejos, sin saber qué hacer,
pero me dejaron seguir de todos modos. Alrededor de una hora más tarde Javi me
detuvo y me hizo tomar otro comprimido de sal. Creo que estaba disfrutando la completa
inversión de los roles, el momento en que daba órdenes a su padre, que no tenía
más cajón que seguirlas. Pero fue en vano, al instante vomité otra vez,
salpicando de pequeñas gotas la camisa de Javi. Eso sí que era un cambio de
roles, ¿cuántas veces ha vomitado sobre mí cuando era un niño pequeño? Un punto
para el de este lado. Puro karma.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Subí la cuesta más y más, acompañado en el camino
por Jari, Jup y Stephen, que hacían de marcapasos. ¡Dios mío, estos tipos
trabajan duro para conseguir que siga adelante. Cayó la noche y lo mismo
hicieron las temperaturas y en un momento Javi salió a pasear conmigo y
disfrutamos de un raro momento de padre e hijo en ese lugar desolado, seco.
Luego le tocó a Stephen administrar la temida pastilla de sal. Esta vez Stephen
sonrió y se quedó fuera de rango al pasarme el pequeño ladrillo blanco
ofensivo. Los otros ni se acercaron.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ky74riIAM-gy7Htysq4IxzLzEnC-mKyec1yoeRWFKJSgZSL8NbfkbUa29neTSw7uck5w2GaIF1QHmDNColTIZSPOvs9lWqxYf2Phf0SYFfmzviwfpTIrgAFJL3r7uz9ydJ4X_1z94fw/s1600/DSC_0700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ky74riIAM-gy7Htysq4IxzLzEnC-mKyec1yoeRWFKJSgZSL8NbfkbUa29neTSw7uck5w2GaIF1QHmDNColTIZSPOvs9lWqxYf2Phf0SYFfmzviwfpTIrgAFJL3r7uz9ydJ4X_1z94fw/s320/DSC_0700.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Es difícil de explicar: yo había llegado a temer la
pastilla de sal tanto como al balrog del valle e intentaba tragarla únicamente
por agradar a la tripulación, aunque aquella puñetera pastilla era capaz de descarrilar
lo que quedaba de mi intento de terminar Badwater. Así que ahí está la pastilla
flotando en mi boca, rodeada de agua, mientras me preparo rigurosa y
mentalmente para digerirla. Quiero decir que tenía que mentalizarme más para
tragar una pastilla que para empezar la carrera. ¡Uno, dos, tres, vamos! Errrr;
no, no… Sólo tengo que controlar ese reflejo de vómito tan bestia que tengo y
me la trago… No… Ok, vamos a intentarlo de nuevo: uno, dos, tres… ¿estás fuera
de la trayectoria, Steph? Esto se estaba convirtiendo en una batalla épica
dentro de la batalla principal; Woolley contra de la pastilla de sal, pero con
la misma disciplina de hierro forjado que iba a llevarme hasta el final me las
arreglé para tragar al desagradable pequeño bastardo y lo más importante, me
las arreglé para controlar el vómito. Os parecerá cosa de risa, pero este
pequeño acontecimiento requiere más disciplina mental que volver a la carretera
después del choque térmico.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finalmente llegamos a la parte superior de Towns
Pass y con la cumbre llegó una vez más la sensación de controlar los acontecimientos.
Sabía que no era <i>yo</i> el que realmente
controlaba, mi equipo y sobre todo mi hijo me habían dejado eso muy claro, pero
me gustaba jugar a creerlo. Así que decidí echarme una siesta de 15 minutos en
el asiento trasero del coche. ¡Les voy enseñar quién es el que manda aquí, sí
señor! Después de la siesta me sentí muy descansado y luego vino el ingrediente
mágico. Cogí el reproductor de mp3 y con <i>Rime
of the Ancient Mariner</i> (<i>La balada del
viejo marinero</i>) de <i>Iron Maiden</i> en
mis oídos me conecté a la fuente de energía oculta que mi cuerpo reserva precisamente
para estos momentos y empecé a correr. Os juro que yo les debo un gran favor a Bruce
Dickinson y Steve Harris, ¿serán conscientes de que me devolvieron a Badwater
cantando unas melodías acompañados por el ritmo pulsante del bajo? Probablemente
no. Tal vez les escriba para hacerles saber que una de sus canciones me salvó
la Badwater. La música rock instantáneamente tocó mi alma y la despertó, me
ayudó a conectar con el animal interior y luego dejó de rasgar.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiN9o2cr9I6fSN0WFS8FK357BUgjSnuBMCTqsQHiVRW015j44Z2zROqyMqBFDSenr3F3XVES8bDaGV_vJ3xzt1KA1dC2Q5HBX97n6c7GMb5mvQtQFtEC0H0XdhJarDBMiv2SkDiTqM5zI/s1600/994846_440975969348826_1953609635_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiN9o2cr9I6fSN0WFS8FK357BUgjSnuBMCTqsQHiVRW015j44Z2zROqyMqBFDSenr3F3XVES8bDaGV_vJ3xzt1KA1dC2Q5HBX97n6c7GMb5mvQtQFtEC0H0XdhJarDBMiv2SkDiTqM5zI/s320/994846_440975969348826_1953609635_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He descrito este animal en detalle antes, así que no
voy a repetirme aquí, pero es una criatura maravillosa, una bestia primitiva
que vive en lo más profundo de cada ser humano vivo. Es parte de nuestro pasado
ancestral y la única manera de conectar con él es romper las capas
superficiales en las que vive. Los ultramaratones son buenos para perder estas
capas, pero en Badwater se desnudan con una sierra de cinta. En Badwater, si
uno no sabe cómo conectar, simplemente no puede sobrevivir allí. Badwater
reduce todo a lo primitivo y nos encanta precisamente por eso. Para eso hemos
venido, ¿no? La bestia vino en mi ayuda la última vez que estuve aquí y aquí
estaba otra vez. La majestuosa sensación de poder puro sin adulterar en las
piernas y el cuerpo, acompañada de la música rock era simplemente demasiado
para poder resistirse y dejé que el momento me poseyera. Corriendo y corriendo
muy fuerte cuesta abajo empecé a pasar a otros corredores. Ah, y la Coca-cola
fría también ayudó. De hecho, empecé a
sentir pena de la mayoría de la raza humana, de todas las personas que viven
sin poder acercarse a esta criatura, sin saber de su existencia salvaje. Tantas
personas en el mundo y tan pocas llegan a experimentar este sentimiento, esta
conexión con lo mágico, lo que reside en las profundidades del tiempo, pero que
se puede encontrar en cualquiera con vida si están dispuestos a buscar. Si
estás leyendo esto y eres un corredor de ultra distancia sabes de qué estoy
hablando. Si eres un veterano de Badwater has pasado por aquí también.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3iARMZ7K16jgxU2Dw7dj953wpuOdtoPkXU7GLqPxlC5lxeKEt96HEDe1wMZEnv-I9CmrUvkxruWZkoGiZQ1vEllGbo4HtiQjB1B80IkLGvgVpL5d_6RfPS6Y12dO7cVytyfD42XZR1A/s1600/1013991_10200193299542408_2133086312_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3iARMZ7K16jgxU2Dw7dj953wpuOdtoPkXU7GLqPxlC5lxeKEt96HEDe1wMZEnv-I9CmrUvkxruWZkoGiZQ1vEllGbo4HtiQjB1B80IkLGvgVpL5d_6RfPS6Y12dO7cVytyfD42XZR1A/s320/1013991_10200193299542408_2133086312_n.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Al llegar al siguiente valle de Panamint el sol no
había salido a la superficie todavía y le pregunté a la tripulación si podían
prepararme un café caliente recién hecho. Bueno, todos hemos tomado buen café
alguna vez, y probablemente el café que me hicieron no pasaría una prueba de
calidad del Starbucks, pero os juro que para mí era el mejor del mundo. Perdón,
no quiero mentir, era el mejor de todo el maldito universo. Me senté en la
silla a beber aquel precioso líquido marrón oscuro mezclado con partículas de
polvo y arena del desierto. Mientras
miraba pasar a los otros corredores, veía cómo el sol se deslizaba suavemente
por encima del horizonte y hacía sentir su presencia majestuosa llenando los
valles de una luz naranja-amarillo. No me importaba que otros corredores me pasaran,
sabía que iba a pasarles de nuevo más tarde, pero incluso eso no importaba. Me
sentía en paz conmigo mismo y sólo me preocupaba apreciar el café y ese momento
tan especial.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nos registramos en el control de Panamint y luego
empezamos a caminar a paso ligero cuesta arriba. La cuesta hasta el punto de
Padre Crowley es lo suficientemente fuerte como para justificar el <i>powerwalking</i>. Existe un gradiente
particular cuando es más eficiente caminar que correr y esa colina es precisamente
ese gradiente. Jup, Jari y Stephen se turnaban para salir al camino conmigo y
Javi se deleitaba parándome cada media hora para obligarme a tomar las pastillas
de sal. ¡De aquí no se pasa a menos que una pastilla de sal se consuma!, Javi
estampaba sus pies en el suelo delante de mí y me presentaba aquel pequeño
horror blanco. Cada vez que tomaba el comprimido se alejaban todos y me dejaban
batallando con el estómago para no vomitar. Sólo cuando terminaba Javi me
dejaba pasar y la carrera continuaba. ¿Os he contado que odio las pastillas de
sal?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIFNR5TfgSR7zxgFjGVzWAJULFpFCsd_ea1-3AcQ6S-gJCoKg5ve6myG_7RfofMyN2wZuR6x8wOwKTVJ8xwgu8S7EaAy5Efrm-I5mr3_OM2MqohtvOwuqs2zy3RaEVz60S6QrrXsgFUc/s1600/971537_10200833229087626_1131206772_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIFNR5TfgSR7zxgFjGVzWAJULFpFCsd_ea1-3AcQ6S-gJCoKg5ve6myG_7RfofMyN2wZuR6x8wOwKTVJ8xwgu8S7EaAy5Efrm-I5mr3_OM2MqohtvOwuqs2zy3RaEVz60S6QrrXsgFUc/s320/971537_10200833229087626_1131206772_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">La cuesta llegó a su fin bastante rápido y el tramo
flojo que siguió fue pura delicia. En algún lugar a lo largo de esta carretera,
antes del puesto de control de Darwin, he descubierto un nuevo tipo de
combustible para cohetes de resistencia. ¡De verdad que esto habría que
patentarlo! Es la energía más poderosa y rica de combustible ultra-corredor del
planeta. Se compone de un poco de pan blanco (altamente procesado y sin nada
de fibra; ya sabes, la cosa saludable) empapado, y me refiero a empapado, en
aceite de oliva. En serio, quiero decir realmente empapado. Entre el pan hay
algo de pechuga de pavo y luego viene el ingrediente mágico: algunas papas
fritas al queso con guindilla. El aceite de oliva se me escurría por las manos
mientras comía, pero lo bueno del aceite de oliva es que se puede usar de
lubricante también y se ahorra en Vaselina. Esto sí que es grande, un sándwich
que se puede usar para lubricar y comer a la vez es un auténtico invento. Se
inventan algunas cosas chulas durante una carrera, ¿eh? Esto debería formar
parte del kit de todos los corredores del mundo. Pero lo más importante fue la
enorme cantidad de energía que aportó, y que me mantuvo a tope hasta el final.
Ah, y un poco de Coca Cola con cubitos de hielo también.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_QFwSroRN-RaTUkkdYcVrdy8xn9iEVlhSaVGGLSBd8C0v1mbtJDsZMT7KIS0DoVEVuuNd6F3PKqp1ryQIF8ttGDtb151ZrZQl4ynl1vXJJZAED8bJ3aR3Nph3XezG9q4p8zy7bTMYWk/s1600/994829_441064246006665_916389081_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_QFwSroRN-RaTUkkdYcVrdy8xn9iEVlhSaVGGLSBd8C0v1mbtJDsZMT7KIS0DoVEVuuNd6F3PKqp1ryQIF8ttGDtb151ZrZQl4ynl1vXJJZAED8bJ3aR3Nph3XezG9q4p8zy7bTMYWk/s320/994829_441064246006665_916389081_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Desde el puesto de control en el paso de Darwin hasta
Lone Pine hay un muy, muy largo tramo de carretera recta y sin fin. Se puede
ver todo al desnudo frente a ti y el final nunca se aproxima, no importa cuánto
corras o a qué velocidad. Lo bueno es que durante la mayoría del tiempo se
puede ver Whitney y eso significa la línea de meta. Fue durante este último
tramo que me encontré y pasé a muchos otros corredores, incluyendo a mi amigo
Seow Kong de Malasia, al que había conocido en el Himalaya el año pasado. Esto
se debió en buena parte a la atención impecable que estaba recibiendo de mi
tripulación. Realmente eran increíbles, se turnaban para seguir mi ritmo,
especialmente Jup que me acompañaba a cada poco, y me iban refrescando con agua
fría pulverizada. Esto ayudó enormemente. Incluso las temidas pastillas de sal comenzaron
a entrar en el sistema sin dar una queja y el equipo ya no salía corriendo a
buscar refugio cuando tomaba una. Obviamente tenía este asunto bajo control.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Desde Lone Pine hasta el portal de Whitney hay una larga
cuesta, y cuando digo larga cuesta quiero decir muy larga. Realmente sigue sin
parar y ahora con la noche cayendo y la montaña deslizándose lentamente en la
oscuridad se hizo difícil no sólo calcular las distancias, sino también distinguir
la carretera. Stephen salió a pasear conmigo un par de millas y después lo hizo
Jari. La compañía fue estupenda y charlamos sobre las cosas que se nos iban
ocurriendo. Caminaba con energía y progresé a un ritmo decente. Había estado corriendo
todo el día, lo que compensaba un poco el tiempo perdido debido al choque
térmico de la tarde previa y fue en este punto cuando mis piernas comenzaron a
sentir cansancio por primera vez. Finalmente Jup se unió a mí en la marcha para
meta y las sombras oscuras empezaron a formar imágenes extrañas en mi mente.
Las grietas en el camino se convirtieron en largas serpientes alargadas e
incluso vimos una bruja de nariz torcida con un sombrero y un palo de escoba en
un punto. Pero no vi más al balrog. Eso fue una buena cosa y me alegró que se
hubiera quedado en su foso de fuego en las profundidades del Valle de la
Muerte. Por cierto, si estas interesado en verlo, es muy probable que lo
encuentras en las afueras de Stovepipe Wells, al acecho y de mal humor en las
dunas de arena. Pero ten cuidado, porque es una criatura diabólica y
desagradable que no se toma a la ligera ser molestado. Las alucinaciones eran
maravillosas y Jup y yo hablábamos sobre lo que estábamos viendo, lo que era
bastante surrealista porque él estaba viendo las mismas cosas que yo. La falta
de sueño te juega pasadas así, ya sabes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2JjVR7kTGeHONpRGcNd5CyvyW1XOkj4kLiMVSiB8HUOLAlwFrtiHaiROtv5xkXNWhvygrITegTimtsiLi97_l8fsQ9heQR68HBlvEZOkWxXw-CVKtf5CpgGyjHA-TWDSDkneOCVEOmI/s1600/13239_10200833230567663_1918840147_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2JjVR7kTGeHONpRGcNd5CyvyW1XOkj4kLiMVSiB8HUOLAlwFrtiHaiROtv5xkXNWhvygrITegTimtsiLi97_l8fsQ9heQR68HBlvEZOkWxXw-CVKtf5CpgGyjHA-TWDSDkneOCVEOmI/s320/13239_10200833230567663_1918840147_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Entonces de repente, cuando pensaba que ni siquiera
habíamos hecho la tercera parta de la cuesta, nos tropezamos con el último
punto de control antes de meta. ¡Guau!, ¿estábamos realmente aquí ya? Tomé un expreso
Starbucks de una pequeña latita ya que las alucinaciones provocados por las
grietas del camino estaban jugando demasiado con mi cabeza. Funcionó
perfectamente y se aclaró la niebla. Después de aproximadamente una milla, Javi
se cambió con Jup y me acompañó durante el último par de kilómetros hasta la
meta. ¿Cómo puede un padre quiere más? ¡Terminé la Badwater con mi hijo de 15
años y eso realmente mola!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">El resto de la tripulación se unió a nosotros a unos
100 metros antes de la meta con todas las banderas nacionales en la mano:
británica, inglesa, española, finlandesa y neozelandesa; nos abrazamos y
cruzamos la línea juntos. Habíamos terminado la Badwater en 40 horas 53 mins.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Reflexiones<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Durante un par de días de tu vida te tratan como a
una princesa, y al final todo el mundo te alaba, canta tu gloria y te dan una
hermosa hebilla de cinturón. Todo el mundo piensa que los corredores son los
héroes de todo esto, después de todo son los que hacen la carrera, pero tengo una
noticia que daros: es falso. Los tripulantes son los verdaderos héroes, ya que
son ellos los que realmente hacen todo el trabajo. Lo único que tienes que
hacer es correr y esa es la parte fácil. Ni siquiera tienes que pensar, ya que el
equipo lo hace por ti. Y todos sabemos lo difícil que es pensar, ¿verdad? ¿Y
qué reciben a cambio? Un poco de pizza gratis y un par de cervezas. Bueno, el
año siguiente y el siguiente estaré de vuelta, no para correr, pero para
trabajar en una tripulación y entonces podré contaros cómo es. El año que viene
voy a tripular para Luis Guerrero, suponiendo que él consiga su plaza, y luego
al año siguiente para Jup Brown. Tengo que volver a poner lo que he tomado. Eso
es karma.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="ES-TRAD"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Así pues, dedico esta pequeña historia primero a mi
propio equipo de apoyo maravilloso e increíble, y después a todos los equipos
de apoyo que hay en Badwater, porque son ellos los que en realidad consiguen que
esas pequeñas princesas crucen la lín</span></span><span lang="ES"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ea de meta.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8120497942952120583.post-60177117066100258642013-07-27T06:33:00.000-07:002013-08-24T08:03:29.439-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Encounter with a Balrog. Badwater Ultra Marathon 2013 <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>By Mark
Steven Woolley</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4sgM51geoGfePTQ59HE3m_UfP1WYNAe98LkVPXJxDbDmMiK7egB36_v6afmJqYb5W7NU3mqUVuV1CLd-9a4mtr6lUmU4lonVFpK2QBC69yFFaT_1cOEOjabPNVVrN512YFgtkc3PtEgQ/s1600/DSC_0219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4sgM51geoGfePTQ59HE3m_UfP1WYNAe98LkVPXJxDbDmMiK7egB36_v6afmJqYb5W7NU3mqUVuV1CLd-9a4mtr6lUmU4lonVFpK2QBC69yFFaT_1cOEOjabPNVVrN512YFgtkc3PtEgQ/s1600/DSC_0219.JPG" width="214" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Balrogs are
nasty, demonic, foul tempered creatures that inhabit the deepest pits of the
earth. They surround themselves in fire and darkness and come armed with fiery
whips. At the end of the First Age, most of the Balrogs were destroyed by the
Elves in The War of Wrath but a few remained, hidden in the most inaccessible
pits that the earth has to offer. It is rumored that one of them lives in Death
Valley, and that the intense heat found there is not in fact due to the climatic
conditions as modern science would have us believe, but that it is due to an angry
Balrog, festering his hatred and wrath for the death of his brothers and
releasing huge quantities of fire and heat in to the valley. The only creature
that rivals a Balrog is a Dragon, but as we all know, Dragons are just a fantastical
myth and don’t really exist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So here we
find ourselves again in the Badwater Ultramarathon, that race that starts and
crosses the fiery pit that goes by the name of Death Valley. This was to be my
second Badwater, having finished the race in 2010, albeit with certain difficulties.
I had lost consciousness due to severe dehydration at one point and had to have
an obligatory rest in the field hospital at Stovepipe Wells. Eventually I got
back on the course some hours later and finished but the art of running the
valley remained flawed. My intention of coming back this year was to perfect
the art, to run the perfect race, stay on the course and paint the beautiful
art that is the ultra-runner passing through Death Valley. The Valley is the
hottest place on Earth and it is this single factor alone by which the runners
must challenge themselves. Sure, Badwater is a long way, 135 miles or 217 kms
to be exact, and crosses a couple of mountain passes and then finishes up the
side of a long mountain, with an accumulated height gain of over 4000M, but for
a seasoned ultra-runner these do not actually represent anything out of the
ordinary. No, Badwater is all about the heat!.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKvzLDNGGa679LhkqAsOtQ4QEGICq1mjhC7OyeiLHwv38em2b85Twj6qGTx9mivVUQpmevlxZkJ7WChjN6xbSgaWgav51NLwP29uwrLfE2aS4xzg0ZaqOOK2xdsAiCeq6RO1RpPg_HO0/s1600/DSC_0477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKvzLDNGGa679LhkqAsOtQ4QEGICq1mjhC7OyeiLHwv38em2b85Twj6qGTx9mivVUQpmevlxZkJ7WChjN6xbSgaWgav51NLwP29uwrLfE2aS4xzg0ZaqOOK2xdsAiCeq6RO1RpPg_HO0/s1600/DSC_0477.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But anybody
that thinks this incredible race is actually about the runner is badly mistaken.
Badwater is all about the team, the road crew. In order to actually run this
you have to have a team of people that support you and that keep you going,
that attend to your needs, but far more importantly they actually keep you
alive in this most inhospitable of places. The heat is so intense that without
their help you would dry out like a withered yellow leaf in autumn and then
fall into the ground, empty and devoid of all your moisture.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So then,
here’s to the Road Crew. Shortly after receiving the acceptance e mail from
Chris Kosman I posted and advert on Face Book<i>. “MEN WANTED FOR HAZARDOUS JOURNEY. SMALL WAGES, INTENSE HEAT, LONG HOURS OF COMPLETE MADNESS, CONSTANT DANGER, SAFE RETURN DOUBTFUL. HONOR AND RECOGNITION IN CASE OF SUCCESS. ......... Badwater crew needed.”</i> It was adapted from Shackleton’s
original in searching for a team to board the Endurace on that fateful
Antarctic expedition just after the turn of the last century. With this ad,
Shackleton filled his boat with like-minded people and I had my Badwater crew
together in less than an hour. The poor misguided souls!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Javi Woolley:
My 15 year old Son. 3 years ago Javi’s sister Laura crewed for me on my first
Badwater when she was 15. Javi was now 15 and relished the idea of going to the
hottest desert in the world. I think secretly he liked the idea that he was
going to get to kick my ass for a change!! I believe that the most important
thing you can give your children is experience. Badwater is definitely an
experience!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jari Nyman: A
dear friend for almost 25 years. Many years ago I used to train insanely hard
with Jari in the gym until we diverged in our sporting activities. Jari is now one
of the top Jeet Kun Do martial artists in the world and was fascinated by the
Badwater ultramarathon. “What was it that drove these people to these
extremes?” he would ask, “What enabled them to keep going?”. Only one way to
find out and that was to join the crew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stephen
Sutton: Another dear friend from my university days. Stephen is a magnificent,
accomplished sportsman and at Uni we spent many, many times together climbing
and mountaineering when in fact we should have been studying. We got into so
many scrapes together that it is almost a miracle that we are both still around
to tell the tales. We shared a house together but then lost contact some 20
years ago. After finding each other again on Face Book, what better way to get
together again than to do the Badwater together!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jup Brown: I
only met Jup last year whilst running “The High” race in the Indian Himalaya.
He spotted, quite by chance that I had a slot in the Badwater and had contacted
me, just a couple of weeks before the race asking if he could come along too.
We had a spare place on the crew so I immediately said yes. Even though I
hadn’t known Jup for that long I knew he would fit in perfectly. We had spent 3
weeks together in the Himalaya and that was more than enough for me to know
that he was a first class performer in extreme conditions. He is instantly
recognizable as the pale white Kiwi with the long dreadlocks that sports a chronic
sunburn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Vicente
Vertiz: Vicente is a close friend from many ultra battles, including my first
Badwater, he didn’t actually make it this year but he was part of the team from
the start and deserves a mention. Some weeks before the race he had an eye
operation that developed a complication and had to stay at home. I know he was
disappointed but I can only imagine that we still have many adventures to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Luis
Guerrero: Luis actually had a slot in this year’s Badwater but had to turn it
down due to work commitments. When he heard of my bags being delayed he quickly
got together a runners package, including shoes and sent them to me via another
Mexican runner. Luis wasn’t there in person but he was definitely on the crew!!
The saying goes that you need friends all the way to the gates of Hell. Well,
here I was at the very gates of Hell and I needed a few friends! Huge thanks
Luis!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwt-2FHfKIUj7bswwOrKWkhMBJ4ycAMm8a_eNC-zYgcK7Y_V-TS2wD0_zGVxwCkoVTW7OwtWM8SKoFACjZ7KoiapjUCWgwQTJyruBRmKS2lrTRO77Kcap1sZ5CeazsLQbwgNz7MMgBVPg/s1600/1010323_440958192683937_511846550_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwt-2FHfKIUj7bswwOrKWkhMBJ4ycAMm8a_eNC-zYgcK7Y_V-TS2wD0_zGVxwCkoVTW7OwtWM8SKoFACjZ7KoiapjUCWgwQTJyruBRmKS2lrTRO77Kcap1sZ5CeazsLQbwgNz7MMgBVPg/s1600/1010323_440958192683937_511846550_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At the start
of the race, in the 8:00 AM wave the temperature was already quite hot but
after the countdown we were all on our way. Each and every one of us with our
own personal journey ahead of us and everyone with their own personal
motivation for doing so. Mine was to paint the perfect running art, the perfect
race. Now that for me doesn’t mean winning or beating anybody, or even doing it
incredibly fast in fact. All it means is that I do it, supremely elegantly and to the very best of my ability.
It means that I keep everything under control and simply flow through the valley,
completely at one with nature and deeply connected to my inner soul. It means
that I am at absolute peace as I run, completely disconnected from the outside
world and where only the present moment actually matters. However, a mythical
creature that some would dare to compare to Dragons was going to do its best to
see that it wasn’t so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fBNYVkwwOMa-mq8E8AZxzecfPNje5nNyPRfXp33XHsnOrnTOMBQ4X8t0sA7YwES-brRswZ3bnqoN9qJFHaJEgkHc2yR3Z0uTZE5bs58WZ3zD8tnqzFbExPmJSEf6B5YASDeDV_qVk7I/s1600/603391_10200833107324582_1608110050_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fBNYVkwwOMa-mq8E8AZxzecfPNje5nNyPRfXp33XHsnOrnTOMBQ4X8t0sA7YwES-brRswZ3bnqoN9qJFHaJEgkHc2yR3Z0uTZE5bs58WZ3zD8tnqzFbExPmJSEf6B5YASDeDV_qVk7I/s1600/603391_10200833107324582_1608110050_n.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The start of
the race was extremely enjoyable although it was fairly uneventful apart from
the increasingly hot temperatures. Indeed, at 8.00 AM it was already <i>quite hot</i>, not having even passed
through the <i>bit hot</i> phase. It was a great
time to talk to other runners and I spent some enjoyable time conversing with
Ian from Scotland, Dave Clark, Seow Kong Ng and a few others that were running
at more or less the same speed as myself. Up until Furnace creek you are not
allowed a pacer but after that you are so Jari, anxious to try this Death
Valley running thing came out on the road with me to run. I am not sure who was
having the better time, he or me. But that is the essence of Badwater, either
running or crewing you all have an out of this world experience, it is all just
so intense. Steph and Jup followed and all seemed to be awestruck on realizing
where they were, what they were doing and it was all happening right here, right
now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pFeLeAqpc0C-vFHn44hvSAiUqf5whyphenhyphenqMlYRShtn8pB37J1E9Zd-0rzwV_MXvL4ia3g7KPHKKeDmzM2QMrEMKBlrDb-nh0Tmi_wZ91GLIOZor2aLfFSf1u0XO-09fEaUc68sLwj0I3QI/s1600/1011958_10200797976286328_470184656_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pFeLeAqpc0C-vFHn44hvSAiUqf5whyphenhyphenqMlYRShtn8pB37J1E9Zd-0rzwV_MXvL4ia3g7KPHKKeDmzM2QMrEMKBlrDb-nh0Tmi_wZ91GLIOZor2aLfFSf1u0XO-09fEaUc68sLwj0I3QI/s1600/1011958_10200797976286328_470184656_n.jpg" width="304" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, at this
point you may well be asking what <i>quite
hot</i> and a <i>bit hot</i> actually mean
so for all you American readers, here’s a little formal lesson in good quality
British English for you. After all, it was us that started the language in the
first place so please take note. Here in England we would say that Death Valley
is very definitely a <i>bit hot; </i>that is
the normal way of saying that something is hot. Sometimes it gets a bit hotter
and we would then refer to it as <i>quite
hot; now, quite hot </i>is definitely a quite a bit hotter than a<i> bit hot</i>. If it gets even hotter still, and
that’s quite a bit hotter than a <i>bit hot</i>
we would then refer to it simply as <i>jolly
hot</i> and that’s about as hot as it gets. This year was most definitely a <i>jolly hot</i> year in Badwater! Perhaps the
race organization should adopt this terminology as it is far simpler to use and
understand that all those degrees which only mess with your head when you’re
running.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Upon approaching
Stovepipe wells, after some 40 odd miles and after maintaining a supremely comfortable,
uniform pace all the way from the beginning I started to feel the heat. In
spite of the fervent attempts from my crew to keep me cool with spraying and
ice bandanas, the heat was simply brutal. The strong, high winds whipped up the
scorching yellow sand from the dunes and blasted it into the runners as they
tried to make their way through the valley. I pulled the visor on the back of
my cap down across my face in a vain attempt to offer some protection but it
was way too little, the sand burned all the same and the wind burned even more.
We were in a convection oven and I felt like I was being cooked. Stephen was
with me at this time, pacing me from behind and I remember saying to him that I
think we should slow down some. Any forcing of the pace under these conditions
would lead to a catastrophe. Stephen agreed and we slowed down to a brisk walk.
But it was still far too hot and I continued to be cooked. <i>Jolly hot</i> means <i>jolly hot</i>
and as I have just explained, that’s as hot as it gets. <i>Jolly hot</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And that is
when I met the Balrog! Now, you don’t get to meet a Balrog every day in your
life and trust me, you don’t really want to. The Balrog is a foul, evil creature
anyway and to make matters worse he was very angry and breathed fire straight
into my face. I guess that he was angry that the other runners hadn’t paid him
any attention or maybe he was just having a bad day, remembering the ass
kicking that Gandalf had given him in the mines. All the same I ignored him and
kept on going which only made it worse. Balrogs don’t like being ignored. He
breathed some more, and then with the intensity of the fiery Balrog’s breath
falling hard on me I fell, quite unexpectedly to the desert floor. I was
completely and utterly stunned. I really, really didn’t feel this coming. In a
space of just a few minutes I went from being completely in control, from
feeling completely on top of the world to being a crumpled, pathetic heap on
the floor. Every time in the past that I have had a serious issue in a race, I
have always had some kind of warning. Sometimes the warning would be ignored
and I would pay the consequences and at other times I would heed the warning
and adjust the parameters that led to the problem. But I always had a warning.
This was vastly different. One minute I was just fine and the next I was on the
floor. Such is the cruel ferocity of Balrogs. The scene from Terminator II came
to mind when the terminator was covered in liquid nitrogen. As he tries to
move, first his leg breaks and falls off followed by his arms as the whole
machine crashes into the floor. The terminator, still concious looks down and
sees all this happening, incredulous at it all, so convinced is he of his own invincibility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I stood up
and tried to move but fell down any way. Stephen was aghast. I got up again,
but this time I had no control over the fall and fell into the sand at the side
of the road making all of those lovely, white desert clothes filthy with the
dirt and sand that stuck to the wet clothing. At least the clothing was still
wet but it was drying out so alarmingly fast that it wouldn’t stay that way for
long. And then what? Without the cooling effect of the wet clothes, the cooking
process would begin in earnest and then the mummification would begin. I didn’t
want to mummify! Where on earth were the crew? We were right on a bend and the
crew, although only a couple of hundred meters away were out of sight. They
couldn’t see me and were unaware of the drama unfolding. They were seeing me diligently every mile,
which seemed like plenty. In fact it even seemed excessive. No one, not even me
had any idea that this would happen. As I just said, there was no warning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I managed
to get my torso up and just sit there helpless. Stephen was in a conundrum, he
didn’t know whether to leave me and run for the crew or just stand over me and
protect me from the sun. Another runner passed. I don’t know who. Stephen asked
them to alert the crew and for them to come back urgently. Then another runner
and Stephen said the same. That was the strange thing about all this.
Intellectually I was 100% with it. I understood perfectly well what was
happening but my body would not respond. But that was also a problem as I also
knew what it meant and that was scary. If I didn’t get cool very, very soon I
would enter into a very dangerous state, and sitting there on the desert floor
wasn’t getting me cool! I was completely helpless and at the mercy of being
rescued. Not a comfortable thought. Not the perfect race. Not the perfect art.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD24IaF60xH6IXhyl6l_y7jAHnJaJb_5rzDQ9sNMY6rUA1KLkCd3UUYXWlZihCncJgQJymI0_eonyKy1G5hfTEg66xXggvOA5iY4RP-nQhlf2NKAU2f6VAgRzJL9kuvBxfwt9n8uSZdR4/s1600/1004885_10200193297942368_1460465100_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD24IaF60xH6IXhyl6l_y7jAHnJaJb_5rzDQ9sNMY6rUA1KLkCd3UUYXWlZihCncJgQJymI0_eonyKy1G5hfTEg66xXggvOA5iY4RP-nQhlf2NKAU2f6VAgRzJL9kuvBxfwt9n8uSZdR4/s1600/1004885_10200193297942368_1460465100_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After what
seemed an eternity, but which in reality was just a few minutes the crew pulled
over and bundled me into the car. The aircon was on full and they
systematically packed me out with ice. Where ever they could make the ice stick
they stuck it. Wherever the ice wouldn’t fall off they placed a big bag and
drenched me in towels soaked with ice cold water. Now that was cold, no I mean
really cold but it did the job. In just a few more minutes I was even being
seen by a doctor. Now, this often goes unsaid but the doctors at the Badwater
race are absolutely awesome. They do an absolutely magnificent job behind the
scenes. Nowhere have I ever been where they are so efficient, so professional
and so helpful. Most doctors would have pulled me at this point but not in
Badwater. They try to sort you out so you can actually get back on the course
and finish. Badwater doctors give no sympathy; they just sort you out, kick you
in the ass and tell you to get back out there. They understand us and for that
I am eternally grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I still had a
low blood pressure from the heat shock even though my core body temperature was
once again back to normal and the doctor had given me orders to check into the
field hospital in Stovepipe which was just a couple of miles away. Jup wanted
us to stake out but I refused, instead we walked a bit, rested a bit, walked a
bit more until I was there. There was no sign of the Balrog. I can only assume
that he had thought that he had beaten me and had gone to hunt down some other
runners. He is cruel that way, and I crept quietly out of the car lest he
should see me, he didn’t see me again so I guess I was lucky this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Medical
station was carnage. There were runners and crew sprawled all over the place
and I took comfort in that I was not alone. I wasn’t the only one to suffer
from heat shock, or to be hunted down by a Balrog!! Some even looked like they
had been cooked by Dragon’s breath but then again Dragons aren’t actually real
are they? I checked in, got checked out and sure enough I still had a low blood
pressure. The doctors there asked detailed questions about my salt intake and
then they gave us the news. I was only taking about half the quantity of salt
that I should!! We had followed the instructions on the bottle diligently but
the heat in Badwater is so intense that we should have doubled the quantities.
They gave me some saline solution to drink that has to rate as one of the most
unpleasant drinks I have tasted in the whole world but it certainly did the
trick. My blood pressure came back to normal and life started to flow in this
old dog’s body again. This dog may have been beaten but he certainly wasn’t
out. During this time, the crew was always with me and they took it in turns to
make sure I drank the foul tasting liquid. They also took some time out to cool
down themselves in the pool just across the courtyard which was also a good
move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After 3 hours,
everything was back to normal and we had a job to do. So, as more people were
coming in to be seen by the medical staff, I vacated the bed, checked out and
together with the crew started walking up the hill to Town’s Pass. I felt so
much better, so much more alive. In fact I felt like I did just a few minutes
before the encounter with that foul, unpleasant creature of myth and it would
be fair to say that I felt just great! Everybody has their strengths and
weaknesses and whereas the extreme heat is obviously one of my weaknesses, the
ability to bounce back, and bounce back strong has always been one of my
strengths. The Balrog hadn’t counted on that one! Now, all throughout this ideal,
never, ever did I question myself that I might not finish. Whilst it was apparent
that I wasn’t going to do a fast time, it never entered my head that it was
over. Ultramarathon running is like this, you get problems. It’s all about how
you deal with them that makes the difference. Yes Woolley, get off the floor
and start again; it’s as simple as that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now the crew
was a crew with a mission. They were even more determined to get me to the
finish than ever before and whereas they had humored me into thinking that I
was actually in control during the early part of the race, they now made no
secret of the fact that it was indeed they who were now calling the shots. I
was just to run and stuff down my neck whatever they gave me, and that meant
salt tablets! Yuck! Oh no!, I really, really hate salt tablets and salt tablets
hate me. That is why I take salt in solution, but at the concentration
recommended by the doctors this was too much so it was salt tablets. My stomach
still felt a little delicate after the earlier incident but when a salt tablet
was forced down, the stomach promptly rebelled and increased the moisture
content on the valley floor by quite a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ky74riIAM-gy7Htysq4IxzLzEnC-mKyec1yoeRWFKJSgZSL8NbfkbUa29neTSw7uck5w2GaIF1QHmDNColTIZSPOvs9lWqxYf2Phf0SYFfmzviwfpTIrgAFJL3r7uz9ydJ4X_1z94fw/s1600/DSC_0700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ky74riIAM-gy7Htysq4IxzLzEnC-mKyec1yoeRWFKJSgZSL8NbfkbUa29neTSw7uck5w2GaIF1QHmDNColTIZSPOvs9lWqxYf2Phf0SYFfmzviwfpTIrgAFJL3r7uz9ydJ4X_1z94fw/s1600/DSC_0700.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Vomiting in
that way actually made me feel quite refreshed but that sentiment was all lost
on the crew I’m afraid whilst they cleaned it off their socks and shoes. The
crew looked somewhat perplexed but they let me carry on anyway. About an hour
later Javi stopped me and made me take another salt tablet. I think he was
enjoying this, a complete reversal of roles and relished the moment that he was
able to give his dad orders and that there was nothing I could do but to follow
them. But to no avail, I instantly vomited again, splashing Javi’s shirt with
little drops of puke in the process. Yes, now that was a role reversal if ever
I saw one, how many times has he vomited over me when he was a small baby? One
going the other way was just pure karma!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Further and
further we climbed up the pass, accompanied by Jari, Jup and Stephen on the
road as pacers. My god did those blokes work hard to keep me going. Night fell
and so did the temperatures and at one point Javi came out to pace me and we
enjoyed a rare father-son moment in that desolate, dry place and then it was
Stephen’s turn to administer the dreaded salt tablet. This time Stephen grinned and stood out of the way as he passed me the little offensive white brick; the
others didn’t even get close.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, this is
actually quite hard to explain but I had come to dread the salt tablet as much
as the Balrog in the valley and as much as I wanted to please the crew, that
little tiny salt tablet was going to do it’s upmost best to derail what was
left of my Badwater attempt. So there it sat, in my mouth surrounded by water
whilst I went through the rigorous mental preparation for the swallow. I mean,
I had to psyche up more for the salt tablet than to start the actual race. One,
two three go !…. errrr….no not yet ….. just control those vomit feelings and
….swallow! …… OK, let’s try again! One, two three…..”You stood out of the way
Steph?” …. Now this was turning into an epic battle within the battle, Woolley
against the salt tablet but with the same cast iron discipline that was going
to get me to the finish I managed to swallow the unpleasant little bastard and
more importantly I managed to control the vomit. You may laugh, but this one
little event required more mental discipline and self-control than getting back
out on the road after the heat shock incident!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Eventually we
got to the top of Towns Pass and with the summit came a feeling of being back in
control of events once again. I knew I wasn’t <i>really</i> in control, my crew and especially my son made that clear,
but at least <i>I thought</i> I was back in
control. So I climbed into the back seat of the car and had a 15 minute power
nap. Now, if that didn’t show them who was in control then nothing will! After
the nap I felt really refreshed and then came the magic ingredient. I reached
for my MP3 player and with <i>Iron Maiden,
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner</i> blasting in my ears I connected to the
hidden energy store that my body reserves for these moments and started to run.
I swear that I owe Bruce Dickenson and Steve Harris a huge favor here, are they
even aware that they turned my Badwater race around with just a few well sung rock
notes accompanied by a thumping bass rhythm? Probably not. Maybe I will write
to them just to let them know that one of their songs saved Badwater for me.
The rock music instantly touched my soul and caused it to wake fully, to
connect to the inner animal and then to let rip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ve
described this animal in detail before so I shan’t repeat myself here but it is
a wonderful raw, primeval creature that lives in the depths of every human
being alive. It is an integral part of our ancestral past and the only way to
connect with it is to break away the surface layers under which it lives. Ultra
marathons are good at removing these layers but Badwater strips them off with a
band saw. In Badwater, if you don’t know how to connect then you simply can’t
survive out there. Badwater reduces everything to the primeval and we don’t we just
love it for that! That is why we came here is it not? The beast came to my aid
the last time I was here and here it was again. The majestic feeling of pure unadulterated
power in my legs and body, accompanied by the rock music was just too much to
resist and I just let myself get absorbed into the moment. Running and running <i>quite hard</i> (as opposed to just a <i>bit hard</i>), all accompanied by the
gradient of the hill, and with this I started to pass other runners. Ah, and
the iced coca cola helped too! I actually started to feel sorry for the larger
part of the human race, so many people live without ever coming close to this
creature, without ever knowing of its savage existence. So many people in the
world and so few that ever get to experience this feeling, this connection with
something magic, something that resides in the depths of time but that can be
found by anyone alive as long as they are prepared to look. If you’re reading
this and you are an ultra-runner then you will have some idea of what I am
talking about. If you are a Badwater veteran you have been here too!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTuWHlED0T8nLGKeeGgV6in2AccHMZThSyR3XWal2BGmh0uUDENw2R_gRiiE6n9xnKjxwdenkrbuhKSb6zV58yHAfNwC3siieX97rEfS7mAVKb7__2H3DB_DbnG-GzaYIKEBw6gJzjng/s1600/1000521_10200833224327507_521048862_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTuWHlED0T8nLGKeeGgV6in2AccHMZThSyR3XWal2BGmh0uUDENw2R_gRiiE6n9xnKjxwdenkrbuhKSb6zV58yHAfNwC3siieX97rEfS7mAVKb7__2H3DB_DbnG-GzaYIKEBw6gJzjng/s1600/1000521_10200833224327507_521048862_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Upon reaching
the Panamint Valley the sun hadn’t quite surfaced yet and I asked the crew if
they could prepare me a hot, freshly brewed coffee. Now, we’ve all had good
coffee before and probably, taken in isolation the coffee they made me would
probably not exactly pass a Starbucks quality control test but I swear that
that coffee was the best in the whole world, no I tell a lie, it was the best
in the whole damn universe!! I sat there in the chair, sipping on the gorgeous murky
brown liquid mixed with bits of dust and sand from the desert and just watched
some of the other runners pass me by as the sun gently crept above the horizon
and started to let its presence felt and fill the valley with majestic
orange-yellow light. I didn’t care that other runners passed, I knew I would
pass them again later, but even that wasn’t the point. I felt so completely
at peace with myself that I only cared about the coffee and to cherish this
rare moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We checked in
to the Panamint Station and then I started to powerwalk up the hill. The hill
up to Father Crowley point is steep enough to warrant powerwalking. There is a
particular gradient where it is more efficient to power away walking than it is
to run. That hill is just that gradient. Jup, Jari and Stephen took it in turns
to come out on the road with me and Javi took great delight in stopping me
every half hour and making me take the salt tablets. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTv9MJ6dhe-32tTWD11jowHjABwMwf3Va0hWGemYJl_rkdDIElFrWFvJXMig8SG1Uk08xj_qahXhO3QEy_En8yAdd2gHT91SwGj17Tpago6EW9cgBLDf6j4lUZyGZO_VoyUymT3hSUf3o/s1600/13255_10200833196206804_21075892_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTv9MJ6dhe-32tTWD11jowHjABwMwf3Va0hWGemYJl_rkdDIElFrWFvJXMig8SG1Uk08xj_qahXhO3QEy_En8yAdd2gHT91SwGj17Tpago6EW9cgBLDf6j4lUZyGZO_VoyUymT3hSUf3o/s1600/13255_10200833196206804_21075892_n.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“THOUGH SHALL NOT PASS!” ….
“Unless a </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">salt tablet is consumed” as Javi stamped his feet into the ground,
blocking my passage and handed me the offensive little white blob. So I would
take the tablet, everyone would stand well out of the way and I would have the
obligatory battle with self not to vomit upon which Javi would let me through
and the race would continue. Did I ever tell you that I just hate those salt tablets?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The hill came
to an end quite quickly and the lazy stretch that followed was pure delight.
Somewhere along this road, before the Darwin checkpoint I discovered a brand
new kind of endurance rocket fuel. I swear that this should be patented as it
is the most powerful energy rich ultra-running fuel on the planet. It consists
of some white bread (Highly processed with all the fiber removed, you know; the
healthy stuff) soaked, and I mean soaked in Olive oil. Seriously, I mean
soaked. Between the bread is some turkey breast and then comes the magic
ingredient. Some chilly cheese potato chips! As many that would fit in. The
olive oil would run out all over my hands as I ate it but the great thing about
olive oil is that you can use it for lube too and it saves having to stop for
Vaseline! Now there’s a thing, a sandwich that you can lube with and eat to
boot! Some pretty cool stuff gets invented during a race eh?. Great stuff and
should be part of every runners kit. But the main thing about this was the huge
energy release that accompanied and this was what kept me going all to the very
end. Ah, and some iced Coca Cola too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_QFwSroRN-RaTUkkdYcVrdy8xn9iEVlhSaVGGLSBd8C0v1mbtJDsZMT7KIS0DoVEVuuNd6F3PKqp1ryQIF8ttGDtb151ZrZQl4ynl1vXJJZAED8bJ3aR3Nph3XezG9q4p8zy7bTMYWk/s1600/994829_441064246006665_916389081_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_QFwSroRN-RaTUkkdYcVrdy8xn9iEVlhSaVGGLSBd8C0v1mbtJDsZMT7KIS0DoVEVuuNd6F3PKqp1ryQIF8ttGDtb151ZrZQl4ynl1vXJJZAED8bJ3aR3Nph3XezG9q4p8zy7bTMYWk/s1600/994829_441064246006665_916389081_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">From the
checkpoint at the Darwin turn off to Lone pine is a very, very long stretch of desperately
straight road. You can see it all out there, laid bare in front of you and the
end never ever seems to get any closer no matter how fast or for how long you
run. The good thing though is that for most of the time you can see Whitney and
that means the finish line. It was during this last stretch that I met up with
and passed many other runners, including my friend Seow Kong from Malasia who I
had met in the Himalaya last year. This, at least in part was due to the
immaculate care that I was getting from the crew. They really were amazing and
they would take it in turns to pace me, especially Jup who would run at every
possible opportunity with everybody keeping me cool by spraying me. This obviously
helped enormously. Why, even the dreaded salt tablets started to enter the
system without complaining and the crew no longer ran out of the way to look
for for cover when I took one. I obviously had this one under control now!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">From Lone
Pine to the Whitney portal is a very long hill, and when I say long I mean
long. It really does go on forever and now with the night falling and the
mountain slowly slipping into darkness it became difficult not only to judge
distances but also to distinguish the features in the road. Stephen came out to
pace me for a couple of miles and then Jari. The company was great and we
chatted about anything that took our fancy. I was power walking now and
progressing at a decent pace. I had run literally all day previously and made
up enormous ground that compensated somewhat for the lost time due to the heat
shock in Stovepipe. At this point my legs actually started to feel tired for
the first time. Eventually Jup joined me in the power march and then the dusky shadows
started to form strange images in my mind. The cracks in the road became long,
elongated snakes and I even saw a crooked nosed witch with a hat and broomstick
at one point but no matter how hard I looked I didn’t see the Balrog. That was
a good thing and I remained satisfied that he had stayed in his fiery pit in the
depths of Death Valley. Incidentally, if you are interested in seeing him,
you’ll probably find him just outside Stovepipe Wells lurking and sulking in
the sand dunes. But be careful, for he is a foul, unpleasant creature who
doesn’t take being disturbed lightly. The hallucinations were marvelous and I
discussed with Jup what I was seeing which was rather surreal because he was
seeing the same things too. Sleep deprivation does that to you, you know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then out of
the blue, when I thought that we hadn’t even gone one third of the way up the
hill we stumbled across the last check point before the finish. Wow! Were we
really here already? I knocked back a Starbucks espresso from a tiny little can
as the hallucinations from the cracks in the road were really messing with my
head now. It did the trick neatly and cleared the haze. After about another
mile, Javi changed places with Jup and accompanied me for the last couple of
miles to the finish. What could a dad want more? I finished the Badwater being
paced by my 15 year old son and that really rocks!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2JjVR7kTGeHONpRGcNd5CyvyW1XOkj4kLiMVSiB8HUOLAlwFrtiHaiROtv5xkXNWhvygrITegTimtsiLi97_l8fsQ9heQR68HBlvEZOkWxXw-CVKtf5CpgGyjHA-TWDSDkneOCVEOmI/s1600/13239_10200833230567663_1918840147_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2JjVR7kTGeHONpRGcNd5CyvyW1XOkj4kLiMVSiB8HUOLAlwFrtiHaiROtv5xkXNWhvygrITegTimtsiLi97_l8fsQ9heQR68HBlvEZOkWxXw-CVKtf5CpgGyjHA-TWDSDkneOCVEOmI/s1600/13239_10200833230567663_1918840147_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The rest of
the crew joined us some 100 meters before the finish and with all the national
flags in hand, British, English, Spanish, Finnish and New Zealand we embraced
and crossed the line together. We had finished Badwater in 40 hours 53 mins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27BMREXKEM_qorK7yxwTwTGFBEvfbQivamDFBQGWGH48REJkS20nTLHJDRaKtUpi2AVO8sGXo7wEHeInIjbB0ArIq6MG-P4e_gTCZX4ZFV9sv7oHV54WCbeQldB6TDoERoXHLFjH2GTw/s1600/1001198_10200833229847645_907193989_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27BMREXKEM_qorK7yxwTwTGFBEvfbQivamDFBQGWGH48REJkS20nTLHJDRaKtUpi2AVO8sGXo7wEHeInIjbB0ArIq6MG-P4e_gTCZX4ZFV9sv7oHV54WCbeQldB6TDoERoXHLFjH2GTw/s1600/1001198_10200833229847645_907193989_n.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Reflections</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For a couple
of days in your life you get treated like a princess and at the end everyone
praises you, sings your glory and gives you a beautiful belt buckle. Everyone
thinks it’s the runners that are the heroes of all this; after all it is they
that do all the running but I have some news for you, that’s all wrong. The
crew are the real heroes as it is they that actually do all the work. All you
have to do is run and that’s the easy bit. Why, you don’t even have to think as
the crew do it all for you. And we all know how hard thinking is; right? And
what do they get out of it other than some free pizza and a couple of beers?
Well, next year and the following I will be back, not to run but to crew and I
will be able to tell you all about it. Next year I’ll crew for Luis Guerrero,
assuming he gets a slot, and then the following year for Jup Brown. I have to
put back what I have taken. That’s karma.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So then, I
dedicate this little story first to my own wonderful, awesome road crew, and
then to all the road crews out there in Badwater for it is you lot that actually
get these little princesses across the finish line, in spite of what they may
think themselves!!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Markhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667966484208481920noreply@blogger.com2