The Worlds Cruellest Ultra marathon. La Ultra The High 333

The worlds cruellest Ultramarathon. (A story about an epic fail)

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.

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.

Rajat: “Are you coming to la Ultra next year?”

Me: “No, I am not really interested in repeating 222 kms in the Himalaya, I have done that.”

Rajat: “What if I made it 333 kms then?”

Me: “Sure!!”

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?

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^th 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.

La Ultra. The High.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Cheers!

Mark

How to train for Spartathlon.

How to train for Spartathlon.

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.

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.

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.”

But just what is training properly for the Spartathlon?

AND JUST HOW HARD IS IT TO FINISH?

I really don’t like qualifying a race as the hardest or the toughest or baddest or whatever based on a subjective opinion.  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.

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:

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.

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.

Clearly it is a race that is very, very difficult.

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:

YOU MUST TRAIN ON ASPHALT.

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.

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.

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  5 or 6 hours during the weekends. 

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.

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.

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.

Good luck!!

Mark

Spartathlon 2013

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

Reflexions

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.

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.

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.

Fat Dog 100

Fat Dog 100

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. 

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. 

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?

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. 

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!

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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!

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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!

Reflections.

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. 

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!

Would I recommend this race to other Europeans?, …… it is a long way to travel. Absolutely!!!