Race at Chianti Ultra Trail 73km by UTMB

I was anxious. Why, my mother asked. Because I didn’t want to fail. To let myself down. 6 months of training I’ve done, the thought of it not being enough. Skipping the odd one here and there. Am I lazy? Not giving it 100%. Am I not good enough? Not having the discipline. Am I not the person I claim to be?

If we aren’t constantly testing the limits, what are we doing here, exactly?

Enjoy it, my mum reminded me. I almost forgot I actually enjoyed running. Why?

When I picked up my bib, it felt more real. All the fit people around me, devouring chips and pork sandwiches, chugging olive oil onto bread, and never getting fat. The next day they will sacrifice 5000 calories to Chianti slopes. The spectators watched anxiously. Were they worried what would be left of their loved ones by the time they reached the finish line? What if they didn’t? Disappointed and wrecked, they’d have to soothe them. Were they strong enough to see what their loved ones really made of? Or were they also anxious, afraid to be disappointed?

I considered not finishing the race for a second, but the feeling only lasted a moment - I can always walk, I told myself. My expectations in Iceland let me down towards the second half of the 55km race, their weight pulled me back and slowed me down. All in my head. The longer you go, the more your head takes over. As your body shuts down little by little, this is all you have left. And if these 3 pounds of tissue has to take care of the body and listen to you at the same time, you nutter, who decided to put it through this nightmare, it better be strong.

Were we ever meant to do this?

Actually, yes. We have the ability to sweat which is instrumental for endurance running and regulating heat. In 1984, biologist David Carrier proposed the endurance pursuit hypothesis to explain why humans are such good long-distance runners. According to the theory, endurance running traits in humans evolved to allow us to run down large game animals through persistence hunting.

Since then, this theory got some good backing.  

This was going to be my longest single day run, and I wasn’t even sure how long it was. The run is called CUT73. You’d think it’s meant to be 73 km long right? Well, actually, no. Here is a mind fuck: it may be 73, but it could be around 76. Your most precious 3 pounds of tissue right now is telling you it’s not interested in playing maths and wants to quit. Mine certainly did.

The start line was muddy, wet. We slid down, many falling.

Time. What is time?

Ok, here is a thing. I mentioned this in my previous blogs. You are stripped of everything you think you are. Your job? Who cares about your deadlines when you don’t even know if the finish line is 3 or 5 hours away? People? All these magical people who love you and make you who you are? They can’t help you. They formed you but they are not running by your side. They can only talk to you through your memories. Possessions? Forget it. Gear? Last thing on your mind. Pain? Ok, we are warmer now…Your fears and insecurities? Cold again…

The truth is - you aren’t spending 12 hours only with your thoughts. Your thoughts are gone by mile 12. You brain doesn’t have any spare energy for things like thoughts. What is left is your body. JUST your body. 720 minutes with your bones, muscles, organs, skin and hair. 43,200 seconds of listening to yourself, and suddenly realising this is who you are. Nothing more, nothing less, this is all you are in this precise moment. Not your dreams or fears or obligations, or the people you made. Just this highly limited but incredible machine you got to ride, and if you don’t listen to it, you will ruin everything.

For several races now, the 32nd kilometre is my fastest. I did 3 km at 4:35 min per km pace basically flying down and up the hills. And then the pain hit. This is normal as at around this time your glucose levels are depleted and your body is forced to use muscles which aren’t usually working. Muscles you didn’t know you had. Pain (and other sensations) you didn’t know existed. This is where the fun starts and you find out things about yourself. My quad muscles felt like they were going to pop off my bones. I touched the area close to my knee and it was rock solid. I didn’t feel the touch either, just the pressure. Normally, you’d be alarmed, and I was when it happened to me the first time about 2 years ago. Now I know how to navigate it.

We are taught to avoid pain, to hide it, to push it away, to ignore it. “Focus on something else”, - we tell ourselves. You can’t do any of these things on a long run. You drive it, you listen, and you work with it. I talk to my body out loud (for those thinking I’ve lost it - if it works, it works, ok? :)). After a quick motivational chat, the pain subsides, the tightness goes away and I am back to my usual pace. Pain rides with me.

Some people I know find even a 5km boring and have to wear headphones or listen to audio books. I personally can’t as I feel it disconnects me from listening to my body and I may miss a cue that something is wrong. But I am also perfectly ok with spending 3 hours on a treadmill staring at a wall without any audio, or video, so maybe I am weird.

At 55km, approaching my longest run ever, leg integrity went. My lower back was sore, I was getting cold, my IT band had enough of sliding on mud and I felt my feet swell from repeated stream crossings. At this point, 8 hours into the run, the way you feel about your body changes. You are in tune, like meeting someone at a party who “gets” you. You don’t even need to listen anymore, it’s automatic, it is sensual. I adjusted my technique completely. I had to stop running downhill which is my strength in the beginning because I wasn’t able to control it anymore, but I could, instead, run uphill or on flat, which is usually not my strength. That’s what my body could and wanted to do.

I crossed the finish line when it was just getting dark. 3 hours earlier than planned.

At every ultra I ran, I had an epiphany. Not a crazy lightbulb moment but a quiet realisation of something important in my life. One time I understood how truly happy I was, another that my parents did a bloody good job and I was proud of them. This time it was all about my body. How grateful I am that it can do these incredible things. How important it is. Every muscle, every nerve, everything in this ecosystem working together so I can run pretty much non stop for twelve hours. How amazing is that?!

The moral of the story is - we are all given what we are given. You can only work with the clay you’ve got. But I can just try a little harder every day to mould it into something better. And appreciate it every single day for it. Whilst I can. As long as I can.