The North Face Ultra Trail Challenge – my first ultra

 

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the start of an unforgettable experience

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I toed the start line for the 50-km race at The North Face Ultra Trail Challenge on Easter Sunday. For a month before the race, I stressed out about running in the dark, staying awake during the race, whether doing the race will actually aggravate my shin splints and whether or not I should run with sticks. It didn’t help that I’d been suffering from allergies brought on by torrents of Beijing’s willow catnips and dust and I was on a daily diet of antihistamines, which kept me in a groggy state most of the time, despite sleeping 8-9 hours every night. My long outdoor training runs were cut short by fits of coughing and sniffles.

The evening of the race, I met up S for a pizza dinner, our final carb loading before the race. We then met up with three other acquaintances who were also doing the race at the metro station and took the organiser’s shuttle to the race venue. After an hour or so of prepping, checking and taking a couple of selfies, we took our spot at the start line and began doing warm-up exercises to the loud, pumping pop music and the shouts of the Chinese hosts. The music and warm-up exercises did little to stifle my yawning, and I wondered how I was going to stay awake for the next ten hours of so.

As it turned out, my worries were unfounded. Once Cinderella hour struck and I began shuffling forwards with 1700 other runners, I stopped yawning and was wide awake. It was probably the excitement of doing my first night trail run mixed with the fear of losing my way that fueled my sudden burst of energy.

I faced my first unexpected challenge after running for more than 10 km. I was caught in the middle pack at a narrow uphill climb, and couldn’t continue climbing at my own pace. It was stop-start for at least 30 minutes and I caught a chill when I reached the top of the hill. I suddenly felt a desperate need to use a toilet but was told there wasn’t one for at least another 8 km.  I was on a narrow part of the route and it was impossible to relieve myself in the bushes without being seen by other runners. After taking a painkiller to relieve the cramps, I pushed on for another 3-4 km until I was too much in pain to continue. At this point, the volunteers directed me to the nearby bushes off the designated race route to do whatever I had to do. I’d never felt so relieved (pun intended) as I did at that time.

 

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Beijing’s glittery lights took my breath away

 

After this slightly embarrassing and traumatic episode, I wasn’t sure if I felt up to running the remaining 35 km, yet it was too cold to stay still. So I decided to continue running until the next checkpoint where there’d be sweeper vans then make an assessment if I was physically able to keep going.

I kept plugging on until I got to the 30-km mark, where I bumped into T. I was surprised to see him there as I was convinced he’d be at the front of the pack with the rest of my friends, as he’s a sub-4:00 marathoner. He told me his tank completely ran out when he got to this checkpoint and he’d been resting for the last hour or so. He admitted he hadn’t trained on trails at all and road running fitness was no guarantee of doing well on a trail run with significant elevation (we’d done 1500m out of 2300m). We discussed if we should both call it a day and just get on the next sweeper van, then decided to give it a go until the next checkpoint at the 42-km mark. After we started running, it was obvious T had gotten his steam back, and I told him to go ahead and I’ll try to catch up.

 

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one of the less tricky descents

 

I never managed to catch up with T as my own steam ran out at around 40 km. I’d scrambled and clawed up Haohanpo for about half an hour, then concentrated hard navigating a long and tricky descent. I basically walked the remaining 7 km to the finish line. The finish line never felt so far away in my life. I was famished but couldn’t stomach any food. My hands were swollen from water retention and yet I was still thirsty but there was nothing left in my bladder.

I’m happy to say I completed my first 50-km ultra in 11:32:16. It took me quite a bit longer than I’d anticipated and nothing I was worried about actually happened. But considering the circumstances, I was surprised I even managed to finish the race. An experienced ultra runner (who finished in 7:48) advised me to take the race in chunks of 10 km and not stress about pace. It was her advice that kept playing in my mind when I felt like I couldn’t go on. It reminded me to never underestimate the power our words have on others.

For the first time after I started doing races, I actually swore I’m not doing another ultra for the rest of the year, and have not registered for another ultra to date. Memories of the pain and discomfort of the North Face trail challenge remained with me for two weeks until I fell off my bike on a descent and acquired fresh scrapes, bumps and bruises. That’s fodder for my next post.

 

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it’s scenery like this that keeps me running on the trails

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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am I ready for my first ultra?

 

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Winter trail running in Badachu Park

When it comes to peer pressure, I’m a real sucker. Peer pressure is often the reason why I sign up for races I don’t feel ready for, or I’m not sure if I’ll be ready for. The upsides are it motivates me to get out of my comfort zone, learn new things and train harder. The downsides — pre-race prep anxiety and stress, especially when I miss a session on my training plan.

In late January, a week before registration opened for The North Face 100 (TNF) in Beijing, I’d already made up my mind to register for the 25km. One of my trail running mates, let’s call him 612, had his heart set on doing the 50km and was cajoling others (including yours truly) to join him. As with most 50km trail runs in China, the race starts at midnight. The idea of running in the dark has put me off registering for an ultra for the last 6 months. But the race I’m collecting points to register, Ultra-Trail Mt Fuji (UTMF) 72 km, will start at midnight, so I will need to do at least a few ultras to prepare for it.

From what I’ve read online, TNF Beijing has been increasing in popularity over the years, so the organisers have increased registration numbers for the 100-km (to 1000) and 50-km (to 2000) races and added a 25-km race. Once the numbers are filled, the organisers will put other registrants on the waiting list. This year’s 100-km race was sold out in 3 hours, 50-km in 20 mins and 25-km in 10 mins of their respective registration opening times split over 3 days.

On the day when the 50-km race registration opened, I opened the registration page at 10 am, but was still two minds about actually securing my spot by paying the fee. My running friends egged me on, saying I’d run a couple of full marathons, I’ll at least be able to complete 50 km before the (generous) closing time of 16 hours. As luck would have it, my manager called me away to discuss a work issue, and by the time I got back to my desk, it was already 11:20 am. I decided to register first, as I could always pull out before 31 March if I didn’t want to do it. But by then, I was already on the waiting list, with more than 200 ahead of me.

Since then, I’ve been checking the TNF registration website almost on a daily basis. As of today, the queue has shrunk to 155. I view the shrinking waiting list figure with a mixture of excitement and fear, especially since I haven’t been diligently sticking to my marathon training plan as much as I’d like to. Part of me feels it’s not a big deal whether or not I get a spot, since there are many other races I can do in the next year that will give me points towards qualifying for UTMF 2018. The other part of me wants to get the spot so I’d be ‘forced’ to prepare and do my first ultra, instead of putting it off for the unforeseen future. I don’t know if I’d conjure enough courage to register for another ultra, especially since I haven’t been happy with my last 2 full marathon times.

There’s not much I can do in the meantime but to wait until the end of March to find out if I’ll be doing my first ultra in  April, and continue training for the upcoming Nagoya Women’s Marathon. After spending three cold, busy and stressful winter months in Beijing, I am looking forward to spending a week in Japan, eating lots of sushi and sashimi, admiring cherry blossoms and wandering around aimlessly in Nagoya and Ise Shima.

 

My first trail race – Beijing Xishan Cross-Country Running

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Our brief encounter with Jeff Galloway during the Beijing Cross-Country Running race in June

As part of my training for the Beijing International Triathlon, I signed up to do my first trail running race held at Beijing Xishan National Forest Park on the last Sunday of June. It was advertised as an introductory 21-km race for trail running virgins and Runners World‘s staff writer, Olympic 10K legend and the inventor of the Run-Walk-Run method, Jeff Galloway, would be there running with us. It sounded like the perfect way for me to get a taste of trail running. The only minus was, it was one week after the Beijing Sanfo Jinhai Lake Triathlon, and my third race in as many weekends in June. I figured I could always pull out if I was still knackered after the triathlon.

Then I made the unintentional mistake of mentioning this race to my friend, WD, who decided to do the trail run too. She wanted to use the race to motivate herself to restart running training after stopping for upwards of six months. I remembered telling her about elevation and the variety of running terrain, which were the reasons for the generous closing time of seven hours. But being a trail running virgin herself, she was confident about finishing the race by the closing time. As a result, I no longer had the option of not doing this trail run.

Race day turned out to be the hottest summer day in Beijing history, with a maximum temperature of 37 degrees Celsius. Still knackered from the tri, I rocked up reluctantly to Beijing Xishan National Forest Park with WD, pretty certain I was going to get my first DNF.

Things got off to a bad start. When we got to the park entrance about an hour before the start time, there was no race packet pick-up table to be seen.  Our race registration fee was meant to include park entry fee so many of us stood resolutely at the entrance waiting for the organisers to get us into the park, while the impatient ones coughed up the fee to get inside. Someone eventually came to get us into the park. Then the organisers couldn’t find WD’s race bib until 5 minutes before the race started. I began worrying how the rest of the day would pan out.

The runners started in two waves. I managed to go in the first and WD went in the second. I kept up with the middle of the pack, which turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. Due to the poorly marked trails, we all got lost 2 to 3 times over the course of the first 10 km, which meant retracing our steps and spending time finding our way. WD and I met up about 3 km into the run, as WD was catching her breath. I stopped to check up on her and she told me to go ahead and not wait for her, as she’ll need more time for the climb.

When I got to the 15-km mark, I received a call from WD saying she had lost her way as she couldn’t seem to find any trail markers and she couldn’t get through to the organiser’s emergency number. From her description, I worked out she was at the 8-9 km mark where multiple Tibetan prayer flags were strewn over almost every tree. I’d gotten lost with a group of runners at the exact same spot until some of them eventually found the well hidden trail marker. Knowing it was impossible for me to give her directions to get out of the area, I told her to stay where she was while I made my way to the next checkpoint or supply station and get help for her. Ten minutes after getting off the phone with WD, I climbed up the rest of the hill and saw the first aid volunteers. I told them about WD’s situation and stayed until they assured me the organiser was sending someone to go get WD.

By this time, I really believed I wasn’t going to finish the run by closing time since I still had 6 km to go and less than 45 minutes until closing time. I decided to finish what I started and do my best to complete the race anyway. It’s the journey that counts at the end of the day.

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Experiencing relief and joy when I crossed the finish line

It was with great relief and surprise when I crossed the finish line and found out I’d actually made it right on closing time (5:00:35 to be exact) and saw WD waiting for me there in one piece. It turned out the sweepers had removed the trail markers half an hour before she got to the spot where she called me. This made me so angry, I wrote a long complaint message on the race webpage, adding to a long string of complaints by other racers who were frustrated and pissed at the poor organisation of the race. To date, I still haven’t received a response from the organisers, who’s probably busy doing a bad job organising the next trail run.

When I downloaded my final result three days later,  I was pleasantly surprised to find out I came in 23rd among the women. This was a small race, with total registrations limited to 400. The exact number of participants and their genders were not published so there’s no way I’d ever know what my ranking actually meant. But this result gave me confidence to register for the next trail run — the Chongli 100 Ultra Sky Trail Challenge 30-km race.

To be continued….