Let’s sayyou’ve decided that this is the year to stretch your race mileage a bit, that that – basically completely arbitrary – 42-kilometer limit has become a bit tight for you. Which then in trail running you almost don’t even find races of that specific distance, rightly so. But in short let’s say you decided to devote yourself mainly to the world of ultramarathons (technically anything beyond the distance of the marathon precisely, but for example the reference site DUV considers ultra only races from 45 km and up).
Good, bravo. Good idea. Likes.
Let’s say a few months ago you already broke through that wall, you did that 55-kilometer, 3,000 D+ race and it went well (you felt good) and you convinced yourself that the biggest step was taken. Say you decided to start the season with this 75-kilometer, 4,400 D+ race, come on, in the end it’s just another 20 kilometers and some extra elevation gain. I mean: if you decided to do it I would imagine that in the winter months you will have trained hard. Excuse me? Ah, not so much? Okay. Massì come on, you have the base, rest assured.
Say the first 30 km of the race goes great: you push just enough, you fuel properly, your legs run smoothly, and you have no pain of any kind. In short, you start to believe it and you do well: always believe it.
Say then – without any warning – the blackout. Calves and quads cry out at the same time, so much so that both descents and ascents are difficult for you. Instead, your knees have left you a cordial farewell text message, which you will receive as soon as your cell phone gets a modicum of range again. Say that right there begins the most technical and difficult stretch of the race (Murphy’s law is a certainty, always and everywhere). Let’s say that – naively rejuvenated by your fitness a few minutes earlier – at the last refreshment stop you foolishly filled a single flask with water “that half a liter is enough for me anyway.” Let’s say that in those 10 km where you trudge along several people start to pass you: I know, you had no ranking ambitions, but even you will admit that psychologically it doesn’t help you much.
Say-you couldn’t even tell how-you arrive at the 42nd kilometer refreshment station: you drink hot tea, eat a slice of pie but miss real food. Say your indefatigable race partner has speck in his backpack. Have I caught your attention? Yes, I did indeed say speck.
Say at that point the world smiles back at you. You don’t feel the cold anymore, you feel like global warming is not that hard to fight, you even start to consider the hypothesis that lawyers are good people. And go again. I didn’t really believe it that you could recover like that, and in my opinion you didn’t believe it either. At that point, it doesn’t matter that there are still thirty kilometers to go and another seven hours to go in the race, it doesn’t matter how dark it is, nothing matters: you run at a steady pace, you stop feeding yourself by the clock and instead do it by how your body feels, with the knowledge that there are still a couple of slices of that speck left in your backpack.
When you cross the finish line after more than fifteen hours of running, your smile is not the one forced on you to look good in photos, it’s genuine, you’re bloody happy. And then the most amazing thing is that you are fine. After 15h 25′ of running. Stay. Good. Because what you learned today is that everything you thought you knew about running is no longer worth anything beyond fifty kilometers: pace, nutrition, legs, and head. Most importantly, you learned that over these distances you can get to the bottom and then start to climb back up. Would you have guessed that? I certainly wouldn’t have said that.
Next time you want to sign up for an ultra, I’m not saying don’t do it, but if you train a little bit more, it doesn’t hurt: trust a jerk.
Cover Photo by Eduardo Flores on Unsplash