Fartleks & Flatulence Page 5

  The calm before the storm, those on the truck were the DNFs

  They weren’t too bad here!

  After a hard day’s work!

  HIMALAYAN 100 MILE STAGE RACE

  What is it: A 100 mile 5 stage footrace

  When: October/November

  Where: Sikkim, Indian Himalayas

  Distance: 100 miles (161km)

  It is: A stunningly beautiful, friendly and tough race

  See: himalayan.com

  6/11/98

  DAY 1

  Sitting at Terminal 3 of London’s Heathrow Airport with hours to kill, negative thoughts began to appear:- thoughts like: have I trained enough, did I taper too early, will I cope with the terrain, the altitude, will get I get ill, I could be at home, have I got the right kit, why the *&^%$ do I have the need to do these things?

  When I do these things I get apprehensive, my confidence nosedives, my wallet gets emptied and my stress levels increase. Then, just to make matters worse, I remember, with absolute clarity, the pain and the suffering that was the ‘Marathon des Sables’.

  Why, why do I need to do these things? Extreme pain is certain, the possibility for humiliation and failure is high and yet here I am, once again!

  What is it about Departure lounges that induce stress and misery? Sitting and people-watching I notice that not one person seemed happy, everyone seems confused, stressed and anxious, not one happy face, even the kids seem afflicted. Ah well - I’ll have a cup of coffee and a piece of cake. That will cheer me up and take my mind off things! Wrong - more depressed, the cup of coffee cost £1.40.

  Why do people need so much hand luggage (my kit for a week doesn’t amount to as much as some people’s hand luggage). Now I start to think I haven’t got enough and I may have forgotten something.

  Boarding the plane is a blessed relief, no more worrying about things I may or may not have forgotten, no more shall I “chicken out?” thoughts, no more worrying about training, its too late. I’m now committed, I’m on my way to run 100 miles in the Himalayas.

  Disaster at 30,000ft one of the cabin crew spilt a jug of orange juice over my brand new cd player. He was very apologetic and slightly embarrassed. I tested the thing and it worked - he was so sorry that he gave me a bottle of champagne.

  After landing at Delhi, it was a quick trip to the “Bureau de Change” to get £50 of rupees.

  Then on to find the Himalayan 100 mile rep. It was here that I would get a first look at my fellow runners - like the ‘Marathon des Sables’ it was a complete mixed bag:- some serious looking athletes, every age accounted for, from the twenty-somethings to the sixty-somethings. After we were all assembled it was off to the hotel. We stayed for an hour which was just long enough for me to find my room.

  We arrived at 07:00 and left at 08:00, back to the airport and then onto an internal flight to Bagdogra. Whilst waiting I decided to have a cup of coffee and was royally ripped off. I paid 100 rupees for a cup of coffee - at Bagdogra I bought a bottle of water and a Pepsi for 35 Rupees!

  7/11/98

  DAY 2

  At Bagdogra we transferred to small coaches or large minibuses for the long and very interesting drive to Mirik - the race start.

  The scenery was stunning and the driver’s skill was something truly to behold. Very steep narrow climbs with extremely tight switchbacks, the roads were so narrow that the drivers employed a ‘mate’ - a small boy whose job it was to hang outside the vehicle and tell the driver how close to the edge he was. This was bad enough when the ‘mate’ was using both arms to indicate 3 or 4 feet but it got serious when all he needed was his index finger and thumb to indicate 3 or 4 inches!

  I desperately tried to look relaxed and unconcerned. However, my sweaty brow, white knuckles and nervous twitch that had suddenly developed might well have given the game away. To disguise my fear I looked out and I looked down into the precipice: a stupid thing to do as I spotted a lorry that had not quite made it. It was a crushed and crumpled heap of scrap metal. It was probably 400 to 500ft below and it still hadn’t reached the bottom.

  We eventually arrived at the small town of Mirik. In the hotel a wonderful meal had been laid on. I ate what I could but I was knackered and was ready for bed.

  8/11/98

  DAY 3

  I woke early and saw the place in daylight, it was absolutely breathtaking. Even though the hotel had seen better days the area was beautiful, we were perched right beside a lake, lush and beautiful.

  I had a shower and that brought me back to reality. A cold, no, ice cold shower was very invigorating. Down to breakfast and then a leisurely walk around town.

  The people seem very shy and very curious. A quick smile is usually returned and then one of those please, not me, moments. I could see someone out of the corner of my eye - the village idiot - he made a beeline for me and started waffling away. I tried my foolproof smile and nod technique, it didn’t work. He kept on following me, getting louder and more animated. Then a hero made an appearance and ushered him along. He was apparently the local drunk and even at this early hour was slightly worse for wear.

  After a small lunch a group of us decided to go for a little run around the lake. It was only 3:5 km and would stretch the legs out.

  The little run very nearly ended in disaster:- I went arse over apex catching an unseen root (too busy talking bollocks). I tripped and was lucky indeed not to have injured myself - I looked and felt like a pillock but at least I was an uninjured pillock.

  I got back to the hotel and realised I had been lucky, having got away with just a couple of grazes. After dinner we watched a video or should I say the horror film that was last year’s race.

  It looked - to put it mildly - a challenging course:- runners were bent double, faces showing pain and effort, looking like the figure in the Edvard Munch painting ‘The Scream’, degrees of despair and suffering in equal measure.

  Today the Americans arrive and the luxury of having a room to myself comes to an end.

  During the evening we were given a race briefing, a very long race briefing. This was followed by the dreaded “has anyone got any questions?” True to form, the British contingent, with their ‘que sera, sera’ attitude sat quietly, wanting to get stuck into the dinner that was ready in the next room. The Americans however had other ideas and proceeded to ask the most ridiculously mundane questions. I’m sure they had a bet amongst themselves to see who could ask the most irrelevant question.

  Eventually they ran out of things to ask and we were allowed to get something to eat.

  After dinner we were treated to an impromptu show by all the race staff - singing and dancing. All the runners were asked to get up and do a bit. I politely declined as I was a far better spectator than I was a singer or dancer. My wife - who has been witness to my determined efforts at both - has threatened to divorce me if I should ever attempt to sing in public. The same threat would have been forthcoming with regard to my dancing had she not been laughing so much!

  9/11/98

  DAY 4

  Though today was billed as a day off, it was in fact a trip to Darjeeling some 35km away and once again it was another ‘interesting’ 2.5 hour drive - interesting only in that the sheer drops and close to the edge driving meant even the strongest atheist would have said a sneaky prayer.

  After arriving we were free to do as we saw fit - a bit of shopping. I needed a warm hat and a couple of postcards - if I don’t send postcards I’ll be in the doghouse. Walking along the streets I was approached by a man who asked if I would like to buy some marijuana - I politely declined. One group saw a dog eating a dead cat!

  There was a little train that made the short trip up to the War Memorial. Three of us decided to make the trip as it was only 5km away. Whilst on the train I needed a wee so went into the WC and was somewhat surprised to see that the toilet was actually a hole cut in the floor, with the track passing a few inches below. At that point I was glad I only needed a wee!

  On the dr
ive back to Mirik we had to pull over:- one of the runners did not feel well, and the moment he got off the bus, he puked. It was an impressive display of multi-coloured projectile vomiting and at that moment I’m sure we all had the same selfish thoughts:- not the sympathetic, ah, poor old soul, I hope it’s nothing serious and that he gets well soon, but rather, I hope I don’t get it, I don’t want to be ill etc.

  Back at the hotel, it was a final briefing and it was now that I realised I had made a major cock-up:- I had no running kit, as per usual I wasn’t listening to the very detailed instructions and missed the bit about “pack everything EXCEPT your running kit” I just packed everything and those bags were now on the way to the first night’s camp!

  10/11/98

  DAY 5

  Race Day: 24 miles Mannybayang-Sandakphu

  Standing on the start line in my hastily cobbled together running kit, a purple t-shirt, a pair of Ron Hill tracksters, and a woolly pair of red socks - fortunately I had been wearing my trainers when I had packed everything else. I felt a bit silly and I probably looked even sillier.

  We lined up and the nervous banter quietened down. Mr Pandy, the Race Director was speaking. Fortunately it was a mercifully short speech. However he handed over to a Holy man who proceeded to bless the race and each of us taking part and then each of us were presented with a yellow prayer shawl which was carefully draped over our shoulders. It was quite a touching moment.

  The countdown began and the heart rate increased - three, two, one and we were off.

  Gently running through the small town of Mannybayang whilst carefully negotiating our way though the narrow streets. Streets that were made narrower by the large number of spectators that had gathered.

  I would like to think that the spectators had come to marvel at our undoubted athletic prowess but the expressions of bewilderment and concern gave them away. They thought we were barking mad:- who in their right mind would want to RUN around the foothills of the Himalayas!?

  The first three to four miles weren’t too challenging, almost pleasant and dare I say enjoyable but then we turned left and the climbing began.

  I don’t mind running uphill:- in fact I’m one of those odd characters who actually enjoys running uphill. The hill was steep and constant, I was enjoying the terrain and the fact that I was passing people made the whole thing even more enjoyable.

  However, after a couple of hours of uphill running the novelty was beginning to wear off. The climb was relentless with absolutely no respite, though my legs felt okay I was knackered and beginning to struggle.

  More than once I had to walk and as we climbed higher my energy levels got lower. Eventually I was reduced to counting 40 steps then stop, then 40 steps stop - this plan didn’t last long as I had hopelessly overestimated my ability to walk the 40 steps. It was time for a rethink, 20 steps, stop, 20 steps stop.

  It was during my 20 steps that the final indignity occurred:- whilst coughing, wheezing and farting my way up a particularly steep bit, I was passed not by a fellow athlete, no, that I could live with, but a local. Bad enough, but he was walking and carrying a load on his back that I doubted I could lift, whilst smoking and wearing wellies and he looked old enough to be my grandad. I’m sure I heard him giggling as he went by.

  Pride, vanity, ego or my competitive instinct kicked in. I gave chase, determined to catch and pass him and I would have if he hadn’t been plodding so bloody fast.

  By now, other runners were catching and passing me. I was moving slowly, very, very slowly, so slow that I was beginning to get cold. This wasn’t helped by the fact that it was now getting misty and damp (I later found out it wasn’t mist - we had in fact run, well, passed through the clouds) and because I hadn’t been listening to the briefing properly I didn’t have the right kit.

  Eventually and much to my relief I saw the 5km to go marker, 5km, thats 3 miles or 40 minutes to an hour till the finish.

  It was nearly 2 hours before I reached the finish line. I was knackered and I just hoped that all the days weren’t going to be like that, because if they were, I was, to put it bluntly, in the shit!

  It had taken me 6 hours and 55 minutes and I had come in at 25th place.

  The finish line on day one was at a place called Sandakphu - at a little over 11900ft it was to be the highest point that we would reach during the race.

  There were a collection of trekker’s huts that were to be our lodgings for the night - basic but very welcome.

  I grabbed my kit bag - the one with my running kit in and made my way over to one of the huts, changed into warm clothing and took a short tour. It was a stunningly beautiful area and apparently the only place on Earth where you can see 4 of the 5 highest mountains in the world at the same time. With the mountains looking down at us and us looking down at the clouds, it was a fantastic photo opportunity.

  The meal was an impressive affair considering where we were:- a vegetable soup, chicken and spaghetti with sauce, chapati and mixed vegetables and boiled potatoes. Pudding was a choice of fruit salad or apple pie! It was at moments like this that I really hated my loss of appetite but I tried.

  All the runners were now in and a couple had decided that enough was enough and withdrew - altitude problems being the deciding factor.

  Though I had struggled I actually felt good, the legs felt good and I was not suffering from headaches or nausea. I was just knackered and slow.

  Over dinner we compared ‘war stories’ and exaggerated the day’s events. I was sure that by the time we got home the stories would be very colourful indeed.

  The room I was in was full, with 8 of us and it was freezing but once inside my borrowed ‘arctic’ sleeping bag I was toastie warm.

  The downside of being toastie warm was a reluctance to get out of the bag - Mother Nature however dictated otherwise:- I needed the loo. I tried very hard to put off the inevitable but desperation forced my hand - with toilet roll in hand I made my way over to one of the small wooden outhouses, opened the door and gagged. The stench caught me by surprise and just like I had done during the run I was given no choice but to ‘tough it out’ and besides I was running out of time. I held my breath and entered. Unlike at home I hadn’t the luxury of time. I was not able to savour the moment:- it was in, do the deed and get out.

  And out it was like a drowning man breaking surface. I exited the ‘thunderbox’ at a great rate of knots and gasping for air.

  11/11/98

  DAY 6

  The second day’s running was to be a 20 mile out and back route - remaining at the same altitude we would follow a rough but flatter (flatter being a relative term when referring to a route in the Himalayas,) track. The reality was that it was just not as steep as the day before, or as the official version described it, ‘undulating’. I have done enough runs in the past to be able to translate the language that race organisers use and the word ‘undulating’ actually translates into normal language as lots of hills. However, the fact that we were still at an altitude of very nearly 12000ft made it a bit of a challenge.

  We were to follow the trail for 10 miles reaching a place called Molle and then turn round and head back to Sandakphu where we would spend a second night.

  It was a beautiful place to run and for most of the day we had 4 out of the 5 highest mountains in the world in view.

  The day didn’t get off to the best of starts:- there was some confusion as to when the actual start time was. It had been amended from 07:00 to 06:30 and not everybody knew. Unusually for me, I was actually listening for once.

  The first mile or so was fine - however, it wasn’t long before the ‘undulating’ bits made an appearance.

  The ascents were steep enough to warrant walking while the descents were steep enough to require concentration, something I momentarily forgot and again went arse over apex. I actually slipped on a piece of ice. There wasn’t that much of it about but because I was trying to admire the view and move forward I found one of the few bits that were there. As is
usual in this situation the first thing I did was look around to see if anyone had noticed. They hadn’t so my pride remained in tact.

  The fact that we were running around one of the most beautiful places on the planet was not lost on me and consequently I stopped more than once to take photographs. It might have been a ‘Race’ but I realised that it was also an experience to be savoured.

  With Everest, Kanchenjunga, Lhotse and Makalu, 4 out of the 5 highest mountains on earth as a backdrop even my photographs looked good.

  I eventually reached the turnaround checkpoint in a little over 2 hours - I felt pretty good.

  On the return journey I could see one or two runners really struggling and more than once I was asked “how much further?” that’s never a good sign. Once again that nasty selfish thought of rather them than me crept up. However, this time it was tempered by the thought that my time will surely come.

  The return journey was just as spectacular with clear blue cloudless skies, sunshine and snowcapped mountains - a more perfect running route would be hard to find.

  I was lucky indeed to be here in the Himalayas and the fact that I was in a running race was almost forgotten.

  I plodded on eventually finishing in a time of 4hrs and 39 minutes and in 20th position. I was pleased, my legs were tired but at least I had no blisters, chafing or headaches. Tired legs and a loss of appetite were a small price to pay.

  A couple more runners dropped out today. Tomorrow is the longest day and at 26.2 was billed as ‘The Everest Challenge Marathon’. Some runners will be arriving just to compete in this Marathon. I’m looking forward to it as we actually start descending and hopefully my speed and energy levels will improve.

  12/11/98

  DAY 7

  My marathon-running experience is somewhat limited with just two London Marathons under my belt. They had both hurt like hell. Even though I had followed a training schedule they had still hurt and I seem to remember the week to ten days prior to a marathon you are advised to ‘taper’ (slowly reduce the miles you run, giving your body a chance to rest) and here we were having just run forty four tough miles at altitude - not what I would call the best tapering in the world.