BTS Ultra - Brutal Sadistic Torture

BTS Ultra

“All the way from India – Shashwat Rao” announced the Race Director, Jeffri. I felt a hundred eyes on me. Some clicked. Some applauded. I walked up to the start following the other international runners as they were being called. I could barely muster a smile.

<I was among the elite runners. To list a few: Jan Nilsen from Norway – the expected winner (definitely a safe bet). Taro from Japan. I sat next to him at Surabaya airport and on the shuttle to the race venue. As we chatted, I came to know that he had ran nine 100 milers before! Muhammad Dzaki, who had done well at local races earlier and the press had high hopes from him – he was being interviewed before the start. And of course, Hendra Wijaya(HW) – the adviser to this event – who probably knew the course better than anyone else. >

It was drizzling. I hate rain. I tried to psych myself up with some music. Didn’t look around too much. Spoke to none. Tried to get “in the zone”. I was about to embark on a journey. Unknown, unheard by Indians and never attempted before. Only one NRI – a Singaporean by the name Ullas had completed it earlier. All stood up while the Indonesian national anthem was played. Then, the countdown. 5,4,3,2,1 and off we go. My GPS watch (sans strap, it was in my pocket) fails to catch a signal. For quite a while, maybe half an hour, I run annoyed. A moderate start. Said Hi to HW. Asked him what timing he is aiming for. “Anything less than 46 hours” he replied, humbly. “I’d like to better that” I said, but was probably out of earshot. I must have been somewhere about 10^th place and the field spread out. Then, I lose my way down a hill. It was like a tea estate (not tea, but definitely some plantation) with multiple winding paths going up and down. It turned dark and the fog set in. I switched on my headlights. Seeing no ribbons, I knew I was lost. I retraced my path and saw another lost runner. We somehow found the route and continued. After a gentle descent downhill, I reached a flat section. Sand. As I ran across the sand, I see numerous lights going up a hill in the distance. Had to be 15 or 20 of them. How did they manage to get ahead? Astonished, I realized I had lost at least half an hour. I can only blame myself. Okay, I’ll chase them, I thought. Reached the hill and started climbing. Oh dear. I had to climb it on all fours. It was raining and the moss covered rocks were wet and slippery. The grass, shrubs around were wet too. I was wearing track pants which now felt wet and heavy. Still, I climbed quickly hoping to overtake a few on this section. One runner even commented “Hey, you are quite lithe footed, like a deer”. That lifted my spirits. Almost everyone had poles, some of them were the folding type. Not me – I had never tried those. I reached the summit to the 1^st Water Station (WS) called B29. A quick glug and off I went. Into the forests. It was constant up-downs and into fields. I met William here. He was off the trail and returning. Told me that someone had removed the markers and that way was wrong. Pointed out to another headlight in the distance and told me that’s his Brother-in-law: follow him.  Around dinner time, I reached WS2 – Ranu Pane. Time to load up on a few calories. Ate quite a few bananas (Pisang). In Indonesia one gets various types and sizes of bananas – Green, yellow, blackish ones and even red ones! I ate a fried banana – something like a bajji - and it was sweet! Here I asked if I could get some hot beverage. 2 options: a)Milo b) Nescafe mixed in hot water.  I chose the former – like I would umpteen times. As I started off, I noticed two runners head off into a shelter nearby. 

<Indonesia is a Muslim dominated country. In fact, it’s the country with the highest Muslim population in the world. Even a Hindu/Christian sounding name might be Muslim. At most rest stops – airports, restaurants, petrol pumps etc. there is an area marked “Musholla”. It’s not a mosque – more like a prayer room. At WS2, I saw these two runners remove their footwear and offer prayers at the Musholla. During a 100 miler! This sight was a first for me.>

As I went along, I met Khairul from Malaysia. A UTMB finisher. On hearing that, my ears perk up and I’m in awe of him. I try and absorb some wisdom from this poled runner. Such nimble steps he took and the poles were taking some effort off his knees. Ah! That’s how it’s done – I studied, fascinated by the pole running technique. We chatted a lot about UTMB. How tough the cutoffs were. How strong the European runners are and the commercial nature of the event. We were charting a trekking route it seemed. We saw a few hikers – backpack, tent et all. Some had halted along the trail. Seemed like it was an actual trail with markings in Bahasa Indonesia like the government had installed them. BTS is after all a national park requiring permits to enter. Then, we got lost again. Quickly, Khairul takes out his i-phone with pre-loaded maps and we are back on track again. Power hiking the ups and cruising down. I slowed down so that I could stay with him. After all, it gets lonely out there. Eventually, I took the lead and told Khairul, let’s catch up later. After the ups, there was this water body below. Like a huge lake – I couldn’t see much in the dark. Ran around its periphery and reached the next WS – Ranu Kumbolo. Again – Milo, bananas and dates. Oh! How much I missed my homemade Clif bars.

<As it was my first time abroad, and on board an international flight, I was nervous. I always considered it somewhat elitist to fly overseas. Something beyond my means. Clearly, I was circumspect. I was told that no liquids/edibles would be allowed. To minimise my costs, I did not book check-in luggage on this low cost airline. So every gram of my 7kg cabin baggage was scrutinised. Nothing unnecessary. No food even. Bad mistake, in hindsight>

Okay, so one tough climb coming up ahead. I remember Taro pointing it out to me in the elevation map. Pushing my knees with my palms, I painstakingly made my way up. As I reach the summit, I see two runners belting their way down. It was Jan Nilsen followed by Dzaki. My first and only sight of the race leader. After an hour I see Taro. Asked him how far the switchback is. About 3K he replied. Hmm, not bad, I thought. Reached the switchback (Kalimati) to find a lone volunteer in a tent. He gave me a rubber wrist band. My first. How cool is that! I understand that I need to collect many of these along the way. Ask him for some food. Nothing there. Had a gulp of water from his bottle. Saw another runner resting there and he lit up a smoke courtesy the volunteer. No, I’m not going to let my mind wander here. I can easily lose the plot. So I set off from there and lose my way (again).  It was a hilly forest and I got confused with another trail marked with some plastic bits. I recover half an hour later to find more runners had passed. Shucks. Reached the spot where I had crossed Jan Nilsen and thumped downhill. Back to WS3 and I stocked up with dates, knowing I had a long, lonely night ahead. Ran through vast wilderness. Not much vegetation but constant climbing. Then down again. Went through fields and climbed another mountain on all fours. It was Mount Ayek-Ayek. Belted that section and felt good as the calorie intake was working. However my quads and knees hurt. Another descent was in store. Not just any descent, it was akin to a vertical drop off the apex into shrubs. A flimsy rope was in place. So, I had to hold onto that rope, keep my body weight backwards and descend sideways (for better grip). This technique was new to me. But this is what trail running (mountaineering would be more apt) teaches you. Problem solving. And single minded focus. It’s got to be done. The skin peels off my palm as I grip this rope and slide down. They are just cuts. Nothing will impede me from going on, I reassured myself.  I don’t remember much afterwards. My next goal was to reach W5 – Ngadas(53K) – where I had a drop-bag. It was raining relentlessly and I craved for dry clothes and socks. Reached there maybe an hour before daybreak (note: the sun is up by 5 in the mountains). Changed into shorts and wore fresh socks. However the shoes were wet and I had no spare ones.( I recollected the phrase: I was sad because I had no shoes, till I saw the man with no feet). I saw a runner taking a snooze. Secretly desired to do that but did not dare to. Ate some butter (yuck!). Generally I don’t consume dairy but had packed it in since it’s a rich fat source and that was the only thing available. It was still cold outside. Told myself to keep running – that would elevate my body temperature. Found some tarmac and kept going. Listened to an entire Rich Roll podcast. It was about minimalism (http://www.richroll.com/podcast/joshua-fields-millburn/). The road had a downward gradient and after a while I realized a long way up was in store. At least the terrain was not technical. I could take my mind off the perennial concentration required in the trails. It was then a long way up winding roads - really long. Took maybe 3 hours. The sun rose in the valley. At the next WS – Jarak Ijo, I enquired about my position overall. 6^th or 7^th I was told. Not bad. The sun was out now. Aaah! Good Morning, Sun. Am I glad to see you. I feel honored. Warm my body with your rays. After a while I felt the urge to go. Go, as in number 2. Off the trail I find my spot and squat. Relief.

<Ultra-runners find simple pleasures when the body performs its tasks. Anything above and beyond the constant thumping of feet on the ground. For instance, when we pee or take a dump. Or even let out a burp or fart. A fellow runner once broke wind with a loud ripping fart and exclaimed “Ooh! That feels good”. We could only nod and chuckle at each other. I’m open and shameful enough to “come clean” to such “release” activities. These primal actions and oneness with nature is fascinating in multi-day runs, probably missing in shorter road races. At the end of the day, or perhaps early mornings, it happens.>

Again I slowly trudged uphill. This is akin to an early morning run for me. I’m not much of a morning person, though I earnestly yearn to be one. On a routine day in Bangalore, my body would feel creaky and I would love to go back to sleep. I got his feeling again. I glanced by a farm where lay some sacks of cattle feed/ soya/manure/fertilizer I’m not sure. Certainly not fragrant. I go and lie down on this for a power nap. A 500 sec shut-eye perhaps. I arched my back backwards and let the sun rays hit my face. That feeling was nice. My spine agreed too. Back on my feet, I continued. After a while, HW catches up with me along with 2 others by his side. One seemed like this enthusiastic kid. I asked him tongue-in-cheek –“ Do you go to school?” . “Ya”, he replied. Probably he meant college. It’s rare to find youngsters in this sport. Offered them a carrot. No go. They looked at me as if I ate grass. HW meanwhile pointed out to Mt. Bromo – the highest mountain on the island. “We should be running there tomorrow morning”, he claimed. Doing a vague calculation in my mind, considering our current pace, I retorted “why not tonight?” – To get it done with. He smiled, like a sage. HW does not really talk much. I asked him if I was disturbing/boring him. He grunted. I found a 100 Rupiah coin on the ground(my lucky day?). Asked him what one would get for this? “Candy”. That’s all he said, expressionless. I took a short lead from them and thought it’s better to have them behind for a while. That would keep me on my toes too. I didn’t stop at W8. Picked up a bottle and went ahead. Now we hit the desert. Vast acres of sand. Very windy conditions. Covered my face with a buff and goggles and went on. Took out the box of SKIPPY peanut butter (http://www.peanutbutter.com/product.php?id=3) and ate. There was sand everywhere. Including my mouth. Every once in a while a strong gust of wind would hit my face with fine sand. To make matters worse, running on sand is slow going. Not to mention loads of sand creeping into my shoes and settling there. As if the feet rubbing was not enough, I had amplified friction now. Went on post noon till I reached the foothill. Tar road. Aah! A welcome change. Climbed up hurriedly knowing the three are not far behind. But they kept up. It’s generally easier to chase someone than lead someone and eventually lose ‘em. Another WS approached. Decided to pass through that sans stoppage to increase my lead and so I did. Another mountain trail – I maintain constant pace. Dates, electrolyte tabs and water were my only intake. At least ingesting these broke the monotony. Thought I would have 2 salt tabs in between each WS. Saw quite a few gel (empty sachets) discarded on the trail. Not done, I feel. “Always leave the trail cleaner than you found it” is my belief. Obviously not those who were ahead of me. It was now late afternoon. I catch up with William and we run and chat for a while. William looks like the ideal runner - tall and well built. Wore a Salomon vest, Suunto watch, Sketchers shoes and used hiking poles. Looked like he was well-trained and prepared. Still, occasionally he would get tired and stop to catch his breath while I did not find that necessary.  We keep walking albeit slowly. It was hot now. We pass through a village plantation and go through some sort of corn field. These look like walking sticks – loosely rooted to the ground and some bearing corn at the top. I uproot two of em and break them to use as makeshift poles. It certainly helps my gait. William’s brother-in-law ahead was struggling. I encourage him to carry on but he mentioned some knee injury and sat on a rock. I reached the next WS and drank Coke for a change. No, I do not advocate this caffeinated calorie drink. It was just to break the monotony of caloric intake. Continued with William to the next WS - Pananjakan (~100k). My 2^nd drop bag was there. I saw Muhammad Fauzi – the strong police/army guy who ran in something which looked like jeans. I was certain. He was a strong contender, I was told. Seemed to have lost his way, he retraced and we ran till Pananajakan. This is the place where tourists visit to witness the beautiful sunrise. Now it was evening and I looked forward to my drop-bag. In a little shack we sat and ate. I had Nasee( plain rice in Indonesian) and black tea. Then, I changed into a new tee, skins and kalenji shoes. In hindsight, these are the worst pair of shoes I had ever worn (and the cheapest too). I desired for a variation from the heavy Asics I ran for 100 kms. I had developed blisters, so I taped up a few toes with Band-aid. Who is the volunteer here? The shy, pretty girl with the head scarf - Ita.  She had sat next to me on the flight from KL. It’s a small world, I thought. Profusely thanked her and took off after collecting yet another rubber wrist band. William and Fauzi were taking it easy there and I saw HW approaching. I realize its nearly 24 hours into the race. More than 100K done. I took off and found good speed/energy. Felt great in fact. These shoes were lighter and a welcome change. I belted down a forest section and it turned dark. Whenever there is a transition from light to darkness, I try and log maximum mileage. In the back of my mind, I was aware that it would get tougher and slower at night. Took a considerable lead and somehow felt the next WS was elusive. It was 14 kms on my own. Hills and more hills. After a steep and technical descent, I reach the flat section. Drizzle started again. I kept adjusting my headlight from max power to power-saving mode. And lo-behold, it goes kaput.

<At the gear check, prior to the start, the RD was not happy with my headlight. It was the chargeable On-Night (https://www.decathlon.co.uk/onnight-headlamp-410-v2-id_8364850.html) I had picked up which claimed 27hrs of lighting in power-saving mode. The RD however insisted on the battery operated ones. What difference does it make? I reasoned. Reluctantly, I agree to carry the bulkier, heavier, coal-miner type headlight. It turned out to be a life-saver>

I switched to my coal-miner headlight although the beam was poor. I had no option. Traversing a technical trail in darkness is like finding a needle in a haystack. Finally, I reach the village Jetak and sit down at W13. Here, I munch chips.

Disclaimer: The following section is filled with pain, hardship and general negativity. It is a report of my predicament on an as-it-was form. Intention is not to seek any pity, sympathy etc. neither do I want to enter that state ever again. In essence, it captures the fundamentals of this race BTS- Brutal, Saditic Torture as I read it somewhere. If reading such material is not your cup of tea, skip this section.

Its cold and lonely. I was told that I’m in 4^th position. Really? That means, some have dropped out. This evokes no emotion in me. I am mentally tired and certain body parts are really hurting. Hurting so bad that it has affected my pace. My left knee and both feet. My soles become a cause of immediate concern with each step. “Probably, I’ll Duct tape them”, I thought. I step gingerly. After more chips and Coke, I trudge out. I’m on the road now. It looked familiar. It was the same road I took to go to Indomart at Sukapara two days ago. It was late at night and very few shops were open. The duct tape idea is ingrained in my head and nagging me. I enquire at two or three shops (with translation difficulty), on knowing its unavailability, I settle for more Band-aids. Remove shoe-Tape-Wear shoe. This procedure is slow, painful and time consuming. Frustrated with constant repairs, I head off. There was a deviation road on the way up. I miss that and lose another half an hour. Back on track, the road leads down and ends at a small settlement. It’s a slow, uphill off-road journey now. I had no clue where the course headed and somehow felt that it would lead to Mt. Bromo, up the mountain and to the finish. But no. It was tedious climbing. Profoundly lonely. No headlights were seen for miles behind. Uncertainty lay miles ahead. Just keep moving, I thought. Devoid of any human sighting, I try listening to music. I craved for something, anything to disrupt status quo. A mood-altering drug perhaps? Would meditation help? I just didn’t care anymore. At the top of another mountain, I look back. I spotted a headlight way below and secretly hoped it was William. But, another technical descent lay ahead of me. Carefully, I climbed down. Do I see lights (civilization)? No. Is the vegetation different? (Tall trees grow at lower elevation, shrubs are present at higher altitudes). The descent was time-consuming. My replacement headlight seemed to be in its dying moments. Yes, William caught up with me now. I told him my predicament to which he fished out his stand-by headlight and offers it to me. A Black Diamond one (http://blackdiamondequipment.com/en/headlamps-and-lanterns/revolt-BD620613_cfg.html#start=6).

The bright/ wide beam is a welcome change for which I remain eternally indebted to him. A mammoth technical climb beckons. The one upto WS1. I have William for company. Gong up certain sections now seemed too steep. With no grip/ reach, one cannot ascend vertical, slippery rocks. Again, I do problem-solving (I have no other option). Holding onto plants, grass, whatever I can, I haul myself and keep going up this never-ending mountain. Intense concentration on what to grip, where to place footing etc. is mentally draining. The physical pain is Omni-present. I am sure of a WS at the summit. We reach there at around midnight. Very, very cold and windy. I can barely open my eyes. There is a little shelter which is locked. I ask the volunteer to open the room which he refuses to. I moved about 50m away to a shack where a couple of people took warmth from burning coal. My body froze in a matter of minutes due to the blizzard-like conditions and my inactivity. It was about 5 degrees Celsius and very windy. Curling into a ball, I sat and sipped lukewarm black tea. It did me no good. William now arrived and took off – he was in no mood to rest – a wise move. This was the coldest/ most inhospitable weather I had ever experienced. At Kunzum La earlier, similar conditions was deemed unfit to continue by the race director and I was ushered into the confines of a warm TATA Sumo. No such luck here. See, I am a south Indian. Here, mercury may dip to 15 degrees C at the least. Perhaps, if I lived in colder climates, up in the mountains, I would know how to handle the situation better. I lacked proper clothing to mitigate the harsh conditions – Only a wind-cheater. My body simply froze and I could not even stand, let alone walk. Despair, I pray for reserves of strength to this non-existent God. One I never believed in.

It was time to bring out my checklist. 1. I was spent to the state of immobility. I let myself feel that and acknowledged it. 2. I took stock. I was pissed that despite arriving third (Jan and Taro were beyond competition now), I gave my position away to William. And reached such rock-bottom. Regardless, it wasn’t life-threatening, I reasoned. 3. I asked myself what I could do to remedy the situation. Could I stop, call it quits? Here? In the middle of nowhere? No, that was not an option. The answer: keep moving. 4. Separate negative thoughts from reality. Do not dwell on feelings that aren’t going to help. 

I got up and moved. Limping gingerly would be apt. I continued this movement for a couple of hours, what seemed eternity.

Feet update: I dare not remove my shoe. (Ian Healey - Mr. crooked fingers, once spoke about not removing the keeping gloves to inspect fingers on getting a nasty hit. Just continue. Being a ‘keeper myself, I could vouch for that. A similar parallel here?) Okay, this was how it was. Imagine a soft bun is soaked in water. Ice-cold water, for many hours. That’s how my feet felt inside my water-laden shoes. I knew huge blisters had developed and could feel my bones sliding over loose flesh at my soles. Cold, soggy socks held things together. I felt a million pin pricks there which turned to knife stabs each time feet hit the ground. 

Positivity fix: I had to look beyond all this. They do not merit attention. This is just a rite of passage. Remember David Goggins. Remember “Not all pain is significant”. Remember Dusty Olson chiding Scott Jurek: “Let the pain go out your ears”. I imagined myself to be one of the marathon monks of Mount. Hiei (They carry a knife at their waist, to be used to kill themselves, should they fail to continue).

There are situations in an Ultra where everything falls under two categories. Things you can control and others which are beyond. The weather, for instance, is beyond your control. Here it was frigid. How do I keep myself warm? This was not foreseen and I had no gear. I did have an emergency blanket though<http://www.oliveplanet.in/survival-blanket-olive-green-silver.html>. Took it out, wrapped it over my head and around my body like a poncho. Holding it together with one hand and walking was not exactly an efficient method but it mitigated the cold (or so I thought). The next six hours were perhaps the most grueling phase of my life. Since my body refused to run, I walked. Like a zombie. My body was deprived of sleep for over 32 hours. Hallucination took over. It was inescapable. Nothing too dramatic as my brain was shutting down. I generally believe I’m in control of my body functions but the brain now had thoughts of its own. I knew I was seeing things but I couldn’t do anything about it. I accepted hallucination. My wandering brain saw a rock and imagined it to be a rabbit. “Yes, it’s a rabbit, move on” I spurred in my mind, resigned to this absurdity.  I had entered a mystical, hidden world unbeknown. I was lost. Separated from earthly concerns. Transcendental perhaps. An out-of-body experience. My recollection of this phase is that it was so much further than anything I had experienced that my memory is vague. It is hard to put in words.

After darkness, always there is light. Like a tunnel. I believe, that’s a metaphor for life too. In the vicious circle of life, after the lowest lows, there can be only one way. Up. The Sun had to rise. Skies turned from black to grey to deep blue. Somewhere in the corner of my eye, I spot a dash of orange. Soon, the entire horizon turns baby pink. I am traversing these range of mountains all along the highest points. Below me, I see clouds. The spectacular cloud formation looked like ocean waves captured in a still. White and only whiteness below. At the horizon, the Sun plays peek-a-boo and throws a dash of fluorescence into this canvas. Like a shy neighbor peeking over the fence, he makes his way up. Dramatic. As an ultra-runner, avid rider and vagabond, I have witnessed my fair share of spectacular sunrise/sunsets. This one ranked right up there, amongst the top few. An indelible snapshot for times to come. 

Drawing energy from this, I hasten my gait. I reached a paved road and head towards the tent. W5A at Jemplang. Carefully, I removed my shoes and socks to inspect the mutilation. The skin on the surface of my foot is so loose that I pull it off. Like peeling a face mask, one layer comes off. Must have seemed intense. This lady whips out her phone and captures pics of my feet. A very helpful lady. She tended to my every need – what to eat, what dressing I might require etc. I removed the old bandages and just re-taped the dirty, smelly, pus-oozing areas. With fresh belladonna plasters in-place, at least my toes looked okay. One minor Issue. Socks. They were wet, dirty, smelly and infected. Another runner had given up and crashed on in the tent beside where I sat (a DNF). I gestured to the lady to request him for his socks. Here, she removes her shoe and hands over her own socks. She insisted that I wear them. They were Injinji toe socks. Expensive ones < http://www.injinji.com/run-lightweight-no-show.html>. I was filled with a wave of gratitude. I understood that she was a medical practitioner. It felt good that someone showed genuine concern for me. I profusely thanked Doctor ma’am. As I geared up, HW and some other runners pass by. They looked okay, not too beat-up, ready to take on another day of this ordeal we had got ourselves into. I started off, went off-trail for a “pit” stop and felt much lighter. The route now led down to the scenic, touristy section. Humungous mountains to the left, vast acres of sand and huge volcanoes in the distance. I had to run towards that. Tourists mainly navigated this route on Ojeks (motorcycle taxis) and 4X4 Jeeps. Every time a vehicle passed, it would leave a dust trail which left me coughing. It continued all morning until I reached the base of the dormant volcanoes. The run followed a path below what seemed like canyons with a hard terrain. But I was fascinated by the sand dunes above. Took a detour and went up and down those dunes. I felt like Killian Jornet sliding down <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jRl0PjiPnyM>. Never had I come across such terrain – obviously, I was thrilled. Little did I know, I was running extra miles. I even observed remote-sensing instruments like rods going deep into the earth, a satellite dish like device transmitting seismic data on the surface. It was to study volcanic activity in the area and predict the chances of a volcano perhaps. Returned back on the intended route and actually climbed many sand dunes. Fine sand, volcanic ash actually, had filled my shoes again but now I simply did not care. Reached W6 (Bromo) and re-energized myself. I had to go up these steps which I had climbed prior to race-day. Up I went and reached the top.

So, I was at the top of this crater and briefly looked down. The lava was miles below what seemed a huge pit.  The volcano was spewing out white smoke like cloud which spread to the atmosphere around. Sometimes, the wind carried more of this smog in its direction. It had a pungent smell – somewhat like H2S. One gentleman rumored the day earlier not to hang around too much there – Large intake of these gases will form Sulphuric acid in the body and cause lungs to burn! I stopped beside a little stone idol what looked like Ganesha. I offer a little prayer more out of desperation rather than hope. Took out the sand from my shoes and headed out again. This was all the way along the circumference, balancing on ground perhaps 10 inch wide. On my left is a huge drop down the mountain and a similar drop on my right, into the volcano. It was windy too. Every time a strong gust hit me, I would crouch. Thus the going was slow. “Gee!, this is life-threatening” , I thought to myself. A strong wind would send me plummeting down to death. Again, my heart was racing. I filled my head with positive thoughts. I imagined myself to be this ant going around a molehill (very similar when viewed from far)

People don’t just fall and die. Still, this being my first time scary experience, I wanted it to end.  I was calmed at seeing some vegetation after circling around. I went around other mountain ranges. It was mid-day and hot. Most runners who had overtook me were nowhere to be seen or had given up. The cutoff time loomed large now. I enquired if it can be done from here on. “Hmm, its touch-and-go” was the reply I got, lacking conviction. Screw them, I thought. Resolving to never stop again, I kept moving.  Played counting games.

<In this sport, (be it training or race), often the going is vastly singular. We spend hours in the wilderness – lonely and desperate. To prevent negative thoughts ( and remain sane) we need to tame our brain. Ever so often, I do that by counting my foot strikes. 1 to 100, 999 to zero, repeat sets of 10, Prime numbers, whatever. Just to keep the brain engaged and pass time. It’s amazing how miles pass by (or seems to) by filling the brain with something neutral. Much better than sulking or cribbing which is detrimental to progress. >

I met Samsudin, the Indonesian runner. He was walking back to this WS. “Whoa! What have we here?” I enquired. He said there is no point in going on. “It would take at least 4 hours to the finish and we have only about 2 and a half hours to the cut-off (46 hours). I had not done any such detailed calculation so far. “That’s okay, let’s keep pushing. In any case, we have come this far”, I replied. He was still not convinced. “Listen, let’s take this bit-by-bit. Anything can happen later. Let’s do this together, man!”. That spark was still missing in him. “I’m going for it”, I stated and took off. After about 10 mins, I look back and see him trudging along. Did I inspire him? I don’t know. I waited. Said “You know, you look amazing going down. Lead me downhill and going uphill, I’ll take the lead. We still got this”. I said, with a false sense of assurance. Regardless, this tandem strategy seemed to work. Another hour or so, we went back-and-forth. Pseudo-racing each other. We reached what seemed like vertical drops in sand dunes. The Japanese runner, Takashi was also there, bewildered, how to go about this tricky section. I took the lead. Climbed, crawled, rolled and grappled my way. I remember, certain sections, it was so steep down that one could not stand. I just leaned my body weight backwards and slid on my butt. Like a sliding coaster. Fast, scary and adrenaline-surging. Plummeting down terrifying, high speeds, I dug my heel into the sand to act as breaks. My lower tights ripped off my butt during this act and I had what you would call “post box” or “air conditioning” there. Fortunately, I had worn undies too. At the bottom, I dusted myself and ran towards the canyons. At least the ground was firm. But the earth suddenly seemed to drop in 5 or 6 sections. Step-like 15-20 feet below. So, flimsy wooden ladders had been placed there. (One ladder even had a rung missing!) How cool is that. How much thought has gone into all this, I wondered. Totally unanticipated climbing down ladders in a 100 mile race. Reached the last WS Batok. I could see the huge hill in the distance. I knew Lava view hotel (the finish line) was atop that. About an hour remains. The two behind me were nowhere to be seen. I grab water and ask the volunteer where the finish is. He pointed to the distance. Across the sand and up the hill. I take off. Consumed all the salt tabs and even ate a slice of watermelon there. 

The pushing started. “You can do it! Push! Harder!” are the only words ringing in my head. I like to finish strong. That has been the trend as far as I can remember. I hammered myself. I didn’t care if I lost my limbs. Sucking air, my heart-rate went through the roof. Still, told my mind I could do better. Reached the road leading upto the finish. Already the thoughts start flooding in. Is this it? Is it gonna end? Strangely, I do not want it to. It didn’t make sense. The up-hill climb is strenuous. Then, in the distance, the word FINISH is visible. I pound my way across the line, leap and run further into the parking lot. And let it all out. Like a pressure cooker letting off steam. Fists pumping, yelling, cursing gibberish. Then the tears start to flow.

Photographers and race officials were all around. I was the cynosure. Doctor Ma’am appears with a sarong telling me to wrap it around my exposed posterior. I couldn’t believe it. There was applause, cheering and photography all around. Handshakes and hugs were warm and genuine. The RD calls me to the finish line and tributes me with the finisher medal. I came “All the way from India”. For this.