"Don't be afraid to fail".
That's a quote that has been characterising the training period of my first ultra trail.
After 5 months of training, 1 foot tendon stress fracture and 1 contraction of the rhomboid muscle, a bit more than 2000 km in 3 different countries and 2 pairs of shoes, on the 29th of March I had to put myself to the test and run the 80 km Eco Trail of Paris.
I am writing this as a reminder to myself, rather than a race report.
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My first ultra marathon went differently than I had thought: I had to quit after 55 km due to a painful foot (the extensors were giving me the awful feeling of a couple of hundred needles stuck in the flesh, again). But more surprisingly my quadriceps were numb after only 25 km, when I had the same sore legs I usually get after an impressive amount of squats at the gym. Numb. Knackered. And it was only the 25th...
EcoTrail of Paris was not exactly smooth, at least not as smooth as I had imagined. The temperature didn't help either. After 5 km with the leading group I started feeling those 22 degrees on my head. Overheating was driving me crazy and the body was asking for more and more water. The hydration pack was empty by the time I reached the first station. In numbers: 1.5 liters of fluid in 22 km.
I had the feeling that something wrong was already happening.
The time I stopped at the first aid station was short enough to refill and drink one more glass of fresh water. I didn't need to eat anything there. Gels and bars were at my disposal, in the pockets of the shirt. I was following the nutrition plan carefully. With an intake of 300 kcal per hour, I was not feeling hungry, weak or the like. I was just feeling perfect.
Having said that, the group I was running with was pushing, relentlessly. We were running at 14.7 km/h. Crazy and insane for an ultra marathon of 80 km with 1500 mt elevation gain.
For some reason I felt like being part of that insanity.
Any inner voice kept telling me, repeatedly: "You're too fast man! where are you going?"
But somehow I was curious to see what was next—and I didn't want to miss that opportunity. After all, I felt great, light, energetic and, despite the hot weather, still fresh.
An underestimation that I would soon pay dearly for.
Yeah, alright, I was not afraid to fail. But that pace was not my pace. And it was not the others' pace either. We were all running towards hell.
I was willing to run at my pace. Therefore I detached from the group and just let them go.
Km 23, km 24, km 25. I could already recognise some runners from the crazy group. I was taking them on hills. It was hard to run there. We all had to walk. Some of them were not even doing that. They were just standing.
Too soon to draw conclusions though. Km 29 had a terrible surprise in store.
The extensor of the right foot started to kick in. I kept ignoring the slightly perceptible pain when I was climbing and running on flat terrain. Things got worse when I went downhill. Every step had the feel of a knife forcing its way into the flesh. Suddenly my plans and my strategies made little sense. I had to deal with something I hadn’t planned for. Foot pain, no water, sore legs and, even more harrowing, 50 km left.
"Step by step!" I was repeating to myself.
The next aid station was only at km 44, Commune de Meudoun. My pace was already slowing down to normal, as if there were anything normal left. At km 33, I took more sips from the hydration pack another time. After that last sip a bubble of air whispered in my ear that the fun was over. No more water for another 7 km.
I did my best to deal with such a dry situation. Then I gave up and turned to three runners who were taking over me. Two of them were Italians. A guy called Ivan, and Simona Morbelli, who finished first woman. Great job.
At the 44th km I had to refill the hydration pack one more time. I wanted to quit. But I couldn't for one reason: Caroline was waiting for me at km 55, where I planned to get the gels I was not carrying.
Those 11 km were just like a trip to hell. The legs were not responding at all. Ankles were unstable and painful. The extensor of the right foot was so stretched that I started to believe that it could break any time soon. Moreover I couldn't get used to the pain. And who can?
Some more hills slowed me down and forced me to walk. But this time even walking was not a pleasant feeling. Recovery times became longer and longer. At the end of the hill I usually started running again. Not this time. Soreness and pain are the perfect combination that change that habit into something that has just one name.
Quitting.
At km 55, I could see Caroline and let her know of the change of plans. My Eco Trail had to stop there, in Chaville. No words. No explanation. Just a doctor who did her best to unpack two capsules of Dafalgan and write my name onto the DNF list.
Did Not Finish.
Did Not Finish.
When a runner achieves his goal, he celebrates.
When he fails, he reflects.
There are three questions I need to answer in the upcoming weeks.
Why was I drinking like a camel?
Why was I accumulating so much lactic acid already from km 20?
Why did the extensor tendons of the foot collapse and gave me such an extreme pain?
It will take me some time. But I am sure I will find an answer to each of them.
