If you have run one race in Asia, you have run them all, at least from a tactical stand point. There are no shortage of heroes at the front who blaze out the first quarter mile only to be humiliatingly passed in due time. The start of the Vasque XC races was no exception. After 15 min of announcements (all in Chinese), the horn sounded the start of what was to be the most difficult portion of running I have ever encountered. Sure enough, the pack was out like greyhounds at the track and we all struggled up a climb worthy of a hill repeat workout. At the top of the road, there was a hard left and we said goodbye to the last and only portion of pavement on the run.
What welcomed us was an all-fours climb up a trail that looked like as if had been cut out of the hillside that morning. Seeing this narrow path and the cutthroat climbing it entailed, I surged from the conservative pace I had maintained the first 400m and jumped around people to 10th place as I scaled the 30 feet of hand-over-hand climbing up to the trail. For the next several kilometers a single-track trail meandered up a ridgeline above the reservoir. Struggling to keep the turnover seemed like a petty and miniscule task when you are ever so slowly passing 40-year-old women carrying a stick across their shoulders with full pails of water on the ends, miles from the nearest road.
Ducking under trees and dripping with sweat, this shot was taken at about mile 3.
10 large climbs" said the course description, and I was anticipating 10 distinct climbs. I was sorely mistaken. When the seemingly never-ending assent appeared to peak out, there was often a false summit and the arduous journey wore on. Only when we broke into the smog-filled sky did the trail relent to gravity's pull and down it went. Each climb of multiple minutes was met with breath-taking descents. Normally, a downhill is a much welcomed aspect in a race. When the downhill consisted of 30 degree angles, loose gravel, and hairpin turns at top speed (with a slip here resulting in a 1500 foot plummet to the shores below), the change in course was anything but desirable. When I wasn’t ducking to avoid a limb (which at that speed would have killed me, or at the very least, left me unconscious for some time), I was shooting my arms out in a frantic attempt to grab a tree near, or in the middle of, the trail to slow myself down.
My friends Colin and Amanda also braved the course. Their pictures give some examples of the rough terrain. However, if a cameraman was here, it wasn’t nearly one of the harder parts of the course!!
At the beginning of the race, I made a vow to start smart and work hard throughout. After all, this day marked only the one-month anniversary of my return to running after taking time off for an injury. I knew that going out hard would be costly. I probably started a bit too quickly, but I wanted to keep people in sight to give me motivation. It wasn’t long before the line was draw between those who were racing and those who were just trying to survive this one. After about 15 min of climbing I was able to slip past 8th place and another endless hill brought me into 7th. Just as I was making my move on the next runner, I was derailed at a checkpoint. Throughout the course, four stations were positions to ensure runners passed and were accounted for (I don’t know where you would go, because getting off trail here might mean you were never found). Anyway, I worked a guy down on a long climb. He would feebly attempt to run up the hill but faltered every tenth step or so, either by slipping on the loose terrain or succumbing to physical exhaustion. I hung back, keeping the ultra runner pace of hiking up the hill and using my arms. I made a few noises, breathing and grunting, sometimes in response to a pulling muscle but often just to let him know I was there, trying to scare him into staying ahead of me and burning himself out. I was actually smiling as I compared the run to London's The Call of the Wild. I was Buck, an able dog and he was the moose, who was sprinting to stay ahead but burning his energy all the while. We crested the summit and I looked to take him on the reckless downhill, for someone spilling in front of me would have spelled disaster. My chance came at a rock garden which caused him to slow and me to close the gap. But just as I was about to catch up, the volunteers leapt out of their squatted positions and started yelling at me to stop. I had no idea what to do, but they finally stamped my number and sent me on my way. Frustrated, I charged down the hill, more recklessly than I would normally have due to the lost time. Although I caught and passed my adversary, I was flabbergasted by the inefficient way of checking to see if people came through checkpoints. (Miles later, drenched in sweat, the ink had faded from my number anyway).
Suicidal downhills caused the adrenaline to go skyrocket and my ankles to scream for days. I almost killed the cameraman who was standing in the middle of the trail and there wasn’t any way to slow fast enough to go around him. Check out the stump in the middle picture and the loose dirt. It was a recipe for disaster.
The next portion of the race was quite lonely. I could no longer see 5th place and I refused to run in a panic to stave off my recently passed friends. Just when hope of a top 5 finish had faded, there was a glimpse of blue cresting the next hill. It briefly crossed my mind to invest in a camouflage jersey for these races so as not to be seen as an object to focus on and pass, but I quickly dismissed this knowing that if anyone was within site of me, there was pretty much nothing I could do to stop them. I consciously kept the turnover high going up the brutal climbs and talked myself into transitioning over the top, despite what my lactic acid grueling legs had to say about it. Even the downhills were a bit more reckless than I usually run. Every once in a while, my slick bottomed road shoes would shoot out from under me and only by franticly grabbing for a tree limb or crashing into a tree trunk was I able to keep from tumbling down the hill at sprint pace. A few portions of the course had stone steps, which when going uphill provided a nice respite from the uneven ground. However, steps in China are not made with any consistency or safety in mind. On the way down these steep declines, one step may be half as wide as the step before it, only to be followed by a step twice as large as any before it. Over the course of 200 steps, this can lead to some very close calls in misjudging a foot placement, and the result of a mistake would be disastrous here more than anywhere else. Numerous hikers came up the course and very few recognized the out of control runner flying toward them. There were many smiles and cheers, a few stares, and more than one person who I don’t think had any idea how close they came to death as I blew past. A daunting stair section brought me in close to the next runner and I paced behind him for the next few hundred meters. On a steep rock section he took a glance back, grunted something in Chinese, and was beaten. I pulled along side and he yielded the trail to me, and I blew past with a mutter of thanks in my limited Chinese.
The climbs wore on, including several sections that realistically needed a rope. Occasionally, steps had been cut in the hard dirt, and by clinging to a root with one hand, the other hand in the dirt, and hoisting my legs 3 feet up and over a protruding rock to the next ledge, could I negotiate these portions of the route. These sections only slowed us tremendously, rather than halted our progress altogether. Some boulders were as high as houses and we had to pull and plant our way up through their cracks. Sinking in to ultra mode in my mind, I focused on keeping the heels down, arms moving, and never anticipating the end. In fact, I was so reserved that I was expecting to see the “10K to go” sign at the next checkpoint. To my great surprise, I grabbed my third and final cup of water from a volunteer at the station and saw that it was a mere 5k to the finish. I should not have been that excited.
For the next 2K, all hope of running was removed. A steep, winding single track - completely exposed to the sun and increasing heat – encompassed the next 20 minutes. The heat coming off my body was intensified by the sun which had started to break through the smoggy canopy of the Shenzhen sky. At the beginning of the day I figured there would be a high point of the climbing and eventually we would return to lower altitudes. But with under 3 miles to go we still climbed, and reached new heights above the city. Up here no air circulated. There was no breeze. There was just a runner and his pain; a dull, aching pain that occasionally flared to the level of searing, but then relented to chronic, never yielding discomfort. Finally, the “3K to go” sign welcomed me at the summit of what was to be the final climb of the course. But the next section was not forgiving or rewarding. Even if I had seen competition, I never could have caught them. The down section was so steep and so dangerous that any attempts to jog lasted only briefly before the butterflies in my stomach warned me to put the breaks on and stay vertical. Quads screaming from all the breaking, I finally emerged to a road, hung a left and joined a paved aqueduct for rain runoff. Completely dead legged, my last real challenge was jumping across the chasm of the drainage tunnel to the other side. If my muscles pulled on take off, I might have ended up face down 5 feet below on the pavement. But I made it, and cruised the last kilometer high on a cement walkway that lined the lake. One more turn and it was a mere 200 steep steps down to the parking area. Dodging Chinese tourists on their way to the top for a view, I lifted and ran in to the tennis courts which marked the finish.
Fifth place was the best I could manage as I broke the tape in 1 hour, 36 minutes. It averaged out to 8:35 a mile for 11.18 miles and I couldn’t have been happier with the place and time after only running for a month, and I certainly couldn’t be happier to be finished with that course. I was expecting a worse result on a course where only 20-30% of the trail was “runable.” Climbs lasted 10 minutes or more and never could I run more than a few minutes without being forced to hike or climb. Almost immediately upon finishing, the newspaper reporters and local television representatives as well as the race director were over to speak with me. Being the first non-Chinese across the line apparently got me a lot of attention. The questions were quite typical to start but expanded into things like, “Did you run harder because your family was here?” It was Easter and Sarah and Taelyn came to watch, as much as you can “watch” only 200m of an 11.2 mile race. The reporter told me I was a hero to my baby. If only it were that easy.
The Aftermath
Pizza and a beer was a good way to celebrate with a friend who finished her longest race ever, by double the distance. I am honestly surprised she didn’t slap me upon finishing, but she did curse at me a few times throughout the race. Going to bed that night, things were sore, but mostly my back hurt and I was afraid that I might have hurt it again.
Not to take the suspense out of the final words, but the back is ok. What I faced when I awoke was quad muscles that had no intention of responding to my requests to stand. I could deal with that, as races here are not forgiving, but the newest sensation was the incredibly weak ankles. You see, after that many miles of tripping, slipping, and breaking, my ankles had basically sprained over and over again. They brought tears to my eyes at the touch. I slothed through work on Monday and skipped lifting after school, only to head straight home where the evening went by in a blur. Tuesday didn’t go much better and with an obligation that lasted from after school till late at night. I wished I had iced but by Wednesday I could get back on the road and battle through a few miles. Back-to-back long runs the following weekend proved fitness is coming along.
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