Head or Heart

 The waiting around was slightly frustrating. With all the race admin done there wasn't much to occupy ourselves with so we took our books and sat by the river, reading and dozing in the sunshine. A little picnic from food bought at the local shop consisting of cheese and bread, donuts, grapes, crisps and lots of juice and coke.

The time passed slowly.. at 1830 we made our way to the start line to watch the really craZy nutters set off on their 170km journey. They looked sleek and prepared, majority of them men with a few women dotted around. 2 of them at the front of the pack waiting at the start line looked like they meant business... these were the ones that were aiming for a win.

We watched them leave in a flurry of smoke and cheers from the gathered crowd, they went off at a pace, through the old city walls and out into the unknown. It triggered a few nerves from me... those butterflies in the pit of my stomach when I'm about to set off on another CraZy adventure. I also felt a bit igity to get going, but we still had another few hours to wait. We went and got a bit of food at the finish line, the choice minimal, which left me with a hamburger that didn't taste well cooked to me, and we sat down to await the finishers from the city run to come in. Each runner was clapped over the line with the announcer switching between at least 4 different languages dependent on the nationality of the runner. 

Then we headed back to the hostel for last minute prep and an attempt at a doze which proved futile. 

At last the time. came to shoulder our race packs and head to the start line. We arrived to a group of accapella singers belting out abba and a large crowd. We sat by the fountain and tried to pick out any other runners that looked vaguely normal like us... it wasn't an easy task. Most of them were whippet thin, with shirts from other ultras that they had done.

Every now and again we spotted a possible normal person only for them to turn round and ruin the illusion with a world series ultra top..

The other point of note that we spent many a minute discussing was the minute size of most of their packs. You pack your fears they say, so me and sam must have been very afraid compared to everyone else there. Whilst they were carrying sleek small dainty running packs, myself and Sam's bags looked like suitcases in comparison and we wondered how that was possible. We had packed what was on the mandatory kit list and not much else. A bit of food, a spare item of warm clothing perhaps but hardly anything else. My pack was even bigger than Sam's. I had a small rucksack with a hydration bladder in whereas Sam had a race bag so mine was naturally a bit bigger, but we had almost identical kit. My surmise from this is that where I packed 4 gels, other racers packed 1 or 2. My first aid kit had 6 blister plasters, theirs had 1. The sum of all this is a much smaller kit load. I do think that peehaps they skimped on some of the mandatory kit... perhaps their clothing suitable for - 3 was a buff... whereas mine was a wooly hat, proper gloves and a buff.

I was worried about getting cold but more about that later. 

Soon it was time to line up at the start... we missed our names being called out but took our place, shuffling as close to the back as we could get, our previous plan being that we were to go at our own pace and not get carried along in the excitement by other much faster runners. I knew the first couple of. miles followed the river and was flat, after that the general rule was up, up up, followed by down down down. 

The smoke bellowed out, enveloping the two men dressed as Roman soldiers on the line, music from Gladiator filled the air, the countdown began and then we were off... then stopped due to the inevitable build up and squeezing through the gate of the town, then pounding the gravel as 200 odd runners pulled us along into the dark night.

We tried to keep our pace, the pace we could settle into but inevitably we got caught up and pushed along a bit quicker than we would normally have gone. Runners charged past, trying to catch up with the early leaders, others stuck behind us for a while until a good passing place came along or until their speed naturally carried them past us. Soon we were last with the runners headtorches twinkling in the fields ahead of us. I was by no means unhappy with this... now we could. settle into a rythm of some. sort. We caught up with one guy who was adjusting kit and noticed he was running barefoot!! Insanity indeed.

The path was flat and we tapped out a rythm but the night was warm and we were overdressed... overheating quickly. We waited until the first climb of the race and stopped at the bottom, peeling off a layer to our baselayers before continuing on. I felt like we were going well but it was early days. We dog trotted along the flats and the downs and walked the ups, climbing up to a plateau where we ran along in between the vineyards, torches on, all alone and personally in my happy place. The chaos of the race had gone ahead and it was now us against the course.

I enjoyed this bit immensely. It was quiet and peaceful with just the bats flittering past for company (and Sam of course😂)

It was warm, even in just our short sleeved baselayers and after the vineyard section, the trail woumd gradually down, hitting areas with a cooler breeze. Whenever this happened we shouted out 'cool bit'... a bit like free miles shout on a bike, to celebrate the small thongs that made us feel good. 

At some point I broke out into song of 'coming round the mountain'. It was early in the race but already delierium had set in... not a good sign😂

The trail wound down and before long we found ourselves running into an old castle type structure and there in the grounds was our first checkpoint. We were the only runners there but there were a load of volunteers which served to make us feel a little uncomfortable. We gulped down a cup of coke, Sam snatched a small handful of food and then we got back out on the road. I hadn't really felt like having any food, which happens when I do anything like this and I would probably pay for it later but for now I was good. We were in and out of the checkpoint in less than 5 minutes, which is how it would have to be if we had any chance of reaching the first cut off. 

After that a bit of tarmac which led us to our first serious incline up to just over 1500ft.

The path started at a reasonable gradient but ramped up and up until it was a real effort to pull up each step. Large stones and tree roots were catching our feet and making progress harder. It was not a nice climb at all and seemed to just keep going. Every now and again I got a glimpse of the moon above the trees, which made it seem like the top was reasonably close yet the path stretched ever upward.  The cooler night air and the slower pace had caught up with Sam and she had to stop to add another layer. I didn't as unusually for me, I was still pretty warm, although waiting for Sam to layer up cooled me considerably. 

The pass went on up without respite until at least the tops of the trees could be seen through and I emerged first to see a church standing atop the hill. I thanked the gods of ultrarunning that they had seen fit to end that hill and called to Sam that we were at the top. It seemed a good time to stop for a minute, stuff some food in and for Sam to do the first jungle wee of the race. Then packs on and down we went anticipating a pick up in our speed... 

But the ultra gods had other plans and the descent was a horrible mess of a trail. Steep and with loose stones everwhere, in the dark, through the woods. Take your eyes of your feet for a second and your toe would hit a rock or you would stumble having mistepped... not a pleasant descent at all. Bastards! 

We emerged at the bottom feeling a little battered but smiling as we knew the next checkpoint/food station wasn't that far away. We jogged down into the town below and rounded a corner to find people cheering us in to the stop. What a horrible fcuking hill, I intoned to one of the helpers, wait until you try the next mountain, one of them replied.

Here we again guzzled down some liquid and snatched some food, I grabbed the cheese and a bit of salami but still wasn't in the mood for food. I had slammed down a gel at the top of the horrie fcuking hill and felt ok now we had descended. All limbs were still fully functioning and so far I had no blisters, but more of that later.

And so we set off knowing that the next vit was the crux of the first bit of the race, this bit would be crucial if we were to get to the first cut off in time. A mountain rising up to over 2700ft in a short distance.

Getting to the first cut off with time to spare was always going to be a tough ask. We entered this race knowing that it might be possible that we had bitten off more than we could chew but we were hopeful that if we stuck to our jog the flats and the downs and walk the ups philosophy, we would be ok.

And so we faced this daunting mountain. We started the climb and once again it rose up steeply, the narrow trail through the woods went through obstacles rather than around them and we quickly became out of breath. 

Myself and Sam climb very differently. I blast it up and then stop to get my heartrate down, Sam goes slower but can sustain the pace for longer. It makes us reasonably even. most of the time. I struggle more on the steeper parts but find it easier to keep going on the better gradients whereas Sam keeps the same pace regardless of the gradient. It tends to be a but yo yo with one of us leading and then the other, but in a climb like this, Sam's stady unrelenting pace seems to win out and invariably she will be at the top before me. We were both struggling. The climb just kept going and it messes with your mind when you look up and all you see is the trail, ever steeper with no place to rest the muscles.

The poles that we brought were invaluable. We both quickly worked out the best way to use them for this type of steeper terrain. I found that moving both poles forward simultaneously and then using my arm strength to propel me up. and forward worked well. Without the poles we would have been floundering well before this. That said, my legs had a period of turning to jelly, where they felt shakey and not entirely under my control. My head says its because they were lackong fuel having failed to really make use if the food at the checkpoints. My heart told me it was because I had kept my plans secret from my llegs and now they were paying me back for the deception. Either way, they weren't working very well.

We emerged out onto the tarmac road for a short while and as we did the moon was out and the clouds around it were in a lovely formation, which I grabbed a picture of. The valley below us was quiet and peaceful, oblivious to the struggle of us against the mountain.

The tarmac respite was incredibly short as the trail plunged us once more into the dark forest and straight up the side of the mountain. Relentless... a word which I will use more than once to try and describe this race and this mountain... but it doesn't really do it justice. The gradient, the crappy path... all combined to make it a little soul destroying. We knew that when we reached the top, there would be a checkpoint and some food but it seemed like it would never end, this torture of the muscles. And it wasn't just the legs that were taking a pounding, the arms, the torso, the back, all the muscles in our bodies strained to pull us up that mountain.

As we climbed, dawn started to appear on the horizon and then the light spread quickly. We emerged out of the woods onto a desolate area strewn with white stones and scree. Below us in the valley, the mist had settled, covering the towns. In the distance the white capped mountains stood proud. We were pretty tired. Our efforts to get us to this point had cost us and we were still not at the highest point, in fact we were nowhere near. The elation of emerging from the woods and onto what we though was close to the top dissapated pretty quickly as we saw the path of loose stones wind its way even further up.

It was a slog... not just a slog.. a full on slog. Punctuated by many stops to 'gaze at the view' we put one foot in front of the other and crept up, not assaulting the mountain, rather sneaking up on it. In the distance we saw some radio towers. Knowing that this was most likely where the checkpoint was, we kept. our gaze on it as we moved upward. For what seemed like ages it kept stubbornly. staying just as far away until suddenly we reached the fence and walked through, where round the corner we saw a few people. dozing in chairs, fire burning its last embers and a table with a few plates of snacks.  With a start, one of the women jumped up and offered us soup, apologising for not being ready, our trackers seemingly hadn't registered properly and they didn't know. we were out there. As we sat and drank a cup of soup, which is what I had wanted most, they tried to fix the trackers. Various phone calls back to base and 15 minutes later, they pronounced them fixed. and we started on our way again. Downhill, how we had wanted this on the way up! The reality would be somewhat different. It started out with the nicest, lovliest, downwards sloping gravel road. We jogged along. and suddenly. life seemed better than it had a few minutes ago... its amazing what a change in road surface will do. Happily, almost without a care in the world we followed the road, delighting in our ease of. movement and our sudden speed.

It was short lived. 

All too soon, the arrows turned us back. into the woods where we found a. rough trail with so many rocks. and. loose stones that we had to keep our eyes on our feet or risk. an. ankle turning or a broken toe. My feet, which up till now had stayed remarkably ok were now becoming unbearably painfil. Not from blisters though. To cut a long story short, I'm prone to blisters and a few months ago had driven to a running shop in wallingford to try and find an answer to my blister issue. They suggested 2 things... firstly duel layer socks, where the inner lining rubs against the outer instead of your skin and a particular brand of shoe, which has a foot shaped toe box, designed to stop the toes rubbing against each other and to. relieve the pressure that caused my toenails to. dislodge last tine. I bought both, hoping for a miracle. Seemingly, where blisters were concerned, a miracle had occured, as I remained blister free... but my toes after a lot of relentless downhill, had taken a. beating and things were about to get much worse.

Every step I took from now until the bottom of this ridiculous descent, crushed my toes. further until I was in a fair amount of pain with every step and that was before I kicked a rock or two by accident. Sam was in as much pain and such care had to be taken to ensure no misteps happened.  A couple of times an audible 'ow shit' came from behind, where Sam had bent her ankle. slightly in trying to negotiate an obstacle. Each time I worries she had twisted it but both times she walked it off.

It became an equivalent of purgatory. Each step slow and deliberate to avoid tripping or skidding. You couldn't take your eyes off your feet for a second as the moment you did balance would be lost.

At some point the trail spat us out onto a path through a forest and it was a much softer kinder experience for the feet and the body. Sam sat down to address a possible blister and I went for my first jungle wee. I. came. back and sat next to Sam on a rock, grateful to get weight off my feet. As I sat there and looked up, I was enveloped for a minute by the peace of the forest. I calculated time and miles until the cut off at the next checkpoint. It didn't sound like good math frankly. The downhill, where we hoped to catch up time, was so technical that it was proving almost harder than the uphill.

When we started up again, I tried to be optimistic. We still had time if we could. move quicker on this path

For a short time this dream lasted.. and then it was shattered, unfailingly, cruelly with a trail that could barely be called a trail. It was more akin to the reroute I had in the Tour Divide which was up an avelanche chute. Not quite as bad or so long but not far off in terms of sheer difficulty. The rocks and boulders and loose stones had to be approached with caution and a careful foot placement was essential. Once again Sam turned her ankle and this time I thought it was bad... fortunately once again it wasn't serious and sam managed to carry on. 

Time ticked away like water flows under a bridge and the cut off veered ever closer. 

I began to talk to myself, an argument of head against heart. Even if we made the cut off it would not be by much and then it would be an enormous struggle if not an impossibility to make the next one. But if we did make it, didn't we owe it to ourselves to try. 

We carried on step by painful step down the steep unrelenting slope. Many times we slipped or tripped and the more exhausted we got the worse the tripping and slipping got. Muscles were aching, feet were painful and my head and my heart were still arguing with each other. Maybe, said my head, I won't have to make a choice as the cutoff loomed ever closer. It seemed more and more unlikely that there would be a choice. 

We sat down and discussed the possibility,  stopping at the next checkpoint was discussed given that after that another enormous obstacle rose up from the ground. 

We essentially decided that even if we made the cutoff, it would be foolhardy to. continue when our chances of making the 2nd cutoff were seriously impaired. And if there was another descent like the one we had just overcome, we would be in shite  loads of trouble. It was the sensible decision. My heart however held out hope that we would get inside the cutoff time and perhaps we could then go to the next checkpoint and see how we went. I didn't say this to Sam at the time as I thought it might well be a futile hope. 

Eventually after what seemed like another century, the path eased off and a castle came into view. Sam ran off for another jungle wee and when we rejoined the path, there crouched was a man with a camera to photograph our descent off the mountain... god knows what we looked like.! 

My heart kept looking at my watch, we could still make it! We strode down the now decent path, all rocks and obstacles gone and turned a corner to find people. clapping and cheering at the checkpoint! 

We were 15 minutes inside the time.... 

My heart still hoped but my head knew what the right choice was. What was the point in continuing, even to the next checkpoint if there was little hope of reaching the next cut off in time. That, perhaps would be the real definition of CraZy. 

So we sat and watched as the time ticked past the cut off and informed the checkpoint that we had decided to stop. It did hurt, and my heart was disappointed, but it was necessary and sensible. 

We sat there and waited for transport back to Ajdovščina. 

As we sat there we watched one of the 60k runners come in, guzzle many drinks, holding his stomach like he was about to throw up. He looked in a bad way. The heat of the day looked like it had got him. He set off running but quickly came back and downed more drink and then set off again. But he was back for a third time, sat on a bench and signalled that his day was also done. The race took no prisoners. 

We got in the car to take us back and the feeling of relief to the body when we sat in thw car was palpable.... there were twinges of disappointment too which was understandable. Once back we dropped off our trackers and hobbled back to the hostel to shower and chamge and dump kit. 

Our race was done. 

The rest of the day passed by sitting with our feet in the stream and reading before going to collect our halfway bags and watch some runners come in. Fair play to them all. 

Sam, having earlier stated  that she was done with ultramarathons, changed her tune a little. As we were sat with our feet in the water she brought up how we should do it better next time... more training, shorter distance, more race experience. We discussed possibilities and other things we could try and different types of races such as the adventure race we are planning to do hopefully in July... 

Already the bad memories are fading and  the joys of being outside in the fresh air and testing ourselves is  pushing to the fore of our minds. Already we can look back on bits we enjoyed and laugh about the testing times. 

We hobbled back to our room and prepared ourselves for a good rest. The others were not yet back, obviously faring slightly better than ourselves. Getting up to the top bunk was a painful procedure which involved a lot of swearing but once in and having found a comfortable position in which neither my right or left hip were in too much agony, it was bliss. 

At some point one of the guys came in. We sat up and inquired about his race. He also DNF'd though further down the line than us. Even with his superior race experience he called the descent a technical nightmare which made me feel much better about our difficulties. His friend was still on the course though he didn't think he would make his anticipated time due to the terrain on offer. 

My head hit the pillow and I was out like a light. For me personally, the experience had been overall a great one. Slovenia is a beautiful country, the race gave me new knowledge about myself and my kit choices and I had emerged not victorious but not completely beaten either. We had made the cutoff at least, in a race that even those with shed loads more experience than us had called a nighmare. 

I'm writing this as we take off from Brussels on the final leg of our journey home and a quote from Henry Ford seems appropriate at this time so I will leave you with this thought.... 

'failure is simply the opportunity to try again... this time more intelligently'