So it goes something like this..
I was telling myself that after Buffalo Stampede in April I was going to officially move to 'off season', take a couple of weeks off, think about my winter program, take it easy, get the rollerskis out, blah blah... Then a friend observed that while I had the km in my legs & I was enjoying trails so much I should do an ultra.
Fuck. Why did she have to ask that? Can't help myself...
So of course, there I was last Sunday, on the top of a cold foggy mountain, lined up for my first ultra. This was NEVER on my dance card - damn trail running, worse than crack.
It was hard, it was awesome, it was another world. Foggy dripping mountain trails lined with a lush carpet of wet decomposing leaves, endless rollercoaster fire trails, gnarly single tracks winding through the trees, a great bunch of friendly fellow runners and an impressive bunch of vollies smiling through the rain and fog. Did I mention there were tunnels?
The conditions made it far more technical than I had anticipated and sticky slippery mud with rocks was the order of the day. To make it even more challenging I took a wrong turn and inadvertently added about 3km to my day at about the 35km mark. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I was out there to do an ultra, so a few extra km was just part of it and ploughed back through the fog, drizzle and black slushy mud.
It was cold, tough and in the second half I was mentally and physically tired and totally by myself in a challenging environment but it was also beautiful. I saw trails and bits of bush I would never have found by myself and found my pace and peace.
8:04 hours, about 54km, roughly 2500m of elevation gain later after the last brutal 2.5km climb in the rain up something like a muddy creek, I became an ultra runner. Bless my date who was on the finish line with a box of custard donuts.
I was telling myself that after Buffalo Stampede in April I was going to officially move to 'off season', take a couple of weeks off, think about my winter program, take it easy, get the rollerskis out, blah blah... Then a friend observed that while I had the km in my legs & I was enjoying trails so much I should do an ultra.
Fuck. Why did she have to ask that? Can't help myself...
So of course, there I was last Sunday, on the top of a cold foggy mountain, lined up for my first ultra. This was NEVER on my dance card - damn trail running, worse than crack.
It was hard, it was awesome, it was another world. Foggy dripping mountain trails lined with a lush carpet of wet decomposing leaves, endless rollercoaster fire trails, gnarly single tracks winding through the trees, a great bunch of friendly fellow runners and an impressive bunch of vollies smiling through the rain and fog. Did I mention there were tunnels?
The conditions made it far more technical than I had anticipated and sticky slippery mud with rocks was the order of the day. To make it even more challenging I took a wrong turn and inadvertently added about 3km to my day at about the 35km mark. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I was out there to do an ultra, so a few extra km was just part of it and ploughed back through the fog, drizzle and black slushy mud.
It was cold, tough and in the second half I was mentally and physically tired and totally by myself in a challenging environment but it was also beautiful. I saw trails and bits of bush I would never have found by myself and found my pace and peace.
8:04 hours, about 54km, roughly 2500m of elevation gain later after the last brutal 2.5km climb in the rain up something like a muddy creek, I became an ultra runner. Bless my date who was on the finish line with a box of custard donuts.