As many of you know, I got back into running in 2015 after a long hiatus, mainly thanks to my friends Tracy and Andrew, with whom I ran the Prague marathon (my first!) in April 2015. I also did the Disney Marathon in January this year. Because I failed to submit my Prague finish time in advance, I was forced to start near the back of a pack of 25,000 people in Orlando. Unfortunately, that meant I spent a lot of time running around thousands of other people who were mostly walking. I wasn't in a hurry to repeat that experience, and instead decided I'd love to do a small trail race event some time.
I unexpectedly got my chance when I learned about the Hejaz 50 Ultramarathon, which was to be the first ultra event in Saudi Arabia, on March 26th. It was announced just one week in advance, so there was no time to train specially for it. It was to be a 50km course with about 1100 meters of elevation gain and loss, in the hills Northeast of Jeddah. Although I wasn't certain I would finish, I couldn't stand to miss it. Neither could Tracy. I'm fairly certain Andrew would have joined us if he hadn't had a prior commitment for that day.
The day before the race, I learned that I was one of just 17 runners signed up to do the full course. That would certainly be a nice change from the crowded road marathons!
Getting to the start
The adventure began with the drive to the starting line. The race start location was provided in the form of GPS coordinates, with directions like "turn right at the cattle farm". I found myself in the dark on a dirt road with several stopped cars ahead. Apparently their drivers were puzzling over which way to go. I deftly wove around them and set off in the direction that I believed was right.
They all started following me. I hoped I was right!
A few minutes later I pulled up to the race start. Or what should have been the race start. At that moment, it was a dark expanse of sand with no signs and not a single car in sight. I pulled off the road and parked.
So did all the other cars.
I said to my friend Tracy: "Do you think this is where the race starts?"
He replied, "well, it is now!"
It turned out we were at the right place. As I would learn later, the organizer and volunteers were still out placing water around the course. This took longer than expected because several of the volunteers didn't show up. It seems I was the only person who had expected the race to start at the scheduled time. Meanwhile, we made friends with other racers and tried to check in. One guy had set up a little table, so I assumed he was in charge. When I showed him my race waiver form, he said "what's that?"
Eventually we got checked in and collected our race cards that were to be punched at each of 4 checkpoints along the course. The race started when the organizer, Fabrice Laborie -- who was also running -- shouted "go!", at approximately 7:00, just a half hour later than planned.
The first half
My first clue that the race might be harder than expected came when we rounded the first corner and stared up, up, up at a Big Hill. I had studied up on my ultra running and learned that running up steep hills is very inefficient, so most racers climb them at a brisk walk. Frankly, I don't know if this is true or an excuse invented, but I wasn't going to argue -- we walked. There were several more hills in the first few miles of the course, but after climbing (and descending) them, I was feeling fine. I did notice a minor soreness in my right achilles after climbing several of them, but thought little of it.
Around mile 6, Tracy and I had a disagreement over which way the trail went, and we ended up splitting up. Unfortunately, it would take him quite a bit of time to get back on course, and I wouldn't see him again until the finish line.
It was at this point that I encountered the first segment of the course considered a "goat trail". Apparently that phrase means that only a goat would be dumb enough to go this way! I found myself walking over and through piles of large, loose, sharp rocks. It wouldn't be the last time.
The first (unmanned) water stop was supposed to be around km 10, but I never saw it. I learned later that the 6 cases of water left there were looted by local farmers. Just another hazard of the course location. A couple of miles later I hit checkpoint 1, where I grabbed a banana, swallowed some water, and kept running. It was only a short distance later that I realized nobody had punched my race card! But I was already tired enough that I didn't even think of going back.
In the next few miles I overtook a few runners, including two who were part of relay teams composed of ladies from Jeddah. I had to be impressed at their determination to pursue long-distance running in this country, and even more so when they were doing it in long pants!
I also passed a few dead sheep. At least, that's what it smelled like. At some point it became difficult to tell if the smell was a dead sheep or just me.
At checkpoint 2, I caught up with Fabrice and mentioned my lack of a hole punch at checkpoint 1. He laughed and said "you'll still get a medal!" I set out from there with him, and was immediately confronted by The Really Big Hill. This one just kept going up. And up. And up. I power-walked it with Fabrice, who told me he'd only gotten 3 hours of sleep the night before, but then had the energy to pull ahead as I faded near the top. I still felt okay, and passed him after we got down the other side.
Early that morning the temperature had hovered in the upper 70's, but by now it was close to 100. I had filled my Camelbak with ice water, but that was long gone and all available water now was very warm. That didn't stop me from drinking plenty. A song from my childhood came unbidden to my mind and stuck there for the next 10 miles: t
he 3D's rendition of "Gunga Din" (if you grew up in the Ketcheson household, you know it well):
But when it comes to slaughter / you will do your work on water, / An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
The second half
This was about the halfway point of the race, and I had run everything except the steep climbs up to this point. But my legs had been warning me of impending disaster for several miles, and the second half of the race consisted of three alternating feelings:
- Pain in my right achilles
- A mild spasm in my left calf that was ready to become a Charley Horse at any moment
- A burning sensation in my right knee whenever I tried to run downhill
These were the consequences of not having trained for a long trail race. There were also blisters, foot pain, and stomach cramps, but the three sensations above were the stars of the show. I fell into a rhythm where I would jog until the calf spasm became too threatening and then walk until I felt okay again. Most other runners I encountered seemed to be in a similar state, although a few miles later I was passed by Rob, a guy perhaps twice my age who seemed to be still feeling absolutely great.
The temperature kept climbing. A gentle breeze would have been nice. And sure enough, around noon, after 5 hours on the course, the wind picked up. Fortunately, it was a tailwind. Unfortunately, it was not a gentle breeze but more of a hurricane-force gale that created a severe sandstorm, pelting me with tiny rocks and coating my Camelbak mouthpiece in dirt between gulps. Visibility was reduced to perhaps 200 meters. The song in my head continued...
I was chokin' mad with thirst, / An' the man that spied me first / Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
By this time, my water felt like it was almost boiling. I drank because I felt thirsty, but it didn't seem to quench my thirst and instead made me nauseous each time. Eventually I had to force myself to keep drinking. When I reached checkpoint 3 I saw they had oranges. I'd had a dry mouth for an hour, but that orange made me salivate. I actually cut my finger on the peel in my haste to eat it. Definitely the best orange I have ever had.
I walked almost the entire last 6 miles of the race, and yet they were the toughest part. I could see Fabrice and Rob not far ahead of me, and had a plan to catch them. But the hills seemed to go on endlessly. On the last couple of uphills I was reduced to a stagger.
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green: / It was crawlin' and it stunk, / But of all the drinks I've drunk, / I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
I soon discovered that the only thing worse than drinking hot water was drinking nothing, because I had run out. I was worried about heat exhaustion, and I had promised myself I would drop out if continuing posed a serious threat to my health. I knew that one of the early signs of heat exhaustion is a reduced mental capacity. So I ran a diagnostic check by figuring powers of 2 in my head:
2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, 128, ...
Some of you may say that the very fact that I was doing this in the middle of a 50km race in over 100 degrees and with a sandstorm howling around me is evidence of insufficient blood to the brain, but when I reached the first one that's over a million, I decided I was okay and would finish the race.
But about a mile from the end, I figured I was hallucinating when I saw a beautiful woman pull up and wave at me. I shook my head and pinched myself, but she was still there. Belky had caught a ride with our friends Lavon and Leah, to greet me.
As I came toward the finish, I realized that I didn't know exactly where the finish line was. So I continued to the place where we had started. Nobody was there to write down my time or tell me what place I had come in, but it didn't matter. I was just thrilled to have finished!
If you had the patience to read all this, you should also check out my top 10 highlights from the event.
