At around 11pm on the second day of running Oman by UTMB 2019 I sit down by the side of the trail. I've been running for 35 hours, or about 115 tough km, among which there are, hands down, some of the hardest I've ever crossed. This was the first time during this race that I stop and sit down between aid stations: I need to know where I’m at.
I pull out my phone and check on the map how far the next aid station is. I've now been expecting to see it around each bend for some time, but the course keeps on going up and down, left and right. Have I started running backwards without realizing it? Am I now following these green dots in the opposite direction? It's difficult to judge the covered distance when you have to run on unstable rocks/stones, focusing all your attention on each steps, even needing to use at times your hands to pull you up or to jump down. My GPS watch has been grossly overestimating distance, yet this aid station was supposed to be just 6.6 km from the last. I should be getting there any time now!
I see on my phone's GPS map (Viewranger app) that the point I'm in is exactly on course, that's good. I also read that the next aid station is Col Trail Split. I was not expecting that. That's when the 170k and 130k routes split!
I consider that I've passed the 100 km point some time ago, and that the end of the 130 km race can't be that far, hence it makes sense for the next aid to be the split point. I'll therefore soon face a decision: keep on pursuing a 170 finish or change my plans and finish the 130 race. Both offer guaranteed direct admission to UTMB 2020 in Chamonix, skipping the lottery to enter one of the most coveted races in the world, arguably the Olympics of ultrarunning.
Surely finishing this monster of 170k race in its first edition would be great. I've been running steady, saving energy for the grueling end. I even slept 30 minutes and then had a real meal with pasta and biryani rice between 4 and 6pm earlier today. On the other end, I feel that by now I know this monster enough: if I persevere along the 170 route, I will have to tackle yet another red climb, and, before that, a long yellow climb.
Yellow means steep and rocky, both uphill and downhill: most of the times, not fun.
Red means potentially lethal: climbing at times pretty much vertical and scampering on all fours, with your feet and hands all essential in holding on to not fall. Losing one grip, making one mistake, having one rock crumble under your weight, having your foot slip means falling to your death.
I pull out my phone and check on the map how far the next aid station is. I've now been expecting to see it around each bend for some time, but the course keeps on going up and down, left and right. Have I started running backwards without realizing it? Am I now following these green dots in the opposite direction? It's difficult to judge the covered distance when you have to run on unstable rocks/stones, focusing all your attention on each steps, even needing to use at times your hands to pull you up or to jump down. My GPS watch has been grossly overestimating distance, yet this aid station was supposed to be just 6.6 km from the last. I should be getting there any time now!
I see on my phone's GPS map (Viewranger app) that the point I'm in is exactly on course, that's good. I also read that the next aid station is Col Trail Split. I was not expecting that. That's when the 170k and 130k routes split!
I consider that I've passed the 100 km point some time ago, and that the end of the 130 km race can't be that far, hence it makes sense for the next aid to be the split point. I'll therefore soon face a decision: keep on pursuing a 170 finish or change my plans and finish the 130 race. Both offer guaranteed direct admission to UTMB 2020 in Chamonix, skipping the lottery to enter one of the most coveted races in the world, arguably the Olympics of ultrarunning.
Surely finishing this monster of 170k race in its first edition would be great. I've been running steady, saving energy for the grueling end. I even slept 30 minutes and then had a real meal with pasta and biryani rice between 4 and 6pm earlier today. On the other end, I feel that by now I know this monster enough: if I persevere along the 170 route, I will have to tackle yet another red climb, and, before that, a long yellow climb.
Yellow means steep and rocky, both uphill and downhill: most of the times, not fun.
Red means potentially lethal: climbing at times pretty much vertical and scampering on all fours, with your feet and hands all essential in holding on to not fall. Losing one grip, making one mistake, having one rock crumble under your weight, having your foot slip means falling to your death.
I climbed the first red section in daylight, and the second in the darkness of the night, at around 4AM today, on my way to the first "life base", at the Alila Hotel. We had to walk on a narrow rock ledge, suspended in a bottomless black void. Yet, on that red climb we were strapped to a "via ferrata": a volunteer helped me step in one leg at a time into a climbing harness, lift it up to my waist, hold two special ropes attached to it. I listened to his instructions as if my life depended on them 🙂: the two ropes attached to the belt had carabiners at each end. I had to make sure that at any point in time at least one of the carabiners was always attached to the steel cables running along the way up the mountain. So I hooked both carabiners to the first steel cable and started walking up the rocky ledge. The first steel cable section stopped, and I saw another begin right after that. Ahhhhhh!!! That makes sense now! So I unhooked one carabiner and moved it to the new section, then unlatched the second and now with both of them on the new cable section I could keep on walking up while both were securely sliding up the new steel cable. I could also use my hands to grab the steel cable and pull myself up while walking up the thin rock ledge. I was also glad I had been provided an helmet because at some point I hit my head hard on a rock that was protruding from the wall. The via ferrata made this red climb a fun and safe experience, although a fall, while not fatal, may not be pleasant. The next red climb will not be as safe ...
The second red climb was 15 hours later, at 6pm, right after a restoring stop at the Balad Sayt aid station (km 107), yet again in the dark. That was roughly 5 hours ago. No “via ferrata” there, just a lot of reflective green dots that you have to follow up a wall. And with that I mean: a WALL. When I first saw those green dots reflecting in the dark going up the that wall I thought "are you f@*# kidding me?!?" but there is no going down, and there is always hope that it will just be for a few minutes and then a more normal trail will start, … maybe - I thought and hoped- one insanely steep but not as hazardous. Not in this race! These were instead long stretches, seemingly never-ending, but at the end of the massive 1285 meter climb there were Christmas-style decorations and some amazing volunteers braving a nasty cold wind on top.
The second red climb was 15 hours later, at 6pm, right after a restoring stop at the Balad Sayt aid station (km 107), yet again in the dark. That was roughly 5 hours ago. No “via ferrata” there, just a lot of reflective green dots that you have to follow up a wall. And with that I mean: a WALL. When I first saw those green dots reflecting in the dark going up the that wall I thought "are you f@*# kidding me?!?" but there is no going down, and there is always hope that it will just be for a few minutes and then a more normal trail will start, … maybe - I thought and hoped- one insanely steep but not as hazardous. Not in this race! These were instead long stretches, seemingly never-ending, but at the end of the massive 1285 meter climb there were Christmas-style decorations and some amazing volunteers braving a nasty cold wind on top.
From there it was 6.6 km to the next aid, and - so I was told - not as bad in terms of difficulty (after all, how worse can it get?). And here I am, 6 km later: it hasn't been that good either. I've been on yellow "trails" since: steep, with unstable rocks, that kind of injury-prone terrain, leading to ankle sprains or tripping that sends you flying on rocks, not the stuff that enables any decent running flow which by now I’m really longing for. I haven't enjoyed it, if not for that sense of satisfaction of knowing that I survived and I'm still standing.
So I now look down one last time at the screen of my smartphone, then I put it away and resume running. It starts dawning on me that the next aid station will be Col Trail Split. Quite frankly I haven’t planned for or even placed this key point on the course where there is a medic that evaluates each runner's ability to proceed on the 170 route, or reroute you thru the shortcut that is the 130 km race. I was expecting to get at the split / medical checkpoint, wherever it was, in decent enough shape and on time, but now I see that as a chance to skip the nasty long RED climb to 3000 meters in what looks to be a very cold and windy night.
My mind is still swinging when I finally arrive at Col Trail Split. I'm undecided. Do I care enough to continue along the 170k course? Everything seems to be going per plan, although the plan I had devised is very rough: given the cutoff time of 57 hours, I calculated the times I would get at key aid stations based on a 46 hour finish time. Aggressive, yet it gives me a reference point to understand how well I'm doing. I spent a lot of time at the Alila Hotel, the first "life base" aid station (a place where you get real food and where you can sleep). I was slow on the second red and yellow climb, trying to use running poles as much as possible (a mistake), I even slept 30 min before the big climb, yet I'm still 2 1/2 hours under the cutoff time. The question remains: do I care enough for the 170 or I "cash in" the 130? The medic at the aid station asks me how I feel. I feel great, all things considered. She takes my HR: 60, blood pressure 120/90, asks the usual questions: have I been eating, drinking, peeing, do I have pain, do I hallucinate. She asks me whether I want to go for the 170, or instead turn left and run the remaining 13 km to the finish of the 130 (which is actually 137 km). I answer her I don't know yet, and then I take the time to compare the 130 and the 170 maps. I look for the first time at the 130 course and at the extra huge red and yellow 1300+ meter climb I would tackle with the 170. Also, with the cold wind blowing here, I can't imagine what's going on at the 3000 meter top of the mountain. They tell me that the temp on top is -2C. Below freezing. After my hypothermia 2 months ago at the end of.my Tahoe 200 race I take that seriously. They also tell me that in case of issues it's tough to deploy help, so I'm on my own.
Decision Time - The medic recommends I take the easy, and I mean much easier, way out. I have to say that I love challenges, but scrambling up the mountain on another Red wall to climb in the darkness, for the third time in less than 24 hours, it’s not that kind of exciting. Also, this is the first time Oman by UTMB has a 170 km race. Up until now this has been by far the best marked race I've ever seen, green dots one after another, easy to follow, but how well tested has it been at night? When I get lost at night I always wonder whether whomever marked the course did it, or at least tested, at night. It wouldn't be good to get off course on a mountain ledge going nowhere, especially in freezing temps.
So I start down the 130 route, turn left and "run" down the mountain. There is barely anything runnable around here, and it blows my mind that even these last 13 km are this bad - how about a nice trail at the end? Granted, no need for fire roads out here, yet a nicely packed trail would do, too. How about feeling the adrenaline of smelling the barn instead of having to constantly watch your steps?
I have been saving energy for the 170, yet running this last stretch is not exciting. The runners around me are mostly the "official" 130 runners that left 6.5 hours after me, hence faster. I don't get the usual energy boost that I get at the end of my races. And again, I really can't believe how badly technical these trails are even at the end.
I finally get in a village, run along homes, palm tree plantations, water irrigation systems that remind me of Southern Italy, of the times my father used to get up at night to open a canal gate to let the water flow at the allocated times to his vegetable patches. I then run down the last stone-infested downhill and into the village where I see big lights. The finish is near, and it feels great anyways, the arrival is as grand as you can expect from an UTMB race, and even at 4:40am. I'm greeted as a champ and get my 130 finisher medal around my neck. Thank you UTMB, although I'm not sure I'm coming back for more Oman scampering next year. I survived and I want to keep it that way 🙂
One day later ... Jetlagged by the 12-hour difference with California, yet tired enough to sleep, I crashed last night after a memorable dinner at the Golden Tulip in Nizwa. After a few hours of sound sleep my mind starts churning and analyzing... what if ... what if I had turned right and climbed to 3000m? I'd perhaps be exactly where I am now, minus a sumptuous breakfast, a day snoozing on my bed or chatting by the pool, the aforementioned dinner and the potential of a full night sleep. I have no doubt that from a physical exertion standpoint I would have made it. Was the climb to 3000m really as red as the one after the second life base? At least this time I would have enough experience to put the running poles away and use my hands to climb!
I feel I need answers! At breakfast I scan and ask people there whether they've done the 170. No one has. They'd probably be still running or in bed for a long time. On the bus ride to the airport I see two that look like they've done it. They are Adrian and Antoine. They've finished the 170 together in 5th place, 3rd male overall yesterday morning at around 9am. They had arrived at the Col Trail Split at 1:30pm the day before, 10 hours before me. They spent almost 5 hours on that final yellow & red, never ending climb, scanning for the next green dot. Adrian told me that final wall to 3000m is worse than the 3.2k/1285m yellow & red climb we had done earlier, and that the descent is not that runnable either. For the 2 of them staying together helped them stay safe and sane, not fall to one's death in some forsaken mountain precipice in Oman. Will they come back next year to relive this experience? Probably not, too early to say. I'm glad I now know what was around that right bend at the split. I knew I would have hated it, likely even more than I would have enjoyed the sense of accomplishment of being one of only two in my age group to complete the 170. My friend Alan says in his latest Tahoe 200 race report that I "take on each difficult ultra like a gleeful pitbull on Redbull – happily unrelenting and maniacally determined". While hyperbolic it's true that I really enjoy these multi-day running adventures! However this time was different: after the first few hours this race never allowed me to let my legs loose, to enjoy the flow of energy. There is still a lingering sense of regret of not just having it gotten done 100%, of not being the 31st to finish out of the 110 (crazy) people that started. On the other end, it's better not to be the first casualty of this insane race. 100% better. I may show up at the start line of my hard earned UTMB 2020 in Chamonix. Yes, they assured me it's a much more runnable race than this one.
2 Days Later ... As I make my way from Oman to Hyderabad for work, still jetlagged, I can't help but list the things to keep in mind in order to finish the 170 race:
So I now look down one last time at the screen of my smartphone, then I put it away and resume running. It starts dawning on me that the next aid station will be Col Trail Split. Quite frankly I haven’t planned for or even placed this key point on the course where there is a medic that evaluates each runner's ability to proceed on the 170 route, or reroute you thru the shortcut that is the 130 km race. I was expecting to get at the split / medical checkpoint, wherever it was, in decent enough shape and on time, but now I see that as a chance to skip the nasty long RED climb to 3000 meters in what looks to be a very cold and windy night.
My mind is still swinging when I finally arrive at Col Trail Split. I'm undecided. Do I care enough to continue along the 170k course? Everything seems to be going per plan, although the plan I had devised is very rough: given the cutoff time of 57 hours, I calculated the times I would get at key aid stations based on a 46 hour finish time. Aggressive, yet it gives me a reference point to understand how well I'm doing. I spent a lot of time at the Alila Hotel, the first "life base" aid station (a place where you get real food and where you can sleep). I was slow on the second red and yellow climb, trying to use running poles as much as possible (a mistake), I even slept 30 min before the big climb, yet I'm still 2 1/2 hours under the cutoff time. The question remains: do I care enough for the 170 or I "cash in" the 130? The medic at the aid station asks me how I feel. I feel great, all things considered. She takes my HR: 60, blood pressure 120/90, asks the usual questions: have I been eating, drinking, peeing, do I have pain, do I hallucinate. She asks me whether I want to go for the 170, or instead turn left and run the remaining 13 km to the finish of the 130 (which is actually 137 km). I answer her I don't know yet, and then I take the time to compare the 130 and the 170 maps. I look for the first time at the 130 course and at the extra huge red and yellow 1300+ meter climb I would tackle with the 170. Also, with the cold wind blowing here, I can't imagine what's going on at the 3000 meter top of the mountain. They tell me that the temp on top is -2C. Below freezing. After my hypothermia 2 months ago at the end of.my Tahoe 200 race I take that seriously. They also tell me that in case of issues it's tough to deploy help, so I'm on my own.
Decision Time - The medic recommends I take the easy, and I mean much easier, way out. I have to say that I love challenges, but scrambling up the mountain on another Red wall to climb in the darkness, for the third time in less than 24 hours, it’s not that kind of exciting. Also, this is the first time Oman by UTMB has a 170 km race. Up until now this has been by far the best marked race I've ever seen, green dots one after another, easy to follow, but how well tested has it been at night? When I get lost at night I always wonder whether whomever marked the course did it, or at least tested, at night. It wouldn't be good to get off course on a mountain ledge going nowhere, especially in freezing temps.
So I start down the 130 route, turn left and "run" down the mountain. There is barely anything runnable around here, and it blows my mind that even these last 13 km are this bad - how about a nice trail at the end? Granted, no need for fire roads out here, yet a nicely packed trail would do, too. How about feeling the adrenaline of smelling the barn instead of having to constantly watch your steps?
I have been saving energy for the 170, yet running this last stretch is not exciting. The runners around me are mostly the "official" 130 runners that left 6.5 hours after me, hence faster. I don't get the usual energy boost that I get at the end of my races. And again, I really can't believe how badly technical these trails are even at the end.
I finally get in a village, run along homes, palm tree plantations, water irrigation systems that remind me of Southern Italy, of the times my father used to get up at night to open a canal gate to let the water flow at the allocated times to his vegetable patches. I then run down the last stone-infested downhill and into the village where I see big lights. The finish is near, and it feels great anyways, the arrival is as grand as you can expect from an UTMB race, and even at 4:40am. I'm greeted as a champ and get my 130 finisher medal around my neck. Thank you UTMB, although I'm not sure I'm coming back for more Oman scampering next year. I survived and I want to keep it that way 🙂
One day later ... Jetlagged by the 12-hour difference with California, yet tired enough to sleep, I crashed last night after a memorable dinner at the Golden Tulip in Nizwa. After a few hours of sound sleep my mind starts churning and analyzing... what if ... what if I had turned right and climbed to 3000m? I'd perhaps be exactly where I am now, minus a sumptuous breakfast, a day snoozing on my bed or chatting by the pool, the aforementioned dinner and the potential of a full night sleep. I have no doubt that from a physical exertion standpoint I would have made it. Was the climb to 3000m really as red as the one after the second life base? At least this time I would have enough experience to put the running poles away and use my hands to climb!
I feel I need answers! At breakfast I scan and ask people there whether they've done the 170. No one has. They'd probably be still running or in bed for a long time. On the bus ride to the airport I see two that look like they've done it. They are Adrian and Antoine. They've finished the 170 together in 5th place, 3rd male overall yesterday morning at around 9am. They had arrived at the Col Trail Split at 1:30pm the day before, 10 hours before me. They spent almost 5 hours on that final yellow & red, never ending climb, scanning for the next green dot. Adrian told me that final wall to 3000m is worse than the 3.2k/1285m yellow & red climb we had done earlier, and that the descent is not that runnable either. For the 2 of them staying together helped them stay safe and sane, not fall to one's death in some forsaken mountain precipice in Oman. Will they come back next year to relive this experience? Probably not, too early to say. I'm glad I now know what was around that right bend at the split. I knew I would have hated it, likely even more than I would have enjoyed the sense of accomplishment of being one of only two in my age group to complete the 170. My friend Alan says in his latest Tahoe 200 race report that I "take on each difficult ultra like a gleeful pitbull on Redbull – happily unrelenting and maniacally determined". While hyperbolic it's true that I really enjoy these multi-day running adventures! However this time was different: after the first few hours this race never allowed me to let my legs loose, to enjoy the flow of energy. There is still a lingering sense of regret of not just having it gotten done 100%, of not being the 31st to finish out of the 110 (crazy) people that started. On the other end, it's better not to be the first casualty of this insane race. 100% better. I may show up at the start line of my hard earned UTMB 2020 in Chamonix. Yes, they assured me it's a much more runnable race than this one.
2 Days Later ... As I make my way from Oman to Hyderabad for work, still jetlagged, I can't help but list the things to keep in mind in order to finish the 170 race:
- Don't stop too long at the Alila Hotel (first life base). It may be the first super-inviting aid station, but unless you sleep get in and out. Don't change shoes. Also, don't eat the cinnamon in the vegetable biryani they serve to avoid nausea.
- Change into super-grippy shoes at Balad Sayit (second life base) before the crazy 3.2k/1285m climb. Maybe it's time to consider Salomons. Not much running anyways, cushioning doesn't matter.
- Forget using running poles on red climbs, maybe even on yellow ones. You better keep your hands free to scramble and tackle crazy ascents.
- Get some thin climbing gloves esp for the 3000m climb for the cold and to protect the precious skin on your hands.
- Bring a puffy jacket and rain jacket on top for the 3000m climb to avoid the dreaded hypothermia.
- Ultimately, consider whether it’s really worth risking your life on a terrain that is more suitable for climbers than for runners. When does a crazy adventure become insane?