MY FIRST EVER 105KM ULTRA TRAIL MARATHON

A couple of months ago I undertook my first ever ultra trail marathon in Borneo. It was one hell of an experience, and I came out of it bruised and battered, but it was breathtakingly beautiful. Here’s my account:

Race time. We’ve prepared ourselves with our training, we have our bottles filled, all of our mandatory kit, food at the ready, and Vaseline everywhere. It’s 6am and we’re at the start line with one of us doing 50km, two doing 105km and one nutter doing 100 miles! The whistle blows and we’re off! 

Straight into a massive incline so I’m walking for the first 20 minutes, feeling the burn and paving the way for what’s to come! My body feels bloated and I have to whip off the path and let it all out (no more details needed), but luckily it subsides after that moment.

We smash the first three stations in 6 hours, before the midday sun bares down on us and people start dropping like flies. We have to take a time out to keep on top of our hydration as we’re feeling faint. One guy finds a pipe with water and we shower ourselves under it - a moment’s relief. We push on and hit a block that takes us four hours, which mentally sets us back a bit. 

We move section by section, anticipating how long each will take and setting ourselves markers to keep us in check – some we completely misjudge. I spend time talking to myself, trying to work out the maths - it’s amazing how clouded your brain gets. To distract myself, I start counting the steps of the guy in front until he disappears out of sight. I think of everything I want to start achieving, I think about hot men (that really helps with the motivation), I think about my grandparents who were adventurous and would be proud. 

The cracks start to appear as we head to the halfway mark. The chafing in between my legs is kicking in and I try to keep it at bay with Vaseline. (All I remember thinking here is that I can’t wait to get to the halfway point so I can Vaseline my butt - real account and laughing at myself now). Your dignity takes a hit, heading to the side of the path to do your business, eating with those hands (some people’s nightmare), vaseline with those hands.

We get some rain which is extremely welcome. That is until our feet are wet, right before we head into the night. We seek shelter for five minutes, waiting for it to subside, and we’re greeted with the beauty of a rainbow. We continue on with our feet squelching, aiming for the halfway point and into the night.

At the halfway point – 55km in – we reset, change, and have a full meal of rice, chicken and potatoes which unleashes a new energy. We drain our shoes and plaster our feet back up for the next half. We’re feeling in high spirits, ready to crack onto the next 50km, which we think will be easier given the mountains aren’t as high (oh bless us and naivety). It’s now dark, and we reach a different perspective on the race so far, suddenly the last 14 hours have disappeared. We contend with the pitch-black night and plenty of bugs – some enjoying a bite on my legs – packs of dogs barking, and our minds start to darken, too. At some point during the night, my partner Rach really loses it. While trying to put a plaster on and failing, she throws her water bottle, says a few outrageous things, and quite possibly stomps her feet (meanwhile, I silently giggle). We all have our moments of despair during the race, and that was hers.

Turning 30 on the mountain is one of my highlights and a very poignant moment. For me, participating in the race symbolises moving forwards, raising the bar to the next level. I’m gazing into a black sky full of stars, the moon is bright, the outline of the mountains, and silence all around. I say to myself “You can do anything you want in life, just keep believing. You’re doing everything you’ve ever wanted.” For me, there’s no better way to celebrate my 30th birthday than surrounded by the rawness of nature – simplicity at its finest.

We take a minute of silence looking into nowhere. I break into dance to keep spirits up. Later on I take a 30-minute nap, a piece of cardboard and a bin bag separating me from the concrete floor, but I’m out straight away. 

We carry on and my body is crying out for more sleep. I’m walking up the mountain like a zombie. I flop to the floor on a muddy track, closing my eyes for five minutes. I push on, finding myself chatting nonsense, counting my steps, anything to distract myself, but my head is descending into darkness. During this section it’s music and skittles that save me. I had forgotten to download any music, so I have five songs on repeat from an 80s playlist to perk me up and distract me!

We edge our way through to the new day, trying not to focus on the hours we have left. Coming down a mountain the downhill is through jungle, and we clamber over and under broken bamboo, trying not to catch ourselves on loose branches (this happens a lot). The heat comes in thick and fast – it is so unbelievably hot. 

We thought we would finish in 24 hours - how cute we are.

We have 18km to go and Rach wants to throw in the towel. She says she can’t possibly go on, it’s all too much, she’s sick of peeing all over her shoes, eating junk, this was a ridiculous idea. At this moment I’m thinking I’ll have to finish alone. I’m raising money for UN Women UK, which keeps me going. When I set myself something, I stick to it, my drive comes from never quitting and it’s this that propels me forwards. Miraculously, Rach manages to pull herself out of her despair and we continue together.

My feet - holy baby Jesus. They are in pain. The last 27km is pure mind of matter, pushing my body through the agony. We have been walking in excruciating pain, I’m curling my toes with each footstep to try and get grip. The last 8km are the longest. 

We finally meet the last river crossing, and then cross the line. YES. WE. DID. IT. I came in 10th for the women and 50th overall out of 181, with a time of 32 hours 21 seconds. I can’t believe it!

First thing I do is check the damage to my feet. They are worse than I thought, all my toes, both heels and the sides of my feet are blistered. We hobble onwards to change and catch the bus back. After all that - it was over. 

What’s incredible is that every minute of the race we were living in the moment, whether it was pain, laughter, going bonkers. Once we pushed through the bad mental moments, they were gone and left there – the focus was always on looking forwards and being totally present. That is pretty epic. 

I’m so unbelievably proud of myself and Rachel for completing it. It reinforced my belief that anything is possible. No amount of preparation can set you up for what’s to come. The key to running an ultra trail marathon? Your mind outweighs it all, even when you’re having a moment or your body is falling apart, you just keep clinging on with that shimmer of hope, and the slightest distraction can make all the difference. Believe in yourself.

P.S. We said never again… I’m already looking for the next challenge!

Rach’s account:

“No amount of training, mental preparation or visualisation got me close to the reality of the race. Looking at the map the night before made it seem so straightforward - just a case of knocking off the sections one by one, but in reality there are so many external factors that come into play. Heat, gradient, nutrition, blisters, chafing. The moment one of those hits you in an unexpected way, even the best planning falls away. So much of the race is in your own head - even when you want nothing more than to finish, you find yourself doing everything you can to call it a day. On the flip side, it also takes very little to reset your mind - a distracting conversation, reaching a water station, an incredible view. My advice for running an ultra? Know you are physically prepared, stick rigidly to your nutrition, and no matter what your head tells you, be convinced that you can do it.”