Western States 100 mile Endurance Run 2018: Race Report

Our story starts on a cold (well, probably not that cold) winter night in Hong Kong, in December 2017. I was fast asleep. At some point, around 4am, I needed to use the bathroom. Because I’m addicted to my phone, I checked it for messages; sometimes there is a NY Times headline about Trump that definitely needs my immediate attention. On this night, there were a couple of texts from friends I had made five years ago at a race; the Western States Endurance Run, a 100 mile race through the Sierra Nevada mountains and canyons of Northern California. There was also a text notifying me of a transaction against my credit card. Weird. I look at the messages. From Charito: “Ummm sooo you’re in???” From Jenn: “Congrats Will!!! I cheered loudly when I heard your name!” What the hell is going on? Oh crap – they would both have been at the Western States Lottery that happened overnight. The lottery they hold because they have 4909 people wanting to run the race, held every year in June, and only 261 slots available. The lottery where I had an 8.9% chance of getting drawn. The lottery that just drew my name!!! My first thought: I’m in big trouble.

[If you’re a glutton for punishment you can read my race report from 2013 here. Warning: depicts vomiting and mild psychological trauma]

Why do 4909 people want to run this race, and is it worth the hype? It is, after all, just a race on a bunch of trails like many others. The views are pretty good, particularly in the first half of the race, but not as stunning as the Kepler Challenge in New Zealand or the CCC (Cormayeur-Champex-Chamonix) around Mont Blanc, both of which I’ve also done. The race is difficult, but not as tough as the Northburn 100 miler I completed last year. There are lots of other great events to do out there. The Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge, a 300km sufferfest all over Hong Kong, finished with me running, hunched-over, to a post box, in front of a small group of maybe 10 people, but for some reason Andre Blumberg doesn’t have 4909 people trying to enter it (yet).

Yet, there is something very special about States. I’ve been there twice and there are a lot of reasons why people see it as one of the most important (and hyped) races on the ultra circuit. Maybe it is the history, as the oldest 100 miler in North America, now in its 45^th year. Pick up any book on North American ultrarunning and you’ll find stories about Western States. The trail itself is a historic monument, traversed by Native Americans and then gold miners before anyone thought to race over it. The race is a de facto national championship, attracting elite runners from the US and around the world, freaks of nature who cover the difficult ground at ridiculous speeds.

But mainly it is the community. This race lets in 369 runners in total and has 1700 volunteers. At popular aid stations there is a waitlist to join, just to squeeze icy water on hot runners and give them drinks and food and positive vibes. There is a party in Squaw Valley for a couple of days before the start and another one in Auburn at the end. And everyone involved, from runners to volunteers to crew to pacers, want nothing more than for each of the 369 runners to get to the finish line. It is a massive love-in that makes it impossible not to leave with a more positive view of the human species than you had before you arrived. If we can pick each other up when we’re lying on the trail on the climb up to Devil’s Thumb, we can solve all the other ills of our society. You look around our world and wonder where we’re going, then you go to Western States and see love and hope. OK, and pain and suffering. But that is all self-induced so just get over yourself.

1. Preparation

Training for the race had gone well. In February I completed the 300km Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge (officially “survived” rather than “finished”), which took me a little less than 72 hours. Originally that was to be my big challenge of 2018 but then my lottery ticket was selected for States. Once you’re in States, you don’t really have any choice but to go, so after HK4TUC I took a month off and then got back into training. Unfortunately, life also got in the way which saw me traveling to the US for work twice in the weeks leading up to States. This was not an optimal training strategy but I made it work, logging some pretty good miles where I could (including a 50km run along Florida streets), and just constantly fighting jetlag. My coach, Scotty Hawker, gave me a great program to build up to the big event and I managed to max out at about 120km per week.

I arrived in Squaw Valley on Thursday morning, a little less than 48 hours before the start of the race. Unfortunately, the main gift I brought from my family was a cold my son had passed on to me the week before. I was pretty much better by the time I got on the plane to fly to SFO (the day before), but still it lingered, and when you’re running 100 miles you have enough to worry about without sickness adding to your anxiety. I’d met up with my wonderful crew the day before in Auburn (finish line); Charito, Jenn, Kristina, Chrissy, Lisa, and Paul. We’d met in 2013, the first time I raced Western States; five years later, we were getting the band back together. The crew would meet me several times during the race to help me change gear, take on food, and generally raise my spirits, and then Kristina and Jenn would run with me over the last 40 miles as “pacers.” They came up to Squaw Valley on the Friday to hang out for the final race preparations and to be there for the start on Saturday morning.

I kept a fairly low profile as I tried to get over my cold but had some fan-boy moments when Ryan Sandes, the 2016 winner from South Africa, sat down at the table next to me, and with fellow HK runner JP Santer and his friend Al, I managed to have a quick chat with him. Lots of other people around were well-known within the niche group of runners we found ourselves in. But before I knew it, it was Friday night, and I went to bed early to make sure I got some sleep before the early wake up.

My expectations for the race were uncertain. Five years earlier I’d completed the race in 26 hours and 23 minutes. This gained me a bronze belt buckle, which everyone finishing between 24 hours and 30 hours (the maximum time) received. Completing the race under 24 hours gets you a shinier, silver buckle. I felt if I had a perfect race I could sneak under 24 hours, but it would mean running 2.5 hours faster than last time, despite being 5 years older. Plus, my cold had blunted my 24 hour ambitions. First and foremost, I just wanted to finish in under 30 hours, and get my 2^nd buckle. If 24 hours seemed on, I’d go for it, but not at the expense of finishing.

2. Perspiration

My alarm went at 3am but I was already awake. The race was starting at 5am. Quick breakfast, make sure everything in my pack was organized, then out the door. As I passed from the hotel into the cool morning air, I started running, just to see how I was feeling and to help deal with nerves. My legs felt strong and I bounced along the road. I took this as a good sign. On this morning, I was feeling better than I had in at least 10 days. Maybe I recovered from the cold just in time. I signed in, got my bib (#212), and found my crew along with fellow runners JP and James. It was pretty dark but the sun was about to rise.

The "Before" picture: Excited and
ready to run

To set the scene, the race starts at the bottom of the Squaw Valley ski area, and the first thing the runners do is climb about 700m up through the ski field, up and over the top and then down into the Granite Chief Wilderness. Maximum altitude is about 2600m above sea-level, high enough that you can expect to feel the effects of the thinner oxygen if you’re not altitude-adapted. Last time I’d taken the hill slowly but then got stuck a succession of conga lines on the narrow tracks of the Wilderness, so this time I was keen to be a little more aggressive (hopefully without overdoing it – a fine line!).

We counted down the last few seconds and then the shotgun fired and we were off, most of us equal parts excitement and anxiety. I got into a good rhythm, with some jogging where it was less steep and then hiking the steeper parts. As I looked around I seemed to be successful in pushing myself higher up the field than at the same time last year. About halfway up I noticed that I had caught up with Fiona Hayvice, an elite New Zealand runner I’d met earlier in the week who got 5^th last year. I figured I should try to keep behind Fiona, or else I was going too fast. However, a little further up the hill I found myself feeling good and going past her. I assumed she would pass me later.

At Cougar Rock, just past Lyon Ridge Aid Station

After an hour I crested the top of the escarpment, having climbed 700m over 6km from the start. I turned around to soak in the magnificent view of sunrise over Lake Tahoe, then started downhill towards the Wilderness. The next section was single trail through pristine alpine back country, generally moving downhill but with some short, sharp uphills. Since we were still relatively high the air was noticeably thinner and so I tried to make sure I wasn’t pushing the pace too much. Still, I arrived at the first checkpoint, Lyon Ridge, 15 minutes faster than five years ago, right on 24 hour pace, at 2 hours 12 mins. I was in 108^th place.

Being helped by Elvis at Duncan Canyon Aid Station.
Credit: Tonya Perme

The next couple of sections went pretty well. We remained above 2000m in altitude, and I was able to run a good pace that was keeping me slightly in front of the 24 hour splits without using too much energy (or so I hoped). On the descent into the Duncan Canyon aid station I stopped to pick up a gel packet that someone else had inadvertently dropped and then Fiona came running past; I was actually pretty relieved because I didn’t want to stay out in front of the strong runners for too long! I rolled into the aid station about the same time as James and was immediately helped by a volunteer dressed as Elvis Presley. With so many people helping at the aid stations there was always someone who would come up to you as you arrived to ask how they could help – filling bottles, getting food, taking stuff out of your pack. And they all work hard to raise your spirits so that when you leave the aid station you’re feeling on Cloud 9. It is all pretty amazing and the secret to the Western States mystique.

Starting to get warm on the descent to Duncan Canyon.
Credit: Facchino Photography

By now it was starting to get hot and on my way down to the bottom of Duncan Canyon I felt I was overheating. At the canyon bottom there was a stream that was deep enough to dunk yourself in, and so, for the first of several times that day, I took off my pack and underwent full immersion (except for my feet; trying not to get them too wet in order to protect them from blisters). It was incredible – air conditioning on maximum and when I started up the hill on the other side it felt like my core temperature was significantly cooler. However, this good feeling was temporary. The climb rising 400m took about 7km, and as it went on and on I started to feel less than perky. In fact, my stomach was going south, and I was starting to feel very nauseous. I attribute this more to the altitude than the heat at this point, but I had to stop at several points on the climb to let my stomach settle. However, I got to the next aid station, Robinson Flat, in 6 hours and 53 mins, which was 7 minutes ahead of the 24 hour schedule. This point marked about 30.3 miles, or 49km, and it was my first chance to see my crew since the start. I’d cracked the top 100, and was in 98^th place.

Walking with James out of Robinson Flat Aid Station

 Paul was waiting just ahead of the aid station to guide me to the team. There was a seat for me for sit on (dangerous, but Lisa had been given the job of calling out every minute that passed, so that I didn’t hang around too long!), an ice towel to put over my head, cold drinks to imbibe. I needed to eat something so I took an avocado and chicken tortilla wrap with me to munch on the next leg. Charito and Kristina helped me to change my shoes and socks, trying to save my feet from the worst excesses of the day. These were all small things but as a combination it was great to get me moving again and in a good head-space.  As I walked out of the checkpoint, munching (somewhat gingerly) on my avocado wrap, I joined up with James who was being crewed by our mutual friend Mark. James and I walked together for a while, talking about the next section and how we’d try to manage the developing heat and the canyons. Once we started running, my pace was slightly faster and I found myself alone again but with several runners just ahead or behind.

From here we started a long, 13 mile (21 km) descent to the canyons. Over this time the course drops over 1000m, and as you descend the air gets easier to breathe but it also gets hotter. We knew by the time we got to the bottom of Deadwood Canyon (the first one), the temperature there would likely be over 40° C. We also knew that our quads would be absolutely trashed by the constant downhill. So the trick was to run smoothly and consistently so as to keep to the 24 hour splits but not overdo it since there was still more than half the race to go.

For me, this also marked a crucial part of the race. Five years previously, I had felt pretty good through this downhill, but once I started climbing out of Deadwood Canyon, going up the aptly-named Devil’s Thumb, the wheels fell off and I lost over an hour as I vomited, cramped, lay by the side of the trail and generally felt sorry for myself. My aim was to make it up Devil’s Thumb in one piece.

This time things were looking better. I seemed to be running more within myself but even so, I hit the bottom of the canyon an hour faster than last time. I took my time and had another dip in the creek, which was again beautiful and it was hard to get the motivation to get out of the water and start hiking up the hot, steep, dusty trail. However once I got going I managed to keep a consistent pace, and I got to the top rather uneventfully, so I gave myself a treat by sitting at the aid station in order to drink some Coke and ginger ale and have a popsicle. Again the aid station volunteers were incredibly warm (and not just in ambient temperature!) and helpful. But they did throw me out before I could get too comfortable.

The only problem was that I wasn’t eating enough. My stomach was again feeling nauseous since it was so hot so I didn’t feel like eating; but it becomes a vicious cycle where not eating makes you feel worse. I was getting calories through my Tailwind drink but that wasn’t enough. As I set off from Devil’s Thumb it was another long downhill (5 miles or 8km) to the bottom of El Dorado Canyon, and then another climb up to the town of Michigan Bluff, where I’d see my crew. This was the part where I hit rock bottom last time, so I was happy enough to be moving smoothly. However, I didn’t feel great, and the downhill seemed to go on and on forever. When I got to El Dorado I had another dunking in the stream there, then was dilly-dallying around getting ice to keep cool and drinking more Coke when JP strode up. The last time I’d seen him was the start line; I’d started faster and had been 20 mins ahead at Robinson Flat, but since then JP had hunted me down like the Terminator (since he’s Austrian, a valid reference). He was looking good even though it turned out he dislocated a finger in a fall near Duncan Canyon! It was the last I’d see him all day – he invited me to come with him on the hike up to Michigan Bluff (in the exact position where Andre Blumberg had done the same thing five years earlier), but I declined in order to have a chance to get my stomach in line for the 600m climb to come.

Whereas in 2013 this climb went better than I expected, and marked the beginning of a resurgence, this time I struggled. I was feeling low and the climb went on and on. Because I was earlier than last time, it was earlier in the afternoon and the course was hotter. But mainly my lack of calories was affecting me – I was bonking. I was very relieved to get to the top about an hour later. Despite the fact that my strength was flagging, there were some good signs; I was here two hours earlier than in 2013, and still ahead of the 24 hour splits by 5 minutes. When Charito asked me what I had been eating, I said “Um, nothing really”, and I got the stare from the crew chief that told me all I needed to know. I had a few bites of another tortilla wrap (I seem to remember some negotiation with the crew chief over how many bites), then got up and set off again.

From Michigan Bluff the trail goes through forest then down through the fairly mild Volcano Canyon. It sounds like it should be the worst but in fact it is the easiest, going down 300m then coming back up 200m to the town of Foresthill. I still wasn’t feeling great but I was moving reasonably well; to no-one’s surprise I had my final dunk of the day in the creek at the bottom of the canyon. The hike up to Foresthill Road took some time but my powerhike was working well and so I didn’t lose much time. It was a relief to get to Foresthill – I had lost about 10 minutes against 24 hour pace in that section, which meant I was now slightly behind the suggested splits, but nothing to get unduly worried about.

Foresthill is a big psychological milestone. It marks 100km, a massive distance so you feel you have achieved something significant. But you still have 60km (38 miles) to go. From here the running is generally easier – no big hills, just a few small ones and then two near the finish that seem big but really are not (it is just that you’re near exhaustion by then). Also, at this point, if you want, you can have someone run with you as your “pacer.” Having a pacer is fairly unknown in most other parts of the world and I am not used to using them. However, most runners at States will use them and I found last time it was a great boost to have company with you as you start running into the night. It also made a nice contrast with HK4TUC – in that event I was alone for most of three days and three nights, so another runner sharing the trail with me and helping to motivate me was something I was looking forward to. The plan was for Kristina to pace me from Foresthill (62 miles) to Green Gate (80 miles), then Jenn would do Green Gate until the finish.

Taking a break at Foresthill. Had left my hat at
El Dorado so borrowed a more stylish one
from Charito

Kristina and I left Foresthill at 7.21pm, which was 14 hours and 21 mins after starting and about six minutes behind 24 hour pace. I was in 128^th place; had dropped a few places through the canyons but was pretty satisfied with how it was going. Our plan was to try to get in front of the cutoffs to make a cushion for ourselves, then we could relax a little. Even though I’d dropped time over the last couple of aid stations I was fairly confident that I could catch up, but I knew I didn’t have much margin for error. The first stage from the town would take us along the Cal Street trail, down into a canyon and then along its side. It had been dark the last time I’d done this section but now it was still light and I enjoyed the views of the river at the bottom of the canyon. We made good progress, passing several other runners, and by the time we got to Dardenelles (Cal-1), we were back on schedule, having caught up six minutes in less than four miles. I felt great, we were running well, and we were about to easily get ahead of the schedule for a silver buckle. I took a drink of Coke, then ginger ale, then Kristina set off (with instructions to set a pace that I would need to work hard to keep up with) and I followed. Only a few steps out of the aid station, though, and I stopped. All was not well in the gastrointestinal tract of this runner. At first I just felt bad, then I realized everything was coming back up. And, to keep my 100% streak at Western States intact, I vomited. This time it was just the soft drinks I’d consumed, so it didn’t feel debilitating. But I certainly didn’t feel great. After a minute or two we started walking and then a few minutes later began a slow jog. We kept like that for the next section, a five mile (8km) section to Peachstone (Cal-2). We didn’t do too badly because we reached Peachstone also on scheduled pace. We spent a little time here as Kristina made me eat some boiled potatoes and some more avocado wrap. From here we continued to Ford’s Bar (Cal-3) and then Rucky Chucky, the famous river crossing. At this point the race crosses the Middle Fork of the American River, where the river is controlled by a dam upstream. Some years they put runners on boats but both years I’ve forwarded it using a wire they string across the 30 metres or so. It is a welcome variation from running since it comes at 78 miles, and the water is beautifully cool in the evening air. We reached it just after 11pm, more than two hours ahead of 2013, and back on pace for a 24 hour finish. Kristina and I then hiked the two miles up on the other side to the Green Gate aid station, where her work would be done and I’d have 20 miles to go with Jenn guiding me home.

We got to Green Gate at 11.45pm and in 122^nd place; 5 hours and 14 mins to go if we were to break our target time. In 2013 it took me about 5 hours and 20 mins to run this last 20 miles so the signs were optimistic, even if we still didn't have much margin for error. After a short break to change shoes for the final time and munch down some more food (OK, just a little), Jenn and I set off. This last section is relatively flat except for a gradual but never-ending rise before Auburn Lakes Trail, then a climb from Quarry Road up to Pointed Rocks, and then the final climb from No Hands Bridge to Robie Point, where you enter the town of Auburn and have 1.3 miles left to complete the race. Each of these we navigated with relative ease while never being able to let up on our constant forward motion. Having left Green Gate about five minutes over schedule after our short break, we got to Auburn Lake Trails one minute over, and then the next aid station at Quarry Road, 90.7 miles completed, at 2.24am, one minute ahead of the scheduled time for 24 hours. The aid station captain told us that we were right on the cusp, and that we’d be OK if we were moving well but not to waste any time at aid stations. We didn’t. I still felt fairly relaxed but it was frustrating that after going so long and despite moving fairly well, we weren’t getting ahead of the time targets. I didn’t want to be the person who finishes in 24 hours and 5 minutes, particularly since who knows whether I’d ever get a chance to run a sub-24 time at States again. We started to hit a good rhythm, though, and were passing more runners than were passing us. In fact, slightly earlier, just out of the Auburn Lake Trails aid station, we’d come past a runner and pacer moving slowly and I realized it was Fiona! I had a quick chat with her and it was clear that her race was not panning out as she had wished – she wouldn’t make the top 10 this year. But it was pretty inspirational that an elite runner was still gutting it out to get the finish, even if that might be for the bronze buckle. On the other hand, I selfishly figured if I was passing Fiona then my race wasn’t turning out too badly.

After running the flats out of Quarry Road, and running a section where I remembered the sun rising in 2013 (but now was still pitch black at about 2.45am), we started the long climb up to Highway 49 and then Pointed Rocks. This climb is not very difficult but after 90+ miles it was certainly a challenge. By now there was quite a group of runners, like me all chasing the 24 hour target. We were a band of (mainly) brothers, willing each other on with competition only against the course. Up we climbed, past the spot where unbeknownst to us the race leader, Jim Walmsley, had stopped for precious minutes since a mother bear was in the middle of the trail and her cubs were up a tree next to it (no bear appeared for us). We crossed Highway 49 (unmistakable sign that we were back near civilization) and continued climbing up to the Pointed Rocks aid station with its American flags all laid out to welcome us in. We were now a full five minutes ahead of 24 hour pace – this seemed like a luxury! We didn’t dawdle though, and after a quick drink we continued on. Jenn wanted to text the crew, and suggested I go ahead since the next section was a three mile downhill trail known locally as “The Luge.” Five years ago I’d got to this point hitting empty, quads in pain, almost done and in no real hurry. This time I had my skates on and as curiously sometimes happens, found that my legs were in good condition despite everything they’d been through over the previous 22.5 hours, and Good Lord I was able to actually run. After a few minutes I turned and couldn’t see Jenn anywhere. Either she was taking her time texting the others or I was going fast enough to drop her (it turned out she had been helping an injured pacer in order to let a runner continue on). In the world of 100 milers it is socially appropriate to drop your pacer if you can; on one hand I figured she wouldn’t be too far away but on the other I didn’t want to finish without her in the group! But you can’t worry about your pacer when you’re only five minutes ahead of the silver buckle. On and on I went, passing several now-familiar runners, who quipped “Didn’t you have a pacer?” “She’s coming soon” I confidently replied. Far from the destroyed quads of five years ago I was enjoying it this time, though I was relieved when I heard and then saw some traffic, which I knew meant that No Hands Bridge, the second-last aid station and 3.4 miles from the finish, was near.

I’d got to No Hands last time in the dawn light at about 6.30am, but everyone said it is nicer in the dark when it is lit up with fairy lights. This time I was there just before 4am, and they were right. The clock showed I was now 10 minutes ahead of schedule, consistently gaining time and starting to look safe for silver. I stopped for 20 seconds to grab a last drink and then I was off. “Tell my pacer I went this way” I told the aid station captain. Across the bridge, making sure that unlike last time I didn’t almost fall off (I knew Charito would be proud), and then started the final hill up to Robie Point. Initially the trail goes up gently, and miracle of miracles I was running it. Where this last burst of energy came from I’m not sure but I passed another runner who was shuffling slowly up. A little further on I heard “Will!” from behind – Jenn had caught up. I was really pleased. We ran a bit further and slowed to a walk as the pitch got steeper. This last climb keeps going longer than it should and near the top gets quite steep, which is the last thing your 98 mile legs want. But you keep pushing yourself forward, still trying to do 24 hour math and making sure you haven’t made a mistake and you’re not going to be a first bronze buckle. Eventually you hit asphalt and then you see the last aid station and you’re in among the houses. We bypassed the aid station (you’re only 1.3 miles from the finish), but another 400m or so is still uphill. Suddenly I was done. Completely out of energy, nausea beginning to pick back up, and adrenaline fading as the silver buckle seemed safe. I commented to Jenn that five years ago I’d got to this point and was sad that my Western States adventure was about to end, whereas today I just wanted to get to the finish line. We kept walking up, really having to dig deep, and then we crested the hill, and just on the other side saw Charito and Kristina. The four of us started running down together, through the streets of Robie Point, with several other runners ahead and behind us as we all headed to the track at Placer High School. I was crawling along but starting to relax. Suddenly we were across the bridge and we could hear Tropical John on the loudspeaker announcing the runners as they were finishing, and then we were on the pathway that leads to the track. I did a little jump (last remaining energy) and there I was, for the second time in my life, running 300m on the Placer High track to bring my Western States Endurance Run to an end. Chrissy was there videoing it (showing me with a bit of a lean and very tired-looking frame); Jenn followed me round, and I crossed the finish line in 23 hours, 43 mins, 27 seconds. I finished in 110^th place; given that I’d been in 108^th at the first checkpoint I had been very consistent all day. Emotion washed over me. Like any good kiwi male I didn’t actually cry but was overcome with emotion for about 30 seconds. Once my emotions settled down I high fived my crew, found a seat for a minute or two to just take it in, and then saw Al; “where’s JP?” I asked. Al told me he had just finished 10 minutes earlier and was in the medical tent. And there he was! After he passed me at El Dorado Creek, JP had stayed in front of me, but never more than about 30 mins ahead; then, over the last couple of hours I caught up but not quite enough. It would have been great to catch him on the track – I’ll have to be faster next time!

Silver buckle time!

Happiness and relief!

The "After" picture

3. Postscript

Calling home, under the watchful eye of the NZ flag

I came in among a large group all sneaking in under 24 hours, which was great. But to be honest, while I was psychologically elated, I felt pretty nauseous (the technical word in New Zealand English is “crook”) for the next few hours. It was 5am, dawn was beginning to break, and I was completely buggered (another technical term, used in its non-literal form). Chrissy had set up an amazing tent city (complete with New Zealand flag) near the track so we all went over to recover. First thing I did was call Sasha in Hong Kong and talk to her and the kids. Then Chrissy had some chicken quesadilla made and had bought some Bundaberg Ginger Beer (Aussie Aussie Aussie!) and had a paddling pool filled with cold water for my feet. True luxury. Then it turned out in the next tent she had a camping cot laid out for me to sleep. Truer luxury. I slept the sleep of someone unexpectedly upgraded to Business Class at the gate.

With JP: Two happy Hong Kongers

But after an hour or so the morning was hotting up and I awoke. We had to wait around until early afternoon because (1) that is when they award the buckles and I was going nowhere without mine and (2) I couldn’t check into my hotel until 2pm anyway. So I ate some breakfast without much joy but at least it made my tummy feel slightly better, and watched people come around the track, like Scotty Mills (for the 19^th time), Nick Bassett (oldest ever finisher at 73 years old), and Austin Tweitmeyer (son of the legendary Tim who finished the race 25 times and won it 5 times). As the clock approached the deadline of 11am, 30 hours after the start, the crowd got bigger and more excited to welcome in each finisher. A bunch of people came around the track in the final 10 minutes and the final finisher was Manouch Shirvanioun, at 29 hours, 56 minutes, 55 seconds. Then, just after the clock strikes 11am, a few final runners come into the track. The crowd goes wild, cheering for these poor souls who ran 100.2 miles in slightly more than 30 hours, so they will receive no buckle and no place in history (at least this year). Hopefully the sound of the cheers will reverberate in their ears for some time to come.

Then the buckle ceremony, in a tent protecting us from a day as hot as the one before; then final hugs with my crew, then to the hotel, then a couple of hours lost as I passed out on the bed, then a shower (yes, in that order), then a ridiculously large American sandwich and fries that my still-recovering tummy could only take about 25% of, then back to a much longer sleep, then JP and Al picked me up at 7.30am for a ride to the airport, then a 13 hour flight back to Hong Kong, then back to my family, who asked me the right first question: “Where’s the buckle?”

Paul, Charito, Kristina, Will, Lisa, Chrissy, Jenn. Note the subtle
way Paul and Jenn are showing off their buckles!

Thanks to my amazing, incredible, one-of-a-kind crew. I met some of you guys randomly on social media five years ago, and despite spending a grand total of two weekends in each other’s company, somewhere we have become the best of best friends. Something about people seeing you at your lowest low points and helping you achieve unbelievable highs proves to be a bonding experience. I think it is possible that I would have finished Western States without you all (albeit at a crawl and with much less fun) but I would not have gone sub-24 hours. Just no way. To Charito, Chrissy, Kristina, Jenn, Lisa, and Paul, you guys rock.

Thanks to my family for indulging my Western States obsession and not griping when I got back in. Last time they all got to come for a California holiday; this time the kids were at school and we’d just adopted a new cat. Of course, the bigger problem having an ultramarathoner in your family is that person disappearing off for long periods to “just go for a run” – I’m lucky to have a supportive family who accept that this is good for Daddy’s mental health.

What it's all about: The Silver Buckle!

To my fellow runners, you inspire and amaze me; JP – super solid miler debut, my friend; Bill Clements – just nailed the race of a lifetime; Chen Guohui -- Wow!; Fiona Hayvice – sticking it out to the end despite last year’s perfect day not replicating itself; Su Lin Woo – such an incredible day out there that ended slightly short of 100.2 miles but was long on glory and determination; Richard Turgeon – a pleasure to meet you the day before and then see you many times during the day until you powered away from me at Volcano Canyon; Toni Gracia – making it look easy; James Schwarz – not the way you wanted to finish but still a huge day out there, and good care from the US Medical System since then! And so many more (apologies to those I missed).

To Coach Scotty Hawker – thanks mate, it’s been a big year! Your help has been essential in getting the most out of this old, gangly body. Two and a half hours faster than five years ago is not bad going! And still keeping me healthy so that I can turn up to the next start line. What’s next?

Yes, there are lots of races out there, and none of them has a monopoly on drama and celebration of the human spirit. But there is something a little bit special about Western States. For me, a large part is the friends I’ve made over my two trips, but it’s also everyone involved, and the trail itself. It calls to me, and maybe I’ll answer the call again, one of these days.

Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge 2018 Race Report

Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge 2018 Race Report

There’s a problem with being an ultrarunner. You get into it because you like a big challenge. But the challenges can get a little out of control. In my case, I started off in 2010 doing the 60km Kepler Challenge in New Zealand, a beautiful mountain run that takes runners hundreds of metres above incredible lakes. It seems like a long way and most people take four days to hike it. I finished in 7 and a half hours, comfortably mid-pack, and exhausted. But then a friend asked me to try a 100km race. From there, I started wondering if I could run 100 miles, and I lucked my way into an absolutely iconic North American 100 mile race, the Western States Endurance Run, which I finished in 26 hours.

 

Completing the 2013 Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run in 26 hours 23 mins. 
Credit: Facchino Photography (used with permission)

So now I’m running distances that are just so ridiculous. They are so long that standing at the start line, it seems insane to even contemplate starting out because there seems logically no way that I can finish, yet I already have run that far in the past, so I have a weird confidence that it can be done. That tension, between it seeming impossible yet knowing it is actually possible, can become an addiction. But to fuel it, you need to find new challenges that push you even further.

In 2013 I met Andre Blumberg while we were both training for Western States. Andre is pretty well known in Asian running circles for some epic runs around the world. One year at Chinese New Year he decided to try doing all four of Hong Kong’s long trails:

• the Maclehose Trail, running east-west across the New Territories, is 100km including some of Hong Kong’s highest mountains

• the Wilson Trail, running 78 km from the south side of Hong Kong Island up to the border with the Mainland (and crossing the harbor via MTR)

• the Hong Kong Trail, traversing Hong Kong Island on a 50km route

• the Lantau Trail, a 70km loop around one of Hong Kong’s big outlying islands.

I had actually also had this thought. In 2010, when I ran my first ultra at the Kepler Challenge, I had connected with Mal Law, an incredible kiwi running icon who raises money through taking on massive challenges, and he was running all seven of New Zealand’s “Great Walks” in seven days. It got me thinking whether it was possible to do Hong Kong’s four trails in four days. Here’s the difference between me and Andre – I quickly determined it was impossible. The Hong Kong trails are considerably longer than those run by Mal in NZ and I didn’t even know if it was possible to run the longest, the 100km Maclehose, in under 24 hours!

However, when he tried it, Andre actually had no real problems. Each day of Chinese New Year he got up early and got out on a trail, then had time to get a few hours sleep before the next one. He completed it and reported that he was a little disappointed that it wasn’t harder. So the next year he decided to try to do all four in three days, and also invite some other people to join him. Over the years it developed further until its current format: run all four back-to-back-to-back-to-back with no real rest in between and try to complete them in 2 and a half days. The final trail was Lantau and it ended with runners kissing a green colonial-era post-box at the ferry pier. Do that less than 60 hours after starting, and you get called a Finisher of the Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge. Lesser mortals who need a bit more time are called Survivors. Each year the standards get a little harder. By 2018 you needed to finish in 75 hours to survive. Longer than that, you were out of luck.

Needless to say, I thought HK4TUC was all a bit nuts. Lots of HK people, me included, have done the 100km Maclehose Trail as the Oxfam Trailwalker, which takes most people longer than 24 hours and is the hardest thing they’ve ever done. For this challenge you’d need to do it much faster and then only be one-third done. Then there was the sleep, or more precisely, lack thereof. I’d done events that went through one night and had found it OK as long as I kept going, then I would crash once I finished. This event would require you to go through a second night and maybe a third. Finally, in Andre’s simple concoction, HK4TUC competitors have to be fully self-supported while on the trail. Between trails they are allowed a crew, food, transportation to the next trail, etc. But on the trail, you have to carry everything by yourself, and you’re not allowed any company. You can buy supplies at shops or vending machines but those are often few and far between (and at night, over Chinese New Year, often closed).

In 2014, after 15 years in Hong Kong, my family and I moved back to New Zealand. Each year I followed HK4TUC from afar, seeing it slowly build into a significant event. At the same time, I kept running ultras, getting more experienced at how to keep moving forward after hours on the trail. Then the possibility came up of taking a job back in Hong Kong. I found myself thinking that if I did go back, HK4TUC would be a great goal to have. And the 2018 edition was scheduled for two weeks before my 50^th birthday.

So, in July 2017, as I moved back to Asia, I submitted my application for HK4TUC. A few weeks later Andre sent me an email apologizing for admitting me to the race. “We hope you are ready to suffer in the challenge.” Shortly afterwards, a documentary was released on the 2017 edition, “Breaking 60”, which (spoiler alert) is an inspiring examination of four runners, two of whom break 60 hours and two of whom don’t finish. It seemed to me that breaking 60 hours was possible but was going to be hard; I felt that 75 hours to survive should be OK if nothing major went wrong (pretty big if).

However, I was clearly going to need coaching help to get my body in the shape needed for such a massive undertaking. I reached out to Mile27, an Australian coaching group, and signed up with Scotty Hawker, an international elite ultrarunner who happens to also be from my hometown, Christchurch. Starting from August, Scotty would send me a weekly schedule, and I’d get them in my diary. The next five months of training went very well. I slowly built up the distances I was running, doing most of my training midweek running to work in the morning or home in the evening. Saturdays I’d do a long run for most of the morning (some days leaking into the afternoon). Sundays started as more restful, family days, but ended up as the second part of a doubleheader as we got closer to the event. It’s always hard making sure that I’m spending enough time with my family while training and definitely that takes a hit leading into an event. I’m lucky to have a wife and kids who are so supportive and let me be selfish (as long as it is not all the time!).

By early January I was feeling bullet-proof. We had a great holiday to NZ and I got some good training in on rugged NZ hiking trails. I could go for a 3 hour run at night, get a few hours sleep, then wake up early and do a long day on Saturday. I had no idea if I was fit enough to run 300km but I knew I had never been in such good shape.

But nothing ever goes perfectly and with 5 weeks to go, things started to go wrong. I picked up a stomach bug from my son which had me eating nothing for a couple of days. Then I strained my calf, an injury that I hadn’t had before – it stayed with me a few days, then went away, but I could feel tightness there up to the start of HK4TUC. Then HK went into lockdown as a terrible flu season hit and everyone seemed to be coughing and spluttering. With seven days to go, I seemed to get a mild virus which took all my energy and left me with sore joints. Was this going to be disaster?

With a day or so to go, things picked up. My energy levels got back to normal, I didn’t seem to have any injuries, so I was ready to go. I had found people to be my crew – John Wacker and Tanya (Pirate) Bennett. I didn’t know John and Pirate well but they seemed super cool and up for the task and enthusiastic about the event. From experience, those were the crucial ingredients. They would meet me at the end of each trail and pamper me, and then get to the next one. I needed a ride to the start line and snagged one with Marie McNaughton, a running star and fellow Kiwi, which I took to be a good sign!

Friday 16 January, 8am (0 hours elapsed)

TRAIL 1: MACLEHOSE (100km, 4733m vertical)

Ready for action in Tuen Mun, a few minutes
before the start. Credit: Palani Mohan (used with permission)

The start of HK4TUC is at the Maclehose trailhead in Tuen Mun, on the far West side of Kowloon Peninsula, from where we’d run across Kowloon and the New Territories to Pak Tam Chung in Sai Kung. At a small, non-descript concrete junction, runners and supporters started appearing around 7am on the first day of Chinese New Year. It quickly became a Who’s Who of HK trailrunning and HK4TUC; the only four people to ever finish in under 60 hours were there (Chiu Wen Hsiao was running again; Tom Robertshaw, Stone Tsang, and Jag Lanante were all supporters) and I was a fanboy excitedly shaking their hands and chatting with them about the challenge ahead. We all had our photos taken by Lloyd Belcher (and his daughter Anya), and then we got a tracker to put in our packs which would allow others to follow us all weekend.  My friend Rory was there; we’d done some training together and had joined forces to figure out our support needs. Then some quick pics by my friend Palani Mohan and it was time for the group to assemble.

The starters in the 2018 Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra
Challenge. I'm in the back row in green; beside me in
the white shirt is Abimanyu Shunmugam. The next time I'd
see Abi would be 5 mins from the end. Credit: Lloyd Belcher
(used with permission)

Andre set a time limit of 18 hours for this trail, which seemed comfortable – I was hoping to do it around 16 hours and be ready to continue. He made sure we knew the rules – no supporters on the trails, no pacers, all self-supported. I had 500ml water in a reservoir plus 1000ml of Tailwind, a solution with calories and minerals that provides energy, in two soft flasks on the front of my pack. I had two chicken and avocado wraps for when I needed real food, plus small bags of jelly snakes and nuts/chips to balance sweet and salty. I’d done my homework and knew there was a vending machine at about 20km where I could get more water.

And just like that, we were off. I ended up at the tail end of the starting group which was fine; we set off and I chatted to people as we passed each other. I had good chats with Jason, an American working for the US Government in Thailand; Aaron, who was a really strong ultrarunner from Los Angeles; Fai, a leading Hong Kong runner who is very experienced in long events, and Tony, who was the youngest starter at 18 years – I joked with him that we made a good team since I was the oldest starter. The first few hours were spent in and out of this group plus Rory, sometimes together but sometimes alone. All very casual, and easy. At about 15km there is the start of a big climb up about 300m, the first of many climbs we would do. The day was starting to get warm, so we were all wary of the pace we were setting. At the same time, you don’t want to waste any time. Keeping that balance would be a challenge all day.

At 20km I stopped to get water from the vending machine – but no machine was there. First problem. I checked my supplies. I still had plenty of fluids, and I knew there were definitely machines in another 16km. So I tried to stay calm and just keep going to there.

From this point we climbed to the highest point on the entire course, Tai Mo Shan, at almost 1000m. The day was starting to get really warm now, well above 20 degrees, which is unusual for this time of year. I was taking the big climbs slowly but even so two bad things were happening: (1) my legs were starting to cramp, and (2) they were also starting to hurt. We were only about 10% into the event and things seemed to be going in the wrong direction. How could I keep this up for three days?

The day is getting hot up on Tai Mo Shan. Credit: Lloyd Belcher (used with permission)

Quickly a third challenge would present itself. The next vending machines were where they should have been, but none had water – just soft drink and sports drink. It was known that the authorities were going to remove water bottles to try to reduce plastic pollution, but it was supposed to start after Chinese New Year. If there was no water to be had on a hot day, it was going to be difficult to run 100km. I filled up on sports drink and hoped that a shop would be open at the halfway stage.

Running ultras is all about dealing with these kinds of challenges. I had been joking with friends earlier that I knew one thing I would not say after HK4TUC was “Well, that all went according to plan and was pretty straightforward.” So here, relatively early on day 1, I had to decide consciously to slow down, try to get to the next water stop (if indeed there would be some), and just take care of myself. My cramping was getting worse, but it was not debilitating (yet). I hobbled up and down the Kowloon hills, making my way to the famous Shatin Pass noodle shop.

To my huge relief, as I ran up towards the shop at about 4pm, there were a large group of runners all there eating and drinking. I was able to get water and stock up enough to last me for the rest of that trail (just as well, because no more was available). Some friends were just leaving as I arrived; others arrived while I was there. We’d got through the heat of the day and were still moving forward. Small victories.

After about 15 minutes I left (just as Rory was arriving – good to see him in good spirits). I was soon caught up by Henry Yang, a Singaporean runner I’d spent time with a few weeks before when he visited Hong Kong for training. We ran the next few hours together, as it became dusk and then got dark for the first time, and it was good to have the company.

Now that the day was cooling down, my legs felt a lot better and my energy was returning. I had plenty of fluids so was not dehydrated. But my time was slow. I was clearly going to be considerably off my target time, but I was reasonably confident of beating the 18 hour cutoff; however, I had to keep pushing on. Henry had twisted his ankle earlier in the day and around the 70km mark I suddenly noticed that he was no longer right behind me. A few kms later there was a toilet and vending machine and he caught me up but was clearly moving a bit slower. I said I’d push on and I hoped he’d catch me up. I felt bad leaving him, but the cutoff was now getting uncomfortably close.

About this time I also came across Jason. He was a super strong runner and he had done well during the day but now all that exertion was taking a toll. I hoped he would also be able to keep going but pressed on past him.

The next section, around the beaches of Sai Kung Country Park, is beautiful and very remote, and I was moving easily. I had done this section in the dark a few weeks earlier so was very confident finding my way around. As I got to the last beach, about 12km from the end, I was very surprised to find that I had caught Wen Hsiao, the former finisher who is extremely quick. I went past him but then took a wrong turn and he helped me get back on the trail. We climbed a hill and got up to the High Island Dam, where the last 10km are a road along the side of a reservoir. The concrete is hard but much quicker to run on that the rocky, technical trail. We got up to the road and found Aaron also there. Suddenly I’d caught two of the strongest runners in the field, and I was feeling better than they were. The time was 12.30am, which meant we’d taken 16 and a half hours and had 90 mins to get the cutoff. Walking a good pace would take about 1 hour 40 mins, which would mean we’d be too late. I knew I was cutting it fine, but this was a little too fine for me. So I told the other guys that we needed to do some running, and so we all took off. It was great having them there, since we could feed off each other. We didn’t talk much because we were pretty tired but it was a very friendly group as we ran most of the flats and walked briskly up the hills. We were moving well and with 5km to go I was pretty comfortable that we’d make it. We ended up rolling in at 17 hours and 42 minutes, a cushion of 18 minutes. Andre was ringing his cowbell to bring us in, his partner Paper was there taking photos and very happy to see us, and Tanya and John were totally psyched since my tracker had temporarily stopped working and they didn’t know how far we were away! It felt like a real victory, especially as it sunk in that since we were close to the cutoff, not many of the people behind would make it. And sure enough, Rory, Henry, and Jason, among several others, missed the cutoff, meaning their weekend was done. 28 started, and only 15 began the Wilson Trail. But I was one of them.

High fives with Pirate and Andre at the end of the Mac. Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun (used with permission)

It sinks in: I've lived to fight another day. Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun (used with permission)

Saturday 17 February, 2.55am (18 hours 55 mins elapsed)

TRAIL 2: WILSON (78km, 4395m vertical)

John making sure I'm doing my shoes up correctly at the
start of the Wilson Trail. Credit: Pirate (used with permission)

I quickly got changed, got in the car, and sped off on the 45 minute drive to the northeast New Territories, near the border with Mainland China, to start the Wilson Trail. It was close to 2am. I tried to close my eyes but didn’t get much napping done. Getting the Maclehose completed was like being allowed into the show; things really started now. I ate some food, but not enough. Tanya repacked my bag with everything I would need for the next trail, which would take me about 19 and a half hours. I needed to climb up 600m to an iconic ridge, Pat Sin Leng, then drop down to almost sea-level before climbing back to 400m and then dropping into the town of Tai Po where cup noodles, staple food of HK4TUC adventurers, awaited. When I got to Tai Po after all this climbing, I’d only have done 22km on this trail, and would still have over 50km to go. That was a little daunting.

Into the night on the Wilson Trail. Credit: Pirate
(used with permission)

At just before 3am I set off. There were other cars at the start point but no other runners, and I assumed several would soon follow. I started walking down a narrow country road then broke into a jog, then about 1.3km down the road started walking again as the climb started. To my dismay, I suddenly realized a series of errors I’d made: (1) I’d forgotten to lube my sensitive areas after having a wash at the end of the previous trail (luckily I had an emergency supply that did the trick); (2) I’d forgotten to put on new sunblock; (3) I hadn’t brushed my teeth, so my mouth was still full of sugar; and (4) I hadn’t eaten one of the oranges that I had specially brought. I also realized that I probably should have had more “real” food since I was going to be away from my crew for a long time, but I hoped that with more access to shops on this trail I’d be OK (I was).

I was feeling OK but after the day’s heat I didn’t want to overexert myself, so I climbed slowly. As I was making my way to the ridge everything was very quiet, and somewhere eerie since I passed abandoned villages in the middle of the forest (luckily I had been through here before several times so expected them; it would be interesting to encounter them later when my sleep-deprivation-induced hallucinations were in full swing!). It was great to make it to the ridge but you then climb up and down for several km before finally getting to the top of Wong Leng, the highest point on the Wilson Trail. Several people who’d started after me had overtaken me by this stage but I was just happy to still be in the Challenge and to be moving forward.

I got to Tai Po about 9am. The 7-11 was there and I chowed down on some noodles with Takahiro Hamai, a returning Japanese runner who had attempted HK4TUC once before. Neither of us was in a big hurry and we made sure we got enough to eat and drink. I left a little ahead of Takahiro but I soon heard his hiking poles tapping the road that we climbed to get out of town. However I was pushing a little faster and soon was by myself again. The morning that emerged on Day 2 was overcast and considerably cooler than on Day 1. It made travelling much easier, even though by now everyone was moving much slower than a day earlier. The great thing I noticed was that whereas at this time yesterday my legs had been hurting, today they felt fine. No particular muscle pains, knees and ankles working fine. If I could just keep moving, I’d make progress today.

I hiked from Tai Po up to Lead Mine Pass. One of the interesting things of the Challenge is that there are a couple of sections where you go through the same area on two different trails (Hong Kong is not that big after all). We’d already been through Lead Mine Pass as the heat was building on Day 1; now it was much cooler on Day 2. From here we took a different path from the previous day, down to and around Shing Mun Reservoir, then over a hill to Kowloon Reservoir. There were a few monkeys around, since big groups live here, but they were fairly quiet on a heavy day. Coming down to Kowloon Reservoir I caught up to Tony, the 18 year old. We shared the trail for an hour or so, and it was great to have the company. When I was 18 there is no way I’d have the drive to train for something like this, but Tony was going strong. Once we crossed Tai Po Road and hit a flat 6km catchwater, Tony took off running. I half-heartedly followed but my energy stocks were a bit low so I jogged and hiked intermittently. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the last moment I’d spend with one of the group on the trails until the very end. The next 40 hours, except for seeing my crew, I was going to be alone.

Making steady progress on the catch water below Amah Rock.
Credit: Rouisa Tse (used with permission)

Well, not completely alone. All along the course, at different times, I’d pass a jogger or hiker whose eyes would light up and they’d say, “Four trails?” When I said yes, they’d take pictures and ask how I was doing. I recognized several as former finishers and survivors. Later on this catchwater, just after I’d laid on a seat to have a brief (3 minute) rest, I came around the corner and saw Tom Robertshaw, HK4TUC record holder in a ridiculous 53 hours, and Rouisa Tse. Tom and Rouisa were very keen to ask how I was doing, and to pep my spirits up (which definitely needed some pepping). I’d see Tom about three different times on the trails! Then, a little later, as I was making my way back up to the Shatin Pass Noodle Shop (yes, same one from the day before), I recognize Mike Xie, a survivor from 2017, who sees me and then joins me in the noodle shop to chat about how it is all going. He’s enjoying himself but also telling me not to dawdle since I need to keep moving!

Still going through Tai Lam Wu. Credit:
Nicole Arnulphy (used with permission)

At least today I’m getting plenty of water. I kept moving up, climbing up towards Kowloon Peak before heading down towards the villages of eastern Kowloon. In the small village of Tai Lam Wu I suddenly came across Nicole Arnulphy who just happened to be out walking a dog; another opportunity for a short chat which on this challenge was such a treat! I made my way towards the Lam Tin MTR (underground) station. One of the peculiarities of the HK4TUC is that Wilson Trail extends across Hong Kong harbour to Hong Kong Island. So we had to run to Lam Tin station, then get down to the trains, make a series of changes, and end up at Tai Koo station on the Island. Since it is not too far from where we live, I’d arranged for my wife Sasha to bring our kids along there so that I could see my family. It would be a brief stop but I was really looking forward to it. As I came up the escalators into the station I could see them with signs they’d written, encouraging me with “Go Dad,” “Don’t stop unless you want to,” and “You’re the greatest, I love you!”. It was very sweet and I loved it. All too soon, after some sweaty hugs, I was saying goodbye to them. It was about 7pm and I only had 12km to go to finish the trail, but there was 1000m of elevation between me and the end, and it was getting dark on my second night with no sleep. This was going to take a while.

I pushed out of the MTR station and into the street. I was surrounded by people going about their daily lives who had no idea what I was putting myself through. I headed up the hill, and into the darkness of the trail.

I was now well into the second night. Not yet exhausted, but running on fumes, I had the first of several big hills to climb. The night was getting windy as well. Far from the previous day’s unseasonal heat, it was now cool and blustery, with the wind getting stronger the higher I climbed. This first climb took me up 400m, which was slow going. On a night like this there was no-one else around so it was just me and my headlamp. After about an hour and a quarter, up over Siu Ma Shan, I hit the junction of the Wilson and Hong Kong Trails. The next section I’d do twice, once now to finish the Wilson and then again later in the night as I traversed the Hong Kong Trail. This section is part of my regular running routes, and I know it like the back of my hand. I was still moving slow and labored up the next climb to Jardine’s Lookout but it was a relief to be on a trail that I didn’t need to think about. Coming down to Parkview there was some cheering and I found Lloyd Belcher ready to take my photo. I look pretty decent, considering how tired I was feeling.

 Made it to Parkview for the first time. Credit: Lloyd Belcher (used with permission)

From Parkview, it was the famous path over Violet Hill and the Twins to end the Wilson Trail at Stanley. This section is less than 5km but rises 500m. The worst part is the climb up the Twins, which goes up almost 1000 steps in a seemingly sheer vertical face. It is pretty horrible as part of a regular workout but with 176km on your legs it was complete torture. However, getting to the top of the first Twin, then down slightly and back up again, and I found myself gazing over the sweet lights of Stanley and heading down the 1200 steps to the end of the trail where John and Pirate were waiting, along with Sasha who’d joined them for the pickup. It was great to see them. I was two trails down, only two to go.

Saturday, 17 February, 11.43pm (39 hours 43 mins elapsed)

TRAIL 3: HONG KONG (50km, 1715m)

Sasha, Jay, and Amanda out in the middle of the night.
Credit: Pirate (used with permission)

The car whizzed us around the south side of Hong Kong Island towards Shek O, a small village at the southeast end of the island which is where the Hong Kong Trail starts. The shortest of the four, with the least elevation, Hong Kong should be the easiest. But it was now well into the second night, and the desire for sleep was approaching. Our friends Amanda and Jay had come along to cheer me on, which was great, since by this stage any human contact was greatly appreciated! I tried to get some sleep in the car but it didn’t really come, so all too soon, I was in new clothes, with a repacked bag and fresh headlamp battery, and was heading out into the night just before midnight.

Ready to start the Hong Kong Trail.
Credit: Pirate (used with permission)

The first 3km was along a road to Big Wave Bay, a great beach and the official start of the trail (Andre adds a little extra because the official distance is a bit short, and he’s German). As I got to the village I found my crew and friends had driven there before me so I had a cheering section as I went off into the night. It was a good send-off but quickly all became dark as I left the village and went up the steps of the trail.

All of a sudden, alone in the dark, the sleep monsters started descending. I began to get an overwhelming desire for sleep. I pushed it away as I climbed up to the road that heads around towards the Dragons Back. Finally, I could fight it no more. There was a bench on the side of the road; i put my pack down as a pillow, lay down beside it, and closed my eyes. Instantly images started moving through my mind as my consciousness began to dissipate. I felt aware of what was happening, but at the same time I wasn’t really awake. Three minutes later, I sat up. I wasn’t very comfortable and I didn’t want to get stuck there for hours. But I felt that I had got some benefit from a micronap.

As I walked further around the road, suddenly there was clapping. I found two people standing there, clapping me; they said they were out to cheer the 4 Trails competitors. I asked them if they were real or if they were hallucinations; they assured me they were real. I’m pretty sure I believed them. In any case, they were the last people I saw for about the next 5 hours.

From here the trail circles back, high above Shek O Road, and heads towards the Dragon’s Back. A classic Hong Kong day hike, the Dragon’s Back has fantastic views over Big Wave Bay and Shek O. These days, it is overrun with hikers on a nice day but on a windy Sunday morning at 1am I had it to myself. I really struggled with sleep on the trail that leads around to the climb, taking 34 mins to go 2km on the flat, but once I started climbing the wind woke me up and I started moving better. Then down the hill, across Shek O, further down the bay, and then up to the dreaded catchwater, a concrete path that runs flat for about 7km to Tai Tam Reservoir. The catchwater is boring at the best of times but in the middle of the second night with no sleep it was impossible. For possibly the first time in my life, I started falling asleep as I was walking. Luckily, there was only one way to go, and I knew the whole of the Hong Kong Trail very well so getting lost wasn’t an issue. But I was continually zoning out and then coming to and finding my feet still heading in the right direction, albeit a bit slowly (however, Strava shows I was walking 12 min per km on this section which isn’t too bad for sleepwalking!).

Getting to Tai Tam Road, I headed across and entered the Country Park. All of a sudden I was swallowed up in the gloom of the forest, which is pretty dense in this part and to be honest has always given me the heebie-jeebies. This started a long slow climb up through the park to Tai Fung Au, and then to Mt Butler, which is 450m high. About half way up I lay down again at a picnic table and had another 5 min nap. This one seemed to give me more relief from sleep and I felt much better. Coming down off Mt Butler I hit the same section of trail I’d done on the Wilson, and so repeated my steps to Parkview. No Lloyd this time; it was now about 6am. Below Parkview I hit Wong Nai Chung Gap, which is halfway on the trail and where a 24 hour petrol station had water and sports drink, allowing me to reload. Light was beginning to filter across the sky as I headed up Blacks Link. Another picnic table beckoned and another 5 min nap was taken. But it was getting on towards 7am and I still had a fair way to go. I had hoped to finish this trail soon after daylight but it was clear it would be several hours before that happened.

Now two seemingly contradictory things occurred. The growing daylight did a good job of keeping my sleep monsters at bay. However, while my brain was not as sleepy, it was also not completely awake. All around me, I was seeing things. In the dense bush that surrounded me I was seeing complex structures, like houses and gardens, hidden deep among the trees. I started wondering why someone would build a house down there, until it occurred to me that it only existed in my head. However, knowing they were hallucinations did nothing to reduce their salience. I was seeing figures sitting on the path ahead of me, only to disintegrate as I got closer. When I walked down stone steps, the patterns in the steps were not random shapes but rather faces and animals, not quite clear but unmistakable all the same. Once I got used to the hallucinations they were not particularly off-putting but they were pervasive for several hours that morning. They would return with a vengeance on the Lantau Trail the following night.

Finishing the Hong Kong Trail at the Peak.
Credit: Palani Mohan (used with permission)

This part of the trail took me closest to my home. I had wondered how I’d feel at this point, knowing that I could walk up over the hill and be home in 20 minutes, but I was still pretty focused on 4 Trails and was not tempted to give up. I did, however, take the opportunity to text Sasha to let her know where I was. From there, I had three sections and about 18km of the HK Trail to go. There were now a few people up and about, and as I got close to the Peak I came across two familiar figures: John and Pirate who had just happened to be where I was going to pass through, so that they could figure out when I was going to finish. It was good to see them, if briefly, but I still had about an hour to climb from Pokfulam Reservoir around to the base of the Peak and then up to the viewing area. I kept going and soon saw Tim Marchant who was also out doing some 4 Trails spotting. Finally getting up to Lugard Road, the famous path around Victoria Peak with million-dollar views across Hong Kong harbour, the path was simply filled with people. By now I was unused to sharing the trail with anyone and this momentarily took me out of my calm state. However, I pressed on, and found myself running down the last 1km descent to the end of the Hong Kong Trail when I saw more friends, Sarah Stewart and Palani Mohan. Palani grabbed a few photos and then followed me as I ran to the end of the trail. Pirate was there. I’d finished Trail 3, and had completed 228km, which was by some stretch the longest distance that I’d ever run.

Only one trail to go. Credit:
Palani Mohan (used with permission)

John had the car in the Peak Galleria carpark. We made our way across and got in. I was ravenous and quickly polished off some lasagne. It was 11am on Sunday morning and we had an hour to wait for the next ferry to Mui Wo. I suggested that I had time to drop home for a shower, but Pirate and John could tell how inviting my bed would be and quickly vetoed that idea. It was the only moment of tough love that I required over the whole weekend and was exactly the right call. Instead, we drove down near the ferry pier and parked so that I could try to get some sleep. I closed my eyes and did slip briefly out of consciousness but there was too much going on and it was the middle of the day and so I didn’t get more than a few minutes.

Brief sleep. Not enough to keep the monsters
at bay on night 3. Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun
(used with permission)

My family turned up while we waited. They were also planning to head for Mui Wo in a couple of hours, to stay the night so that they could wait for me to turn up (hopefully) at the finish. It was fantastic to see them for the second time all weekend and really picked up my spirits. Soon we were heading for the ferry, along with half of Hong Kong who were all enjoying the holiday with a trip out to Lantau. Having been in hermit-like isolation on the trail for more than two days, the crush of bodies was rather overwhelming. Pirate accompanied me on the ferry to help look after my gear and we bumped into Tom Robertshaw who also happily allowed himself to be drafted in as impromptu crew. Andre and Paper were sitting across the aisle; HK4TUC was well represented. We got seats and I tried to get more sleep on the half-hour voyage but with cramped seats and my tired legs I struggled to get into any kind of deep sleep. Before we knew it, we were in Mui Wo. I got changed as Pirate put my bag together, and found myself being interviewed by Mark Agnew of the South China Morning Post. And so, almost exactly two hours after finishing the Hong Kong Trail, I was ready to head out on the last leg of my journey.

Sunday 18 February, 12.55pm (52 hours 55 mins elapsed)

TRAIL 4: LANTAU (70km, 3077m)

About to start Lantau with advice from legends Andre and
Tom; the Lee brothers (Breaking 60) and Paper also in
support. Credit: Pirate (used with permission)

Unlike the other trails which are point-to-point, the Lantau Trail is a loop, starting and finishing in the village of Mui Wo. The direction we ran would see us do a relatively flat 42km around the southern and western coast of the island to the village of Tai O, but then the final 28km would be a brutal return through the middle of the island over two of the tallest peaks in Hong Kong. It was probably the toughest section of the whole event and we would have to do it with 270km on our legs.

Confidently (?) stepping out on the last trail: 70km to go.
Credit: Pirate (used with permission)

For now, though, that was in my future. Andre, Mark, Tom, and Pirate sent me off from the Mui Wo ferry pier with a rousing farewell. I was feeling remarkably good, considering what I’d already been through. I had a heavy pack because water is not available at many places on Lantau and with my late starting time, shops may well be closed in Tai O by the time I got there, so I had loaded up on water, Tailwind, and food. As I jogged around the streets on Mui Wo and up onto the trail I was feeling very calm and confident. Suddenly, however, that confidence was blunted. Only a km or two from the start, seemingly out of nowhere, I suddenly realized that all was not good with my feet. I definitely could feel the raw sensation of blisters forming. In the previous 230km I had had no problems with blisters at all. How could they happen now? Over the next 10km I took off my shoes several times to inspect my feet and put on sticking plasters as needed. Eventually I took off the inner pair of socks that I was using – I had worn them many times without issue but they appeared to have lost some elasticity and were now causing me grief. That meant I only had one pair of thick socks but I hoped that I could get around the rest of this trail using them. I was also developing some diuresis; I was drinking fine, but then peeing most of it, and thirsty all the time. This was not ideal but something else I just had to try to keep under control. After an initial burst of energy, I was moving pretty slowly, as might be expected. The afternoon was very warm, which slowed me down more. However, keeping one foot in front of the other, I slowly plodded my way over the hill to Pui O and then up onto a 10km catchwater to Shui Hau.

My situation still seemed quite good. I wasn’t going to break 60 but I had more than 20 hours before the survivor deadline of 75 hours. Despite my blisters, I had no major injuries. The weather was good. I just had to keep it together and I’d make it to the green postbox.

I had also been tracking the field, on and off, but now, with the pressure off, I was paying a bit more attention. Two of the fast guys, Salomon Wettstein and Phairat Varasin, were on track to break 60 hours – amazing. Meredith Quinlan, a really strong visiting Australian runner, was also on the Lantau Trail but was several hours ahead of me. Somehow, despite being the oldest runner in the field and only just scraping through the first day, I was in 4^th place. Behind me was Abi Shunmugam from Singapore. Abi and I had stood beside each other for the photo at the start, but that was the last time I’d seen him. He’d spent most of the first 36 hours ahead of me, but had taken a break for a few hours at the end of the Wilson Trail. My break there was much shorter so I’d started the Hong Kong Trail before him. Since then, he’d been trailing me by an hour or two.

I wasn’t particularly worried about placings, especially since HK4TUC is not officially a race, but 4^th sounded better than 5^th so I tried to keep my pace from slackening too much. Along the catchwater to Shui Hau, and again on the next one from Shek Pik to Fan Lau, I tried to run as much as I could, generally jogging for 500-800m and then walking for a couple of minutes, cognizant of the fact that I also didn’t want to use up all my energy before the final section of the trail. Still, I made it to Fan Lau just after dark, and managed to find a local house willing to sell me a coke and a bottle of water. The couple were the last people I would speak to until I was near the end of the Lantau Trail. I made good time around the rest of the coast, brushing aside the famously-aggressive dogs in the village of Yi-O, and getting to Tai O at about 9.20pm. I’d hoped to complete the Lantau Trail in 15-16 hours; in terms of time, Tai O is about halfway and it had taken about 8 and a half hours. So I was a little behind schedule but not too much. Now, less than 30km from the finish, I was more than 90% done with HK4TUC. But there were huge hills in my way, and I was entering my 3^rd night without any real sleep.

From Tai O, the trail goes steeply uphill, climbing 200m in less than a kilometre, and then working up to 500m elevation over the next 4km. I still had food and water and was not completely out of energy but my lack of sleep was starting to become debilitating. I’d done this trail several times in training but in the dark and in my current condition everything seemed rather unfamiliar. Signs pointed one way but led me to a junction that seemed very similar to the one I’d just left.  More disconcertingly, I started to feel that I was no longer in the conscious world but was instead living inside a dream, where landscapes could shift and warp and just because I remembered climbing, say, three peaks in a series on one part of the trail didn’t mean that those peaks would still be there now.  At one stage I felt that I was in a group of people all traveling together and then was surprised to realize that I was completely alone. I’d try to wake myself up but it was becoming harder and harder. At the same time, there was no obvious place to take a nap and I felt I was getting close enough to the finish to just power through.

On and on I climbed through the plateau that covers South Lantau. At this elevation the sky was fairly clear and I started getting lights from the villages and roads around Lantau to provide a bit more spatial context for where I was, which was a relief. Eventually I made my way over Keung Shan and found myself walking down through the fung shui woods to Sham Wat Road. I was still struggling to feel fully awake but the path seemed to be heading in a familiar direction so I went with it.

Down off the trail, I was facing a walk up Sham Wat Road for 3.5km that would rise 160m to get to the tourist village of Ngong Ping. There were noisy dogs on the other side of the road that I feared might be aggressive but they let me pass without incident. So off I set, making easier progress up the road but at a steep pitch that was very tiring to fight. Hallucinations were dense in this section; I saw a continual series of people that I knew to exist only in my head but seemed very real on the footpath ahead of me. People would be sitting out, as if they were smoking or waiting for a bus, but as I got right up to them they would disassemble into a collection of shadows from the trees overhead. In the guttering of the road beneath my feet I was seeing strange figures (clowns? Not exactly but similar) lying down, not malevolent but a little unnerving. At the same time, I felt more awake here, and more in control of my destiny. I just had to keep moving, and it didn’t take too long to get up to Ngong Ping. It was 1.30am and so not surprisingly the main tourist strip was closed, but that was the way I usually got to the next part of trail. I spent more than 10 mins going back and forwards trying to figure out how to connect to the trail but eventually worked it out with the help of Google Maps. It wasn’t the last time that evening I was glad of cell phone signal coverage. I hiked along the path out of town which goes up the hill behind and then took me around the village to the base of Lantau Peak. It was about 2.30am and from here on a regular day I could run back to Mui Wo in about two and a half hours. It would take me slightly longer today.

Once again the first sign that things might take longer than normal was that, as I came off the trail from Ngong Ping, I suddenly had no clue where I was, even though I’ve been on that trail hundreds of times. When I got my phone out I could work out the direction I should take, but it didn’t feel very familiar. I got down to the Wisdom Path, however, and here was the wooden gate that denotes the start of the climb to Lantau Peak. I was on the homeward road.

Lantau Peak is the second highest peak in Hong Kong at 934m, and is a massive hunk of volcanic rock in the centre of the island. From where I was, the path climbs almost 500m in less then 2km. It is very steep. Almost the whole way the path consists of steep stairs. At least I have long legs. I set off.

Very quickly, things got very strange. Not uncommonly for a winter’s night, the path was quickly enveloped by mist. I’ve experienced this before, but on this night it took away all my spatial context and with it, my remaining strength of consciousness. I entered a dream-state from which I was unable to properly wake. I was no longer climbing stairs on Lantau Peak on Monday morning; instead I was in the middle of a dream in which stairs kept appearing out of nowhere, leading me to chase them. It seemed arbitrary where they would appear, to my left or to my right. And as I climbed higher and higher it appeared to me that I could be anywhere on the mountain. If the stairs were organically growing in front of me, they could be leading me in any direction. I sat down to try to compose myself. I wasn’t panicking, but I also didn’t feel comfortable. It was time to bring out the big guns. All day I’d had a can of Red Bull in my pack for when I needed clarity and energy. This was that time. Normally I don’t touch the stuff but extraordinary sleepiness called for extraordinary measures. I sunk it quickly and it gave me a burst of energy, if not total cognitive clarity.

On and on I climbed, painfully slowly. I was having trouble coordinating my poles on the slick steps in my tired state, and so eventually decided they were more trouble than they were worth, and put them away in my pack. It did become easier to climb without them, and I briefly felt like Sam in Lord of the Rings climbing Mt Doom with Frodo on his back, a last burst of strength coursing through his veins. Soon enough, though, the adrenalin died away and I was back to inching my way up.

Suddenly I was at the lower peak, which is about 120m below the summit. This was at least a sign that despite everything, I had kept to the right path and was on my way. I kept heading upward. Every few steps I looked up, hoping that I would see the summit. Continually what seemed to be some rocks that marked the top would turn out to just be another group on the trail. It seemed like this section took forever but it appears it was only 15 mins, and finally, against all hope, I found myself on the top of Lantau Peak. I could hear people sheltering here (I’m pretty sure they were real and not just in my head) but I didn’t want to waste any time. My main fear was making sure that I took the path towards Pak Kung Au and Sunset Peak, and not disastrously go back the way I had come. Checking the signs several times, I headed down the slippery rocks.

However, my task was not really any easier. This section of path is normally easy to navigate, but in many places the official path is surrounded by rocks that have been worn down by hikers and so the exact path is not always obvious. Normally you can just follow your nose but with the low visibility and the fog inside my head as well as out on the path, it seemed perpetually confusing. Moreover, despite knowing this path extremely well, it now seemed devoid of familiar features. I seemed to be passing through ruined villages, or old town squares, or similar manmade environments that didn’t have people in them right now but were also artificially, rather than naturally, created. But if the area I passed through had been created by people, where on earth was I, because I know such places didn’t exist on Lantau Peak! Moreover, as long as the path went down I could follow it reasonably easily, but whenever it rose up (briefly), I suddenly lost confidence as to which way I should be following it. At one point a marker appeared an uphill part and I spent several minutes going back and forth to check that I was indeed going the right way.

I also remember that this again seemed more dream than reality. Since the rocks were slippery I was going slowly, knowing that my coordination was impaired, but it meant the descent took an age. I vividly remember thinking to myself that this part of the dream was very repetitive and why wouldn’t my mind just switch to a more interesting part. Deep in the third night I was struggling to maintain my grip on reality.

Finally, I got signs that I was close to Pak Kung Au, the valley between Lantau Peak and Sunset Peak, and then I was down, having taken more than two hours to do what I could normally comfortably do in one. It was approaching 5am. I carefully crossed the road, and walked up the steps to the Pagoda just off the road. Back in October I had spent all night here working on a checkpoint for the popular Moontrekker race, so I felt I was in familiar territory. That night, however, I had slept well the previous two.

The trail up Sunset Peak is not as steep but the elevation gain is similar. Again, I was quickly overtaken by mist, and a similar mist pervaded my mind. Stairs again seemed to be growing organically through the mist, and I was again gripped by fear that I would end up on the wrong path. I also become obsessed with another detail. On Lantau I knew that I was heading for the true peak, which was impossible to miss. On Sunset Peak, however, the Lantau Trail does not climb to the peak, but instead levels off about 100m lower and goes around the side. I started wondering if I would obviously see the path when it levelled off, or would I somehow miss it and end up climbing onward and then get completely lost? Once again, I was also struggling to see familiarity in surroundings that appeared utterly unfamiliar. I’d turn one direction and find myself up against scrub and rock, then turn the other way and see a few stairs rising into the gloom. Each set of stairs seemed completely independent of each other, rather than being in long sets as I remembered them.

Physically, I was tired but still moving reasonably well, if slowly. Mentally, it was agonizing. But I kept going, hoping and hoping that eventually the steps would run out and the path would level out and run across the side of the hill. And while this seemed like it would never happen, all of a sudden, instead of chasing new steps rising out of the gloom, the path did indeed, level off. The only problem was, it again seemed entirely unfamiliar. This didn’t appear to look like what normally happened to the path at this point. Was I on the right sideways traverse? Or had I unexpectedly encountered another path? Was I even going in the right direction? Once again I was saved by technology. On my phone I was able to see that despite nothing looking like it should, I was indeed on the right path, and I could also see where the next marker post should be. Stopping every few minutes to check, I miraculously seemed to be on the right path. But still things didn’t make sense. The path that was traversing the hill should take me to a sweeping curved path that overlooked a bunch of old stone huts sheltering below the summit of Sunset Peak. The path should then take me through the middle of them. However, although I found myself in an area that looked a bit like where the huts should be, I wasn’t seeing them. Had they been removed? Was I in fact in the wrong place? Again nothing looked like it should. My phone was also pinging with notifications. I could see that friends were tweeting about me being high up on a hill and needing to get down in a few hours to beat the cutoff. It was the first time I considered the question of whether I’d actually finish in time. But despite my muddled state, I was still fairly sure that I had a time cushion, and that I shouldn’t stress about time unduly. My crew was also texting me to see where I was at. My tracker was not being picked up and no-one could see where I was. At 5.38am I texted “Getting to the top of sunset. Foggy so pain in the ass.”

Then I came across an artifact that lifted my spirits; lying on the ground was a sign, pointing in the direction I’d come to Pak Kung Au, and in the direction I was going to Nam Shan. Nam Shan was only 2.5km from Mui Wo, my destination. It turned out that the path branched out and I was running down to one side of the huts. Suddenly they appeared in front of me. A little lower I saw another sign I recognized pointing to Mui Wo via Nam Shan, so I texted “OK I’m 6.25km from Mui Wo – at the huts.” Finally, I felt like I was heading in the right direction. A glimmer of familiarity was shining through.

Of course, I was not out of the woods yet. The path was rocky and I was less than stable on my feet. It continued to be slow going. Light slowly dawned through the mist so I was able to switch off my headlamp. I continued to pass in and out of a dreamlike state and once again was hallucinating villages and streets that I was walking through when in fact I was by myself on the side of a hill. At one stage the path I was following seemed to completely stop and it took some time to work out that I had followed some stones in the wrong direction. In my normal state it would have been obvious but now it was all very confusing. But down and down and down I went, and as the light got brighter on my fourth morning without sleep, I began to get better recognition of the path high above Pui O, and had greater confidence in where I was going.

As I started descending into Nam Shan, a woman came past and asked if I was with 4 Trails. When I said I was (which I’m sure was pretty obvious given the state I was in) she was very happy and enthusiastically told me I wasn’t far from the end. I knew this but it was also a huge relief and I was very grateful. It looked like I was actually going to complete this beast of an event. A little further down, shortly before getting to Nam Shan, I took stock of myself. I still had my headlamp on my head, and I had a jacket tied around my waist. I also was carrying my hiking poles. I decided to tidy things up before I got back to civilization, so put the headlamp and jacket into the bag and then once I hit the road at Nam Shan put the poles in the bag as well. I was now walking down the road to Mui Wo, which is 2.5km long. This was going to happen. The green postbox, and my family, were waiting for me.

But of course, after 71 hours, nothing is easy. I suddenly realized that the pain I’d had in the back of my neck had transformed into something different. To my amazement, I noticed that I couldn’t lift my head properly. It was bent to my left side, and I couldn’t get it straight. This was just great. I’ve spent three days musing on how I’d feel when I got to run and kiss the green postbox and now I’m barely going to get there. Plus my family is going to wonder what the hell is going on. And is this a temporary affliction or will it somehow be a permanent memento of HK4TUC? I hiked on, trying to relax my neck and see if it would come right, but to no avail. I texted Sasha and told her I was almost there. I thought about mentioning the neck, but wasn’t quite sure what to say. She’ll see it soon enough, I figured.

Then, I heard footsteps. Hallucination? I turned and there, beside me, for the first time in almost 72 hours, was Abi Shunmugam. Abi was as surprised to see me as I was him. On the one hand, I had not succeeded in finishing before him. But on the other, my spirits were suddenly lifted again. What could be better than finishing an event of this magnitude than to do so with another comrade? “Let’s finish together,” I said. He completely agreed. (Of course, in my state, if he’d wanted to finish a minute or two before me he could have out-run me with ease).

So we ran down the hill into town, as I explained to him that I was actually feeling pretty good but that my head was locked in this strange position. As we came down the final hill, we started to hear Andre’s cowbell being rung to bring us home. Suddenly Sasha and the kids were there too. Abi helped me navigate the tight footpath down to the roundabout, and then with my family we ran from the corner the few hundred metres to the ferry pier. And there, in front of it, was a green post-box. Abi graciously told me to go first; I somewhat ungraciously agreed. I threw my arms around it, rested my head for a second, and then kissed it. I’d done it. 71 hours and 51 minutes after leaving Tuen Mun to start the Maclehose Trail, I finished the Lantau Trail in Mui Wo. I had run 298km and was a survivor of the 2018 Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge.

First give it a hug... Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun (used with permission)

... Then give it a kiss. Credit: Lloyd Belcher (used with permission)

After three days on the trail, time for a shower. Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun (used with permission)

While Sasha checks if my neck is OK, Abi nonchalantly shows off his six-pack.  Thanks for getting me
to the end, Abi! Credit: Patchanida Pongsubkarun (used with permission)

POSTSCRIPT

A few hours later, after a sleep, I'm back in the
land of the living (and conscious). Note the
champagne bottles from other finishers/
survivors.  Credit: Sasha Haldane
(used with permission)

We had a good time hanging out at the postbox for a while with Abi, Andre, Paper, Pirate, and several other friends. As is tradition, Andre sprayed Abi and I with Moet champagne, Formula One style. Andre asked me if I had considered quitting at any point and I could honestly say, despite all the tiredness and the hallucinations, that I had not. We had a hotel room in Mui Wo that Sasha had extended so we went straight there and after the world’s best shower (first in three days), I lay my head on the pillow and sunk immediately into three hours of the deepest sleep I’ve ever had. When I awoke, I sat up, and found that my neck was now reasonably straight. After packing up, we went back to the postbox and took another picture with our empty bottle of champagne, and in the picture I’m reasonably vertical. By the next morning, my neck was completely fine. Later that day I saw a doctor just as a precaution – he concluded it was almost certainly a muscle spasm caused from the stress of holding my neck up with a headlamp on for so long.

Recovery was fairly straightforward. I had to go to work the next day for a presentation by senior management but was able to take the following day off. There was plenty of eating and lots of sleeping. My face broke out in spots from the stress of everything my body had been under, and my tongue was very sensitive for several days, as if the amount of sports drink and sugar that it had processed had given it some sort of mild chemical burn. Still, weird things like these happen in ultras. My basic body integrity seems fine, with no injuries and only relatively mild muscular tiredness for a few days.

I’m not sure if I’ll run that far again, and I can’t see myself attempting HK4TUC again in the future. To do something so massive, especially at my age, you need to be very single-minded and focused. It has a cost on family relationships, to be sure. But at the same time, I am absolutely satisfied that I was able to complete the challenge. From the 28 of us that started, two “finished,” five “survived,” and one more came in to huge cheers outside the 75 hour limit. I held some dreams about trying to aim for 60 hours but these were never terribly realistic and certainly weren’t achievable after the heat of the first day. To be a survivor in under 72 hours is incredibly rewarding and will be one of the proudest achievements on my modest running CV.

When I wrote my letter of application to Andre in July, I said that one of my motivations was that I thought I was pretty stubborn, but wanted to see if that was true. Turns out, it is.

A week later: Feeling recovered and celebrating my birthday
with a bottle of Moet and a green postbox. Credit:
Palani Mohan (used with permission)

Thanks to my family, particularly Sasha, Max, and Alyssa; my amazing crew, John and Pirate; my coach, Scotty Hawker (Mile27); Rory and Nicole for help with planning; Andre, Paper, Lloyd, Anya, and other members of the HK4TUC family; my fellow “competitors” (not that it’s a race), who were all incredibly supportive of each other and made the event so memorable, and in particular the finishers (Salomon and Phairat) and my fellow survivors (Meredith, Abi, Ming-Chu, and Ho Fai) plus Nicole, who were all inspirational; and all my family and friends who became consumed with the challenge and who were so supportive on social media during the event.

And as for what's next? In early December, I had the incredible good luck to have my ticket selected once again from the lottery for the Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run. So now I have the chance to go back in June 2018 and do it all over again. A few weeks to recover from Four Trails and then it's time to get back into training!