One step at a time

A runner's first ultramarathon becomes an epic tale of exhaustion, self-doubt and an extraordinary epiphany

My toes were burning in pain. But I didn't dare to take off my socks to look. The sight of blisters or blackened nails - which surely was the case - could become the last straw to eliminate my already worn-out resolve to stay the course.

Once in a while, I had to stop, panting, with my mouth wide-open like a fish out of water, gasping for fresh air. After running for 12 hours since morning in Hong Kong's mountainous New Territories, I was exhausted, depressed and desperate.

It was the evening of Jan 17 and I was a little more than halfway through the Hong Kong 100 Ultra-Trail Race, a 100-kilometer ultramarathon with a total ascent of 4,500 meters. The course boasts stunning views as it winds its way along coastal paths, across beaches, through villages and over mountains. But it also puts to the test one's physical and mental strength - to the extreme. Participants have 30 hours to complete the race, and those who finish within 16, 20 and 24 hours are awarded gold, silver and bronze trophies.

As a first-time ultramarathon runner, I had a dream of winning a bronze award in this challenging race. Not many people are granted the chance in their lifetime to realize a dream. I was lucky enough to beat thousands of other applicants through a ballot to qualify to stand behind the starting line, among 1,650 participants including the world's top trail runners.

For me, running is a life-transforming activity. Years of unhealthy habits had ruined my health, and it was only in May 2012 that I set my feet for the first time on a treadmill, as suggested by doctors, as part of therapies to cure my "extremely serious" fatty liver, among other ailments like high blood pressure. I was then 75 kilograms and would heave like hell to finish just 1 km. Six months later, I had shed 10 kg and finished my first half-marathon. A medical checkup the second year showed that the fatty-liver problem had gone, though I still had to bring down my blood pressure to a normal level.

To remain healthy, of course, is not a strong enough incentive to readily brave summer's sweltering heat or winter's freezing cold. There is something more behind my zeal for this sport that is always straining and sometimes tedious.

I am amazed as I discover how responsive the human body can be as I build up my mileage. The pace at which my endurance and stamina increase keeps me in awe, and the experiences of achieving something previously thought impossible is thrilling. Running not only lets me explore the depths of my potential but also keeps me wondering what achievements lie in store for me farther down the road. There is no experience more riveting than that.

I like the German thriller film Run Lola Run, because the main part of it consists of the heroine's three "runs", with each run starting from the same situation but developing differently and having a different outcome. Yes, to keep running means to keep open all possibilities in life. I saw it as no surprise that I had been brought to Hong Kong for the race.

Based on many online articles written by athletes who had run the Hong Kong race, I had worked out a personal time limit for each of the nine checkpoints along the way to secure a place in the under-24 hours club.

The only thing was: Had I set myself upon a mission impossible?

It seemed to be, as I found not long after I set off from the starting point at Pak Tam Chung Country Park at 8 am. I failed to meet my self-imposed deadline by four minutes at the first checkpoint. I quickened my pace and cut my break time to the minimum, spending just one or two minutes to refill my water bottles while gulping down whatever I could grab from the supply tables at each checkpoint - biscuits, bananas, brownies or nuts, before hurrying on.

Still, I was behind time - by two minutes at Checkpoint 2, 14 minutes at CP3 and 17 minutes at CP4. As I struggled, one runner after another bounded past me - there must have been more than 150 of them when I reached CP5 at 52 km by 6:40 pm.

I was 40 minutes behind schedule.

Heart of darkness

It was completely dark already.

For the first time that day, I thought I might fall flat. The first half of the race is considered easier. There's little incline and it's during the day.

How could I expect to make up for lost time in the much harder second half, with many steep climbs at night? I could only pray for a miracle.

I departed from CP5 15 minutes later, wearing a headlamp and having changed my shoes - I had put a bigger pair in my drop bag there, fearing my feet would swell after a long run.

As the odyssey continued, I did a little soul-searching: Had I overstretched my limits? Maybe I should have trained much harder. Besides full marathons, the longest distance I had ever covered previously at one time was no more than 60 km, which was during a workout on city roads, a far cry from the rocky and root-studded mountain trails I was stumbling along.

And if one's marathon time could be used to judge his ultratrail ability, mine - at around four and a half hours - was just mediocre.

The story could have ended there, without regret. At least I tried before I threw in the towel.

All odds were against me then. Apart from the pain in my toes, one thigh muscle was getting stiff and cramping. For hours on my way to CP6, my pace had been reduced to a speed no faster than a walk.

"I am a machine. I don't need to feel a thing. Just forge on ahead," I recalled Japanese writer and runner Haruki Murakami saying to himself when he reached his limits during an ultramarathon. My problem, I thought, must be worse - all parts of "my machine" seemed to be breaking apart.

'Beginning of bliss'

"Hang in there," I told myself as I trudged on. The decision to not drop out was partly made out of expediency, because I had to at least get to the next checkpoint to call it a day.

But on the way there - as I was plodding on the mountain ridge of Ma On Shan, within sight of Hong Kong's concrete jungle of high-rises illuminated against the backdrop of the night - something happened. I still find it hard to explain.

The Chinese saying that "extreme adversity is the beginning of bliss" may fit the situation. Murakami describes it as "passing through a stone wall". As if a chemical change had occurred in my body, I gradually and surprisingly found my steps lighter and pains numbed.

Yes, I resumed my jog and started to overtake other runners. When I reached CP6 at 10:40 pm, I was excited to find I was only 10 minutes behind time.

Tender was the night. Runners' flashing headlamps shone like a never-ending line of diamonds that stretched deep into the darkness, along the trails, up to the mountains and down to the valleys.

I overtook nearly 200 people as I passed through the next checkpoints.

I started to enjoy the run again, cheering others along the way as I passed by. Never had I aspired so much to win, to make it my big day.

So on I cruised, with my favorite music, Chariots of Fire, resonating in my mind. Sometimes I even screamed to motivate myself.

Time flew by. At 7 am on Jan 18, after a full night of almost nonstop jogging and walking, I found myself on top of Hong Kong's highest peak, Tai Mo Shan. With only 4 km to go, there was no doubt I could make it within 24 hours.

I heaved a sigh of relief: I had swum through a sea of agony, exhaustion and depression to reach the bank of success.

So after straightening my hair and clothes - I wanted to look my best as a winner - I started my descent, bathing in the rays of the rising sun. I didn't run full steam because I wanted to enjoy this last moment, the climax of my story.

Step by step, I ambled down the slope. Then I saw the finish line, and heard cheers and my name announced.

The time shown on the huge digital clock suddenly seemed to have stopped, frozen and eternal: 23 hours and 36 minutes. I had thought I would cry. But no tears came. I just raised both my arms, fists clinched.

On one forearm bore the tattoo-inked slogan of the race: "Ordinary people being extraordinary".

I knew I had lived up to the words.

The writer is a senior writer at China Daily. Contact him at huangxiangyang@chinadaily.com.cn

Gold trophies shine at the finish line. Photos by Lao Yao and Kit Ng / For China Daily

(China Daily Africa Weekly 02/20/2015 page24)