24h Roja - running on thin ice

How many times do you have to run a 24-hour race for it to be enough? I’ll be honest - I already knew right after finishing last year’s Roja 24-hour challenge that I would do it again.  I’d convinced myself my legs could handle 24 hours on asphalt, but the result I’d been dreaming of for years was still nowhere near within reach. I dare to admit to my coach and a few colleagues - just so there's no turning back - that I really, really want to reach those magical 200 km. Andris politely stays silent about the lack of hope. Does he really think it’s possible? I'm afraid to ask. But on the other hand - lately it seems like anyone with a pair of sneakers is out there running 200 km. Why shouldn't that be me? After all, I’ve got sneakers too. 

Just to make sure nothing would be easy or simple, right after a brutal November illness, I was hit with kidney stones in December. I’ve been down this road a few times before, so I knew exactly what was coming - a special kind of misery with no clear end date. In my case, this "adventure" dragged on until mid-February, and during those months, I couldn't run. I only managed to shuffle about 5km a week just so my knees wouldn't forget what they were meant for. My initial instinct was to spiral into despair,  but I pulled myself together and found some patience. If I couldn't run for two months, I’d make the most of my time in the gym and get my diet in order. It felt like time had stood still, but once that final surgery was behind me on February 12th, I dove back into my training with genuine excitement. There wasn't much time left - only 14 weeks to make it count. It'll have to be enough.

Restarting my running, I naturally faced new challenges: a higher heart rate, and knees that had grown accustomed to lounging around the gym and were completely unhappy with the slushy snow on the sidewalks. However, overall, I felt better than I expected after such a break. My battle with nutrition also paid off - while at first it felt like I was getting nowhere, soon enough the extra kilos started melting away even faster than the roadside snow. I began to not only feel but actually look like a runner. Hmm, maybe this will actually work?

With the end of May approaching, my training sessions are getting longer and longer, but I head out with joy, tirelessly testing different products and ways of stuffing in carbs. After all, these races are largely about eating - whoever can swallow their food and keep it down will always get farther than the one puking their guts out all over the place.

Well, as we know, that’s not exactly my strong suit. Then again... do I even have a strong suit? I suppose there is one - I am persistent, or stubborn, or maybe just plain stupid. I somehow always manage to drag myself through these terrible races all the way to the finish, even when there’s absolutely no point anymore. 

And then I have Mr. Veips - my one-man support team who handles his duties brilliantly. This time, however, my support crew will be twice as large. In the morning, Edijs will be joined by my double-colleague and friend Daiga, and this will be her first event of this kind. I think the impressions from the final third of a 24-hour race could be quite vivid. 

Every preparation eventually comes to an end and you have to face the challenge, whether you're ready or not. I think I am. At least more ready than ever before.

The evening before the race, as befits someone my age, I go to a party. Before that, I get my magical tape job from the excellent physiotherapist Janis Lacis, who has been looking after my physical condition ever since my last surgery. The party, packing and stress mean I get barely five hours of sleep. It's fine, it'll do. Sleep is overrated. My main concern is making sure Mr. Veips doesn't fall asleep during the race. If I miss a meal, everything could fall apart.

Race morning is chaotic, and we arrive in Roja two minutes before registration closes. With the help of the future Latvian champion Armands, all the gear is moved to the support area, and despite the wind, we quickly set up the tent.  In a rush, I get dressed, explain to Edijs where everything is packed and what I've actually brought with me. The nutrition plan is taped to the table, and two minutes before 15:00, I step onto the starting line. I don't even have time to get nervous or warm up.

Here we go! Twenty-four hours of adventure ahead! In a 1.234km loop...

I've planned my starting pace at 6:30-6:40 min/km. It's my latest comfort pace, where my heart rate stays reasonable and my confidence doesn't suffer too much either. Apart from the walkers, it seems like everyone else is running faster than me. I know my body. There's no point in running faster. I'll ignore all of them. I'm only competing against myself.

I'm enjoying my new shoes. They are so springy! I bought them three weeks ago and, rather foolishly, they seem to be half a size too small. Why run in shoes that are too small? It sounds like an incredibly stupid choice for a 24-hour race. However, my knees, which were highly sceptical at first and resisted these Hoka Match6 shoes in every possible way, eventually decided they were so good that I could train without knee sleeves. Even if I have to change shoes later because of my feet, I'll have saved my knees for at least a while, and that's very important to me.

Why is time passing so slowly? Only one hour has gone by. I've completed seven laps and I'm in 26th place. It doesn't look very impressive because, out of the 36 starters, my position on the scoreboard flashes very close to the bottom every time I cross the timing mat. It's a little unsettling, but it's exactly according to plan. Others are rushing. That's none of my business.

The wind is genuinely strong and I'm cold. My heart rate is higher than I'm used to seeing in training, and I can't figure out why. That, however, is my business. But there's nothing I can do about it. I eat and drink according to plan. With my cap pulled low over my forehead, I wipe all emotion from my face and move through time with my gaze fixed on the ground. The only thing that disrupts me is the frequent toilet stops. Worried about my kidney stone issues, I'm drinking more than usual and consequently losing time by stopping as often as two or three times per hour.

My nutrition plan is grand, of course. Never mind that I’ve failed at this completely every single time so far. No, I’m not taking it lightly - I’ve trained to force-feed myself during long sessions. The plan is 80–90 grams of carbohydrates per hour, leaving me very little room for taste or variety. For the first three hours, neutral-tasting SIS gels, then Nduranz 90 drink. Later in the evening, pasta, instant soups, as well as SIS marmalade and coffee options are added. That’s it. What could possibly go wrong?

At first, it seems like absolutely nothing. I slowly move up the standings, fuelling on schedule. Edijs gets a bit confused at the beginning and mixes up electrolytes with carbohydrates, but the lap is short - everything can be corrected. I’m completely in my own head now, with no real desire to communicate with other runners. The course, apart from the horrible wind, is absolutely amazing. It smells of lilacs and sun-warmed pines. I honestly don’t know if there’s a scent in the world that can beat those two.

Four hours have passed. That is a kind of milestone - I haven’t run longer than that this year. My coach, in a moment of questionable mercy, once put a four-hour session into my plan. Back then, I covered 36 km in that time. Today - exactly the same. After that session I could, of course, immediately collapse into bed. But today… I still have 20 hours ahead of me. Wait. That’s not good at all. My feet are starting to ache, my back feels strange, and there’s fatigue echoing in my knees too. How am I supposed to do another 20 hours? Is that even possible?

Yes, I know I’ve done this before, and I also know that after about four hours on the course, things usually start to slowly fall apart. I’m in 19th place, but that hasn’t really been in my control - some people simply started too fast.

The next two hours get harder and harder, but not for me alone. I move up two places in the standings without doing anything. Why am I even looking at positions this time? Usually I couldn’t care less. I suppose I’m surprised there are so many women ahead of me. How is that even possible? Looking at the entry list, I had basically decided there were only two names I’d accept being ahead of me, and two others I might end up fighting with.  But Mrs Neija hasn’t shown up, that leaves Mrs AbuDema - but there are still others, which doesn’t improve my mood. One might even think I care about the podium. Ridiculous. I would never admit that.

I am getting slower and I even allow myself to sit down for a minute now and then. Edijs lets me do it, even though the plan clearly states that this kind of behaviour is not allowed. What is wrong with him? And what is wrong with me? If I keep this up, I won’t even reach my usual 160 km. I call Daiga and complain that I want to drop out because it’s really hard and my whole body hurts. I warn her that before she comes here tomorrow, she should find out whether it’s even worth it. Something has gone seriously off the rails. I feel so much worse than I should at just hour 8. I’m freezing terribly - honestly, I’m cold all the time and even putting on a long-sleeve hasn’t helped. And it hurts. Why does it hurt so much? I collapse into the comfortable armchair in our tent and demand a blanket. Edijs is probably in shock. He has seen a lot of things, but not the Slug(my whining alter ego) at hour 8.

I pull the blanket over my head, curl up into a ball and just exist. I don’t want anything. Not food, not to continue, not the stupid 200 kilometres. It’s not real. What is the point of grinding out yet another meaningless result? I’ve done it enough times already. The pain is too strong to keep going just for the sake of continuing. I need at least 180 km for it to be worth anything. Impossible. I stick my nose out from under the blanket and watch others run past me. Lap after lap. Something has to be done, you miserable little whining idiot! Pasta. I don’t even remember whether it was cold or hot, sweet coffee, since I’m just sitting here anyway, I might as well eat.

I put on everything I have. Regretting that I didn’t bring gloves, I put on my headphones and head out onto the course. At first very slowly and stiffly, not really believing in any step, dragging myself with disgust to the toilets, and then something clicks and I can run again. The music doesn’t motivate me even a little bit. How strange, it’s like an annoying background noise. Daiga calls and sounds happy to hear me running. A moment later another colleague - Linda - calls and tries to motivate me. I feel touched that someone is following me, but I still feel that it’s easy to tell someone to pull themselves together when you have no idea how much it hurts.

I start thinking about how many stupid things I’ve signed up for this year - Gauja trail, TransJeju. What am I even going to do there??? I already shut down after just 10 hours on flat asphalt! I’ve asked Edijs to make the carbohydrate drink weaker. Maybe my stomach just can’t handle it? But all efforts turn out to be useless. At hour 11 I collapse back into the chair and wrap myself in the blanket again. This time it’s over. I tell my husband I’ve tried everything, nothing helps - I’m dropping out. Edijs gets really angry. He snaps at me, saying he will never help me again and never come with me anywhere again. That’s it - the last time. Seriously? I crawl under the blanket and start crying. I’ve had enough. I’m physically broken, and I feel terribly guilty towards Edijs because he took a day off for me, even though he has a lot of work. I feel guilty towards Daiga as well, who has probably already set her alarm to come here early tomorrow morning to help Edijs. Even my parents are planning to come tomorrow - how stupid will it be to tell them I’ve dropped out. But I truly don’t see any point in continuing, I’ve spent 10.5 hours on the course, but only run 81 km. And sitting here under the blanket crying also doesn’t get me anywhere. How much time can I still make up? Most likely I’ll only be able to walk.

The second half of a 24h race is usually a very grey zone. I can’t plan anything there, because after that long I can neither eat nor run properly. The other women just keep circling and circling past me. If I could, I would crawl into the ground, I really don’t want anyone to see that I’ve given up. Why did I even tell anyone I was coming here.

There are only 2 options left. Give up, or suffer until the end and hope I don’t pass out along the way. How about pretending to faint? I assume Mr Veips wouldn’t fall for it. After thinking how long he might not talk to me after this failure, I shove a whole SIS marmalade bar into my throat and head into the cold night.

Suddenly everything has changed. The pain becomes quieter, the music suddenly becomes incredibly motivating and I can run. Eh, what? How is that possible? I’m running, but I feel like I’m on thin ice that can break at any moment. Lap after lap after lap. I keep taking in carbohydrates almost according to plan, occasionally replacing the full strength drink with a weaker one. Soups and marmalade go down very well. Marmalade, I actually brought only as a back-up option, because in training I didn’t really feel comfortable eating it, but here I’m asking for it cut into pieces and there are no problems at all. The thin ice feeling doesn’t leave me. That’s not me, I can’t run like that.

100 km have been completed in 13 hours. That doesn’t really say anything good, because it has been like this before and it only results in my usual volume. Well, at least I haven’t dropped out. But tonight nothing is like usual. I keep running. The music is so uplifting that I want to dance. Energy is at its peak. Incredible. Even though lilacs don’t smell at night, a new entertainment appears - a nearly full moon. I keep circling, and to entertain myself I decide to go hunting. Who is closer? Elīza. I go after Elīza. I don’t look higher. I focus only on this one position, watching how the gap of laps between us slowly shrinks. I’m still running alone, I don’t want company. The only thing I allow myself is to say something nice to a few people I pass. Why those and why exactly those, not others - I don’t know. Just my quirks this time, the main thing is that it doesn’t interfere with running. Andulis with the beard floating over his shoulders, on the other hand, doesn’t hold back with compliments and cheers me on almost every time I pass him. 

After 14 hours on the course I start thinking whether the remaining 10 are a lot or a little. At that exact moment I run past a woman who, as I found out later, is called Ivita, and I ask her this question. In Ivita’s opinion, it is damn a lot. Well, fine, I feel like making her happy and offer a smaller number, so I eagerly wait for the next hour so I can do it. It really occupies me as well as motivates, so at every hour change I look for Ivita to surprise her with a new, unbeatable remaining hours offer.

 

 

I have caught Elīza, in front is Ieva. She is a real surprise to me. She holds on so well, even though it is her first 24h and she is very young. She will surprise us still. But now I will catch her. When this task is done, only women in my age group remain ahead. This time I am also surprised by Inga, I thought she would break after such a fast start, but no chance. The gap between us at night was huge - about 11 laps, but now it has shrunk to 7. Anyway, it doesn’t feel real, because let’s not forget I am still running on thin ice and can break at any moment. Because that’s me - I have never been able to run like this in the second half of a 24h race. I really feel like I have borrowed this ability from someone and I will have to give it back any moment. Edijs is completely thrilled with this turn of events and says I’m running just as fast as at the beginning. He has also figured out that I am closing in on Inga at a rate of one lap per hour, a few more hours and I’ll have her. These hunting sub-goals really motivate me, and it doesn’t even feel like my personality, because I don’t usually fight like this. I still don’t believe I will be able to continue like this for long, and I laugh that I am as far from Inga as the moon and back. But what if that moon is reachable today?

Morning comes and I start waiting for Daiga. Some change in routine is important and waiting for Daiga is easier than waiting for the finish time. Edijs is sleepy and sometimes I have to shout at him so he wakes up and changes my bottle. The pain hasn’t gone anywhere. Why does the body resist so much? On the other hand - what can I blame it for, since the pace is still the same? Also the shoes that felt tight and too small at the beginning now feel perfect.

It is quite hard to accept that when morning comes, the race does not end. There is still a whole working day ahead when Daiga finally appears at the course. It doesn’t change much, because Edijs somehow doesn’t want to sleep anymore, he is more interested in whether I will catch Inga. At least I get suncream applied - I don’t have extra energy to do it myself. I am starting to get new quirks - I don’t want to eat anything anymore except marmalade, but there is not much of it. Edijs and Daiga are rationing it so I can last until the finish. When I’m feeling fussy, I drink the weaker sports drink, when it passes - the stronger one. I swear I’ll never get that stuff past my lips again - it tastes like Velcro. What does Velcro taste like? Like this - a foul, sickly-sweet liquid that coats your tongue and just won't go away - bleh. You feel like scraping it off with your nails. By now I’m pretty sure it reeks, too. Every so often I chase the taste away with a cup of soup - and whenever my crew asks what I’d like, I give them the same answer - "Home!" 

The hunting drama concludes around the 20th hour. I have pulled ahead by about 4 laps, but it’s no longer thanks to me. Inga seems to have given up. I don’t believe her. I’ve seen how she pulls herself together at the very end when I have absolutely nothing left. We walk together for a while, and I beg her to start running again. Why? My basket of motivation is completely empty. Almost 160km are behind me and it’s clear that the very decent 180km, which would be my PB and 3rd place in the Latvian Championships - are in my pocket, even if I just relax and walk from here on. It’s not that I don’t have the strength, I just don’t want to push myself anymore. I can no longer reach 200km, but anything after 180 works perfectly for me. So the only thing that could make me pull myself together now is if Inga were to get dangerously close. Eh, I need her.

So the walking continues, occasionally interrupted by short bursts of running whenever I feel like chatting with someone who is running. I don't forget about my unbeatable offers for Ivita, either. Now I can’t wait to offer her that final hour.

My support team isn't stressed, but they keep offering me ice cream. It works well. It’s hard to tell if it’s hot or cold, but the sun is strong. My parents appear on the course. At least as long as they can see me, I try to run - it would be stupid to travel such a long way just to watch me walk. They are both dressed in Fox-Pace gear. That is so sweet! Strange road signs have also appeared, which make me laugh, but I can’t really remember why. For example, that in this society you aren’t normal if you are normal, or something like that. It’s funny and feels new every lap, but it just won't stick in my memory. 

My peaceful walk is interrupted, however, by Inga pulling herself together. Several times she laps me, and I can no longer tell if I’m safe or not. I need to stop messing around and start running. The moment approaches, I pick up the stone with my bib number on it, even though it’s likely I’ll still have to do one full lap. I wish the finish was near our tent so I wouldn’t have to move anywhere. But of course it’s not. I run into the stadium, but there is still time left, so I have to keep going. Both my husband and Daiga are filming my final meters, and then the countdown starts: “10, 9, 8… 3, 2, 1. Stop!”

My parents, as if they knew, have stopped exactly where my finish point is. How? I put the stone on the ground and collapse onto the grass. It’s over. Suddenly, a powerful wave of emotion washes over me - I did it! How is this even possible? How was I able to run further than when I was much younger and with healthy knees, how? 183 kilometers. I cry and cry. But enough crying, I need to drag myself to the shower - the awards ceremony is ahead.

The road to the shower feels agonizingly long, plus there's the extra bonus of having to walk down the stairs. The first thing I do once I reach them - I spontaneously empty the contents of my stomach. Wow, that was unexpected! But thanks for waiting until the end. The women in the showers start speculating that I'm dehydrated and that an ambulance needs to be called. Yeah, right. I have drunk 15 liters of fluid in these 24 hours, so whatever I have - it's not dehydration. The women leave and I no longer have to convince anyone that an ambulance isn't necessary. The scene in the showers is interesting. Me and my mom, champion Gita with her mom, and later Ieva with her mom joins us too. We have a good laugh about this situation. I start wondering if the guys who finished go to the showers with their dads? Who knows, but I definitely wouldn't have managed without my mom. And - ha, I still don't have a single blister on my feet! My butt cheeks are chafed to pieces though… 

Only the pleasant part of the competition remains - the awards ceremony. While the start is slightly delayed, I fall asleep on the spot, watched over by my parents. When I wake up, a big bustle begins because I have to limp onto the podium again and again - age group, overall standings and, finally, 3rd place in the Latvian Championships. It’s crazy! Whatever I might have dreamed of, but that I would hold a Latvian Championship medal in my hands again! And it’s truly beautiful.

Even though I’m as happy and satisfied as I can be with my PB improved by 20 kilometres, I’ll still have to run this “fun” event again. Well, I do want that result to start with a “2”. So, in answer to the question: “How many times do you have to run a 24-hour race?” - at least one more, because five isn’t enough. 

So, instead of a tiny afterword, here are the facts, numbers and thanks.

Consumed 1630 grams of carbohydrates.

Drank about 15 liters of fluid.

Shoes - Hoka Mach 6. They turned out to be the most comfortable ones I’ve ever had, even though the size was a tiny bit smaller than what I’m used to.

A huge thank you to my running coach Andris Ronimoiss and physiotherapist Janis Lacis - you have turned this old wreck into some kind of a runner!

To my support team Edijs and Daiga - you are amazing, thank you for believing in me even when I couldn't!

Photos - Mareks Galinovskis, Andris Jermuts and Daiga Kalnina

Apparel - of course, Fox-Pace, I don't know anything more comfortable, and I had no complaints. I can offer it to you too!