Why on earth do you need this?

Why on earth do you need this? I find myself returning to this question time and again whenever my thoughts wander off toward the Roja 24-hour run. It is exactly like with cakes - I definitely do not need them, but does that mean they are consumed any less? I have actually abstained from 24-hour running for many years. Not by choice, mind you. Injuries, injuries…. I am bored of talking about them. Slowly and patiently, I have been reintroducing my knees to the act of running while ignoring the realization that I cannot truly be called a runner anymore, as my body tends to "betray" me for no particular reason at all. However, the better I feel, the more I am haunted by all sorts of mad ideas, like this one about the 24 hours. Do I need it - definitely not, can I do it - most likely not anymore, do I want it - damn right I do! And what are you going to do about it?

The beginning of 2025 has turned out a bit more "mileage-heavy" than before, and my knees have finally become friendlier while I seriously prepare for the Tenerife Blue Trail run at the end of March. Well, things go completely south for me there, but since that story is neither fun, nor interesting, nor about running, I will not dwell on it. The only thing is, I do not want the running form I built so painstakingly during the winter to go to waste, so some kind of challenging event must be found regardless. For a while, the 24-hour dream seems so insane that I am afraid to even mention it to my coach, Andris. Sometimes I am nagged by the question of whether he regrets agreeing to look after my running (non)form at all, because who knows how common cases of massive dreams and measly capabilities really are. My coach does not even try to talk me out of it (somewhere deep down I think I hoped he would) and adjusts my training program for the upcoming event. My physiotherapist Jānis, without whose help I would not even dare to put on my sneakers, let alone run, also sees no problem and merely promises to tape me up properly. What can I say - maybe I have just become too cautious with age? Everything is ok, it is no big deal, I will train and I will do those 24h.

There is hardly any time left for training anyway, and even the sessions I have are sometimes skipped for various reasons. While nervously fending off thoughts that this stunt could finish off my knees for good, I begin to very carefully draft an eating plan for the race - this is something that has always been tragically crippled in my 24-hour runs. During training, I have realized that 40-45 grams of carbohydrates every 40 minutes allow me to maintain a fairly good energy level during 2-3h runs, so I intend to use this as my foundation. After relentless testing, I have also found the tastiest and least vomit-reflex-triggering gels. Even though my coach has told me that gels are not meant to be tasted but swallowed, I beg to differ. There are things I simply cannot swallow. So, only Sis Beta Fuel and Nduranz Nrgy Unit food products are allowed to participate in my exciting journey. At the last minute, I also try the Nduranz sports drink, which turns out to be quite good. For the gloomy moments, I choose instant noodles, mashed potatoes, bananas, and soups. My eating plan is long and meticulously written down by the minute. The gear I need to bring barely fits into the back of our little "toster". There is a tent, a table and lounge chairs, heaps of water and food, various sprays and ointments for pain and chafing, and clothes for temperatures ranging from -20 to +20 degrees. With events like these, you can never predict a thing.

It is a massive relief that Mr. Veips has agreed and is actually available to look after me. In this event, his role is almost as significant as mine. I cannot imagine running for 24h without support on the sidelines. How would I even remember that I need to eat something or that I have to keep on running?

Thanks to the relatively late start, the morning of the race is unhurried. We buy some ice on the way and around one o'clock we already scout out the most suitable spot by the track for the catering and "complaint-ignoring" office where Edijs will be busy. The wind at the stadium is blowing like crazy, occasionally whisking away other participants' tents. I wonder if our turn will come too? We choose not to put up the back wall, essentially sentencing Edijs to 24 hours in a draft. The wind seems to approve of this and leaves our tent alone.

The starting moment is truly touching. I receive warm words from various ultra-legends and feel like I have finally returned home. In my head, though, I still cannot quite wrap my mind around the fact that I am about to start running and will only be able to stop in twenty-four hours. That is just not normal! Start! Off I go on an adventure. 24 hours on a 1.23 km long loop. Isn't that just thrilling!

 I try to do it at a completely calm, comfortable pace and soon enough feel quite lonely. Everyone else is in such a frantic rush. That is their business. Mine is my own. The sun has its own business too. It is determined to make this day a memorable one for me. It is incredibly hot. I cannot stand hats, yet today I do not dare set out without one, no matter how silly it looks. Pulling it down over my eyes, I bury my gaze in the ground and simply move in a rhythm familiar to me. The beginning is always the most boring part because it is easy. Just go within yourself and let time do its work. Time is diligent this time - it feels to me like it is moving really fast. Edijs is diligent too, and I eat my gels with minute precision - everything according to plan. In fact, I have the feeling that all I ever do is eat. After two hours of running, I can already match the footsteps approaching from behind with a mental image before I am overtaken. For two participants, the steps are very heavy. I wonder how one can run so fast while slamming feet against the ground so mercilessly that it actually vibrates. I do not dare point this out to the future Latvian record holder Ritvars, but I remind Armands, who turns out to be an acquaintance of Edijs, every single time. I have to entertain myself somehow. No one, absolutely no one, runs at my pace, so it seems there is no point in hoping for company. I have to wait until they slow down.

I am being overtaken again and again. There are a few ladies whom I, in turn, overtake. They are walking. For now, I do not even want to think about walking. When 3 hours have passed - my usual weekend long run volume - I feel my body expressing a desire to call it quits. Now what? It is too early to switch to a walk with 21 hours still ahead, so I push on. I think about how to distract myself and remember seeing a foreigner at the start whom I haven't encountered since. Could he have dropped out? Edijs says no, he is running on the same lap as me, we just never meet. I get it into my head that I must get to know him. After all, these little sub-tasks help pass the time. Curiously, out of nowhere, the hunched figure of the Canadian appears in my sight, and I speed up to catch him and get to work on my sub-task. Just in time. Regret about participating in this event was already starting to creep in. I have many questions and the answers are interesting. It takes several laps to find out how long Simon from Canada intends to stay here, how he found out about such a race, what he likes about Latvia, and similar lovely, fatigue-dispelling information. Likewise, he has to hear my knee story, because that is perfectly normal in ultras - pouring your heart out to a stranger you just met. Simon complains that the wind is blowing his food and belongings all over the place. It is quite crazy, really, he has no support person with him. He has heard nothing about when exactly the lunch provided by the organizers will be available on the track. I kindly lead him to the big tent, as I recently heard from Mr. Veips that it is already available. A bit of a pity, I am left without company again.

A whole crowd of new strivers has appeared on the track - the 12h participants are running quite energetically. My coach warned me that this would be annoying. Nonsense. A couple dozen people more or less - I couldn't care less. Nothing bothers me. I am in my own dimension. After a while, Aija, who is running the 12 hours, moves into our tent. Edijs now has one more person to look after. A bit later, she asks for my permission. I had a good laugh. I had previously warned Edijs that if anyone wanted to move into our tent, it could only be Aija. I really don't know why anyone would want to move into my tent, but look at that, it all worked out. Funny enough, I only met her a couple of times during the run. Continuing to circle all alone, my motivation level plummets rapidly. Now what? Only 6 hours have passed.

Fortunately, this isn't a deserted island, and very soon I gain a new companion - Joe's daughter. I know her name is Elīza, but for some reason, in my mind, she only figures as that. She is several laps ahead of me, but right now our paces match up well, and I just can't stop raving about how much this new traveling companion improves my pace and the joy of running. Chatting merrily away, we run at least 15 kilometers together. Wonderful.

Darkness creeps in. According to the plan, gels in my eating routine are occasionally replaced by real food. But somehow, things aren't going according to plan. The instant noodles, which seemed so easy to manage during training, are a real ordeal. Yes, the taste is fine, but eating takes way too much energy. I manage only half a portion. The mashed potatoes, which seemed like a great idea, turn out to be the worst choice - the texture instantly triggers my gag reflex. For some reason, the banana does the same, and even though I’ve heard that bananas taste the same coming back up, I don't care to test that theory today. The only thing I feel like I could eat forever are the instant cup soups. Well, at least it's something. By the way, Joe’s daughter has disappeared somewhere. We were running together and then suddenly she was gone. Isn't that strange? I'm feeling deflated, but I'm still scrambling along. The leaders who constantly overtake me serve as landmarks on my journey. I've grown accustomed to the approximate intervals and wait for Sigita's green back or Gita's energetic footsteps to appear. Every now and then, I get to chat with Andulis, who is running the 12 hours. Every time he says he’ll run with me for a bit, I really have to pull myself together because he vastly overestimates my pace, and I'm certainly not going to show him that it's too fast for me.

It is proper night now. Under the cover of darkness, I start walking part of the loop more and more often - that most wicked stretch behind the stadium end. I don't dare walk more than that yet, even though the hardship is hitting me so hard I can barely fend it off. While my mind is occupied with existential questions like how to get a gel inside me and how not to switch to walking for more than that little bit behind the stadium, a drama with a shooter unfolds at the far end of the track. During one of the laps, after I had calmly run through the far end while admiring a palm-like shadow on the road, a completely frantic Gita overtakes me, announcing that she is being shot at. Something crazy! Someone is shooting at participants with an airsoft gun. As it turns out later, while gathering scraps of rumors, not only was Gita hit, but someone even got it in the ear. The police are called, and in the next lap, I already see lights in the woods - it’s being searched. That isn't the police, though, they arrive much later and shamble awkwardly at the stadium entrance. It seems the villain managed to vanish into the night long ago. An unpleasant incident, but it helps pass the time. Still, what is wrong with that idiot? I imagine the only person truly dissatisfied with us could be the owner of the house at the far end, where the timing device accompanies every passing runner with sharp beeps for nearly 12 hours now. Speaking of 12 hours, as they approach, I start taking an interest in the distance covered and how far I am from the magical 100km mark. It’s not too bad. I’m nearing 94 kilometers. Looking at it from the other side, however, it’s very bad. I can’t and don't want to run anymore. My hips have started to ache, and they aren't going to get any better. I need another miracle to break out of this state.

I am ready for a moment like this. I have prepared a selection of various motivational songs. I am not really the type to listen to music while running. I rarely listen to it at all, even while just sitting. But as a heavy weapon for exorcising the Inner Mīkstmiesis(that one lazy and week creature I keep blaming for all my problems), it might just work. Indeed, this is one decision I got right. After 12 hours, I gain a fourth wind and let the music carry me through the night. I am not sleepy. The song choice ranges from good to excellent. I never imagined that "Sasala jūriņa" was such a runnable song, or that "Time of My Life" could be so motivational. And the rhythmic finale of "Upes malā" even motivates me to overtake someone. But since it is night and I have been on my feet for over 12 hours - nothing is as it seems and there is no point in being surprised by anything. My playlist is about 3 hours long, and during that time, I feel like I am flying. I even seem to climb up the leaderboard. As morning approaches, I notice that Mr. Veips has drifted off at his workstation. I don't want to wake him, so I grab a gel myself and hope I am not doing it too infrequently. Following that eating plan is beyond my strength. Veips will wake up; he will get everything sorted eventually.

Morning has arrived, the music has ended, and I once again want to be done with this whole thing. Enough is enough! There are still 9 hours left. That is an unfathomable amount. My hips and feet begin to ache more and more insistently. Yes, I finally give in and allow myself to walk a whole lap. Something has to be done. I do not want to walk for 9 hours! I note that walking is more painful, but running is harder. It looks like a damn trap. I sit down in the tent without any shame to eat or drink something. I am surprised Edijs lets me, but I really am close to the edge of despair. I am clutching at straws, trying to run or walk with anyone I can. Each companion, even for a moment, gives a little crumb of energy or a ray of hope. Memories are scattered - fragments of conversations and faces remain, but the timeline is quite hard to track. For a while, I run with Simon. He is completely spent. His stomach has worn him down - no strength, no energy. Together with Mr. Veips, we feed him some stomach-problem powder, which he is reluctant to sign up for at first, but after the encouragement: "It won't get any worse," he agrees. It doesn't get worse, but it doesn't get better either. For a while, I pass the time with Miķelis. At the beginning of the run, he repeatedly invited me to hop on the "express train," while during the night, I was the one doing it. Well, finally our paces have leveled out and we can chat. It is hard to tell if we are running very slowly, or walking fast, or if each of us is doing our own thing, but the conversation works. I am so tired, I just want to sit undisturbed... Oh yes, there is one place where you can do that - the toilet. Not those horrible blue rockets, no, a normal, pleasant indoor toilet with a chance to even wash your hands. It takes a bit of a walk away from the track, but it is worth it. Oh, what bliss!

The 12-hour participants have finished their race, replaced by the much more sprightly 6-hour runners. They don't bother me either. I couldn't care less exactly how fast I am being overtaken. After the marathoners joined, the crowd seems to have grown; during the night, there was a bit of a lull. When only 4 hours remain until the finish, I somehow realize that there will be no more running. This is the limit of my abilities. All that is left is to grit my teeth and trudge to the finish. That is fine. I gain other short-term companions again, like Mr. Suborins or Sigita (a different Sigita). Actually, near the very end, I manage to walk a lap with The Sigita. I still don't understand why she wasn't running anymore at that point. Maybe she is human after all?

Time is seemingly stuck. Will the end really never come? I watch how I am doing with the kilometers. In the overall table, I am 12th. Among the girls, I am 4th, and 3rd place is unreachable. Not that I wanted to reach it, or that I would ever admit to wanting it, it is just interesting. In my age group, I am 3rd. A small thing, but pleasant, the closer the finish gets, the clearer the desire to not lose that spot becomes. And when Inga starts running like mad at the end and closing in on me, I get genuinely worried, because if she gets too close, I will have to run too, even though that is probably the last thing I could want right now. I don't think I even could. The pain is unbearable. Those hips are threatening to poke out through my sides. But she just keeps running and looks as if it brings her nothing less than pure joy. How can someone have so much strength at the end? Regardless, time is relentless, and this time it has decided to run out. The 6-hour finishers are starting to retch in the corners. Everyone who can still run - runs. On the last lap, even Simon flies past like the wind, and all I can think is: "Where were you earlier..." I can't do that. I've had enough. I walk out of the stadium with my marker stone, wincing more with every step. All of this will have to be walked back! But I can't stop either - what if Inga is right on my heels?

Done! Unbelievable, I don't have to run anymore! Not that I have been running much in the last 4 hours, but still. I am free! I collapse into the soft lounge chair and think about a warm shower. Edijs is packing up the tent. That part is quite funny - to get our things to the car, they have to be lifted over the stadium fence. Despite my heavy state of uselessness, I have to get involved in this activity too. Why do we have so many things? Finally, I make it to the shower. It is cold. Lovely. Would you believe I don't have a single blister? My ribs are chafed, but that is a minor detail. I put on some red lipstick, fix my hair that has tangled into a nest a bit, and I am ready for my moment on the modest podium.

In the hotel bed, vainly trying to find a less painful position, I reflect on what I’ve accomplished. My Garmin has counted 166 kilometers, which in the official results turns into 163.59km. It is not a big difference, I had expected more. It is somewhere right in the middle between my best and worst 24-hour times. Seriously?! I wasn't even sure I would make it to the end at all. So, it turns out I can do it! And the run was so lovely, wasn't it! I’ll have to do it again. Who knows, maybe I’ll even manage to reach those long-forgotten goals.

hotos: Andris Jermuts, Mareks Gaļinovskis, and private archive.

By the way, I ran in these capri legging-skirts - they did not let me down on the long road.