100 Miles Across Jeju Island

Sometimes we all just need a break from the routine. I’m no exception, which is why in early October, packed with suitcases and bright expectations, I set off halfway across the world to Jeju Island in South Korea. The idea of taking on the TransJeju 100-mile race, with its 5,000 meters of elevation gain, was planted in my head last year, while running the final kilometers of Seoul100k. Not without a little push from caring running buddies, of course. "It’s going to be so much fun! Korea’s highest peak, breathtaking views..." It sounded right up my alley - way too long, way too hard, and way too impossible for a whiner like me. Exactly my style, because if a challenge seems easy, it just doesn't catch my interest. I need that razor’s edge, that feeling of not knowing whether I’ll actually be able to pull it off. 

We arrive on Jeju Island in the evening twilight. The massive Hallasan is already visible right from the plane window. Well, that’s going to be a lot of climbing! At the airport, we’re met by K.H., whom I met last year at Seoul100k. How heart-warming! Reconnecting with someone you randomly met at an overseas ultra is a completely new experience for me. Honestly, usually those people just stay on the pages of my race reports, but here he is, standing and smiling, alongside his wife Grace and Baptiste from France. K.H. and his wife treat us to a wonderful welcome feast, and the evening is spent in lively chat about running, carbs, throwing up, and other lovely runner topics. I’m not sure how fascinating it is for my friend Līga or K.H.’s wife. I eat until I’m practically stuffed, and everything is so delicious. Good thing the race isn’t tomorrow or the day after, though, as I have no idea how my finicky stomach will react to all this. 

By the time Līga and I finally reach our hotel on the other side of the island, it’s pitch black outside. From here on, Līga will be referred to as Vilcis. She’s my oldest friend (not by age), and I’ve been calling her that for over 30 years. Long story short, Vilcis has caught something nasty during the long flight, and it seems like she’s getting sicker by the minute. Damn it... I really can’t afford to get sick! 

I head to the expo the day before the race, all dressed up and, to be honest, already pretty scared. Can I really handle that enormous mountain and a 100-mile race? Every time I think about it, my stomach knots itself into a ball and my legs start feeling weak. Idiot. Maybe every once in a while I should remind myself of my age and health issues? Not today!

I pick up my bib and race pack, enjoy compliments from strangers about my hair and, of course, give in to the temptation to go shopping at the expo. Meanwhile, Vilcis is already so sick she can barely talk, but somehow she’s still taking excellent photos and is quite happy to go shopping too.

In the evening, we meet up outside the hotel with K.H., Baptiste, and another one of K.H.’s running buddies, Kyu Dong. You can feel the nervousness in everyone. Maybe not Kyu Dong, though - that guy looks completely unshakable. But perhaps that’s because he doesn’t speak much English and simply isn’t joining in with our loud chorus of whining.

The race starts in the evening, so I have an unbelievable amount of time to do everything - take a short trip to some nearby waterfalls, pack my things and get ready. The waterfalls might have been a mistake. Even on a relatively short walk, there are quite a lot of steps to climb, but the views are beautiful.

I see that Instagram is already full of stories showing everyone’s carefully laid-out race gear. Ha, I’ll make one too - I’ve always wanted to just throw everything into one chaotic pile. It perfectly reflects both my mental state and my readiness for the race!

Before the start, there is time both to get some sleep and to carefully apply Sudocrem to avoid chafing caused by the backpack and sports bra. Due to lack of time, I usually skip this and regret it bitterly afterwards. Looks like I’ve managed to do everything this time and I’m all set.

I get to the starting area nice and early. My drop bag has been sent off, the pre-race photos have been taken, and all that’s left is to surrender to the uncontrollable nervousness that’s practically choking me. My emotions are already at breaking point, so the actual start isn’t much of a climax, more of a relief. I manage to catch my foot on the timing mat, and I come dangerously close to face-planting right behind the start arch.

The race starts uphill. Short and brutal - around 7 kilometres uphill at a “pleasant” gradient, like the hills in Sigulda. I jog slowly at first, then decide that, to avoid blowing up my quads, I’ll switch to power hiking on the really steep sections. The flow of runners is dense, and most people are running. The first kilometres are on asphalt and lead through the city at night. Up and up, exactly as expected. I already realised during the training run the day before that this wasn’t going to be easy. My nose is running like crazy. I can’t figure out whether it’s a reaction to the cool evening air or whether I’ve succumbed to Vilcis’s illness. I can’t help noticing how serious the runners are. The only sounds are the quiet patter of footsteps and my endless sniffing. Nobody is talking. So unusual.

Just after I’ve eaten my first energy marmalade, the trail finally winds into the forest. Well then, the party can finally begin! Still in silence, we reach the first aid station in a dense line. There’s a big crowd around the tables, but I don’t even look in their direction. I top up my water a little and keep going. The gradient gets steeper, so once again I have to alternate running with walking, but at least there’s a convenient toilet right by the trail, exactly where I need it. Finally, a sharp turn, and the wide park road gives way to chaotic trails. Rocks, roots, little bridges, carpet - everything you could want. I really have to watch my feet, because there’s a constant risk of catching a toe. Unfortunately, I see several people around me fall. At least I don’t have to worry about following the trail, because the heels of the runners ahead are always right there. That’s pretty much all I can see in this darkness anyway. Whenever I see that there’s nothing but darkness beyond the heels in front of me, I start overtaking to catch the next pair. I’m enjoying this section. The course profile looks a little gentler here, but the trail itself is very dynamic and twisty, with pronounced little ups and downs, tangles of roots and rocks. The fun trail straightens out into a straight stretch of partly covered concrete drainage channel. There’s no water in it, though, and it leads uphill. This island really does remind me of the Canary Islands. Everyone is trotting along neatly in a tight, endless line, because for the most part only one side of the narrow channel is usable. We even have to switch sides, jumping across it. Every now and then, someone works up the courage to attempt an overtake. I see no point in it. In this darkness, weaving around for minimal gain is definitely not worth the risk. I’m already stumbling here and there and narrowly avoiding falls. About 20 metres ahead, I recognise a certain backside squeezed into bright blue compression shorts. Looks like K.H. The last time I saw him was at the start. It hasn’t been that long, but I’m already really craving a chat, so I keep those shorts in sight. As soon as there’s a chance, I’ll catch him.

By the time the concrete channel has hypnotised me so thoroughly that I forget where I’m going, cheers erupt ahead - suddenly, we emerge onto an asphalt road and can break into a run. It’s still uphill, but after a few moments I’ve caught K.H. A fearless roe deer buck watches us from the very edge of the road, its huge eyes reflecting the light of our headlamps. We chat away under a brilliant moon and before long, we’re at the second checkpoint. 

Ahead, hidden in the darkness, our first serious climb awaits. Time to put on a jacket and a warm long-sleeve - definitely needed. I nibble a bit at the generously stocked tables, and I'm full of determination to climb all the way to the sky. K.H. hesitates for some reason, and I have to press on alone. That's for the best - I'll need every bit of energy for the climb, no point wasting it on chatting.

Before the race, Baptiste promised this climb would be easy. I guess he meant only in terms of technicality. The trail is impossibly well-maintained. Neat wooden stairs lead all the way to the top, allowing us to enjoy fantastic views of the city lights far below along the way. I feel strong and keep eating regularly. The first disappointment hits me only on the descent. Did they run out of timber? Or patience? You can’t exactly spoil people with such a lovely climb and then simply shove them off a cliff onto a pile of rocks! The trail becomes increasingly unpleasant and chaotic. I thought I'd be running like crazy, but instead I'm awkwardly wobbling around, trying not to take a tumble or lose sight of the course markings. Yes, suddenly I am completely alone. 

A few fearless runners overtake me now and then, and suddenly a guy pops out of the dark, asking for a bit of light while he changes his headlamp batteries. Other than that, it’s a pretty lonely battle with myself as I give in to gravity and charge downhill with growing confidence. Up ahead, Checkpoint 3 lights up. I refill my water and use the restroom. Such a simple thing, but washing your hands in warm water feels amazing - what a massive mood booster! This next section promises to be pure joy - mostly runnable, flat, or at a nice, easy downhill slope. Just 8 kilometers. I’ll simply run and not think about the horrors that await. This is nice! I have no idea what’s actually around, but behind the black forest walls, you can sense the city nearby. Guess we’re on the other side of the mountain. I don't feel slow, yet people keep passing me every now and then. I notice a guy stumbling along the path in steady zigzags. Amusingly enough, he’s probably asleep. I think about saying something, but what are the chances he’d even understand me? Still, when the sleeping runner headbutts a tree branch, I muster the courage to speak up: "Going like this will only make your journey longer!" In response, he just laughs - and I gain an unexpected running companion. 

The sleepy traveler turns out to be a shoe designer from Seoul named InJune. He’s an engaging enough companion that the remaining stretch to the checkpoint feels like a breeze. Then again, maybe it isn't that far after all. Maybe 5 km. Either way, we’ve covered a mere 40 kilometers since the start by the time we settle down with our bowls of ramen at the long table at Checkpoint 4. While the noodles cool, I slowly but surely stuff a tuna-filled rice triangle into my mouth. As much as I loved them before the race, swallowing dry rice now is a real struggle. But I have to eat. Every single carb counts.

Ahead lies the section I dread the most: the climb up 1,950-meter-high Hallasan. Above 1,700 meters, I’m usually about as good as dead. On top of that, we’ve already tackled one big climb, and my body won’t forgive me for a second one. I know myself well enough. We’ve done a bit of running together, after all. Meanwhile, InJune is nearly done with his noodles, complaining that ramen is supposed to be his soul food, but today he just can’t get it down. I’m having an even harder time. Still, I heroically force it all down.

We’ve been sitting for too long, and my legs have already gone stiff. Time to head up. I wonder if it’ll be cold? I ask my companion. He’s barely wearing any pants at all, just some kind of micro-shorts, but he doesn’t seem to have a single care in the world. He just seems to be getting sleepy.

The start is promising. We climb briskly while InJune calculates whether we’ll make it to the top by sunrise. Nope, not a chance. He offers to teach me a Korean swear word, and I proudly reply that I learned that one last year. Instead, I ask him to teach me a word to express my awe at the dazzlingly beautiful view that surely awaits me at the top. Nope, no new words needed. Apparently, that same “Sh-word” works just fine for that too. Seriously?

Daylight slowly begins to break. Just as gradually, my energy drains away. I feel like I could just lie flat on the trail and whimper. I tell InJune that if I suddenly disappear, he shouldn’t even look back. That moment arrives. Helplessly, I watch my companion's back fade into the misty dawn.

These wretched rocks. I can’t lift my legs anymore. All I want to do is sit down. But even sitting, I feel like shit. I haven’t eaten in ages. I try to swallow something, but no luck. It’s terrifying. There’s no way I can manage another 500 meters of elevation gain without any energy. I text Mr. Veips back home, but that doesn’t help one bit. I’ll have to get up off this rock myself. Pretty soon, it’s broad daylight. I’m stuck. I drag myself forward for 100 meters, sit down. Another 50 meters, sit down. Another 20 meters... Good grief, I’m never going to make it up there!

Along the trail, nestled among the rocks and trees, a shelter appears where weary travelers can rest. It looks fairly packed, but at my current pace, I don’t even dare drag myself inside. I’ll never get anywhere if I do. Step by step, I keep moving. The nasty rocks are finally replaced by perfect stairs. I haul myself up using the handrails, collapsing every now and then. So many people pass me! Yet I notice I’m not the only one stopping for frequent breaks. Occasionally, passing climbers try to cheer me on: “Hang in there, only 10 minutes left!” or “Keep pushing, just 20 minutes to go!” Liars. You know nothing! This climb is never going to end!

I force myself to choke down half an energy cookie. I really don’t want to throw up here, mostly because I can’t afford to waste these carbs that were so damn hard to swallow in the first place. After a while, it feels like the cookie is actually doing something. I gather every last bit of strength and drag myself up to that damned summit.

Well yeah, pretty enough. Packed with people like at some festival. Time to get out of here quick. The descent starts out fantastically - neat stairs leading right into a cloud. That’s just clever marketing, though.

The cloud manages to hide the horror that reveals itself to my exhausted feet a bit later. Wildly, chaotically scattered rocks. Just try and choose which ones to push off from and which ones not to trust for a second. For a moment, I cross paths with InJune again. Turns out he was sleeping in that mountain shelter. Still, I can't keep up with his carefree pace. My half-a-cookie fuel won't carry me that far. Maybe once I get lower down I’ll be able to eat something? Surprisingly, plenty of runners passing by stop to exchange a word or two with me. Interesting - a completely opposite experience from Seoul100k. Tons of people coming up from the other direction, too. They’re all smiling and cheering me on, but I’d much rather yell back at them: "Turn around, it’s way too horrible, save yourselves, you’ll still have to get down from here too!" Naturally, that stays strictly inside my head.

Along the trail, there are plenty of signs, one of which - if the Netflix show "Take a hike" is to be believed - indicates 250-meter intervals and the total remaining distance to the end of the trail. No way I’m this slow! It feels like I’m clumping along as fast as I possibly can, yet the checkpoint isn't getting any closer. Every now and then, I catch a foot really badly. It’s terrifying on a descent like this - to avoid going head first, I try to leap off my other foot and jump into the air, praying I land on somewhat stable ground. Luckily, everything works out, and this evil stretch is finally over.

Here I am, trying to figure out how to save myself. For some inexplicable reason, my teeth have become unbelievably sensitive. That really doesn’t make eating any easier. As much as I’d like to think the worst is behind me, there are still nearly 100 kilometers left to go! I can’t even process that right now. I’d be ready to just finish the race. I’ve run, climbed, conquered over 3,000 meters of elevation - surely that’s enough. I’m barely staying on my feet. Surprisingly, out of everything available here, the only thing that actually goes down is jam sandwiches. Well, thank goodness they have them. I manage to get some sweet instant coffee, too. A banana works as well. 

A familiar face - K.H. has arrived! Along with his quiet friend Kyu Dong. They mention seeing me back at the Hallasan peak. K.H. reminds me that honey water really helped me during the Seoul race. A totally random fact that I had completely forgotten, but it sounds worth a try. Honey is actually available at this checkpoint, and in theory, it’s loaded with carbs. Just like that - honey water gets mixed into the small flasks, and it goes down surprisingly well. I stuff my pockets with a few more jam sandwiches and I'm ready for the next kilometers. I’ll join the guys - whether they like it or not, I don't care. I want company. 

This section is supposed to be runnable, but it’s far from easy. Leg fatigue would be the least of my worries, as the trail is super rocky and running on it is really unpleasant. K.H. comes up with a game. The rules are simple - we look for the trail markers, run two sections, then walk one. Later, the pattern changes to three sections running, one walking. Sometimes the sections are ridiculously short, other times, they seem to go on forever. So we zigzag through the woods, following and counting the pink ribbons. We start complaining that this surface is absolutely impossible to run on - until the leaders of the 100 km race come flying past. Ah. It is runnable after all. If they can do it, so can we. Finally, the unfriendly trail opens up onto a lovely, park-like road. I suggest changing the rules to: “Run to the finish.” Instead, we agree to keep running until one of the three of us wants a break. Whoever calls it gets to declare that, from the next ribbon, we have one rest section. A pretty cozy format, all things considered. We run and chat for what feels like an eternity. The quiet friend stays a bit behind. K.H. keeps an eye on him. Maybe he's not feeling well? But he doesn't complain, so we run all the way to the end of the lovely trail where we find a great restroom. Honestly, this might be the first race where I haven't had to crawl into the bushes - whenever I need to go, there are proper facilities right there. Unbelievable for such a long trail race. 

Further on, the route goes along the highway and right past roadside vendor stalls. We give in to temptation - I get some ice cream, and the guys get iced coffee. I get a text from home telling me off for treating this like some kind of fun excursion. Who said it wasn't?

My energy level has dropped, but we have to keep playing K.H.’s game. Yes, we’re here to have fun and play games. We offer it to a few runners we pass as well, but nobody takes us up on it. Overall, it’s not easy. It takes some effort, but I’m pretty sure that if I were alone, I would have given up and walked a lot more.

The trail turns off the highway and leads along a wide, endless gravel road. Actually, the scenery reminds me of an ordinary Latvian rural landscape. We have to run around some kind of airfield. It’s rather unremarkable, and there are signs saying that photography is prohibited. As if that weren’t enough, every now and then, right in the middle of nowhere, there’s a bench and a handsome guy keeping an eye on people following this rule. After a while, the benches come to an end, but the handsome guys don’t - they are stationed all around the perimeter. We, however, are too busy counting pink ribbons as part of K.H.’s game. What photography? The checkpoint should be coming up soon. It’s not called Aviation Pavilion for nothing.

Checkpoint 6 marks roughly the halfway point of the distance. Only halfway? Oh, I don't want to think about it. There isn't much food to get excited about at the checkpoint, but there is an entertaining sight - a human rabbit sitting in front of it, grimly picking some kind of thorns out of his big, fluffy costume… I don't even know what to make of it. Well, nobody here is exactly normal, but… running a 100-mile ultra in a thick rabbit costume is on a completely different level. And I'm not sure I mean that in a good way. Not that I have any right to criticise anyone, but still: “Why?” Oh, what's wrong with me? Why does it even bother me how someone dresses for a race?

An agitated woman runs up, looking for the scanning point. It's across the highway, and we'll run through it after we've eaten. However, the woman looks rather disoriented and wants to rush across the road to get scanned immediately. We have to stop her and convince her to eat first. It brings me back to reality a little - we've covered a long distance, and we're all tired.

Fresh jam sandwiches are stuffed into my pockets. I should mention that after sitting there and soaking up sweat, they are “just the thing”, and we're already on the next section.

The guys get clearly excited when they spot a car. Apparently, it's the car of a photographer they know, which means there should be a photo point coming up any moment. We're supposed to line up with me in the middle, run nicely and smile. Well, okay, I'll pull myself together and, defying gravity, try to squeeze the biggest possible smile out of my face. Only one problem - we're running and smiling, but the photo point is nowhere to be seen. When it finally appears, we're already exhausted and posing with our last bit of strength. The photographer even runs alongside us for a while. Oh, come on, leave me alone. I want to start walking!

It seems gravity is winning after all, but never mind. As ridiculously weak as I feel, the guys start falling behind. Well, that won't do - I'm not ready to be left alone yet! I need this company. Somehow, it helps keep me grounded and reminds me that I'm actually heading towards a specific goal, rather than simply existing somewhere in the woods. Every now and then, I stop and wait until I see them, or at least hear K.H.'s distinctive voice in the distance.

Apparently, there are two little volcanoes to conquer on this section. Is this silly little hill already one of them? It reminds me of an ordinary “Stirnu Buks” forest. Nothing special - just kilometre after kilometre. Ugh, everything annoys me. Maybe it's actually a good thing that the guys have fallen behind for a while, because I'm not exactly the most polite person even at the best of times, and in this irritated state I might end up saying something I shouldn't.

Okay, I've given them enough privacy. I sit down on a tree stump and wait, determined to stay put. Where the hell have they got to?! The human rabbit hops past. A few more runners. Ah, here they come. Right, let's run!

The trail leads out into a beautiful, fragrant meadow. It feels like the middle of summer, not the beginning of October. It's wonderful, but I keep suppressing my irritation, which is sitting inside me like a toad. What's bothering me? I don't know. Probably the fact that at some point in my life I made a very stupid decision - putting on a pair of running shoes and going for a run. It has brought me here, and now, damn it, I'm suffering.

A cheerful woman's voice comes from behind us - the disoriented runner we met earlier has caught up with us, and a moment later she's happily chatting with K.H. It sounds like this Japanese runner is doing perfectly fine. Among other things, K.H. asks her if there's a race in Japan that she would recommend.

Yes, without a doubt - the Tokyo Grand Trail. Apparently, the best distance there is the 100-mile race with 11,000 meters of elevation gain… Wait, what? I turn around and widen my eyes. Okay, this woman has caught my attention.

She spends a little while telling us what makes this, in my opinion, completely unreal race so great. Well, okay, but maybe there are some other races in Japan, I suggest. Perhaps running around Mount Fuji? She hesitates for a moment and says, “No, I recommend the Tokyo Grand Trail!”

Right, it's time for me to get to know this brave woman. Her name is Yukiko, and she's really cool. She started running at the age of 50 and has been running for four years now, running ultras, of course. Wow! She talks about her hobby with such enthusiasm that I want to be like her when I grow up. The fatigue disappears while we chat. I tell her that we have a really fun game we could play, and I turn around to offer it to K.H., but he's nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, you've lost your friends!” Yukiko says with concern. It'll be fine - we can play this game just the two of us. Maybe we’re not doing so well because we’re not disciplined enough about counting ribbons, but the laughter and shouting never stop. Along the way, we have to overtake the human rabbit, weave around piles of horse manure scattered across the trail, and flee from howling wind turbines. I don’t have anything against these giant fans, really, but I hadn’t imagined they could make quite so much noise. Anyway, the most beautiful part of this section is the rolling meadows. In the sunlight, the silvery grasses look almost fluffy. If only those climbs weren’t so painfully steep, I could easily lose myself in all this beauty.

Surrounded by the smell of horse manure, we finally reach the Gasiri checkpoint. This is one of the major aid stations. It has a proper spread of food and the drop bags we sent ahead from the start. Yukiko disappears somewhere. I don’t have the energy to inspect everything on offer. I grab some noodles in fish broth and can’t get enough of the Jeju green tangerine tea. It’s an overly sweet drink with refreshing slices of tangerine floating in it. I empty cup after cup, constantly worrying that this wonderfully tasty drink might upset my stomach. Still, I fill bottles with it to take along instead of my usual honey water. I’m unbelievably slow. I sit there, freezing, while trying to change my socks, eat some noodles, and charge my gadgets. None of it is going particularly well. The guys arrive too. They have a support crew here. I’m offered an iced coffee. It’s just what I need, although seriously, how much more liquid can I possibly fit inside me? K.H. insists it’s going to rain and that we should put on our jackets. Well, I’m not so sure. I think it’s going to be hot.

Getting back to running is unpleasant. My body is stiff and has had quite enough of all this. The guys, however, are determined to run because they want to cover as much ground as possible while it’s still light. A commendable idea, of course, but I just can’t do it. I realize I’ll have to say goodbye to them here. I hang back until their determination wears off and their pace becomes manageable for me again. Well, all right, that works too. A group of four keeps passing us, and so does a guy who only walks. I’ve never seen him run, yet we’ve overtaken each other countless times. How does he manage that? I ask him, and he says he’s a hiker. Well, um… I suppose that explains everything. At one point, I beg K.H. not to overtake him again, just so we don’t embarrass ourselves completely. And yes, that was the last time we saw him. The hiker.

A kind of depressive indifference begins to take hold of me. I don’t care whether I make it to the finish or not. I might just as well drop out and put an end to this nonsense instead of aimlessly carrying on, waiting to be pulled off the course at some checkpoint because I’ve missed the cut-off time. My companions seem to be having an even worse time - one has a sore knee, the other is having stomach trouble. Damn, I don’t even have anything to complain about physically - I’m just useless.  We’ve covered 100 kilometres. And we’re nowhere near the end. Darkness catches up with us. Then the rain. Of course, nothing could make these horrible trails any worse than adding mud. At the next checkpoint, the only thing I replenish is my honey water. That stuff is the real deal, I bet it could save the world. I’m desperate for something to eat too, and actually manage to force down a few marshmallow biscuits. I’ve never experimented so desperately with food during an ultra. Getting to the toilet is such a complicated ordeal that I get lost on the way back. The guys have to wait for me for quite a while.

The trail winds through a hilly forest. Nothing difficult about it, if only I had even a tiny bit of enthusiasm for running. At one turn, I grab a tree to keep my balance and end up with a palm full of thorns. Ouch - unbelievably painful! Damn thorns! I’m plodding along a little way ahead of everyone, so I can safely whimper and stop every now and then to pull one out. Pulling them out hurts even more. Well, at least it’s something to keep me entertained. A little break from the boring trails - a stretch of asphalt, and then back into the forest again.  I’m getting sleepy. And I’m starting to see things. Poodles, a whole pack of poodles, milling around at the side of the trail, only to disappear as I get closer. Then cats. Those must surely be real - someone around here must be feeding them, judging by how many there are. They watch the passing runners expectantly. Actually, no. There are no cats here. It’s all in my head. I lost any desire to communicate a long time ago. My companions are starting to get on my nerves. Just like that, for no reason. And yet sticking together feels incredibly important, so I don’t lose my grip on reality. K.H. keeps retching every now and then. I could feel sorry for him, but I don’t have the energy for any emotions. Kyu Dong has taken charge of our miserable little trio, keeping us informed about the kilometres remaining. Does this nightmare ever end?

At least there’s a checkpoint. It’s warm inside and they have noodles. That’ll do. And some honey water too, please! The next section is the one Baptiste, last year’s finisher, has been telling us horror stories about. Apparently, it’s not runnable at all, but it is dangerous.

At first, it’s no different from the rest. Just another forest. Except the barking of roe deer sounds so close and so loud that I start wondering whether they ever attack people. At night, in the dark. Probably not. The trail turns uphill and that’s when IT begins. An endless, miserable climb up a rocky path. Suddenly, there are an unbelievable number of people all around us, and we’re climbing in a tightly packed line. We climb for an hour, then two... If I thought I’d already reached my emotional low point, I was wrong. I hadn’t. If I could represent my emotions as an ECG, with more or less rhythmic peaks and dips, then before it was just a flat line, but now the monitor is switched off and has been gathering dust for ages. I just keep climbing. My eyes are fixed on K.H.’s heels. I am a climbing machine. I have only one function - to climb. I don’t need to ask how much longer or how much farther. I climb because it’s the only thing that exists in my world. Three hours. Nothing beyond the beam of my headlamp concerns me. Most likely, there’s nothing out there anyway. I’m not struggling, I have no goal, I expect nothing, I climb.

The monotonous climb is increasingly interrupted by riverbed crossings, which are quite a challenge for my balance and ankles, until suddenly we find ourselves on a nice, wide, flat downhill stretch. What is this? Can such happiness even be possible? I feel as if I’ve woken up from a deep sleep. Time to run! We must have used up every last bit of our cut-off buffer, dawdling along so slowly! The terrifying forest finally lets us out into the open. It feels as if even breathing has become easier. I’m hungry, and there’s a checkpoint right here. And right here I’m met by Grace, the woman with the warmest smile in the world! At last, I get the hug I’ve been waiting for so long. But where is her husband? I turn around - oops, he’s not there. He’ll probably be along in a moment.

The second-to-last checkpoint is set up in a small stadium. Outside assistance is allowed here, and the lovely Grace, K.H.’s wife, offers it to me too. Since some semblance of emotion has finally returned, I feel deeply touched and a little confused. I’m ushered into a comfortable chair, although I’m terribly afraid of getting it dirty. A moment later, I’m holding a bowl of seafood porridge. I stare at it, blinking. Three voices are fighting inside my head: “I need to eat”, “Don’t risk trying new things during an ultra” and “But I don’t eat seafood”. The first one wins - apparently, from today onwards, I eat seafood. I shovel the porridge in, mentally justifying my choice with the thought that “it’s not just carbs, there’s protein in there too, and I can use all of that”. As it turns out, the porridge actually tastes good. When I’ve eaten half of it, I’m also given a fish cake - a rather tasty fish-based snack on a stick, apparently a traditional Korean treat I’d wanted to try sometime. Just not during an ultra... I don't recognise myself today. Since when have I become so brave, and since when have I been able to eat so much during a race? But I gratefully accept it all. At the end of the feast, I even get a cup of warm coffee, which is, and I'm not exaggerating, the best-tasting coffee I've ever had in my life. How can coffee taste this good?

Sadly, we have to leave this fantastic oasis - the finish line is still waiting somewhere out there, and K.H. is urging us not to sit around for too long. I just refill my bottles with honey water before we go. They’ll come in handy.

An asphalt road leads steeply uphill. A young guy strolls past, listening to classical music at full volume. A moment later, he’s resting by the roadside. K.H. announces that he and his buddy are going to sleep. They’re terribly sleepy. Seriously? Less than 20 kilometres to the finish - who’s got time to sleep now! I start convincing him that it’s so cold up here because we’re at a high altitude, and once we get lower down, it’ll be much nicer to sleep! I’m just talking nonsense. It’s probably equally cold everywhere, but once we get lower, I’m already planning to argue that there’s really no point in sleeping anymore. Luckily, the subject doesn’t come up again. Did I actually manage to talk him out of it? Suspicious. But then again, it’s the second night, and sleep attacks are only to be expected.

The trail takes us back into the forest, and we can resume walking in a tight line. K.H. grumbles that he’s angry with himself because he has absolutely no strength left. I think that’s unnecessary. If he’s still on his feet despite his stomach problems, he’s hardly a weakling. Once we’ve descended far enough, the surroundings start to look familiar and the trail seems quite runnable. A sharp turn and we find ourselves on a wide downhill stretch. Yes, this is the reverse section. We jogged uphill here at the beginning of the race, so the last checkpoint can’t be far now. Let’s run!

The last checkpoint is absolutely packed. I don’t want a single thing. I have just one last little bottle of honey water left, and that’s what I’ll take all the way to the finish. Once the guys are ready, we can move on. I insist on running, and they actually go along with it. Before long, I’m tired again, but no way am I going to be the first one to start walking. We’re running like the real deal! Gradually, it gets lighter and lighter. K.H. wants to play the ribbon game, I want to run to the finish. What the hell with the ribbons? Let’s just get this over with! It seems we’re both getting pretty irritated. And what is it with Kyu Dong? The guy seems completely unshakable - he can run, he can walk, it makes no difference. I reckon he could just put his foot down and disappear into the distance whenever he wanted. There isn’t the slightest hint of fatigue in his posture or his stride.

After briefly tempting us with asphalt, the trail keeps leading us back into the forest. Well, those promised elevation meters aren’t going to collect themselves. It feels like we’re running quite a lot, but the kilometres are ticking down painfully slowly. Every now and then I think - surely we’re in town now, everything’s fine. But no, another trail and more rocks. My feet have had enough. At one point, we’re running alongside a very rocky riverbed, and it occurs to me that it would be quite a joke if the organizers had decided to send us through it as a final farewell. The trail seems to tease us, drawing closer to the riverbed, then moving away, only to return to it again. I start feeling rather uneasy, as if someone were threatening us with torture. Surely not! That would be inhumane. I saw some runners hobbling along barely able to walk back there!

“You wanted this, it’s your fault!” Kyu Dong announces. What the hell, who suddenly speaks English and even cracks jokes? Unbelievable. He could hardly surprise me more if he suddenly put a clown wig on his head. Anyway, we have to cross that damn riverbed, and not just once. Just in case we hadn’t had enough of those horrible rocks along the way. Ugh!

Finally, I spot the outline of the stadium ahead. It doesn’t seem to be getting any closer, though. K.H. announces that he and Kyu Dong want to cross the finish line together. In other words, without me. What? I can’t process this right now, so I put on my biggest smile and cheerfully announce, “All right then, bye!” I turn around and dash off as fast as my legs will carry me. And they really do carry me. Honestly, they could have told me this earlier. Why is that junction so far away? I can’t keep running this fast forever! But no, I’ll pretend to be strong for as long as I can! Once I’ve rounded the corner, I slow to a walk. Phew, that was hard. But actually, no, I think I rather liked it. I pull myself together and start running again. The finish line is waiting for me!

My run comes to an abrupt halt, though - to get into the stadium, I have to scramble up a ramp. Oh no, I don’t want to climb another single metre. I make it up and immediately start running again. Spectators, smiling faces, everything is lovely, but please, just let me into the stadium! And there it is - the entrance opens up, revealing the mat and the finish arch. Behind it, Vilcis’s blond head is poking out like a needle from a haystack. I’m saved - I summon enough strength for one final sprint to the finish.

That’s it. No more running anywhere. The sheer relief brings on a flood of tears. I cry about everything - how hard it was, how badly I wanted to drop out, how sleepy I was, and how much it hurt at times. About every mountain I didn’t have the strength to climb. About everything I couldn’t cry about out there on the course.

 Pull yourself together, woman, don’t ruin the photos! My running companions cross the finish line too - this is a significant moment for them. Last year, they both dropped out of this race together, so finishing this time, and doing it together, meant a lot to them. Beautiful and moving.

Instead of finish medals, we get these adorable little Jeju stone grandfather figurines. Hugs at the finish, photos and goodbyes. K.H. poses while drinking beer from his dirty running shoe, while Kyu Dong has suddenly become smiley and talkative. Ah, people. Go figure. But without them, this race wouldn’t have been nearly as exciting.

As I drag myself up the road towards the hotel, I tell myself I mustn’t forget any of the horrors I’ve just been through, so I never do anything like this again. But first of all, “drag myself” is a bit of an exaggeration for this particular moment - Vilcis is literally pushing me towards the hotel. And secondly - what was so terrible about it, anyway?

My sincere thanks to everyone involved - you are an inspiration to me! 

Photos: Sportograf.com, Purna, Jejusnap_Hyun and Līga Sisojeva.

Clothing: Fox-Pace