It was April 24th, 2016. There was no reason for this not to be the best day of my life. I’d been training with an almost religious devotion, read every bit of literature I could find on the subject; I was kitted out in proper gear and perhaps better still, I had the perfect mantra for the day. I had my best friend at my side, my favorite snacks in my pockets, and unbridled excitement about the day ahead. This was to be my first ultra: the 2016 Korea 50k!
The road to ultra
It had been a long time coming. My husband and I had shifted from road running to trail running in the summer of 2015, almost a year earlier. We’d run trails in really cool places during our travels, including the Swiss Alps! We even were home just in time to do a short trail race in Canada!
Back in Korea and running longer and longer, we’d set our sights on doing an ultra trail race. I’d found and registered us for the 2016 Korea 50k about five months before the event. Our preparation was by the books: ramping up our base mileage over two months after an extended period of travel, then committing to a regimented three and a half month training schedule. Our program was complete with a gradual buildup in weekly mileage and a taper period. During our training, we did two mountain marathons and one self-supported ultra on our favorite local mountain (deserving of its own post, one day soon!)! We even took time off from our mountain mission to focus not only on the running element of our training, but on proper refueling and recovery at home. This was our set-up for success.
The day before the race, we traveled about as far as you can go in Korea: from our home in Suncheon to Dongducheon. We found a motel, stashed our stuff, and went to the race convention. Bubbling over with excitement, we took a ton of selfies and walked around looking at all the other ultra runners in their technical gear, smiling at everyone. We took a stroll along the river, ate some sandwiches and got home before dusk to get off our feet. The night before, we laid out all of our gear, applied temporary tattoos of the race profiles to our arms and went to bed with heads full of running dreams.
The 2016 Korea 50k
Getting up at 3 am was nothing unusual for us. We’d been training as early as this for months! Still, I was full of nervous energy, so I was happy to meet some other foreigners on our walk to the stadium. Some distracting conversation took my mind off my nerves. We walked through the quiet darkened streets into the bright lights of the arena, where music was playing and athletes were warming up with short jogs and stretches. Although I didn’t know a soul, I felt a strong sense of belonging. All of these individuals had probably planned and trained like we had, and might be feeling the same heady mix of excitement and anxiety. Some might also be attempting their first ultra!
Assembling in the start area is always the most difficult part of any race for me. The waiting is almost more than I can bear, especially if it’s chilly and I’m both cold and anxious! There’s also always the question of where to stand. Should I stand near the front, so I can start the race with a quick pace and good intentions – but with the knowledge that I will be passed by the faster folks? Or, should I try to insert myself somewhere in the middle, where I think I’ll fit in the overall standings? It’s a puzzle that I can never solve, especially not on this particular morning with the great unknown ahead! But mulling it over helped the time pass, and soon enough we were counting down. And then, we were off!
The sounds of labored breathing and rhythmic footfalls were all around us. Bobbing headlamps lit the way as we exited the arena and ran a little ways on a paved road. We were in a massive group, much like a road marathon; surrounded by runners on all sides. But not for long. Heading onto a narrow trail, we fell into a marching, single file line. Just behind me, Kent was irritated. The grade wasn’t so severe as to warrant a walk, he thought. But with no way to pass, we had to just stick to the line, like soldiers. For my part, I was slightly relieved. I’d wondered if perhaps everyone around us would be sprinting up hills and that we would fall behind. But it did seem to take forever to get to an open area where we could duck into the bushes a little and get past.
Running on a ridge, we got to watch the sun rise! We climbed up and over two peaks in the warm, golden, first light of the day. I felt on top of the world! Until suddenly, the trail of solid earth that we’d been following plunged over the edge of some rocks. I skidded to a stop, sending a spray of tiny pebbles in every direction. This was the way down?! It was indeed, and in addition to the steepness of the descent, the slippery little rocks underfoot slowed our progress dramatically. But progress is progress, and we inched our way down this short, steep section to a temple and the first checkpoint. Whew!
That behind us and running again on road, my confidence was surging. We dashed through a forest and emerged onto a long, winding dirt road with nice views. Perfect! I felt like we were flying as we crested a hill and ran down the other side to the second checkpoint. It seemed like we were making good time! After downing a few pieces of banana, we kept going.
The next section rose gradually along a gravel road until a sudden sharp right had us back on a forest trail and climbing. This part was very steep, and everyone had slowed to a hike. Hands pushing off my knees and breathing hard, I challenged my body on the ascent. After ages of muscle-burning steps up, we were back on a ridge. But after a few minutes of casual running, we were heading down, off the other side. This part of the trail is great if you love vert, and not so great if you like nice, clean ridge lines. After heading halfway down the mountain, we climbed right back up to that very same ridge!
This was one of the most scenic parts of the trail! I didn’t have to call on my mantra for energy, I was already completely in it. I really was, as I’d hoped, enjoying every step. We reached the summit of Wangbangsan, a new mountain with lovely, open views!
And then we got to run down a gentle slope on comfortable dirt trails. On the long descent, I began to feel the impact in my legs, but I just registered it and carried on with a smile. We were down in a shady valley now, avoiding the heat of the day. The next checkpoint was just across the river. Once again, we stopped only briefly before beginning perhaps the biggest climb of the course. Certainly, this was to be the most difficult section of the course. The distance between this checkpoint and the next was 13.5 kilometers. Nothing crazy, but more than 2 kilometers longer than the previous sections, and containing the most dramatic ascent!
We set off at a run, which quickly became a hard hike. The peak that we finally got to stand atop next was part of a military base, and partially paved over to be a helipad. It was really interesting, and once again, we had some great views. On the other side, we followed a concrete road as it wove back in forth in switchbacks down to an intersection. Then it was back up again on single-track trail, but only briefly. We were soon back on the wide, even surface of an access road. It was hard now, and hot, but that didn’t diminish my joy, somehow. I was still having a wonderful day on this new adventure!
But, Kent kept reminding me about the time. Although this was a longer section, no extra time was allotted to make it to the next checkpoint. We knew in advance that this part would be tricky for us, but it seemed like we’d built up a bit of a buffer heading into this stretch, so I’d been feeling good. But Kent wears the GPS watch, and he said we ought to be hurrying, so we did.
The checkpoint was not where we thought it should be. Coming down into a little village, we started to look for it. But it was nowhere to be seen. A volunteer directed us back into the forest, and we went up, down, then up again, back onto the road we’d been on before. There were only minutes to go before the cut-off time, and we still couldn’t see checkpoint four. Pushing harder, our shoes slapping the pavement, we raced ahead, anxiously scanning the horizon for it. We passed people who were walking. Finally, there it was! Down in a little dip just off the road. We sprinted into it and had our tags scanned.
In the checkpoint, I looked, unseeing, at the small cluster of racers laying in the shade, shoes and backpacks off. ‘You’re too late,’ the volunteers were saying, but I couldn’t register it. Where was the water? I spun around looking for it, eager to refill my empty hydration pack. I was so thirsty, I just had to fill up and we could get going. As I turned, one of the volunteers snipped the timing chip off my backpack, without my even noticing. Finally facing the volunteer, it dawned on me what was happening. No. No! Please! I began to beg as my vision blurred with tears. No. We have to keep going. We’re totally fine! There’s no problem. We just need water and we’ll go! We can easily finish; there’s only 11 kilometers to go!
It was, of course, of no use. It was the end of the 2016 Korea 50k for us. Our fates were sealed, assigned a DNF. Our first, on our first ultra. To say I was distraught would be an understatement. It’s still incredibly painful for me to remember those moments afterwards. Like when a volunteer wanted to make a mark on the bib I’d affixed to my leg, and I tore it off and crumpled it into a mess. In what was not one of my best moments, I collapsed into a crying heap on the ground and refused to eat or drink or talk to anyone.
Prolonging my miserable state was the organization’s inability to do anything about the rising number of runners stopped at this last checkpoint. Although we were among the very first to get stuck there, we waited for nearly an hour for a vehicle that would take us back to the start. Ugh, it was awful. Why couldn’t we have just run under our own power?! The farm truck that eventually came to take us sorry sacks away drove the route of the race, so later on we saw the final runners completing the course. I sent Kent into the stadium to collect our drop bags as I slumped in the grass outside, tear-stained face hidden in my dirty hands.
Lessons learned
We had run 48 kilometers of the total of 59 in the 2016 Korea 50k. It had taken us 10 hours and 15 minutes. A big achievement, as our longest run to date. but it didn’t feel like it. It didn’t matter to me that just over a hundred people finished this race (including just 20 women), and more than double that number were cut (voluntarily or otherwise) – the two of us the very first among them. Nor did it much matter that, a few weeks later, we were awarded the finishers medals for being among the few to make it to checkpoint four. Then and there, I felt like my life was over.
In my journal immediately after, I wrote this: ‘I had never even considered not finishing this race. I’d never imagined it and I didn’t have a contingency plan. When we raced into checkpoint 4 just a few minutes late, I thought we’d be allowed to go on. After all, the course was long and we were still going strong! It broke my heart when we were pulled, our tags cut without our consent. All of my heart and soul had been poured into this race, which was not in fact too hard, which was challenging and glorious and all that I wanted. I don’t know how to move on. Still, I am grateful for every single heartbreaking step.’
When asked about it, I could only say that it had been a beautiful day and that we’d run longer than we ever had in the past. Two truths, but not the whole story. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell the full, heart-wrenching tale. Especially because, at this time, we didn’t know anyone else in the ultra running community. Some of our nearest and dearest still asked us questions like ‘did you win?’ I felt like maybe no one could understand this experience.
But slowly, I started to understand it for myself. It had felt like failure, but it wasn’t. We could have finished the race, easily and happily, if we’d been allowed to. Although not yet very fast, our bodies were strong and capable of handling long distances and big elevation gains. It had felt like a betrayal, after we’d committed ourselves so completely and passionately to this sport. But it wasn’t. It was just an arbitrary cut-off in one race, in one place and at one time.
There were lessons to be learned for next time, too. I’m not super fast, and on downhills I can slow to a crawl trying to stay safe and upright. So I knew I wanted to work on running down. I also thought a lot about the importance of proper mindset. I felt like my head had been in the right place, but near the end we’d run into a bit of negativity in the runners around us. Some folks proclaimed not to like the course, which was positively unfathomable to me, and still others just had had enough. Even if we can’t be the fastest runners in the world, we decided that next time we would try our best to associate with only strong, positive vibes.
We took a bit of a break from serious training, but got right back into our mountain mission. The 2016 Korea 50k did not dampen my love of running or mountains. It might have scarred my soul, but in the end, it didn’t break me.
In fact, I would return to challenge this course again the following year! But before that, I found the very special ultra that would, truly be my first….
Interested in running this race yourself? Check out the official website of the Korea 50k!