How good water tastes!
By Jiří Kostínek | Date 06.16.2010
… deep suffering is not about enduring, it is only about understanding …
Silva Nortica. The Northern Forest. The old Romans feared it, to them, it the end of civilization, a place where
the barbaricum started. Here, a military career could end with a Celtic spear thrust or an arrow embedded
through the legionnaire’s armour.
Maybe I should be afraid too – but in the winter, when I signed up for this 50 mile ultramarathon in this forest
in Southern Bohemia, it all still seemed away. But now that time is here, I’m feeling so ill I can barely manage to
wash down a handful of aspirin with an isotonic drink. I determinedly pack my things and six hours later, one of
those small local trains deposits me at Nové Hrady. I’m somewhat surprised that the actual course and the
starting area – the former Austrian/Czech checkpoint Nové Hrady/Pyhrabruck – are still some distance away. To
be precise: eight kilometres. Fortunately, I’m given a lift by a local pastor in her Škoda Felicia which has seen
better days.
The Ultramarathon SILVA NORTICA RUN 2010 start (photograph: behej.com)
Arriving early at the checkpoint building, I see that the competition centre hasn’t opened yet. I sit in the shade
and watch some volunteers put up banners advertising all kinds of things from Salomon’s latest running shoe
model to the Temelín nuclear power plant. As soon as the centre opens, I get my competiton bag which contains
my competitor number and informational brochures as well as a candy bar I immediately devour.
I hang about and try to stuff myself with as much water, food and aspirin in the hope of improving my bodily
spirits. In the evening, more and more participants arrive. The lucky ones who can afford it, sleep inside the
checkpoint building whilst the rest pitches their tents. I unroll my camping mat under a cherry tree. At nine I
crawl into my sleeping bag and cover it with an aged rain cover. For a while, I lie on my mat, listening to the
remote hubbub and gazing at the stars above, but then I fall into the dark blue depth.
Suunta wakes me up at 4:15. The first thing I notice is that someone up there has decided to give me at least one
good day. I feel kind of good, and this is enough for the beginning. The rest is up to me. I crawl out of the hollow
fibres, hurriedly repack everything and start the day with oat meal, bananas, tea and isotonic drinks. And for
good measure, I down a sports gel as well. My digestive tract reacts just the way I expect, and I clean my system
thoroughly in a portaloo nearby. Afterwards, I put on my running shorts and lotion up my vulnerable body parts
as well as armpits and the space between my toes. Then I put on my time-proven Mizuna Elixirs. Finally, I attach
my runner’s numbers, the larger one on the front of my shorts, the smaller one on the right side of the shorts. I
also have my watch and my Buff headwear on my right hand for soaking up any sweat. I don’t put anything else
on, because “every additional gram hurts.”
The pre-start briefing is at 5:50. We’re informed on how the course is marked and what kind of terrain and
obstacles to expect.
Then we are led to the starting line behind the checkpoint. Here we hop up and down, treading on the spot, until
– without warning – the starter’s gun goes off. As we start running, I notice that many have chosen to run at a
moderate tempo. I try to keep my eye on the fastest runners for the first hour, but of course, I’m not successful in
this. The track leads us on gravel paths and forest tarmac roads to the first refreshment point in Nové Hrady.
Here, I only take water. Then we continue on through the magnificent Terčino Údolí Valley, a wonderful
country park overlooking the region. Taking advantage of a great white pine in the park, I relieve myself of what
little water remains that hasn’t been sweated out from my pores. Peeing while running will be also in order in the
second half of the run, when I will be afraid to stop. I come up to the second refreshment point almost before I
know it, but again, I simply take in more water and sports drinks. The course is beginning to get interesting: We
are starting to ascend. At 20 kilometres, I reach the top of the first ascent which is about 825 metres high. Up to
now, I am feeling no pain. The descent leads through woods, nature trails, weathered granite rocks, ferns and a
panoramic view of the Novohradské Mountains. All this not only helps to keep me in tune with my running but
also to be in tune with the environment surrounding me. The next 20 kilometres wind up and down with the
ground changing from clay to gravel to broken tarmac. The sun is high in the sky, the roads have a minimum of
shade, and the tarmac is becoming burning hot under my feet. Smashed stones on the road are also bad. My
Elixir trainers are good running shoes but only a road model and not suited to long-distance running on such
roads. I begin to feel the stones stinging through the soles of the trainers. By the time I’ve run 36 kilometres, I
enter the “isolation phase.” Physically, my body continues to run but I’m no longer conscious of those far ahead
of me nor of those behind me, and I don’t dare to look back to see just how far those behind me are.
Psychologically, I’ve gone inside the depths of my mind, recalling scraps of conversation, impressions and
experiences I’ve thought long lost. The refreshment points are located at regular intervals of 5 to 6 kilometres,
and I’m now eating and drinking almost everything on offer: Water, Kofola cola, isotonic drinks, gels, salt,
bananas, oranges. The only thing I avoid is the cheese which looks a bit wilted under the scorching sun. After 40
kilometres, I start a constant 10 kilometre ascent. The track no longer goes through forest trails but through local
roads, the sun bearing down on us relentlessly. Without realising it, I’ve left my home country and entered
Austria. It is here that a very steep ascent awaits me. At first, I gallop up on it only to end up crawling to the top,
on all fours, my strength gone. But then, at 950 metres above see level and next to a non-descript chapel, the
road begins to descend and I start running down the 10-kilometre long road. However, the descent is
unexpectedly painful, with each downhill jolt painfully shaking every muscle of my body. At 60 kilometres, I
reach the bottom of the valley only to ascend – again. At this point, I am in a state of psychological detachment. I
know who I am and where I am and what I am doing here. I don’t doubt my motivation. I want to do as well as I
can. On the other hand, I am aware that this is hardly of any importance. Vaguely, I am aware of my aching feet,
the pain in my right ankle, my left calf, my raw groin and my laboured breathing. Judging by the pressure of my
swollen feet inside my trainers, I think that I will probably lose two or three toenails. If this happens after the
finish line, it doesn’t matter. Strangely, it feels like I don’t have any blisters.
Kostínek on the road (photograph: behej.com)
The next 7- kilometre ascent brings me up to the last peak but one in this ultra-marathon. I walk, not run, at the
steepest bits. Otherwise, it’d be impossible to find a balance between the consumption of bodily fluids and solid
matter which makes up my general physical self. By the time the descent brings me to 72 kilometres, I no longer
am taking in the beauty of my surroundings. I concentrate only on the tarmac for the next 2 metres, then the next
two, then the next two... This is all that matters now, foot by painful foot, not wanting to lose the rhythm.
The last hill which is 800 metres, is at 76 kilometres. Surprisingly, the ascent is okay. I switch from running to
walking to running. At this peak is the last refreshment point but one. Although my stomach rebelled about 10
kilometres ago, I force myself to eat a banana and ingest some blueberry gel. After this hill, it is downhill. The
last 9 kilometres are a ninth circle of hell. Even the smooth tarmac pounds painfully into my feet. I focus on just
putting one foot in front of the other, whilst at the same time waving first one arm and then the other. Someone
has sadistically sprayed the number of the last few kilometres with a green-yellow colour. That green-yellow
colour is a curse, taunting me as I lose track. I run through Pyhrabruck, vaguely aware of windows, of facades, of
the spectators watching. One more kilometre to the checkpoint, to the finish line. At the last, slight ascent, I can
see the signs of the former duty-free zone. Then I see the checkpoint. I am running. Just before I reach the front
of the finish line, I stop, and carefully step over the line sprayed on the road. I press the buttons of my stopwatch
and lift my arms over my head.
A sense of detachment comes over me, as though I am looking from the outside in, as I sense the people around
me clapping and congratulating me. I see the flash of cameras and a young girl hangs a medal around my neck. I
stagger away, I can’t quite take it all in at the moment. My body still feels that it should be moving, that there are
more kilometres to run. But after about ten minutes, I come to myself and get my drinks and my rucksack,
though I refuse the refreshments. I’m not able to eat anything.
I locate the showers, dig out clean clothes, and undress carefully. I try not to look at my feet until the last
moment, but when I do take off my socks, I see that my feel look alright, just very swollen. The shower is cold
but at this moment, I really don’t care. I feel that I’m moving in slow motion. Although it is 30 degrees in the
shade, I find myself shaking uncontrollably. For some time afterwards, I am not sure what to do. I’m still in a
daze. Then I realise that I’m not in the mood for the crowds, the hubbub, the celebratory noises. I grab my
things and leave. On the train ride back home, I try to come to terms with what I experienced that day. I’ve
changed in some way, physically and psychologically. Then the words of someone come, unbidden, into my
mind: “I know where you are going, but how the hell do you to come back?”
I dedicate the mastered 85 kilometres to Jana