Runner's High:2001 A Himalayan Odyssey by Nik Cook

The Himalayan 100 mile Stage Race was going to be my second foray into the sometimes surreal, always painful, world of ultra stage racing. Last year I completed the Marathon des Sables - a 150 mile race in the Moroccan Sahara. As usually happens with these events, the mind forgets all the hurt and frustrations, remembers the good times and then, before you know it, you think it’d be a really good idea to do another.

MORE...

Held in the Indian Himalayas, skirting the Nepalese border, the HSM is the brainchild of Mr CS Pandey. An Indian man of the mountains with experience of numerous expeditions, a 2:30 marathon and infectious enthusiasm for all things athletic he conceived this race so that he could share his wonderful Himalayas with people of similar mindset and sense of adventure.

Training had gone well. The Foot and Mouth crisis made access to the hills impossible so I had to make do with reps up and down Primrose Hill and soul destroying marathon sessions on the X-trainer. This seemed to do the job though and my legs got stronger and stronger. I had also been lent a Hypoxic Tent by Edge 4 UK allowing me to sleep at 9000ft in my sitting room. This gave my training a huge boost but did put a certain amount of strain on my marriage. I could almost feel my red blood cell count increasing and I felt like superman running or cycling at sea level. I just hoped it’d help me to cope with the rigors of running 100 mile at an average height of 11,500ft.

The flight to Delhi was hell…no worse than hell. At least in hell you probably have some legroom. My desperate last minute attempt to secure an upgrade - “I’m covering the event for GQ, you know” – was futile. I had to perform auto-origami with my 6ft 3in frame for eight and a half hours. The flight though was nothing though compared to arriving in Delhi.

Delhi is one of the most polluted and, with ten million inhabitants, overpopulated cities in the world. This was the culture shock I had been warned about. The poverty thrust itself at you the moment you left arrivals. Even from the relative safety of the coach the traffic scared the living shit out of me. Seeing mothers with their babies begging in the middle of five lanes of chaos filled me with an overwhelming sense of guilt. A night in a beautiful five star hotel did not help to ease that feeling. It was a huge relief to leave Dehli and begin our journey to the Himalayas.

At Delhi domestic airport I met up with my old friend Steve whom I had run the Marathon des Sables with. An ex-para Steve is as tough as they come and I knew he would do well. He had spent the previous night on the floor at the airport. He said there had been a booking mistake but, knowing his masochistic tendencies, I had my doubts.

A two hour internal flight to Bagdogra, followed by a terrifying two and a half hour coach ride up ridiculously narrow mountain roads brought us to Mirik (5500ft) where we would be staying for two nights before the start of the race. At last we met Mr Pandey. He greeted every competitor by name and with a warm embrace. During the race briefing we learned the sad news that, after the events of Septmber 11th, thirty or so competitors from the United States had pulled out. Many of the few Americans who were there, including John, a journalist from Colorado, said they had been put off by what can only be described as a fear campaign orchestrated in part by the usually excellent Trail Runner magazine. Their absence reduced the field to just over forty. We all hoped it would not dampen the spirit of the event. The rest of the briefing went over my head. I was preoccupied by the altitude profile of the race. On paper at least the two major climbs of the 24 mile first stage looked pretty damn near to vertical.

The next day was spent acclimatising. We went sight-seeing in Darjeeling (7000ft). On the way the driver stopped the coach without explanation. We all got out for another loo stop. The view across the vast valley was incredible. The sheer sides climbed out of view into the clouds. But this was no photo opportunity. Mr Pandey announced: “Friends, at the bottom of the valley you can see Manybanjung (our start point). You will go up, up into the clouds…up and over”. Reality struck. My nerves jangled. This was the first climb. The paper profile wasn’t an exaggeration. This was for real…

Darjeeling is breathtaking. A large town by Himalayan standards it perches on the side of the mountain. We visited the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute. Reading about the feats of such men as Sir Edmund Hillary, Tenzing Norgay and Reinhold Messner provided inspiration for the trail ahead and helped to quieten my doubts.
,br> Stage Race Day One. 24 miles. 6hrs 12 mins
We woke at 5am to take the coach to Manybanjung. The entire village was out to see the crazy Western fools off on their silly race. With slightly bemused faces they cheered the starting gun. Next time we would see this little village would be the end of the race. 100 yards of flat quickly brought us to the bottom of the climb and then the switch-backs started. After a few twists and turns the entire field was reduced to a fast walk. Everybody knew what was ahead, everybody wanted to save some gas. I settled into my own little world and a steady rhythm, I was transported back to my sessions on the X-trainer. I found my tempo and began climbing strongly. The “road” we were running on was built for the Agha Khan who wanted to see the Himalayas. After a trial run by one of his aides, it was deemed too rough and never used. I could see why. It was the most awful excuse for a cobbled road I had ever seen. If I ever hear another London marathoner whine about the carpeted cobbles by the Tower of London, I swear I will kill them. At the first checkpoint (CP) at Chitri after 3km I looked at my watch. I had taken almost 30 minutes! I normally run 10km in just over 35 minutes. I learned in the Sahara that with Ultra Running you quickly have to re-appraise your concepts of time and distance. I cracked on realising that at this pace the first climb alone would take me two hours. In just under that time I reached the 5th CP (12km) at Tonglu and the top of the first climb. My altimeter read just under 10,500ft. Surprisingly I felt pretty strong. I started to descend. It was good to stretch my legs and make up some time but I knew there would be a price to pay for every foot of height lost. The finish at Sandakphu stood at 12,000ft. After 10 km of wonderful trail running (mostly downhill) through beautiful rhododendron forests I reached the CP at Garibas. Still feeling good I was told I was in 8th place. I was ecstatic but I had niggling doubts that I may have gone off a bit hard. It was a steep uphill all the way to Sandhakphu. About one kilometre out of Garibas I started to have problems. My legs felt weak and worse still I was feeling horribly nauseous. Every sip of water made me gag and even the thought of solids turned my stomach. My pace was reduced to a stagger and fellow competitors began to pass me. I heard the familiar voice of Tony, my next door roommate at Mirik. I toiled on behind him for a bit but eventually had to let him go. I was really suffering, my altimeter read 10,000ft, I knew I didn’t have far to go but I simply couldn’t fill my lungs and was retching with every other step. I was starting to get cold as the clouds came down I knew I had to do something, I was cold because my blood sugar was dropping fast and I was probably dehydrated. I figured I had just about five km to go and about 2000ft of ascent. I needed to get some sugars and liquid down to keep moving – not easy given the state of my stomach. I worked on the formula of ten minutes’ work followed by 1 minute’s stop to take on food and drink. This worked well. For a time I was making steady progress. Each ten minute slog seemed to take longer and longer. I cut it to five. During one of my minute stops I crumpled into a heap against the side of the mountain, noting the time I started to sip at my water. Suddenly my eyes opened and I came round from blackness gasping for air. I glanced at my watch and I had somehow lost 15 minutes! This was the kick I needed. Well and truly shaken up, I pushed trying to keep focussed. Rounding another switch-back I glimpsed the finishing tape. Digging deep I found a sprint. At least I finished the day in style.

Tony had come in about 15 minutes ahead of me. We walk to our dorm together. The cloud was coming down fast. Our high camp at Sandakphu had an eerie feel to it. While we waited for dinner we slipped into our sleeping bags and guzzled recovery drinks. The outside temperature was dropping fast. A sense of relief filled the dorm. A Kerosene heater provided warmth. At night it was turned off at night because of the risk of carbon monoxide poisoning the temperature to drop below freezing.

Steve and John both had a rough day but I knew Steve would come through strong later on and John was at least used to the altitude. Most people were feeling the altitude. Headaches were common. The doctor did his rounds dispensing a homeopathic remedy to ease the symptoms. I was feeling fine. There were no ill effects from my fugue. Despite my lack of breath on the run I kept my appetite and slept without any problems.

Waking up the next morning for breakfast I felt great. Not everyone had slept so well. Many complained of waking feeling suffocated many times during the night - apparently a common condition at altitude. I felt vindicated for making my wife sleep alone for six weeks. After breakfast we were rewarded by a magnificent sunrise over the world’s third highest mountain Kanchenjunga (28,040 ft) then, as the sun burnt through the morning mist, we saw Everest, Makula and Lhotse.

Stage Race Day Two: 20 miles. 4hours 6mins
Today was an out and back route to Molle finishing back at Sandakphu. In the chill clear morning the ice on the ground cracked satisfyingly under my feet. My legs felt okay. The undulating terrain to the first CP allowed a reasonable pace. Covering the first 2.5km in just over fifteen minutes I felt good. The running was superb with inspirational views of Everest and her sister peaks. A few minor climbs and one very steep switchback descent took me to the 4th 12 km CP at, 2km from the turn at Molle. I had dropped about 2000ft and before reaching Molle, had to climb back up to just under 12,000ft. As I drive upwards, the lead runners began to come past in the opposite direction. Counting them, I reckoned I was in about 14th place. Reaching Molle in 1hr 50 mins I felt good and was confidant that I could break 4 hours for the day. Powering down the descent I really started to enjoy myself, bounding from boulder to boulder. Picking my line it was more like skiing than running.

Just after the 16km CP I passed John (the journalist from the US) who was having an easy day with the “sweepers” at the back of the field. A shout of encouragement from him lifted me again and I drove on feeling really strong, I thought I had it cracked it. But with about 8km to go my guts suddenly cramped stopping me dead in my tracks. I searched for a convenient bush. My first altitude al fresco dump was not a pleasant experience but more annoying I had dropped a place. Worse still, a quarter of a mile or so down the trail I could see Steve’s bald head bobbing along. Keks up, wipe and polish. I had to get moving. Swearing, lambasting a smug-looking yak and generally feeling sorry for myself I limped into Sandakphu in just over 4 hours. Feeling utterly drained I crashed on my bed knowing I had to replenish my muscles energy stores I tried to get recovery drink down but it just went straight through. Tony had had a slower day “not enough up[hill], too much real running” but was looking strong. At dinner I struggled to get anything in but knew I had a marathon the next day. I had to force something down even if it wouldn’t stay there. A miserable night of shuttle runs to the toilet meant I felt less than perky in the morning.

Stage Race Day Three. Everest Challenge Marathon: 26.2 (and the rest!!) miles. 7 hours 15 mins
Another beautiful clear morning did nothing to cheer me up. My stomach was still dodgy. I knew I was starting the day with little fuel in the tank and was dangerously dehydrated. Survival was the key and that meant a steady pace. My guts weren’t being helped by the copious amounts of energy gels and powders that I had been taking in. Today I was going to try solid foods relying on the bananas and boiled potatoes available at aid stations. The first ten miles was the same route to Molle we had followed yesterday. I felt fairly good all things considered and made steady progress reaching Molle only ten minutes slower than the previous day. Stocking up on a couple of potatoes and refilling my camel-bak I was happy with my progress and started to 8 miles out and back to Phulet and then returning to Molle. This section was one of the most spectacular parts of the race. Running long the beautifully harsh ridgeline with precipitous drops on either side I felt like I was running on top of the world.

With steep inclines up and down and a very uneven loose surface it took concentration to maintain a good pace. Once again the front runners started to come past in the opposite direction all of whom were looking in a lot more pain than the day before. Steve steamed by like a train. He was coming good as predicted: “Can’t stop boys, I’ve screwed my ankle, hurts if I stop”. A final hard climb brought me to Phulet where John, Tony and myself all arrived at about the same time. John seemed nicely rested after his previous leisurely day and was looking strong. We all set off together back to Molle for the final time. Working well with Tony we set a good pace, John seemed to struggling on the ups and we slowly left him behind. We pushed hard up the climb to Molle, gasping as we pushed the pace we both started to lose concentration. Tony started straying a bit close to the edge - time for a quick sanity check. We crested the ridge. 18 miles done, we left Molle and started to head down. (We later found out John stopped for a nap at Molle!). We had taken just under 4 hours at this point and had (we thought) eight miles left to cover. The trail dropped 6000ft. We were running down the monsoon run-off channels which made for ankle turning, knee jarring running. We felt strong and made good time and were confidant of finishing between 5 Ѕ and 6 hours. As the six hour mark went past we started to get slightly suspicious about the distance as we still hadn’t reached the valley floor! The scenery was amazing in the gorge and all the villagers were hugely supportive shouting cheerfully “namaste” (greetings to the divinity within you). But we weren’t happy. This was taking too long, far too long.

Eventually we reached the valley floor and crossed a rickety bridge. The finish must be near. Round a corner we saw the familiar, and normally welcome sight, of a CP. Tony and I stared at each other in disbelief. This became rage as we saw ‘5.3km to go’ pinned to the front of the table. Next to a trekking lodge a group of tourists looked on in disbelief as we got so worked up over a measly 5km. I honestly felt like quitting but within 10 minutes of setting off again we started to rib each other and say what we were going to do to Mr Pandey and his route planning. Laughing like hysterical fools we plodded along resigned to our fate of this endless trail. Things started to get serious again when the 5.3km appeared never ending. The final hammer blow was another CP announcing 2km to go. I was completely dejected. Tony dragged me on but my heart really wasn’t in it. I was just going through the motions. Bend after bend followed and still no finish. My stomach started playing up again. Finally, after Tony’s tenth “I’m sure it’s round the next bend” the finish came into view. We looked at each other, grinned, picked up the pace and cruised in. Mr Pandey was nowhere to be seen. We came across the competitors, who’d already finished, sat on a beautiful lawn in front of the lodges that were to be our homes for the next two nights. There were lots of “Yes we know, at least 30 miles….we can’t find him anywhere” type comments.

Feeling slightly happier now, in the knowledge we hadn’t imagined the extra length and had not been travelling at the speed of a snail, we slumped down on the grass and breathed in the rich air. Steve’s ankle resembled a cricket ball. The entire sole of Tony’s foot had blistered. When John “Rip Van Winkle” finally arrived his feet weren’t a pretty sight either. The long day had taken its toll but, apart from my guts, I felt pretty good. We were now at Rimbik (6560ft), the surroundings were lush and green, the sun warm and we could order endless beer, coke and chips….life was good. There was hot water in the showers but we managed to get a big bucket of piping hot water. Out on the lawn with prayer flags flying overhead, I washed away three days of accumulated grime courtesy of the Adidas Performance Range as if I was on some exotic advertising photo shoot. The atmosphere at dinner was jovial. We knew we’d broken the back of the race and wouldn’t be freezing in our beds tonight.

Stage Race Day 4: 13.1 miles. 2hrs 09mins
I awoke to bright sunlight. Up high the sun is cold. Here it was deliciously warm. It felt wonderful on my back as I lay on the lawn stretching my muscles before breakfast. Today we only had to cover 13 miles, a mere half marathon. Ultra running has a habit of really warping your sense of distance. The race today (and tomorrow) left the trails and for the rest of the Stage Race we would be road-runners. I packed my trail shoes away and laced up my road shoes. They felt ridiculously light and giving.

I was looking forward to today. The course today followed a “U” profile starting at Rimbik at 6560ft dropping steeply down for about 10km to 3300ft, a little flat section of a couple of km before finally climbing again for 8km to Palmajua at 6560ft. The downhill was fast with sharp switchbacks. The people suffering blisters and others injuries really felt this high impact descent, including Tony and Steve whose swearing I could hear a few switchbacks ahead of me. I just let my long stride and gravity do the work for me and before I knew it was on the flat section and holding a steady pace. I was scorching hot now, about 30C, and dehydration was a real worry. Despite the light-hearted attitude to today’s “short run” you couldn’t afford to be careless. My stomach was still not right and I had to make sure I constantly sipped water. Going through the 13km CP at Momokhola, and crossing the river at the bottom of the valley, the climb to the finish loomed ahead. I started the climb at a good speed the air feeling ridiculously thick, this didn’t feel right, I was travelling fast, uphill and it didn’t feel as though I was trying to breath through a plastic bag. Past the 16km final CP at Hatta and before I knew it I was rounding the final bend to the finish. I felt really good and immediately began to regret not pushing things a bit harder but I then remembered the golden rule of Stage Racing: “Until the last day always try to finish with gas left in the tank”. Today was the first day I wasn’t running on empty. The real prize though was getting on the first bus back to Rimbik, which followed the route we’d just run, as we drove past the other runners toiling up the final climb we waved like royalty…to the victors the hot water.

During a celebratory “cultural exchange evening” (read- the locals showing their talent and natural rhythm, us making complete prats of ourselves.) I finally managed to pin Mr Pandey down about the mysterious extra miles the day before, with a smile and a glint in his eye he replied: “Friend, in a race of 100 miles what are a few extra here or there?”

Stage Race Day 5: 17 miles. 3hrs 23 mins
The clouds hung low in the valley as we piled into the coaches that were to ferry us back to yesterday’s finish point - the start of the final 17 mile stage. We polished off the climb we started yesterday ascending to 8000ft during the first 10km. I started well setting a steady tempo up the climb making my way up through the field. John was about 50yards ahead of me, Tony was always 10 yards behind me and I had a feeling we would be finishing pretty close together today. Steve had gone off like a scalded cat. The road then followed the ridgeline. These were some of the most spectacular views of the trip. After an undulating section, during which I caught John up, we started the long downhill drag to the finish at Maneybhanjang. We chatted as we trotted through exposed ridge-top villages.

John seemed disappointed by the attitude of his countrymen that had remained at home, but seemed to have got so much out of the trip himself. He had come out to the race as a journalist only intending to run a bit and cover the rest of the race from the comfort of a jeep. However, when we found out he was a keen mountain biker, ex cross country runner and, to top it all, lived at altitude, there was no way he wasn’t going to run the whole thing with the rest of us.

The 17km checkpoint marked the return of my stomach cramps brought by the jarring downhill run. A roadside stop allowed Tony to catch us up. We plodded along together. As the miles clicked by the conversation stopped. Things were starting to feel a bit competitive. Through the final CP at 26.5km the pace kept on picking up and up. I was suffering with my guts. Tony had lost most of the bottom of his foot on the third day and John’s big toe looked as if someone had gone at it with a mallet. But, men being men we were going to make this every bit as painful as possible. Going round a bend I reckoned there was about 1km to go so I thought I’d have a bit of a dart. I pressed the gas and drove hard. My legs felt like pistons, my lungs were delivering the oxygen, I was blowing them away, I was unstoppable….I had forgotten about my guts. Powering around a bend I had opened up a lead of about 20 yards. But then with an excruciating contortion my guts wrenched me to a stumbling halt, I couldn’t figure out which end was going to blow first. The mocking pair went passed as I vomited the contents of my stomach on the Himalayas for the last time. Pulling myself together I jogged around the last few bends. I saw Tony leaving John behind and starting to reel Steve in. Steve wasn’t having any of it and speeded up. The finish came into sight, I put on a bit of a sprint, almost vomited again and crossed the line for the final time. John, Tony and Steve were all there at the finish. We had all made it. More importantly, we were on the first bus back to Mirik!

On the bus back plans were made for a big night on the beers but in the end, after long presentation ceremony, we were all so knackered we only managed a couple. The drive back to Bagadora was even more terrifying downhill. Our final views of the Himalayan peaks from the plane brought home to me what I had just done. A final placing of 17th out of 43 was, I think, a pretty good effort.

Nik Cook

Thanks to Matt Roberts Personal Training tel:020 74398800
GQ
Adidas Performance Body Care
4 edge4ltd@aol.com
The Willow Foundation

For information on entering the HSR contact Mr Pandey at Himalayan Run and Trek cspandey@vsnl.com

Back to Main News
There are no comments yet!  Be the first to leave one!    

Notify me when someone replies to this post?