This post was written on Apr 19, 2018. You can check the original post here.
I signed up for the Vietnam Jungle Marathon (VJM) at the end of October, the moment early bird opened. I took the 70km.
Before that, I’d had two DNFs (Did Not Finish): the Tamdao Mountain Trail 70km (TMT) in 2017, and the Danang International Marathon 42km in 2017. After those two, I didn’t enter a single race until the LDR (Long Distance Runner) half marathon at the end of March, at Yên Sở park. Partly I wanted time to look back at two DNFs in a row. Partly I wanted to train more before taking on a new race.
I started running every day in early September last year. By the end of October, with early bird open, I registered for the 70km straight away. The reasons were simple. I’d run the VJM 42km the year before. I’d always wanted to try a trail distance longer than 42km after that race. And then there was TMT, two months later, when I felt extremely confident after the “successful” VJM 42km. And DNF’d.
This time, I wanted to go in better prepared.
Mileage
The first problem. To run a 70km trail, especially VJM, you need to bank a big enough mileage in the months before the race. I don’t know how much is enough. But at least it had to be a number that made me feel confident.
From early September, I ran 10km every day. I kept that up through November and into early December. In December and January, my mileage was around 170km a month. From February I pushed it past 200km. March, the month before the race, was over 500km. That’s almost 20km a day on average. I split it into two runs of about 10km each: one at noon (combined with heat training) and one in the late afternoon.
March was also when I started trying barefoot running. I’d read on LDR that other runners said barefoot could make your feet stronger. The first day, 10km at 12 noon, felt fine. The next day I kept going, and blisters started. My big toe, the toe next to it, and the ball of my foot. I’d had them before, so I popped them with a needle to let the fluid out and taped around the toes with Urgo plasters.
For the first two days, the Urgo came off after a while. I’d adjust it, run a bit, and it would peel off again. Too much trouble. I gave up and just took it off after each run. The next day I didn’t bother taping at all. And I still ran my first half marathon without shoes, after nearly a week of this.
Since then, every time I ran at Thành Công Lake, I mostly wore sandals there, left them in a corner by the gate, ran, and walked home in them. I left them there so often that the security guard got used to me.
Shoes
The second thing. Last year I ran VJM in sneakers and was lucky to finish. After that I kept wearing sneakers to Tam Đảo, with a very strong “belief” that it would be fine. The result: DNF after about 30km.
I knew that to finish VJM 70km this time, I needed a decent pair of trail shoes. The problem was that good trail shoes are expensive. Lots of people recommended Salomon. I checked, and they were all from around 4 million VND up. And it happened to be right when I’d quit my job.
Then I found a place selling Skechers trail shoes at a softer price. I went and bought a pair right away, without thinking much. I bought them one day and took them to Đồng Đò the next day to test.
Only testing showed me. This line has a high sole and soft lugs. If you run fast or go downhill on uneven ground, you can easily roll your ankle when you land. It happened to me a few times on the downhills at Đồng Đò. It wasn’t okay. I had to find another pair.
After the Đồng Đò run, I went to LDR and asked about shoes. I was swimming in a sea of information when anh Cao Hà offered to lend me some. He lent me two pairs: a Salomon S/Lab Sense 6 and a Brooks. When I went to his place to pick them up, I didn’t know if his shoes would fit. I thought, just take them and try later. When I tried them, they fit perfectly. Both pairs. Lucky. Maybe my karma isn’t too bad, so “Heaven took pity on me”
Anh Hà told me the Sense 6 is lighter than the Brooks. But it’s built for hard ground, packed earth terrain. It also doesn’t have a heel cushion like other shoes. I understood the Sense 6 as minimalist, with not much support. If your legs are strong, you can wear it.
Hearing that, I was sold. I’m in the minimalist camp: the less I carry, the better. It was also the time I was practicing barefoot running, so I felt confident about my feet and legs. I decided on the Sense 6 right when anh Hà told me.
Oh, that’s if they fit. As for the Brooks, anh Hà said it has more support, I think. So wear it if it rains in Pù Luông two or three days before the race, or if you’re not confident. As for confidence, this time I had plenty.
When I went to Đồng Đò to test, I brought both pairs, but only wore the Sense 6. The downhill was f***ing amazing. Every step stuck to the ground. The landing felt solid and gripped the surface. It didn’t float around like the Skechers GO Trail 3. I ran the 27km loop through Hàm Lợn and back, and it felt fine.
Done. This was the pair that would conquer the 70km of VJM. The pair that would conquer the slopes in Pù Luông that looked f***ing insane. (I only found out how insane they were once I was in the race.)
Shoes sorted.
Nutrition
Last, nutrition. At VJM last year, I ran with just a 500ml bottle of water. When other runners passed me and asked if I needed gel, I didn’t even know what gel was. Luckily there was food at the checkpoints (CPs). Otherwise I’d probably have “lost my body” somewhere along the way. At TMT I still started with a handheld water bottle and a few ration bars in a belt around my stomach. The result: I “died” in the middle of the forest.
This year was different. I looked up nutrition for racing, and read what experienced trail runners had shared. If I had to recommend one trustworthy and complete source, it would be the pinned posts in the group “Hội những người thích chạy đường dài”. Almost everything I know came from there.
This time I tried gels and energy bars from several brands before the race, to see if my body had any problems with them. I also practiced drinking water regularly, instead of waiting until I felt thirsty.
I also studied the route map beforehand. I looked at where the climbs were, so I could pace my energy and set sensible targets.
Before the race, I borrowed a vest, a watch and a headlamp, the essentials for a 70km.
Done.
Friday night
This year I stayed at anh Thành’s place again, where I stayed last year. One thing was different. I came with a team, not alone like the previous times. The team went up on Friday evening, ate and rested so we could start on Saturday morning. After dinner we packed our gear and wandered around meeting other teams. The whole team had been training at Đồng Đò, running into each other so often that we were sick of each other’s faces. Not knowing each other wasn’t an option
Saturday morning
2:19. I woke up. My phone alarm was set for 2:20. The light was still on. Everyone else was still asleep. Looking at the team lying around, I remembered the trekking trips from a few years back, everyone in their own corner. One difference this time: we were inside a house, with mattresses and proper blankets. And nobody was fighting for the bathroom at this hour, so I had it all to myself.
My gear was ready. Only my shoes weren’t dry, for a (frankly) silly reason: I’d washed them on Friday morning. Last night I sat drying them until after 11 and they still felt damp. I gave up. Luckily they were dry this morning.
I checked the vest again. Water flask. Gel. The energy bars anh Cường gave me. The Nestlé energy bars, the kind I always eat when I go up to Đồng Đò. Loose change. Watch. Multi-purpose scarf. Urgo.
Okay. That’s everything.
Oh, I forgot the BIB. (The BIB is the number tag pinned to the front of your chest or your back. It carries your unique ID number and an electronic timing chip, RFID, so the organizers can track the course and the results.)
I put everything in the vest. Two gels and some bars within easy reach. The rest wrapped in plastic bags and into the vest. I pinned the BIB on my leg instead of the front of my body. Checked my watch again.
3:00. At the start line, plenty of runners were already checking in. Like last year, everyone looked very “professional”. Poles, compression gear, 2XU shorts, long-sleeve tops, gloves, BIB belts. Me? Shorts, the BIB on my leg, and the same shirt I wore in training. No poles. No compression gear. No cap.
But unlike last year, I was calm. I don’t know why. I wasn’t nervous or anxious. I’d been ready for this day for a very long time. Now it was time to show what I’d prepared.
The organizers gave every runner a drop-bag tag. If you want to send something, attach the tag and the organizers move it to the finish ahead of you, and you pick it up there. I thought about it for a long time and couldn’t think of anything to send. Everything I needed was already with me. After the race I’d go back to Đoàn street anyway. So I sent nothing. While everyone dropped off their bags, I went up to sign my name before the start.
It was still dark, but the lights around the start line were bright. The runners’ headlamps too. I walked to an open corner for a last check of my gear. Suddenly I smelled grass, rice, earth.
3:30. Thirty minutes to go. Looking around, most people had someone they knew or a running partner. On my team, I was the only one running the 70. Wandering around, I ran into anh Quang NT. I was about to run over and say hi when I got surprised. Or more exactly, amused. This time he was dressed as plain as me. No 2XU. No cap. Short-sleeve shirt. The only thing he had that I didn’t was a pair of poles.
— “Why so simple this time?”
— “Less, so it’s lighter.”
A while later I met anh Linh Nguyen H. His wife had come to the start to see him off. And suddenly I felt… Sigh. Never mind. Then anh Trường James, who was running the 42 but still got up to see the 70 team off. We took a photo together. And anh Hải Phạm. While we were talking, anh Nguyen Dat, a reporter from Webthethao.vn, called the Vietnamese 70 team over for a photo.
Okay. Photo it is.
3:50. David Lloyd, the Race Director, announced this year’s rules. David said a lot, but all I remember is: if the organizers catch any runner littering on the course, that runner is disqualified immediately.
Hundreds of runners stood near the start line. All of us waiting, excited, for the moment we’d rush across a line less than 3m wide, squeezed between two flyers. Suddenly I felt hot inside. Not shaking with fear. Not nervous, not anxious. Maybe my blood was warm from excitement. I was about to dive into the silent dark. About to climb a 4km slope, 800m up, while everything was still in darkness. And when hundreds of people feel excited together, it’s easy to understand an ordinary runner like me smiling.
4:00.
“Vietnam Jungle Marathon 2018 will begin in
Five,
Four,
Three,
Two,
One,
Gooooo”
Part 2
“Cố lên”
“Cố lên”.
Everyone rushed across the start line.
The sound of shoes. The sound of poles hitting the concrete. Every headlamp lighting up a patch of road. Looking around, a few runners were speeding up. Never mind. I had to run 70km of forest and hill trails, not 7 laps of Thành Công Lake.
The sound of heavy breathing. Talking. Laughter. Dogs barking. All of it blended into a messy mix of sounds, with no beat to follow. And somehow it made the runners moving through the night feel calmer and more at ease.
The pack had started to split. Anh Quang Trần and Quang Nguyễn were probably at the front. I looked at my watch. Pace 6:10. (Pace is how many minutes it takes to run 1km, so pace 5:00 means 5 minutes per km.) A blue shirt ahead of me. It looked like anh Quang NT. Good. Someone I know. Running with someone is better anyway.
5:40.
5:20.
5:00.
— “You’re running fast, anh?”
A confused face looked back.
Shit, wrong person.
I laughed it off and ran on. Since I’d already sped up anyway, I kept pace 4:50. After a while I caught up with a group of three. Further ahead I could see the glow of headlamps. It looked like another group was in front.
I heard running water. I shone my light down. The two runners ahead had just run through a puddle. I slowed down and found a way to jump over so my shoes stayed dry. Lucky I was behind this group. Getting your shoes and socks wet right at the start isn’t great.
3km. Still just the four of us. “Cộp. Cộp. Cộp.” The steady beat of footsteps, over and over, breaking the quiet. It was still pitch dark, with only the light from the three headlamps ahead. I could hear the breathing beside me clearly. Mine seemed a bit fast. Maybe I should slow down? Never mind. About 2km to the climb. I’d slow down then, climb and rest as I went.
5km. The group turned onto a dirt trail. The climb began. This must be the famous “The Beast”. I stayed behind the three runners. The slope was steep but not too hard. My feet felt around for footholds. My hands grabbed trees on both sides for support. Where there were no trees, I grabbed the earth. It was still dark. No one around. Only the sound of dry leaves cracking underfoot. Branches creaking as they bent. And my own breathing, keeping its beat.
— “You want go first?”
— “Ah yeah, thanks.”
6km. After climbing a while, I couldn’t see any marker. I stopped completely and swept my light around. Still no marking. “How the f*** do I always get lost at least once every race?”
On the Tam Đảo trek, I’d also groped around in the forest at midnight. But then anh Cường and anh Linh were leading the way. I only had to follow, with nothing to think about. Even sliding down a vertical slope, I just held onto the rope and anh Cường lowered me. At the LDR half marathon at Yên Sở, I missed a turn, and luckily anh Đức and the 2:45 pacers called me back. Otherwise I’d probably have gone on alone, on my own road.
I swept my light around for a while. Ah, there’s a marking. As I started running back toward it, I saw the lights of two more runners behind me. Lucky. Less groping around.
My legs were starting to tire. My breathing was getting faster. Was I climbing too fast?
The sky began to lighten.
— Ngọc Anh
….
— Anh Quang? (I only found out later it was anh Âu Mạnh Toàn.) Why are you only here now? I thought you’d be near the front. Oh, you ran the first part slow to save energy, right?
— Yeah, on the concrete I saved energy. Okay, I’ll go ahead.
7km. My glasses were completely fogged up. Probably the mist. But only the right lens. The left was still clear. I took them off and wiped them several times, and each time they fogged up again after a while. Probably because my shirt was wet too. Whatever, f*** it. One side was enough to see. The bigger problem now was my ears ringing and the dizziness. From the change in altitude? Normally when I climb mountains or hills, I don’t get this.
Then I remembered. Since the start, nothing had gone into my stomach, just the occasional sip of water. I pulled a gel out of my vest and ate it right away. Green. Cucumber Mint, I think. Thick like syrup and f***ing bland, but I forced it down. I needed the calories to keep burning. I put the wrapper back where it came from and took a sip of water to ease my throat.
After a while, my stomach started rumbling. Why so many problems all of a sudden? I figured the gel and the water were jostling my stomach. I opened an energy bar and ate that too, chewing as I walked. Then more water. Okay. Better.
— Ngọc Anh?
— Yes. Who’s that?
— It’s Lâm.
— Oh, hi anh. Why are you only getting here now?
— I dropped my water flask. Do you have any water left? Can I have some?
— I do.
8km. It was fully light now. I tucked the headlamp into my vest. Past the rocky section, I started up toward the peak. Then I saw the sky, the clouds. A sea of clouds. The 4km climb on my face was worth it. My eyes took it in while my legs kept running. I must have been at pace 5. It looked like someone was standing on the summit. I kept running and shouting “Anh ơi, wait for me!” without caring who it was.
What time was it? 5:30. So I’d been running for 1h30. According to the route, about 2km of downhill remained to CP1. My plan was to reach CP1 at 5:40. That left about 10 minutes for 2km of downhill. Probably fine. But I had to breathe in this air first, and look at this sea of clouds until I’d had enough. A little slower wouldn’t matter.
Nothing blocked the view now. No high-rises, no apartment blocks, no office buildings. Just the green of leaves and the white of clouds, dotted with a few black peaks. How long had it been since I stood on a mountaintop like this? I couldn’t remember. I stood still, looking into the space ahead for a long time. Took a deep breath. I had never felt so small.
From the summit the slope drops fast. I’d run up and down the slope at Đồng Đò many times just to practice downhill. Now was the time to use it. Down on the flat section, I saw a figure ahead. It had been a while since I’d seen anyone. I sped up to catch him. When I caught up, I looked down at his feet. A familiar red and white. He was wearing the Sense 6 too, and his gear was simple as well: sports shorts, a singlet and a vest. That was it.
CP1
From CP1 to CP2 is about 12km, still mostly downhill and flat. I thought there was no rush, so I followed this bác 7057. I ran behind him for a while and noticed he didn’t run very fast, but he held the same speed all the time. Even on the not-so-steep climbs he kept running slowly instead of walking. Same on the downhills. He didn’t rush down like me. He kept the same pace, or went a bit faster. Interesting. Running like this would probably save energy for the climb from CP4 to CP5, then CP6 to CP7 and CP7 to CP8. So I copied his way of running.
Mr 7057 reached CP3 a bit before me. He was signing in when I got there. He smiled, patted my shoulder and gave me a thumbs up. There were bananas and watermelon all over the table. I handed my two bottles to a volunteer to fill, and took the chance to sign in and eat. If I couldn’t get on the podium, I had to at least eat enough to get my money’s worth for the bib. While I was drinking, I saw Mr 7057 pick up two pieces of watermelon, take one big bite, and put them down. Oh nice. A faster way to get energy.
The course now ran through the forest and past villages in the Pù Luông conservation area. Forest on both sides, a single trail in the middle. Now and then a buffalo. Every house has a dog, which only barks and doesn’t bite. Anyway, even if one did bark, I had no energy left to run. This dirt road looked like the roads of my hometown in the old days. These days back home it’s all concrete. No more buffalo either. Only tractors. This whole stretch, it was still just me and Mr 7057. He ran in front, I followed. Like that.
I didn’t know what place I was in.
There was a figure ahead. A Trio69 shirt. Anh Âu Mạnh Toàn? Yes. I slowly passed him, said hi, and kept going. Still following Mr 7057.
How many km had I run? 32km. So nearly half the way. Last year I started hitting the wall around km 25 and dragged along like a zombie. This year I still felt fine. I still had energy. My legs were tired, but I felt in control. My breathing was still even.
We started crossing the rice fields. Last year I ran in May, so the rice was golden. This year the race was a month earlier, so the rice probably wasn’t ripe yet. Ripe or not, the whole road still smelled of rice. The path was only wide enough for one person. It reminded me of the times I went up to Tả Van, wandering along small paths like this one, along the terraced fields. I don’t know why, but every time I go to Sapa, I always end up there. Why? I don’t know.
While I was thinking random things, I saw a figure in the middle of the path. It looked like she was holding a phone? Taking photos? Filming? Seeing that, I sped up past Mr 7057 and struck a pose for the camera.
CP4, 37km
— What place am I?
— Let me see. You’re sixth, the older guy is seventh.
— Who’s first?
— Quang Nguyễn. Quang came through a long time ago. Lâm just passed through a while ago. The older guy is the second foreigner here. Is anyone behind you close?
— Probably anh Âu Mạnh Toàn. I passed him a little while ago.
I kept running. From here, the course overlaps with the 42km route.
— Has the 42 group come through here yet?
— A long time ago.
I kept running across the fields. Still a small dirt path, one person wide. Here it was, the spot where last year I stepped in and got one whole side of my shoe wet. This time I was alert. This year, running through here, I wasn’t nervous like last year, and no runners kept saying “Let me pass, please.” The path is narrow and they still kept rushing. Anyone who wants to pass, come out here and I’ll let you go =))
I reached a fork. One path for the 25km, one for the 42 and 70. Ah, this was the stretch of constant climbing where I met anh Cao Hà last year. Before the race I’d read the advice about climbing: don’t run, switch to walking. So I slowed down. I looked up and saw mr 7057 still running. Just tiny steps, but still RUNNING.
“Damn, is he a buffalo?” Okay, since I’d already followed him this far, I’d try to stick with him and see how far I got. My legs started inching forward in small continuous steps. A little tired, but fine. Arms swinging lightly, I watched the person ahead and lifted my feet. It seemed I was in a keep-moving state. My legs were tired but they kept moving without stopping. My breathing was still slow and even. Yes. This was keep moving in the real sense. Not running anymore.
There were people walking ahead. 20m. 10m. 5m. Passed. Another one. Still keep moving. Nice, a downhill ahead. A break for a stretch. Just as I came down and turned left, there was another slope, even higher. The sun was getting harsh. The thought of that long climb ahead was already discouraging. But it was still less scary than the fact that mr 7051 kept moving and never rested.
“I lose.”
Forget Mr 7057. I found a place to lie down for a while. How many km had I done?
41km. So about 3km of climbs like this to CP5. If I’d been running the 42, I’d be about to finish by now. I looked at the map on my arm again. Sweat had blurred half the drawing below, but I could still see the next part. From CP5 to CP6 is mostly downhill, but CP6 to CP7 is pure mountain climbing, trekking style. From CP7 to CP8 there’s another climb of about 300m. I didn’t even need the map to know that.
After lying there a while, I saw a guy with a 70 bib pass me, followed by a girl on a Nouvo scooter. She got off the scooter and handed him water and a banana. “Wow, you can have a supporter at every km? That’s f***ing luxury.” While I was watching, the girl turned to me:
— Do you want water? Or banana? Take some, I have lots.
Nice.
— Thank you.
— You’re welcome.
I lay there about 15 minutes, then got up and moved on. I felt much better.
Still keep moving.
The multi-purpose scarf I got at the LDR half marathon started to prove useful. It worked as a headband and as a sweat towel.
43km. What time was it? The Forerunner I borrowed from Dương only showed elapsed time, not the time of day. I didn’t dare change any settings, afraid it would pause or something. I was nearing CP5. Last year some sections weren’t finished yet and were still dirt road. This year everything was done, all concrete, steaming hot as f***. After this climb to CP5, there were still two more climbs: CP6 to CP7, and CP7 to CP8.
Hmm. Later, when I write this up, what should I write to make it sound cool? “Arrived at CP5, sat down and asked myself: WTF am I doing here?” Not cool enough. “No fing idea why I’m paying money to torture myself, climbing concrete slopes at noon? And there are still two fing insane slopes left?” A bit cheesy. “F* f* f***, am I going to DNF again?” No, not that. Drop it right away. This time I was determined not to DNF.
Hard to think of one. Never mind. Run first. I’d decide later.
While I was drifting through these thoughts, I saw a route sign ahead.
CP5?
I looked at the sheets of paper and saw only a few signatures. I was probably still in the top 10. Only one guy had passed me since CP4, so I was probably top 8. Okay.
A bit past CP5 I met Simon Grimstrup, from the organizers.
— Hey. You look good.
— Thanks. Smiles
— Have time for a picture?
— Sure.
— An American just left. You look better than him.
— Yeah, I got him.
I started seeing some runners with orange bibs. Probably the last group of the 42. I thought I’d meet more people if I kept up this speed, and felt more fired up. A bit further on, I met the 70km guy whose girlfriend was supporting him. So I’d caught up to top 7.
The course ran through more villages now. A group of foreign tourists were sitting and eating in a house by the road. By now they’d probably seen many runners pass. I wondered what they thought, seeing runners come by one at a time, vests on their shoulders, poles in their hands, shuffling along. A house getting its roof. A row of water wheels, one after another. So beautiful. It was true that running more than 40km since early morning was worth it for scenes like these.
48km. My legs feeling hurt. Since I started running, apart from walking uphill and sleeping, I hadn’t stopped once? I’m fing good.
I thought I was still top 7. I wondered where Mr 7057 was now. Had he reached CP7? How long until I caught up to the top 6? I took out my phone to check. 11:30. The plan was to reach CP6 at 10:35, and I was still dragging myself here. At this rate I wouldn’t hit the sub-10 target.
But so what if it wasn’t sub-10? I wasn’t getting on the podium anyway. So why keep pushing?
Sleep.
I pulled over to a shady corner and lay down. Used the vest as a pillow. Turns out wearing a vest has its uses. I took out the soft flask of electrolytes and drank. Two sips and it was gone. I took out another energy bar from anh Cường. Fing delicious. Afternoon sun hit my face. Whatever, f it. I didn’t bother avoiding it. Call it vitamin D. I put my glasses to one side. Only then did I feel the cool wind. There seemed to be a smell of leaves. Birds singing. The smell of earth. Breathing this air was enough to feel full. No need to eat.
How long had I been lying there? Maybe 5 minutes, maybe longer. Footsteps. A red bib ran past.
Top 8.
— You ok?
— Ok, thanks. Just need a break.
Two orange bibs ran past.
The wind was f***ing cool.
Three red bibs ran past.
Top 11.
Ok. I don’t f***king care anymore.
I told myself I’d wait for one more person to pass, then go.
2 minutes.
5 minutes.
…
Okay, that’s enough rest. My legs were tired, but I kept moving. The water in my two soft flasks kept getting lower.
There was a well. And a person. Nice. I went in and asked for water to wash my hair right away. My multi-purpose scarf had been bone dry for who knows how long. After washing, I dried my hair and washed the scarf too. I felt my energy come back faster, even though my legs were still tired. That was fine. I only had to keep moving. No need to be fast. Just don’t stop and walk. Suddenly everything around me went quiet. The wind seemed to stop. The birds stopped singing. My legs kept moving, but I couldn’t feel anything.
“Everything went quiet, and I was purely drifting. Just me, with each movement and each motion.”
Is this that feeling?
“Dangerous area. Please slow down.”
Here it was, the sign from last year, still there. The next 3km of trekking to CP7.
If I had to describe this stretch in one word, it would be SLEEP. Sleeping everywhere, any time I could. Wherever it looked nice and flat enough, I lay down. When I’d slept enough, I moved on. I had no performance goal anyway, so why rush? Wouldn’t it be better to enjoy it as I went?
I met a lot of people I knew on this stretch. Anh Trường James, anh Ngô Việt Dũng, and more. Anh Dũng and I kept taking turns passing each other the whole way. And two guys from Saigon too. I’d pass, find a place to lie down. Then the two of them would pass me. Again and again. It gave me some motivation.
CP8
As soon as I got up there, before I even signed in, I looked for a place to lie down. I asked a volunteer to fill my two flasks. I asked another runner to grab watermelon and bananas for me. Across the road a few runners were sitting, stretching (?). I lay there listening to everyone chat.
— Are these bananas sprayed with chemicals?
— No, anh. We bought them from the locals here. They ripen naturally, no chemicals.
— Then I’m not eating them. I’m used to bananas with chemicals. If I eat a strange one, I’ll get a stomachache =)))))
More and more 25km and 42km runners arrived. Seeing me lying there with a 70 bib, they cheered me on. A volunteer told me I was in the top 10. Hearing that cheered me up, even though I knew I wasn’t top 10 anymore. I stood up, put two bottles in my vest, thanked the volunteers and ran on. According to the route, about 2km of road remained, then back into the forest, with no more climbing. Relief. My legs kept moving. After a while I met anh Trung Hiếu Tô and chị Hằng Phạm. I’d heard they came up here to set up their own CP to support runners. They told me to come in, rest and eat noodles before going on. Since I’d just rested at CP8 not long ago and still felt strong, I thanked them and kept going.
So less than 10km to the finish. 10 more km and I wouldn’t have to remind myself to keep moving. 10 more km and I’d no longer have that feeling of being tired but always aware I must not stop. 10 more km and my legs wouldn’t hurt anymore. Suddenly I felt a bit let down. I’d been pushing continuously for over 11 hours, especially from km 32 on, and now I was about to stop pushing. I should have been happy. Why did I feel regret?
62km.
— Ngọc Anh. Is that Ngọc Anh?
— Yes. So happy to see you here, Hà.
— Yeah, almost at the finish. I’ll run to the finish with NA.
— Ok.
I kept an even pace. I figured the stream near last year’s finish was close.
— Come on, almost at the finish.
— Thank you, anh. Smiles. How many more km?
— Just 2km.
64km. I could see the bridge over the stream. But this year the stream seemed shallower. Last year, every runner stopped here to wash their hands, feet and shoes, and fix their clothes to look less “like scrap collectors” so they could finish looking fresh. Last year it was as crowded and lively as a festival. Now there was nobody. Never mind. I crossed the bridge quickly to get to the finish.
— Come on, only 3km left.
— Yes, thank you.
It was 2km a moment ago? I’d run almost 2km since and now it was 3km again? How the f*** does that work?
Never mind. I kept moving.
I saw the VJM flyer. Saw the flags of several countries. Heard the loudspeaker. The finish.
At last I could see the finish line.
The last 20m, I gave everything and jumped across the line.
Applause. The loudspeaker congratulating runners.
So I’d finished.
My result for my first ultra trail: 12h41m19s. Top 10 overall. Top 2 in my age group.
The runner with bib 7057 who ran with me to CP4 is Chin Choy, born in 1968, from Malaysia, now living in Singapore. He finished 8th in 12:27:12.
As soon as I received the medal, I met anh Linh. He pulled me over to the organizers’ backdrop for a memorial photo. Lucky anh Linh was with me this time, so I got more good photos than the previous times.
Walking into the dining hall, I met anh Lâm and several other LDR people. Everyone congratulated me. I smiled and thanked them. I’d just sat down when I met chị Mây. Mây had finished a while before me. Watching Mây eat, you wouldn’t think she’d just come back from a 25km forest run =))
People said the results were up. I went to check and saw anh Lâm finished 4th, but I couldn’t find anh Quang Nguyễn. Huh, did this guy run with someone else’s bib? While I was looking around for him, I saw anh Quang near the finish line. I ran over to ask, and found out he DNF’d at CP7.
Looking back now, in the whole nearly 70km this time, I never once thought about DNF. Well, actually there was one time, when I was thinking about what to write to make it sound cool, between CP4 and CP5. But I forgot it immediately. Throughout my preparation, I kept thinking about how to hold and divide my energy sensibly for the 70km ahead. DNF was never an option. And that’s right: an average of nearly 300km a month, heat training, and weekly trips to Đồng Đò for a month before the race weren’t to prepare for a DNF.
I remember reading in Born to Run: the way homo sapiens hunted before modern weapons was to run with the prey until it was exhausted, and then another group would finish the job. And one reason homo sapiens survived alongside fierce predators, while other species like the Neanderthals went extinct, was that homo sapiens kept moving to find new places to live, to hunt, and so on. In other words, long-distance running began tens of thousands of years ago, and was one of the factors that helped homo sapiens survive and thrive until today.
So, somehow, does running link me to the distant past? Does running continuously for 4 hours, 5 hours, even 12 hours let me feel something of our homo sapiens ancestors, when this was also their only way to travel and hunt? And if the reason we exist is to link the distant past to the far future, is running a way to link the distant past? I don’t know. But I know this is a long journey to find the answer, and I’m taking the first steps on it. And, if there is a journey, where it would take me to, what is there for me or how to do that, let the journey reveal itself.
Before this, there was a time I traveled a lot on the cheap, backpacker style. Once a month, some months twice. When I couldn’t go far, I went up to Hàm Lợn. Every trip I loved, in a YOLO way. Every trip I was full of energy. But the energy lasted only while I was away. When I got back, I felt bored. I’d sit counting down to the weekend so I could go again. Without meaning to, the positive energy turned negative. For a long time I felt stuck. Bored — go backpacking — full of energy — come back — wait for the weekend to go again — bored again — go again at the weekend. The same circle, over and over.
But now it’s different. I can run every day, any time, anywhere. All I need is a pair of shoes. Or not even shoes. I can run anywhere. I don’t have to wait for the weekend to run. If I wait for the weekend at all, it’s to run at the lake and meet my runner friends. And every time I step out to Thành Công Lake and run a few laps, I can feel the energy of the moment I started running regularly. It was a day in early September, two months after I quit my job at Wego, and I still hadn’t found a new one. I had nothing in my hands. Only a belief: “All is well. Everything will be okay. I’m like a startup myself. If I just survive until I raise funding, things will get better :)))). The only thing to do right now is survive.” And probably it will be a very long time before I forget this feeling, now that I can get this energy back any time.
I remember a part of Walk with Me, roughly saying that breathing is the foundation of practicing mindfulness. I think breathing is also a basic and important element of long-distance running, and of running in general. How do you keep a steady rhythm for 2km, 5km, 10km, 21km, even longer? When you run every day, that’s also when you practice breathing. And once you’ve kept up the running habit, I think that’s when each person can feel and adjust their own breathing.
Walk with Me also mentions something else. Làng Mai (Plum Village). In short, Làng Mai is a place to practice mindfulness. Not only Thích Nhất Hạnh but hundreds of monks train there, and many people practice mindfulness there. I haven’t been to Làng Mai, but I think just stepping into it you’d feel an extremely strong energy. When Thích Nhất Hạnh led a meditation in a language completely different from everyday speech, many people cried. This energy lets people feel at peace, with nothing to brace against, just being themselves? But when we leave Làng Mai and go back to daily life, can we keep this energy, this feeling?
I think every organization, every company, every circle is a “Làng Mai”. When everyone in that organization, company or circle shares the same energy and tries together for one common purpose, that’s already a small Làng Mai. And even each of us has our own “Làng Mai”. We build it up by collecting, bit by bit, positive energy from small things every day. It feels like every time I run, I’m building my own “Làng Mai”. And every time I meet a runner, I always think we’re building some “Làng Mai” together.
One more thing. I think one reason I could finish nearly 70km through the forest this time is that I stopped to sleep when I was tired, and I always kept moving. Apart from the times I slept, I moved almost the whole way and walked very little. No matter how tired or how sore my legs were, I didn’t stop. Simply because “stopping” was not one of my choices.
Maybe it’s true, as a line in Born to Run says. I don’t remember exactly who said it, but it goes roughly like this:
“You don’t have to be fast. You just have to be unafraid.”
And it seems this isn’t only true in long-distance running.