My First Ultra-Marathon on the Playground of the Gods – Heather Bray

Today’s guest blog is brought to you by powerful athlete, amazing woman, loving mom, beautiful human & talented writer – Heather Bray ( @hulahooprunner )
Sit back, relax, enjoy the read and let the words below take you on a journey, a 53 kilometer journey – an ultra- marathon!

Six months ago, I booked a flight to Cyprus. It was not because of a promise of charming villages, expansive coastlines, ancient history, mouth-watering Mediterranean cuisine, or an island encapsulated by the sun three hundred-plus days of the year, though these facts were persuasive. The reason to go to Cyprus, also known as the playground of the gods, was because a fellow November Project Tribe Member, Antoinette, had offered me a chance to run my first ultramarathon and I, as most avid runners would do, greedily accepted.

Leading up to March, I diligently clocked one hundred-plus kilometer weeks and meticulously collected every vertical meter I could find in the painfully flat Dutch terrain and stacked them together neatly like miniature Amsterdam canal houses. I cranked up the incline on the treadmill and increased the weights on my squats and deadlifts. On weekends, I ventured into the dunes and the few trails that North Holland has to offer. When it rained, I envisioned the sun that would kiss my skin in March. When the wind blew, I imagined the breath of the sea caressing my skin. As the months dragged on, my hope and expectations grew.

The day finally arrived. With Kid X in tow, and eight other November Project Tribe Members, we boarded the plane to Larnaca. We would spend two nights there before making our way up the island to the Akamas Peninsula. At seven am on March 10^th, a group of desperate souls would begin the 32 kilometer journey before circling back to the start line only to set out for another 21 kilometers. What we hoped to accomplish in 53 kilometers was unknown. We all had our own personal reasons for embarking on this journey. We all held some intimate motivation for pushing our bodies and minds to a limit that seemingly stretched to the impossible.

For me, the reason was quite simple. I needed a 53 kilometer path to self-discovery. I needed to move one step or stride closer to understanding and defining myself. I needed to put down the countless self-help books and get out into the world and help myself. For those that know me, they know my Alice in Wonderland obsession well. I tend to analyze my life by reciting passages written by Lewis Carol. I shift from character to character, from line to line, but always find myself as disoriented and confused like Alice but also more self-aware. In one part of the book, Alice asks the Cheshire Cat, “would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?” and the Cat responds, “that depends a good deal on where you want to get to.”

This for me is a pivotal exchange and one that I often return to. Where do I want to go in life?  And, how do I expect to get to ‘there’ if I have no idea where I want to go. So, I, like Alice, stumbled down the Rabbit hole and needed to desperately find my way out. And, what better way to do this but to run a race though rocks, mud, grass, sand, and dirt.

On the start line at the Aprhodite Baths Restaurant, a group of nervous runners lined up for either the 32 km or the 53 km race. Two November Project Tribe Members (Antoinette and Violet) were registered for the 32 km race, four of us (Stefan, Stephen, Mark, and me) were attempting our first ultramarathons, and three (Saskia, Roderick, and Danielle) would run the 21 kilometer race that began three hours later. And, of course, Kid X would run the kids race!

I wiggled my toes, rolled my shoulders, and adjusted my race vest for the billionth time. Inside my vest, I had my compulsory items – a mobile phone, whistle, water carrying capacity of two litres, waterproof rain jacket, reusable cup – and a few gels, dates, Ella’s Kitchen baby food, and some Clif Bloks that I hoped would appeal to my soon to be diminishing appetite.

The race began with a what-seemed-to-be quicker than usual countdown from ten and then we were off, scrambling towards the most remote Western tip of Cyprus. Adrenaline was high for the first couple of kilometers and I was tempted to coast off the surge, but common sense thankfully kicked in. I reminded myself of my pre-made rules: run your own race and remember that ultras are not won in the first few kilometers. I slowed my pace. I listened to the patter of feet. I felt the warm morning wind dispersing the sweat along from my forehead the same way it creates ripples along the surface of a lake. I lost myself momentarily in the rays of light breaking through openings in the clouds and found myself reciting my race program along the rungs of Jacob’s ladder:

• Drink before you are thirsty.
• Eat before you are hungry.
• Mind the rocks.
• Maintain a steady pace.
• Do not walk but keep running at all times.
• And no matter what, do not allow doubts to creep in.

By the third kilometer, I was right behind the first-place woman and I had uncovered her weakness or perhaps I had unearthed my strength: HILLS. She would fly down the slopes and maintain a relatively steady pace on the flats but on a hill – regardless of steepness – her pace would slow to crawl. By kilometer four, I had passed her, along with a group of men and was now the #1 woman. The pressure started to build. Had I passed her too soon? Would I be able to maintain this pace? Should I also walk the hills?

Before I could answer these questions, I noticed a man with a polished gait. He took hills with ease and followed the trail like he knew exactly where to go. He was familiar with this terrain and this course in particular. He took the shortest possible routes around the rocks and never hesitated which way to turn or which path to take. He was exactly what I needed. I instantly designated him as my ultra-guide. I followed in his footsteps and adjusted my pace to match his. When he reached for his water, I also drank from my flask. At kilometer nine, I swallowed my first gel.

We ran side by side along the beach in silence towards are first big climb. As we ascended, I knew instantly I had chosen the right guide. Unlike the others that quickly fell into a hike, he continued to stubbornly run. I kept my stride short and quick. My gaze fell comfortably ahead. I trudged onwards and upwards. “It will be worth the view,” I heard myself say aloud. “You will be too busy watching your footing to enjoy the view” said my ultra-guide in a South African accent. I was pleasantly surprised he spoke English.

When we finally made it to the top, I took a quick glance at the view before setting my sight back on my shoes, as my ultra-guide had predicted. But what a sight it was. Atop the jagged cliffs was a spectacular panoramic view of the peninsula and the turquoise waters below. I hungrily drank it in. We had traversed to an area where few humans (and goats) had ever reached. I felt small and insignificant compared to the enormous cliffs and far reaching horizon. This terrain, this trail, this race was much bigger than me. I was such a small part of it all in the grand scheme of things. This realization of insignificance strangely brought me comfort. It made my life decisions seem less pressing and my daily stress dulled.

For the next twenty kilometers or so, `I would learn a bit about my ultra-guide. He was originally from South Africa and now lived and worked in Cyprus. This was his second time running this trail and he explained that he was intimately acquainted with Cyprus trails. He struck me as a passionate runner, and a strong one. We chatted intermittingly on the flats and became muted by our laboured breathing during the uphill portions. We quickly refilled our bottles with water at the first check point (18 kilometer) and continued on. We weaved through gravel roads and sandy paths. We ran around deep puddles and passed through sharp bushes. The yellow markers at times directed us off the trails and into overgrown fields where we guided ourselves by the grooves in the rocks and natural parts in the grass or trees. We passed runners, moving closer and closer to the front.

I took another gel at around twenty kilometers. It tasted too sweet and I was unable to drink it down as quickly as the last one. The arches on my feet started to hurt slightly but I pushed the pain from my mind. For long stretches of time, it would be just me and my ultra-guide. Sometimes a truck or eight-wheeler would pass us, or we would spot a few hikers strolling along. These felt like small intrusions into our space, but they were few and far between.

At around thirty kilometers we descended to the Aphrodite Baths Restaurant from the ridge above and re-entered the start/finish area. I immediately spotted November Project Co-Leaders – Saskia and Roderik – and smiled. One of the race-organizers, Chris, announced that I was the first-place woman. I ran towards my drop bag, a bright green drawstring bag, and began to scramble through it. My fingers were numb. I forgot what I was looking for or what I needed. I grabbed two more gels and left all the other snacks behind. I was not hungry and had no energy to chew. With the help of friends, I filled my handheld with water and stared blankly at Chris as she spoke to me. What was she saying? Was it in English? Nothing registered. I looked around for my ultra-guide, but he was nowhere to be found. It was time. I needed to do the final 21-kilometer loop alone. I was ready.

With a bit of restored energy, I began the final loop. As I ran away from the crowd, the doubts that I had been able to successfully keep at bay began to emerge with a remarkable vengeance. Could I do this final loop alone? What if I get lost? What if I see a snake? What if the second-place woman catches me? I tried to remember my race mantras but my mind was clearly playing tricks on me and I could not recall anything. I looked at my watch. “What time is it” I whispered. “Game time” I answered. “You all good?” I asked. “Fuck yeah” I yelled. Just then I saw a volunteer, who seemed slightly startled by my violent dialogue, pointing for me to turn right up a huge hill. “You got this. This is your thing. You eat hills for breakfast.” I told myself encouragingly.

But I felt slow. My pace was barely even a jog. I placed one foot in front of the other and focused on the ground directly in front of my feet. Within a few minutes, the leaders of the 21-kilometer race (who had just started), began to pass me. I watched them gallop effortlessly up the hill on fresh legs. I felt sorry for myself. This was not fair. My legs had endured an additional 32 kilometers. I popped a Clif Blok, but the texture made it difficult to chew and breath at the same time. I sipped some sports drink. I recollected my thoughts.

“15 kms to go” read a sign. This was the first realization that I might actually finish this monster course. I was on the countdown. I ran through grass that proudly skimmed my shoulders. I thought about the lazy vipers napping amongst the high vibrant blades and I ran faster. My shoe hit a patch of mud, which suctioned and slurped it up. The mud reluctantly let my shoe go as I plowed forward.

After the grass, I was greeted with a field covered in a carpet of yellow chrysanthemums. I lifted my sunglasses in order to remove any barrier between me and the flowers. I thought about how much my mom would appreciate these flowers and pictured how beautiful they would look in her summer garden.

I weaved through single lane tracks. I heard goat bells and spotted goat pellets on the ground. Lizards frantically cleared the rocks as I passed by. Birds found cover in the nearby trees and announced their presence with sharp chirps. The paths ascended through twisted juniper trees. I let my mind spiral around the gnarled and twisted trunk of the trees. Purple spring flowers jostled for space amidst the rocks and yellow flowers of wild fennel sprung from the most inopportune crevices.  

I continued to overtake people. With every person I passed, my confidence and strength grew. I started to take more regular sips of water and splash my sweat-stained salty face. My shoulders ached. My quads were feeling the effects of all the hills. I noticed their weight on every small descent. The inclines up the rock cliffs felt endless. “Do not walk” I kept repeating. “Do not let them catch you.” I passed a few more runners on the climb. On the downhill, I let my body tumble forward and allowed gravity to do its work. I relaxed and tried to recover on the steep downhills.

At the halfway point of the final 21-kilometer loop, I was greeted by cheerful volunteers at the last aid station. They filled my handheld with water and offered me snacks – oranges, bananas, power bars, rice cakes with peanut butter. I vehemently declined. The sight of the food made me uneasy. I was feeling exhausted and ready for this race to be over. “I’m tired.” I heard myself confessing to the volunteers. “You are in second place.” A woman excitedly reported. “What? Second? When had I been passed?” I thought. As if reading my mind, she corrected, “Second, overall.” A man volunteer, as if knowing I needed it, began to give me pep talk. “There is only ten kilometers left. You are doing great. You have run ten kilometers many times before. This was a piece of cake.”

I thanked them and continued on. I had indeed run ten kilometers many times before. But this was not like any ten kilometers I had ever experienced. This was ten kilometers after already running forty kilometers of intense trails. My legs were beyond repair. My energy was depleted and I was hot. The hills just kept coming and coming. I started to dread every downhill, knowing that it was only a prequel of what was to come. What goes down, must go up, right? “What time is it?” I panted. “Game time” I yelled. “It’s now or never, Heather. It’s time to get this thing done.”

A sign read: “5 kms to go.” Shortly after this, the endless switchbacks began. Weaving back and forth along the face of the cliff, I tried to focus on keeping my cadence quick and my body slightly forward. On the corners, I shifted my center of gravity and leaned into the turn. As I zigzagged through the final kilometers, I warned myself to not look down. “Whatever you do, don’t look down.” Instead, I spied orange race ribbons that directed me through this twisty maze.

Each kilometer crept slowly by. I waited for the tears to come. I was about to finish my first ultra and this was supposed to be emotional. But no tears came. Some hikers cheered me on. I passed two more runners desperate to complete the final kilometers as fast as possible. They called me their “Hero” and “Wonder Woman” as I passed. In the final kilometer I spotted the other race organizer, Bryan. He excitedly cheered me on. I picked up the pace but kept focused on the orange ribbons. I will not get lost in the last few meters. I debated sneaking a peak over my shoulder to ensure I was not going to get passed but resisted the urge. Instead, I decided to pick up the pace.

I saw the finish line through the trees. I had made it. I ran towards the end. I was announced as the first woman finisher and second overall. I was handed a framed picture of Cyprus in place of a medal. I had finished in five hours and ten minutes, setting a new course record by over forty minutes. I was immediately embraced by Kid X and Antoinette. Kid X announced he knew I was going to win all along as I always win. He made it sounds so easy; but in truth, it was far from easy. It was six months of anticipation, three months of intensive training, and five hours and ten minutes of grueling work and effectively managing self-doubt.

Within a few minutes I was guzzling a coke and sitting heavily on the grass near the finish line. I waited for it all to hit me: the immense undertaking and the grand achievement. I was ultra-struck. I had just met the ultramarathon in person, and I was completely, embarrassingly tongue-tied.

Throughout the next twenty-four hours, I reflected on the race. I asked myself what my favorite part of the race was, a question that my fellow tribe members could easily answer. Even my four-year-old son could answer with absolute certainty and without a pause that the hills were his favorite part of the kids race.

Almost a month later, and I still cannot tell you what the most memorable part of the race was. I can tell you, however, that it offered me a path closer to self-discovery. I still do not know who I am or who I will become. I did learn that I am but a small piece to a much larger picture and that alone has been a profound realization. I discovered that I can accomplish things that scare me. I can meet and surpass goals. I can push my mind and body beyond the limits that I had previously imposed on them.

I still may not know which way I ought to go or, as the Cheshire Cat retorts to Alice, where I want to get to; but, along the way, I now know that I should always drink before I am thirsty, eat before I am hungry, and watch my feet while running on jagged cliffs trying to take in the rare beauties that this world has to offer. In times of uncertainty, the best way forward is to spy and follow the race ribbons set ahead. And, whatever I do, do not stop, do not walk, and do not let the self-doubt prevent me from completing something that I once thought as seemingly impossible. It is okay to feel lost, disoriented, and without purpose along the way but this ultramarathon taught me that those feelings, those insecurities, those doubts, are temporary and can be overcome to achieve great things. For that, I am forever thankful to that friend that offered me a chance to run my first ultramarathon, that gave me hope, and that ultimately set me on a six-month, 53-kilometer climactic journey to self-discovery.

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