Fri, 19 Feb, crossing Yala National Park, Eastern Sri Lanka
Three weeks ago, I lay in my New York bed thinking I was dying. I had
woken up around 2 in the morning with massive heart palpitations and the
feeling of a giant sitting on my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
There, I had done it, I convinced myself. The prophecies of many
friends and family, on hearing that I was training for a 250km,
self-supported ultramarathon through Sri Lanka, had proven true: the
exertion would kill me.
Whatever had possessed me to sign up for this craziness, the latest 4Deserts/Racing the Planet Roving Race, one of the world's most recognized rough-country endurance footraces!?
I had never been sporty
and only took to running in my mid-thirties. In fact, given how
successfully I avoided exercise throughout my teens and twenties, this
turn of event continues to puzzle people who've known me all my life.
Most of all me! I take childish pleasure in the small successes of my
running "career" - the first 10k, the first 10k in under one hour, the
time I became part of the 'leader pack' in my local running group.
But still, I barely had one half-marathon under my belt, when the
thought of doing a Racing the Planet race first crossed my mind - hardly
an accomplished endurance athlete... But as a director of Free to Run, a charity using sports to empower women and girls in conflict-affected communities, I had witnessed first-hand how two previously untrained Afghan women
had taken on, and conquered, the majestic Gobi desert in Racing the
Planet's 250km Gobi March 2015. "It's not so much about physical
fitness, but about mental strength," Free to Run's President Stephanie
had claimed. And that, she shouldn't have said. I may not think of
myself as a physical sports giant, but mental strength, bring it on,
girlfriend!
Once that seed had been planted, I secretly followed the preparations for Free to Run's second ultramarathon team, Kubra, Arzoo and Mahdi, who started training for the Sri Lanka race in September. I downloaded Racing the Planet's equipment list and started scouring running and adventure stores for potential gear purchases. I carefully listened to Free to Run's international mentors' nutrition advice and started counting calories for the first time in my life (you have to take high calorie food if you want to survive a self-supported race!). My conclusion as I went home for Christmas? Oh yes, I wanted to do this! Some day. I didn't have enough time to train two hours every day plus up to seven hours over weekend days. It was too late in the game. I wasn't strong enough. There'd be another time.
Except, I eventually realised, this may just be the best time this year for me after all. And who knew where I'd be in 2017? After a long New Year's/purpose of life discussion with Stephanie, I made the decision to sign up. No more reflection on cost versus benefit; no further tribulations about fitness levels or health risks - out came the credit card, and swoosh, that was it. It is striking how my running has started mirroring my pivotal career and life decisions: get some absurd thought into my head, start mulling over "what if?" to the point of no return, sign up, take the plunge, sink or swim. That is what happened when I first left my native Germany at age 16 to go to the UK, when I left for Mexico for a year at 18, when I resigned from my first job, my second job, my third job ... Virtually all of these occasions were accompanied by sleepless nights, heart beating, anxiety, uncertainty, deep and profound regrets... And the immense guilt factor that came, again and again, with knowing that you were causing your family to worry about you. One week before I went to Afghanistan for the first time, eight civilians were killed during a Taliban attack on a UN guest house, and I wept quietly at night thinking about how it would devastate my family if something were to happen to me. By the time I was getting on the plane, one sleepless week later, I felt like a lamb being led to a slaughterhouse - but it was too late to back out. When I took on a project to help get a Chadian boy with a facial disfiguration to a hospital in Niger, I was so worried about the risks I stopped sleeping for the better part of three months. More innocuous but no less disconcerting at the time, when I left my well-paid law firm job without certainty over the outcome of scholarship applications for my masters studies, I was so concerned about my impending financial ruin that I stopped eating anything but Cornflakes and Philadelphia sandwiches in order to put aside some emergency funds. Except what I was feeling now went beyond those fears, which had all been in my head. It wasn't just that I was lying awake mulling over what was to come. My body woke me up, screaming "pain" and "red alert."
I had started my training in earnest on 3 January, exactly six weeks before
the start of the race. My compromise with myself? I wouldn't aim to do much running;
I wanted to get to the point where I'd be able to walk long
distances, to not be intimidated by steep climbs, and
I needed to be able to cope with a heavy pack. I started getting up at
5a.m.; spent entire weekends walking through all of Manhattan, Queens
and Brooklyn; bought bulk multi-family rice
packs for weight; and got a gym membership to get out of the
stinging cold and onto the treadmill for mind-numbingly boring but
necessary steep climbs. I still hadn't told many people because, what if I couldn't keep up those few weeks of high intensity training? My family eventually started asking questions
when I tried to spice up my walks through phone conversations ("Uhhm,
what are you doing up at this hour?" "Honey, you know I love you, but I
really don't have all day to talk."). To be honest, initial
reactions from family and friends ranged from total ignoring ("250km?
That's nice, darling, what did you have for lunch today?") to
incredulity both about the race and the fact that it was ME trying to do
this, to claims that I had lost my mind.* A well-meaning family member
advised that I shouldn't try to compensate
for sexual frustration through excessive physical exercise. (Yeah, where
to begin on that one?!) Equally unhelpful: "you know, it's okay not to finish!" How is it okay not to finish when you have set your mind to it? I mean, I don't take issue with that poor lad not finishing whose soles had literally peeled off his feet in the humidity by day four. Or the runners who got stomach bugs and ended up puking their guts out, doubled over instead of running forward. But those are legitimate reasons not to finish, because you have no agency in taking that decision. There is no need for permission not to finish under such circumstances. But reassuring you that you will still be loved if you just decide not to finish? Surely one of the most disempowering statements out there. ("It's okay not to finish because, bless you, we never thought you would make it anyway.") Another colleague claimed that I wouldn't need to
train at all, as "anybody could walk [as opposed to run] such a
race." Meanwhile, I kept reading up on the race, not sleeping, walking, and trying to
stay awake at work. I did not realise how worried I was until my body
started telling me.
[*Disclaimer: my family has been nothing but out-of-this-world supportive, ever since they finally figured out what the race entailed.]
A detailed emergency cardiologist exam gave me a clean bill of health
and certified that my heart was in excellent condition (don't you love
those hypochondriacs who waste practitioners' time?). Hard to believe but true - those chest pains were all in my head. But by the time I
entered the last week before the race, I could barely breathe properly,
no matter whether I was moving, sitting or in bed. It may have been all in my head, but my head surely wasn't taking it lying down! The night before I left for Sri Lanka, a final
chat with Free to Run's volunteer coach and experienced runner Annie
gave me some comfort: "The fear of pain is often much worse than the
actual pain itself," she asserted. And so I got on that plane. I got
myself to the hotel in Kandy, and I got on the bus that would take us to
the starting line. That first night out on the course, just before the
start the next day, was the absolute worst. It was bitterly cold, it was
uncomfortable, and my chest was on fire. I told my tent mates I might
not be able to do this - how embarrassing, we hadn't even walked one
mile! I was meant to be a mentor, not the weakest link of the team! And then? On Sunday morning, I got up, had breakfast, tightened my
shoe laces, and started walking and even running a bit. I never looked
back. There wasn't even a hint of chest pain. I walked and ran and
walked and ran, and my body did not even remember what signals it had
sent only a few days earlier.
And the moral of the story? I don't know if the fear of pain was worse than the pain itself - to be honest, the pain during the race was also pretty bad! (next blog post on this coming soon!)
But as I am approaching the finish line, I realise that the physical pain will soon be nothing but a faint memory as well. Was this race the hardest thing I've ever done? Possibly. Pretty close. The physical pain was pretty real. The mental challenge was prolonged. But I'm also pretty sure that my body and mind will remember what's most important: everything is possible. Almost. ;)
Remember, I am running this race in support of Free to Run and the brave Kabul women and man of "Team Sahra," Arzoo, Kubra and Mahdi. Their race entries were sponsored by the generous guys at Racing The Planet, but Free to Run has to cover their flight costs, some gear that could not be borrowed, training costs...
https://www.crowdrise.com/teamsahra -
Every bit helps Free to Run to make these kind of life-changing experiences possible, and to create an incredible multiplier effect back in Afghanistan!
 |
| Day 0 versus Day 6 of my 250km Endeavour |
Whatever had possessed me to sign up for this craziness, the latest 4Deserts/Racing the Planet Roving Race, one of the world's most recognized rough-country endurance footraces!?
 |
| The Gobi photo that triggered my competitive instinct |
Once that seed had been planted, I secretly followed the preparations for Free to Run's second ultramarathon team, Kubra, Arzoo and Mahdi, who started training for the Sri Lanka race in September. I downloaded Racing the Planet's equipment list and started scouring running and adventure stores for potential gear purchases. I carefully listened to Free to Run's international mentors' nutrition advice and started counting calories for the first time in my life (you have to take high calorie food if you want to survive a self-supported race!). My conclusion as I went home for Christmas? Oh yes, I wanted to do this! Some day. I didn't have enough time to train two hours every day plus up to seven hours over weekend days. It was too late in the game. I wasn't strong enough. There'd be another time.
Except, I eventually realised, this may just be the best time this year for me after all. And who knew where I'd be in 2017? After a long New Year's/purpose of life discussion with Stephanie, I made the decision to sign up. No more reflection on cost versus benefit; no further tribulations about fitness levels or health risks - out came the credit card, and swoosh, that was it. It is striking how my running has started mirroring my pivotal career and life decisions: get some absurd thought into my head, start mulling over "what if?" to the point of no return, sign up, take the plunge, sink or swim. That is what happened when I first left my native Germany at age 16 to go to the UK, when I left for Mexico for a year at 18, when I resigned from my first job, my second job, my third job ... Virtually all of these occasions were accompanied by sleepless nights, heart beating, anxiety, uncertainty, deep and profound regrets... And the immense guilt factor that came, again and again, with knowing that you were causing your family to worry about you. One week before I went to Afghanistan for the first time, eight civilians were killed during a Taliban attack on a UN guest house, and I wept quietly at night thinking about how it would devastate my family if something were to happen to me. By the time I was getting on the plane, one sleepless week later, I felt like a lamb being led to a slaughterhouse - but it was too late to back out. When I took on a project to help get a Chadian boy with a facial disfiguration to a hospital in Niger, I was so worried about the risks I stopped sleeping for the better part of three months. More innocuous but no less disconcerting at the time, when I left my well-paid law firm job without certainty over the outcome of scholarship applications for my masters studies, I was so concerned about my impending financial ruin that I stopped eating anything but Cornflakes and Philadelphia sandwiches in order to put aside some emergency funds. Except what I was feeling now went beyond those fears, which had all been in my head. It wasn't just that I was lying awake mulling over what was to come. My body woke me up, screaming "pain" and "red alert."
 |
| 5a.m. staircase exercise in Central Park |
[*Disclaimer: my family has been nothing but out-of-this-world supportive, ever since they finally figured out what the race entailed.]
 |
| As lambs to the slaughter - getting on the bus in Kandy on 13 Feb |
And the moral of the story? I don't know if the fear of pain was worse than the pain itself - to be honest, the pain during the race was also pretty bad! (next blog post on this coming soon!)
But as I am approaching the finish line, I realise that the physical pain will soon be nothing but a faint memory as well. Was this race the hardest thing I've ever done? Possibly. Pretty close. The physical pain was pretty real. The mental challenge was prolonged. But I'm also pretty sure that my body and mind will remember what's most important: everything is possible. Almost. ;)
Remember, I am running this race in support of Free to Run and the brave Kabul women and man of "Team Sahra," Arzoo, Kubra and Mahdi. Their race entries were sponsored by the generous guys at Racing The Planet, but Free to Run has to cover their flight costs, some gear that could not be borrowed, training costs...
https://www.crowdrise.com/teamsahra -
Every bit helps Free to Run to make these kind of life-changing experiences possible, and to create an incredible multiplier effect back in Afghanistan!
Brilliant article Connie. Really awesome! Well done.
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