Running Slovenia with Nietzsche

Ultra running is really hard. There’s a healthy sense of self deprecation in the community, and laughing at memes that characterise the absurdities of the sport is good. But there’s also a reality that even if you do power hike and poop in the woods you’re still doing something physically demanding. I can’t adequately write about Slovenia without acknowledging that sometimes it’s really hard, even if there are snacks.

I felt good going into this one. I’d had a great training run two weeks before and thought I was peaking at the right time. My race schedule looked and felt achievable. A niggle in my right knee had been giving me grief, but I was cleared to run.

I travelled to Slovenia with my friend Toni, who I’d also done Lavaredo with, and the preparation was good. Plenty of pasta and awed gazing at the beauty of Bled and the Karawanks range.

A shakeout run on the morning of race day took me along the shore of the famed lake. Early morning mist drifted languorously across the surface and the sun’s warm light filtered through the trees. Everything was working, it was going to be a good day.

A friend had made me a playlist of songs about butts. They would tell you it’s because I joked I was getting a BBL but I’m sticking with the theory it’s because of my première derrière. Either way, armed with that what could possibly go wrong?

I lined up on the streets of Radovljica with genuine anticipation. 9pm start, 120km of distance, 6,000m of climbing, and a new country to see.

My race plan was to focus on feel rather than pace; as long as the effort felt sustainable and I wasn’t pushing too hard the pace would look after itself. And it did, for the first nine hours my pacing was almost exact to the best case scenario.

It was fairly easy going up to the third aid station at Bohinjska Bela where you’re kicked into a long steady climb towards Bled. What was scattered rain became persistent and heavy and the waterproof came on as I settled into an almost mechanical rhythm.

It was here that I faced the first challenge and it was, surprisingly, nothing to do with the race. There, pushing up a dark hillside in the driving rain, together with other runners yet still alone, I had the awful feeling I was coming face to face with the troubles I run from. As Friedrich Nietzsche said, “When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago”.

“When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago.”
– Friedrich Nietzsche

It didn’t slow my progress. I still pushed steadily onwards but sometimes, facing a seemingly leviathan task, the questions arose; “why can’t I be normal and enjoy type one fun?” or, “have you considered that most folks are snuggled up at home at 3am, not enduring torrential rain on a 120km suffer-fest?”

The mental wrestle continued through the depths of the night until I arrived in Bled and regrouped. This is the sport I love. I wouldn’t be there if it was easy, the challenge and adversity are part of the purpose. The aid station volunteers were really good and, after a quick fill up, I left the lakeside to the sound of cowbell and the unexpected but amusing declarations of love from a spectator.

The section from Bled to Žirovnica was one of the most runnable of the whole race. 14km with only mild undulations, lots of tarmac: exactly what you don’t want after already running a mountain marathon. It was difficult but then I always had that section marked in my head as the most challenging. Give me a mountain to grind my way up, or a ridgeline to navigate, but don’t make tired legs run.

I decided to take a moment at Žirovnica. 57.3km in, almost half way. My drop bag was there to restock my nutrition. I had a brief sit down and, as I got under way again, some hot broth. I was tired and my stomach was sore but the next section would help: I relish the mechanical feeling of climbing and the boost in circadian rhythm that comes with the sunrise. I still felt the optimism.

The sun rose and the mountain came but my energy never returned. From 6am until the finish I couldn’t get out of zone one. I tried every weapon in the ultra running arsenal; consistent fuelling, a trip into the woods, an attempted nap, extra sodium, the butt playlist. Reader, even Coca Cola didn’t make a dent on the energy deficit.

I talked briefly to Sarina at the next aid station and, not for the first time, she encouraged me I could keep moving. And so I headed onto the big climb, breathless as my aerobic system went into overdrive.

Next stop, the summit of Stolu, approached via an incredibly tough and technical scree slope that sustained its 30% gradient for a whole kilometre.

After Stolu I had, for the briefest of times, a renaissance. I still couldn’t get my heart rate up but, working within that constraint, I made progress down a non-technical hill section. It was heartening to pass a few people who’d left me struggling to move at an aid station.

I revised my expectations and pushed on through another aid station into a steep but glorious ridge climb. My mind was telling me no, but my body… well, that was telling me no too. Up I went trying to notice the sublime scenery though too tired to photograph it. From that point on there were no more moments of ease.

The terrain was challenging with steep gradients, slippy rocks and mud that was frequently ankle deep. I’ve never seen so many fellow runners fall in one race before. On my failing legs I could only tentatively pick my way through.

When we finally hit the fire road, gravity was no longer helping and I settled in for a long trudge. At that point one of my favourite moments of the day happened. Toni, who I’d been tracking throughout the day, appeared behind me. He was flying, with an exceptional performance and I love to see my friends succeed. He paused for a few minutes to walk with me and we chatted about the race. With the sun about to set it was a crack of joy in a wall of pain.

As Toni disappeared into the distance, I turned my mind to the decision that had felt unthinkable twelve hours previously at Žironivca: should I quit? I hate quitting. I hate how it makes me feel, I hate the recriminations I know I’ll give myself afterwards, but sometimes quitting is the right call. As coach and author Steve Magness says, “toughness is navigating the inner turmoil in order to make a good decision”. Sometimes the hardest thing is letting yourself stop.

In favour of quitting was hours of physical pain and the accompanying mental battles. In favour of continuing was the fact that the worst of the terrain was over with and there lay only an undulating 18km between me and the finish line.

As I weighed up the options I heard a voice. It was coach Doug, walking alongside and encouraging me. He asked how it was but crucially one of the first things he said was, “you can walk it in, there’s not even a half marathon left”. It was that which settled my mind. Sometimes what we need is another voice to cut through.

On Doug’s advice, I had a sit down and some hot food at Dovje. When I got up to continue I knew quitting was off the table. Headtorch on, I plunged into the second night, hoping Nietzsche wouldn’t go with me this time.

Honestly? There’s no glamour in ultra marathons. I set my face toward Kranjska Gora and just kept going. It was hard, stubborn, belligerence. I exchanged messages with friends and focused on the fact that this particular storm had a defined ending.

And so, at 11:28pm, willed on by the cheers of race volunteers and Toni, I rolled over the finish line. My body folded, hands on knees, as a certain numbness spread through me and a medal was hung round my neck. That was a tough old ride.

I’ve struggled with the outcome of this race. It feels like time and again I do the right things, dedicate myself, give it discipline, and then my body refuses to give me energy. I don’t know the cause. It feels like my body won’t metabolise fuel but it could equally be fatigue related, or even a lingering defence mechanism from over training days. It’s bruising to the ego not to achieve the goal you set out for.

The thought returns that I should give up on ultra running. While others tell me I’ve done well, my inner critic rages. But I remember the words of Rebecca Solnit (yes, we went from Nietzsche to Solnit in one race, buckle up and enjoy the ride):

“Hope is not a lottery ticket you can sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky. It is an axe you break down doors with in an emergency…. Hope is a gift you don’t have to surrender, a power you don’t have to throw away.”
– Rebecca Solnit

If I want to push through. If I want to continue to experience the joy of the mountains in this way, then hope is the power I must not put down.

So I’m choosing hope. And looking to better performances in the future, measured not by time but my body moving in symbiosis with nature.

Onwards.