From Doubts to Desert Bliss: A Journey of Discovery in The Border Ultra 100K

 

  "The miracle isn't that I finished.The miracle is that I had the courage to start." - John Bingham

                           '  ( The Border Disclaimer Document  page 3 , para 1)

"Hypothermia is a potentially serious risk! It can strike very quickly, especially when the pace slows from exhaustion or injury. The runner may feel very cold, experience uncontrolled shivering, and become unaware of their surroundings, possibly posing an immediate danger to themselves."

This paragraph in the caution section of the race disclaimer sent by The Hell Race Team a few days before the event further scared me. It all began with a phone call on October 31, 2023. I received a call from my friend and accomplished runner from Gurgaon, Geeta Ahalawat.

"Dilip ji, you wanted to do the border race? One spot is available. Do it now. You can continue breakfast after that."

Caught in the spell, I registered for the race, despite the fact that the Border Run had always lingered as a distant desire. Little did I realize the gravity of the situation until a day later – a 100 km race with only 6 weeks for training, tapering, and actual travel.

Untrained and uncertain, I found support in Geeta, who connected me with her coach, Hemant Beniwal. Doubts clouded my mind – about myself, the training plan, and my other commitments. While the city celebrated Diwali, I ran through the scorching heat, dodging crackers.

A month of interrupted training passed quickly, marked by travels and minor health issues. Then, the handbook with its dozen warnings and disclaimers arrived by mail. Having witnessed hypothermia in cycling tours and faced desert heat before, the challenge loomed ahead.

One month passed quickly in training, hindered by some travels and minor health issues. Then the handbook, with a dozen warnings and disclaimers, arrived by mail. Having witnessed hypothermia before in my cycling tours, facing desert heat posed another challenge. Flights and hotels were booked, money was spent, and there was no turning back. I have observed that those who start also finish, even if not in the best training condition.

Fortunately, discussions in the race WhatsApp group were more about everything but running. It was sometimes annoying, but in hindsight, it helped me distract myself and not overthink about the upcoming race.

Before every race, I meticulously plan my run, study the route, create elaborate Excel sheets, summarize it hourly, and revise it. But this time, I couldn't think straight; there was no question of planning anything.

I don't know how the mind works, but as I chose the bag to pack, all my fears were replaced by excitement. I could overhear words like Ultra, border, 100k, and 100 miles in the flight itself. The flight was landing in the brown landscape of nowhere, and I got my first feel of the desert. At the airport, it was a pleasant surprise to meet Chetan, my comrade buddy with a black and pepper beard.

The expo of any ultra is always about catching up with friends and making new ones from all over India. Fortunately, I could chat with legendary runners like Raj Vadgama. Friends had told me that the race briefing of The Border is one of the highlights of the event. I had seen glimpses of the style of our race director Vishwas Sindhu , an interesting fellow - bold and straightforward in his true Haryanavi style. Though he seemed rude at the beginning, this man knew his business, whether you liked it or not.

Out of the 360 runners lined up, many were repeat offenders like my friend Chetan, while the rest were first-time participants, like me. Similar to how the Comrades Marathon was started as a tribute to the soldiers of the First World Wars in South Africa, The Border Ultra began as a tribute to the 120 soldiers who defended the frontier in the famous Laungdwala battle. The organizers, The Hell Race, limited the cap to 120 runners in each category in respect of those soldiers.

Though everyone seemed excited, taking selfies, shouting slogans, I tried not to think about what lay ahead. The sun was scorching in the clear midday sky. The start line at the Indira indoor stadium was outside the city of Jaisalmer, and we were on a desert road in no time. In ultras, runners preserve energy, and the start is always easy - chatting with fellow runners is the most wonderful thing in the first few kilometers.

"Where are you from?" is a common question, and you can hear names of any of the 36 odd Indian territories. Different accents, different languages, different names, but the same passion. Veteran runners talk about their experiences, recalling what happened in Malnad or Khardungla Challenge. Ultra Matheran runners are a different breed, made of something else. They are distinct from general marathon runners, and I still don't belong to that category. This is a small community scattered all around the country, aware of each other. "How fast" is not the buzzword here; "how much distance" is the common question.

In ultras, you have to take care of your needs yourself. There won't be pampering. Water stations or aid stations are 10 km apart. By the first water station, the race had spread like a big 2 km long snake. The terrain was rolling with a brown landscape - soil, rocks, homes, even fencing poles were made of brown stones. One big Jain Mandir property was fenced by very huge blocks of golden sandstone. Tharparkar cows stopped grazing invisible desert grass to watch the long line of runners.

Chetan told me that Tharparkar cows are found in the Thar desert, spread in India and Pakistan. Chetan had excellent knowledge about nature, and you could find stones from different ultra marathon routes in his collection. "Don't go into bushes. Babhul thorn will spoil your entire run," I heard someone warning. The terrain was full of Babhul ,thorny Ber and surprisingly evergreen Rui plants. My other Comrades Marathon buddy, Arti Agarwal, zoomed past us,  ,

"Slow down Arti ; you have 150 kms to go." But she had her own plans of pace.

Hell Race volunteers stacked their aid stations well with water, electrolytes, and fruits, and they were very happy to help runners. The sun was still strong, but there was a slow breeze that made it bearable. The terrain was changing; shepherds in Pathani attire looked after flocks of white sheep grazing bunches of Shewan grass. At one place, shepherds were loading a truck with sheep crowded like Mumbai local trains. Hopefully, the truck was going to a sheep-sharing event and not a slaughterhouse.

Although my buddy and I had decided to run together, we had different goals. He had to conserve more energy for his 160 km, so we decided to go at our own paces. Three kilometers of running and 200 meters of walking were my strategy. "Every third walk should be at a water station," I told myself. Like camels in the desert, refill your bladders, grab something to eat, and move ahead.

At some junction, we turned and headed west on a very narrow road. At some places, the desert sand had covered the road. The sun was inching towards the horizon, and it was an enjoyable time. Legs were still not tired, and the desert looked different now. Some farmers were preparing fields. "Jeera," a farmer replied when I asked what they were sowing. Tubewell was the source of water. Right from Jaisalmer, majestic windmill farming was a salient feature of the landscape. Every windmill was so huge that one could rest in its shadow. By the evening, their presence became more prominent with the sound generated by their huge blades.

The fifty-kilometer mark was still a few kilometers away when sunlight faded. Before twilight turned into darkness, it was necessary to reach the drop bag point. Though the crescent moon was in the sky, its light did not reach the desert. I heard stories of the last year's run when the moon was nearly full, and the desert looked different. They didn't need to turn on headlamps.

Our drop bags with winter clothes and other essentials were transported and made available at the 50 km and 60 km points. At 6:30 PM, it was total darkness. Finding the drop bag station in the field, locating my bag, changing in darkness, and putting on a headlamp was a total challenge for a tired mind. I grabbed some hot, solid food. The whole process took a lot of time and took away the desire to run again. I walked almost half a kilometer to gather the courage to run again. It was pitch dark. In daytime, some runners were always in sight, used to talking to each other. By this time, hardly anyone was in sight. When someone passed, hardly anyone talked. Those were the loneliest hours.

We were on a big, wide Bharatmala road. It was super flat, with no turns, no rolling hills, and no landmarks visible in the dark and no vehicles. It was like a long tunnel in darkness. ”Three kilometers of running, 200 meters of walking. The third walk at the water station at every 10th kilometer.  was still my strategy. Water station was the only place alive. Though I was running, I was not feeling alone. There was nothing to think about, no one to talk to. Just the jingling sound of the bouncing hydration pack on my back was my company. I don't listen to music while running. Lyrics get lost in my chain of thoughts, and only noise remains. Secondly, handling all those earphone wires is not my thing.

I could sense the silhouette of sand dunes on the sides of the road. I looked up at the sky, and it was a mesmerizing scene. In decades, I had not seen such a starry sky. I remembered my childhood when we used to identify constellations. I almost spotted one, but I kept going. Am I going west? How could I know? I wanted to stop and find the North Star, not for navigation, but for the sake of it. But I had miles to go before I stopped. I still regret not stopping and looking for the North Star guide of all nomads and wanderers. I don't like only one thing about running. It is too focused on the finish line.

The difference in kilometer marks of water stations and my watch reading was increasing. The seventh water station arrived well after the 71st kilometer. I got irritated at the thought of the extra distance. Anyway, I was just two water stations away from the finish point. That was a reassuring thought. By that time, my legs were tired. So, the 200-meter walk increased to 300 or even 500 meters. It was like the law of inertia. When I was walking, I didn't want to run, and when I was running, I was afraid of walking. So, I changed the formula to a 3.50 km run and a 500-meter walk.

I was frustrated to run up to 93 km on my watch to reach the 9th water station, supposed to be at 90 km. If the finish point is 10 km away from here, my run will be 103 km but my mind was programmed for 100. I hoped that the race director was just pulling our legs, and the distance would be only 7 km. But that didn't seem possible. I lost all my enthusiasm. My pace dropped, and I started walking more frequently. I even lost count of how much I needed to go.

Suddenly, I saw some headlamps coming back running. I shouted, "What happened?" Some volunteer emerged from the dark. "These runners are doing 160, going to Laungewala."

"So what about 100 km?" I almost screamed.

"Congratulations! Your finish line is just 500 meters away near that light."

I was overjoyed. I sprinted with tired legs towards that light in the distance. One runner ran past me. I ran faster, but before I could overtake, there was a timing mat and the race director waiting there to greet finishers.

The real challenge came after that. While I was running, my body felt warm. This warmth, along with the layers of winter clothing, shielded me from the biting cold of the desert. After the excitement of completing the race, receiving the medal, and taking photos, I began to feel the chill. I located my drop bag containing dry clothes and a jacket, but I lacked the courage to strip off my sweaty garments in the cold. Putting on fresh clothes over the sweaty ones only made matters worse. I started shivering so intensely that I lost all the hot tea from my cup.

This was my most memorable race of my life. I lived every mile of it. I still remember every water station, every turn, arrow markings on the road. May be because this was I was not obsessed with finishing time. I have not kept any target. I was careful not to exceed certain level of efforts and preserve energy. When you don't focus on results but on efforts, you get more than your expectations. I was blank before the start, because of my undertraining.

I had decided that this will be my first and last 100 km Ultra Race. But now I am not sure.