Painful joy
“My encounter with the most painful mental challenges in my life — and the lessons it taught me”
I like to challenge myself. I am no David Goggins or Arnold Schwarzenegger, but I have found beauty in discomfort, physically and mentally:
- Cold water piercing your skin in the morning like knives stabbing you? “Yes please”
- Working out topless in -2 degrees? “Of course”
- 61 hours water-fasting combined with a digital detox? “Sounds fun”
- Running 100 kilometres without preparation in under 24 hours? “Can I do it crawling”
Dodentocht
A few years ago, I was with some of my mates. As always, poor chat, followed by foolish ideas.
One of them came across a 100km run in Belgium, called the “dodentocht” (March of the death…I should find out later why the name was so fitting).
“Let’s sign up, how hard can it possibly be”
It goes without saying that the initial noise in the room quickly turned to silence once everyone realised that the race was two weeks away only. You could literally hear a needle drop.
Because of that most of them bailed out. 2 of my mates and showed enough courage to register and we traveled to Bornem, in Belgium on the day of the run.
“What about preparation?”
Well, we thought we could wing it actually, so we didn’t prepare at all besides our usual 10k (!!!) runs and cycling sessions. Does this sound absolutely retarded? Well, seems you are smarter than we were then but don’t worry, life was CERTAINLY making sure that we were to find out…
We took an early flight from London to Brussels, rented a car and headed to Bornem. The race began at 9pm in the evening, during summer. It was mild, around 20 degrees and we lined up with the rest of the crowd, around 11.000 runners. Some of them dressed cheerfully in costumes. Others a bit more serious. We even saw some army guys. It was a noisy and enthusiastic atmosphere, everybody eager to start. Besides that, what else did they all have in common? They were about to embark on one of the most grueling 24hours in their life.
Oh, did I mention that usually only 60% of the starters actually reach the finish line? Yeah, first hint that we were about to get absolutely f#cked.
The Race
The Race began and in all glory, we started to run with the crowd. Did we have a strategy? Absolutely! Run, breath, Rinse repeat, right?
Thanks to our genius strategy, we went “all-in” from the beginning, as in, f#cking running like there is no tomorrow. We imediately positioned us at the front of the group, feeling like stars. Bad idea? Of course not, brilliant idea! In hindsight, it was our ego dictating the strategy, nothing else.
We reached a 10km Checkpoint around the 50 minute mark. We smirked at each other, with inflated confidence and said out loud. “Only 9x 50 minutes (450mins) of this and we’d be..Wait, what?!” You see, that’s when the penny started to drop. We realised that we had to slow down, otherwise this would end badly….
It was a beautiful night, with clear sky and a sky, full of bright stars. We reduced the pace and it took us 6 hours to reach 40 kilometers checkpoint. At each checkpoint, there were refreshments. And buses. Why buses? They were offering you a comfy ride to the finish line in case you decided to quit — Runners were dropping like flies the more advanced the race became.
After another 90 minutes (give or take), we reached the 50km Checkpoint our exhaustion turned into adrenaline. There was loud music pumping from speakers, volunteers cheering, applauding you for having reached the 50k mark. And guess what, they even offered…BEER..Fucking, BEER…If there is one thing you should take away from this …Don’t have a PINT when you are doing a 100km run. After absolutely smashing this beer, we continued.
What usually happens when you have only one beer? Well, you get tired…It was around 5.30am now (we had been awake for 24 hours now) when we reached another smaller checkpoint. We sat down…You know the feeling you get when you do something stupid and realise it the very moment? Yup, instant regret.
Your warrior-spirits awaken
There was no more adrenaline, my body was in absolute bits and I couldn’t get up anymore…That’s when I realised what absolute sh#tshow I got myself into. I’m talking about a monumental fuck-up. (Napoleon invading Russia for example).
Like, we still had 15.5 hours to finish the remaining ~40 kilometers but here I was, already in agonising pain. Because of the forested and rough terrain, my right ankle had started to swell. Because of that, my entire posture was off leading to additional pressure on my left knee. Both, my ankle and knee were battered. It was my body giving me the big, old “FUCK YOU”.
With time passing, the chats with my mates decreased. There was no chat anymore, we just looked at each other once in a while. I was in agonising pain, and I could see that they were too. And we had another 40 kilometres ahead of us. I’m not going to lie, that’s when the first serious doubts of giving up crept in. I started asking yourself: “Why am I here, why am I doing this again?”. I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t raising funds, I wasn’t completing a training. I joined simply because I was looking for a challenge.
Pain, Pain, Pain
It was early morning and the sun rose graciously. The warm sun kissed my skin and all the pain magically went away. Nope, not at all. Life wasn’t becoming easier because the sun was merciless burning onto you. No clouds, 32/33 degrees. My left knee was in such pain that I had to apply “Relief Cold Spray” to cope with the pain. Obviously, that amplified the sun and my knee quickly got sun burnt (Yay). The next dominos to fall were my other ankle and other knee.
I was a walking dead. I couldn’t hide the pain, I couldn’t hide the agony I was in. Every step I took shocked my body. I wasn’t running, I wasn’t walking….I was moving, but in what way, I don’t know.
I honestly don’t remember much of the run between 70–93 kilometers. It is blank. My friends later told me that I was walking with my eyes closed sometimes. Like, literally sleep walking.
When I reached the 93km checkpoint, the temptation of quitting was resurfacing.
“Why are you doing this to yourself? Why do you hate yourself so much?”
It was a moment of insane self-doubt and anger. In that very moment, I saw people lying in the ground next to the track. They were quitting. I passed them and thanks to my extraordinarily slow pace, I got a chance to look at their faces. It were faces of defeat and shame. Shame of quitting so close to the finish line.
“You’ve made it so far, why would you quit now? It’s only 7km to go! I said to myself.
That was a huge boost and crucial adrenaline rush. Finishing suddenly meant everything for me and I wasn’t giving in. I slowly turned into a warrior, a wounded warrior, that wanted to finish above anything else.
My friends were still with me. One of them had been crying for hours because she was in such pain, and she couldn’t stop. You know, our bodies were in constant decline and anything that wasn’t serving the purpose of preservation was ignored. SHE COULD NOT STOP CRYING.
I didn’t do this to prove anyone but only myself that I was capable of pulling of some crazy shit like this. I refused to quit. The last 7 kilometers were bad, really bad. Literally every step felt like THOR hitting my body with his famous hammer. With every step, I edged closer to fainting. I was dragging myself to the finish line, not walking or running.
Mount Everest
At some point, I started seeing people next to the track, waving flags and cheering for their loved ones. I started seeing signs saying that I was close. The final part of the race offered a welcoming surprise. A final incline before the finish line. I mean, why don’t you just fucking shoot me right here?! That incline felt like climbing Mount Everest, even though I believe it looked like a joke to any other person.
I was a sorry sight, I am sure of that and the crowd noticed. They started cheering and their yelling and applause pushed me. I got my sh#t together and sprinted through the finish line….Obviously not…As much as they yelled and tried to push me, I simply, for the love of god, COULD NOT go any faster. I think I saw a snail overtaking me actually..
It’s not about the goal
When I reached the finish line, I grabbed my medal, my certificate and a ginger bread which I inhaled. I fucking did it. I was numb, I couldn’t feel anything except for clarity. It was an impactful moment which I remember vividly to this day. All the pain was gone. I didn’t notice the sounds around me. I felt relief and sheer emptiness. I was in a trance-like state. I was closer to myself than I’d ever been. It was mad and surreal.
I didn’t give a sh#t about the medal and the ginger bread. I was incapable of realising of what I just had pulled off.
I finished the run in 23 hours and 42 minutes, just 18 minutes shy of not making it. Remember, we reached the 60k mark somewhat under 10 hours. I’d been awake for almost 40 hours, pushed my body through its limits and learned a lesson.
~No matter how fucked up the situation is, refuse to quit~
I couldn’t walk properly for two weeks, like literally couldn’t walk. After every 100–200 meters, I had to stop because my feet were in pain. I had a holiday planned in Spain two weeks after the race. It was like grandpa going on holiday with this grand children. My friends always had to wait for me to catch up.
My biggest lesson is that it is not about enjoying the goal, but the journey. The race has taught me valuable lessons for life. Push and push harder. The good things in life don’t come for free and while giving up seems like the easiest choice, it will take parts of your soul. Giving up is easy, pushing through is tough. And only a few will do it. Overall, it was a painful joy.
