Jungfrau Marathon Race Report

For the last 5 months not a day went by when I wasn't thinking about Saturday the 14th of September. That was going to be the day that I was going to run my first marathon ever - up a mountain referred to as "The Top Of Europe". And finally that day had arrived.

Excited? Heck yes. Nervous? Absolutely. Frightened? Extremely.

Time to get my game face on:

The day promised perfect running weather: not too warm, not too cool, slightly overcast so not too sunny.

I was feeling pumped but also a bit overwhelmed with the crowd and the knowledge that in a matter of minutes I would start my first marathon ever.

Just before the start of the race, the Yak Pack got together for a team photo:

Photo compliments of Carolyn Luond

In this photo we are meant to be pointing at the Jungfrau. Unfortunately, it seems some of us were not able to locate it, which didn't bode well for the day ahead:

Psssst - it's the giant snow-covered mountain BEHIND YOU!

With three minutes to go, we made our way to the starting line. The announcer said that there were just under 5,000 runners in the race for the day. It felt like every single one of them was crowded around me.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG...

And 3...2...1... we were off!

And then we stop because of bottlenecking.

And we were off again!

And then we stop again.

Aaaaaaand... off again?

Aaaaaaand some dude just dropped his water bottle and stopped to pick it up....

Aaaaaaand... off again! Weeeeee!

I promised the other Yak Packers that I wouldn't take any photos or tweet during this race - so I'm relying on the kindness of others for photos for this blog. Funnily enough, there is not one single photo - not one - of me running. I'm not sure why this is. I promise I did run. Honest!

I can't emphasize enough how wonderful the crowd was. There were signs, noisemakers, cheering, clapping, cow bells, you name it. It was such an amazing feeling to have so many people, so many strangers, supporting me. Because I was a bit ahead of my pace, I decided to make the most of the moment and, seeing lots of kids on either side of the course looking for high fives, began zig-zagging from one side to the other, trying to hit every hand I could. This was awesome, the kids loved it and it got me even louder cheers. I was nailing it!

This sign was made for "JenFau", whoever that is.

That's when I realized I had made the classic novice error. I was so pumped with excitement for my first race that I got a bit carried away and went completely full throttle on my first kilometer. This felt great, the crowd was cheering me on, and I was passing people. There was a guy running in a caveman costume, one dude barefoot, a guy wearing a suit and tie, and another guy running backwards - backwards. Anyway, it felt great! Until I got to kilometer 3 and ran out of steam. Slowly but surely, every person I passed ended up passing me. So I took it down a gear and settled into a slow but comfortable pace, which I hoped I would be able to maintain for the course.

What I would have looked like if I were fast... and a man.

Before the race I was given a table of times I needed to make in order keep on pace. I chose the slowest pace to ensure that I at least made the cut-offs:

I was keeping really good pace: I hit the 5km mark at 00:35, and the 10km mark at 01:15. I was feeling great, on my pace and looking to make the cut offs with a little time to spare.

As we approached a hill at the 15km mark in Zweilütschinen, I found myself in the front of the last group of runners. That's when two cyclists with crew shirts and signs that read "Schluss"("Closing") came up behind me and started shouting "SCHNELL SCHNELL!" ("FASTER FASTER!"). They told me that I had to go faster or I would be out of the race. I was really confused by this, as according to my watch I had just passed the 15km mark 2 minutes ahead of schedule and was making good time. I took a quick look behind me and saw all the people that were there had stopped running and were walking back towards Zweilütschinen train station. Like a tsunami on wheels, these cyclist were wiping out everything behind me. Eventually, I was at the very last runner still in the race.

I don't know if you've ever been yelled at in German, but it's not pleasant. In certain circumstances, it can be downright terrifying. This was definitely one of those circumstances. With the cycling-tsunami barking at me to go faster, I tried to pick up the pace. That's when it happened: an unmistakable and all-too familiar "POP" in my left calf - the same calf I tore back in March. I immediately dropped to the ground and grabbed my leg. Half of the human-tsunami stopped, asked if I was ok and told me that there was a train station a few kilometers back and that I should give up and walk back. I told him I was fine and just needed to stretch (my passive aggressive way of saying LEAVE ME ALONE!). That's when they handed me this:

This pissed me off for two reasons:
1. The bold print was really not necessary.
2. I wasn't even "behind the official Jungfrau-Marathon schedule" - according to my pace chart, I was actually 2 minutes ahead of said schedule!!

But, I guess as with most things Swiss, 2 minutes early means you're 8 minutes late.

The relief I felt when the tsunami continued rolling up the hill to swallow up more runners was short-lived when I tried to run again. My calf was so sore and tight, but damnit I wasn't giving up! I ran as best I could for another few kilometers, the entire time thinking about how - if I don't at least try - I would be letting everyone down. Everyone who had donated both money and time to help me with this race. I thought of what a disappointment it would be to make such a huge fuss about this run only to blow it half way through. But after running another 3 kilometers with a severe limp, I was reminded of the extent to which our muscular systems are interconnected, Old Testament style: a pain in the calf begats a pain in the knee; a pain in the knee begats a pain in the hip; a pain in the hip begats a pain in the back, etc etc etc.

Time to face facts. I was done. There were no two ways about it. The more I ran the more pain I was in - and there was no way I'd make it up The Wall in this state. Plus, I've had a pebble in my shoe for hours now and it's really starting to bug me. Time to accept defeat. For the next 15 minutes, alone in the woods, I got out all my frustrations: I swore, I cried, I kicked things (which really hurt). I am thankful there were no impressionable children or animals who understood English (or any human language for that matter) in the vicinity. After I got it all out of my system, a sense of clarity and relief washed over me. There was only one thing left for me to do...

So I carried on walking another 2 kilometers to Lauterbrunnen, where I knew the Yak Pack supporters were waiting for me. Along the walk I had time to reflect on this journey I'd been on and how, even if I wasn't going to get my fairy tale ending of crossing the finish line, I had come pretty damn far overall. 5 months ago, the first day I started training for this challenge, I couldn't even run more than 1 minute at a time. No, seriously. I had to run a minute, walk a minute, run a minute, walk a minute. Gradually I built up to 2 minutes, then 3, until I was up to 10 minutes of straight running. Then I was at 30 minutes. Eventually, I built up to 5 hours. And here I am, at one of the toughest marathons in the world. I know what you're thinking, "that's just crazy talk!", and I wouldn't believe it myself if I didn't live it and know it was true.

Feeling much better after my hissy-fit, I arrived at Lauterbrunnen to the wonderful Yak Pack supporters who were all congratulating me on a job well done. I felt great and, despite being in quite a bit of pain, had a sense of accomplishment that I've never experienced before. I had run (not finished), the Jungfrau Marathon after just 5 months of training. BOOYAH! Now, let's go find the other runners!

So all together we got the train from Lauterbrunnen up to Wengernalp, near the top of one of the toughest hills on the course. There was a marching band and a lot of runners who looked like they needed some cheering up on this long uphill trek, and we were happy to oblige. We started cheering on anyone and everyone we could - most runners had their name and nationality on their running number, so we could cheer them on by name. This never failed to bring a smile to even the weariest of faces.

My sports massage therapist, favorite Guinness-consuming customer,
and friend Emma looks pretty happy to see a familiar face.

Where possible, we also tried to cheer them on in their own language: Finns got "HYVA SUOMI!" ("Go Finland!"), the French got "ALLEZ ALLEZ!" and so on. But of course our fellow Yak Packers, identified by their Room to Read hats and shirts got the loudest cheers of all. A few of them looked really confused to see me standing there cheering them on - so naturally I would tell them that I had already finished the marathon and came back down to find out what was taking them so long.

"Get the lead out, Brack!"

Coincidentally, see that guy there in the red? That's Bachmann Beat from my Mountain Man Half Marathon blog entry, doing what he does best: passing people on hills.

Soooo remember that pebble in my shoe I mentioned earlier? Well, it was at this station where I decided to finally dig that damn pebble out. I ripped off my shoe, tore off my sock and got quite a scare.

Ever wonder what running 20k with a pebble in your shoe looks like?? Then wonder no more:

Beware, the photo you're about to see is absolutely RANK!

Just then, a man and woman walked past and asked if I was ok. I showed them my toe, but they didn't react like everyone else, recoiling in disgust - they sprang into action. Apparently they were EMTs who just so happened to be carrying around their First Aid packs. Nice! So the guy opened up his pack, put on some rubber gloves, disinfected the area, and got out... a serrated knife (!?!?). I wasn't sure if he was lancing it or amputating the whole toe! The sight of the knife made me a bit squeamish and I asked him, as politely as I could, if there was anything smaller and less threatening-looking he could use. He obliged by digging out a pair of innocent tweezers and did the deed.

With relief in my toe, it was time to grab the train up to the finish line at Kleine Scheidegg. The last time I was at Kleine Scheidegg it was under three feet of snow (see blog post from June, "It's all Fun and Games, Until Someone Gets Gangrene"). This time it was under three feet of mud. So, ya know, progress.

Since signing up for the marathon, I had always been promised one treat should I make it to the top of the mountain. Well, I made it to the top of the mountain (even if it was by train), and was ready to collect my prize.

Me, bratwurst and beer - reunited.

Once that was done, it was time to check out how the rest of the Yak Pack were doing at the finish line. We got to the finish line in time to see a woman who, as she crossed the finish line, proposed to her boyfriend! Don't worry, he said yes. Be more worried about the fact that she whipped out a veil and a ring - rumors on where she kept these items during the preceding 42 kilometer run can not be confirmed.

Where did she keep that veil!?

But, more importantly - the Yak Pack CRUSHED the marathon... one after another came cruising through the finish line like nobody's business:

Crushing a finish line like it's never been crushed.

All in all there were 23 of us who ran the marathon. Two Yak Packers actually ran it twice. Yes, TWICE. I prefer to think they got to the top, realized they forgot something and ran back down, because it's more comfortable than thinking that they actually wanted to run it twice. Check out their blog about it here and decide for yourself.

The 23-runner strong Yak Pack managed to raise around $80,000 in total, with donations still rolling in. That's enough money to send 320 girls to school next year, which is just totally awesome amazeballsness. What an amazing adventure, and team, to be a part of. Roll on Jungfrau 2014!!

The 2013 Jungfrau Marathon Yak Pack and supporters.

Taking Visualization to a Whole New Level

The time has finally arrived... it started out with a 5 month countdown and now we're only hours away. This time tomorrow I will be an hour into running my very first marathon ever - up a mountain referred to as "The Top of Europe".

Tomorrow.

OMG - TOMORROW! I should really pack...

At a recent Room to Read event, Coach Jeff Grant from Hillseeker Fitness gave us runners some sage advice about the power of visualization: seeing yourself running the course, feeling positive, strong and light, culminating in an awesome finish. 

If there are two things I have in this world, they would be 1) a highly active imagination, and 2) kick-ass desktop publishing skills. In order to aid my visualization, I have combined the two to create some useful visualization tools to help me prepare for tomorrow's Jungfrau Marathon.  

Enjoy:

The moraine - spectators in awe.

Over the clouds - still smiling.

Just your typical Swiss bagpiper

Leading the pack, feeling awesome.

Finishing strong!

WINNING!

But - in all seriousness - as this is my last post before the marathon, I just wanted to thank everyone who has supported me through this journey. In just 5 months, you've helped turn this soft, lazy couch potato into someone who can do more than she ever thought possible.

I would also like to thank everyone who donated. With your contributions, I've managed to raise $2,000 - that's enough to send 8 girls to school next year. And with Credit Suisse's trippling of donations, that makes it 24. All together, so far the Yak Pack has raised enough money to sent 258 girls to school (not counting Credit Suisse's contributions). What an amazing achievement for us all!

This is only the beginning of JenFrau and I'm sure there will be more adventures to come. So stay tuned! I would like to finish by saying:

I may not be the strongest. I may not be the fastest. 

But I'll be damned if I'm not going to try my absolute hardest.

Thank you everyone.

Thank You!

I've been really moved by the donations that have been coming in lately from people from literally all over the world to support my fundraising for Room to Read. In 2 days, you wonderful people donated over $500 - WHAT THE WHAT!? In total I've now raised nearly enough money to send 4 girls to school for one year - 4 girls, like Rehema (click here), will get the chance to be educated and change their lives, the lives of their families and the lives of their children. And that's all thanks to you beautiful people! Shamazing.

I thought this would be a great opportunity to put on my business hat and came up with a cost-benefit analysis to help put these donations into perspective:
(all conversions are through xe.com and are accurate as of 5th Sept 2013)

Monetary Value	Everyday Life	Room to Read
$1 USD .94 CHF £0.64 GBP	Buys one pad of Post-it Notes	Buys a book for a child
$25 USD 21.43 CHF £16 GBP	Buys the David Beckham biography, Arise Sir David Beckham (hardcover version)	Fills a library shelf full of books
$50 USD 47 CHF £32 GBP	Buys a kid’s bike helmet	Buys a bike for a girl to get to and from school safely
$100 USD 94 CHF £64 GBP	Buys 2 pairs of Hollister jeans	Buys 16 school uniforms
$250 USD 235 CHF £165 GBP	Average cost of elementary school supplies for one year (minus musical instrument hire - 2013 Huntington Backpack Index)	Sends one girl to school for one year, drastically improving her future prospects, status in her community and enhancing her life, the life of her family, the lives of her children, breaking the illiteracy and potentially poverty cycle in only one generation.

So as you can see, your money can really go a long way when it's invested in the right places.

Thank you everyone!

What's Got Two Thumbs and is a Mountain Half Marathon Finisher?

THIS GIRL!

August 17th, a date that will live in infamy, as it's the day I finished my first race ever.

Ok, so technically I had 10 hours to finish, but it was 21k with an incline of just under 1400 meters and it was my second race ever and I finished. Booyah.

The course had a little bit of everything: flat road surface, narrow mountain trails, breath-taking views, technical descents, mud, thorns, barbed wire, steep gravel ascents, and cows. Lots of cows:
 

This cow fell over right in front of us. That's right. This cow. FELL. OVER. Just like that. It was 'a-mooo-sing'. See what I did there? Ok, I apologize for that dad joke. That was just awful. I hope you can forgive me.

A majority of the course was along the Schlierengrat Trail leading up to Mount Pilatus:

The trail also ran along some pretty steep drops. Not to worry though, the organizers had this covered by putting up some impenetrable plastic tape to keep the runners safe from a painful and imminent death...

But there's no denying the views were pretty ausgezeichnet. That's German for "amazeballs".

There was some mud... at least, I hope it was mud...

I really hope it was mud.

At the 10k point , after a few rolled ankles down a pretty gnarly downhill descent, the trail flattened onto a road surface. This is where I got my running legs back and was able to make up time from slow climbing and photo stops. I ended up passing a few people here too, which always helps the confidence.

At the 15k mark the course turned up towards Mt Pilatus. As I approached, I saw a group of people applauding and telling me to "hop hop". I was so busy basking in the moment that I completely missed the giant sign that read "Mountain" with an arrow pointing left (not to mention the fact that I missed a mountain). So I carried on running straight, requiring one of the bystanders to chase me down, stop me, and explain that I missed the giant sign that read "Mountain" and had to turn around. FAIL.

Once I was back on track the course got steep:

Then it started to get really steep:

That guy you see there in the front is Bachmann Beat - he passed me on this hill and went on to win the Mountainman Marathon. This guy started an hour earlier than me, had run 20k more than me - and just passed me - uphill. I had to stop and give him applause as he passed. Respect.

Then it got even steeper:

Finally, the toughest part of the course was revealed - the last climb to the finish line:

See that building up there? Yeah - that's the finish line. One last push! But not until after my photo op:

Funny enough, the man who took this picture was a hiker who stopped me to ask if I wanted him to take a picture of me. After this photo, he tried to carry on a conversation with me about the weather and the view - clearly not understanding that despite my slow pace and agreeing to stop for a photo, I was actually running a half marathon... the words, "I'm sorry, but I really need to finish this race now so I'm gonna start running again" actually came out of my mouth as I turned to continue on the course.

The course zig-zagged its way up to the finish line while right next to you the world's steepest cog railway chugged along, transporting tourists to the top the easy way. Yes, that's right, the course followed the same path as the steepest cog railway on all known planets in the universe. Google it if you don't believe me.

However, I did not dwell on that thought as I was working my way up. I was too busy focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and not being sick. This was largely due to the fact that everyone is at the top of the mountain watching you come up - the timing for being sick could not have been worse.

This chick here almost made me cry, but in a cool way. As I was coming up, she was heading down. It was pretty clear I was struggling for this last leg and she just stood in that spot and started cheering me on, telling me I was almost there and to not give up, to "push push push, you got this!!". That's one of the most amazing parts of these races - the camaraderie and support everyone gives each other. It's not like the team sports I grew up playing where you are in competition with each other and try to psyche-out the other team. In these races, everyone's cheering each other on because we're not in competition with each other, we're in competition with ourselves. And I'm pretty sure anyone who's ever done a mountain race has, at one time or another, felt like they were about to blow chunks in front of throngs of spectators at the finish line...

Getting closer...

Getting closer... 

And 4 hours and 23 minutes after leaving the starting line, this happened.

BOOM!

I crossed the finish line and was handed my finisher's prize - a running cap (which I mistook for a Gerardo 'Rico Suave' circa 1990 style doo-rag - here's a reminder) and a non-alcoholic beer (which I didn't even know was a thing?!). I blame the altitude and exhaustion for making me think this was a good look:

But nonetheless, I finished, along with my fellow Yak Packers, Alicia and Katie:

I'm the filling in an awesome sandwich

Less than a month to go until the Jungfrau Marathon - WHOOP WHOOP!

 

Glaciers A Go-Go?

More like "Glaciers a No-No" for me. See what I did there? If not, then clearly we're not friends on facebook. This saddens me greatly.

Anyway...

I had my first race ever on Saturday, 10th of August. The Glacier 3000 Run was 26k with an incline of 1900 meters from the gorgeous ski resort town of Gstaad to the top of a glacier in Les Diablerets.

At the starting line I was feeling nervous, but also excited...

With these guys rocking out on the alpine horns (in front of Louis Vuitton no less), you couldn't help but be pumped for a day of running in the mountains.

And with a multilingual countdown (in German, French and English), we were off!

The running bit was fantastic (you will see why I specify 'the running bit' shortly). The whole time you could see the Les Diablerets getting closer and closer. I wanted to make the absolute most of this race, so I kept my phone close at hand with the plan to capture some actions shots, so long as it didn't get in the way of the actual running!

At the 10k mark I came across these guys... not only did they quite like having their photo taken as they shook their ginormous cow bells, but this photo also serves as photographic evidence of me ahead of someone. Booyah.

The locals were out in force, cheering on the runners with chants of "hop hop!", the Swiss equivalent to "go go!".  Because you have your name on your race number, the more daring and forward Swiss would even cheer your actual name.

These kids were awesome - hearing them chant "hop hop Yen-nee-fair!" in their Swiss French accents and giving them high fives was possibly the highlight of the race - and this was only in the first 7k.

I reached the 17.5k point and heard a booming voice chime in. "Is that you, God?" I thought. But then I realized there was an announcer telling all the runners they only had 10k to go and to "hop hop!". The announcer then proceeded to tell everyone that my name was "Yen-nee-fair" and this was my first race. Maybe she was God after all...

"Thanks for the water - okloveyoubyyyyyye!"

So remember earlier when I said I would shortly explain why I specified "running bit"? Here's where I explain that. Right beyond this very shed the course changed entirely, going from rolling trails to a pretty gnarly incline with switchbacks that carried on for around 2.5k. Here my strategy was to conserve energy (for the glacier, obvs!), so I took it down a gear from a slow run to a brisk hike. I decided to send a text message - it unfortunately didn't send, but here's what it said:

"The good news: I'm not in last place. The bad news: there's an octogenarian hot on my tail!"

At the 20k mark the trail changed once again, and not in my favor: from dirt switchbacks to loose moraine rocks and an even steeper incline. All race long I had felt fantastic and genuinely amazed at what this old bag of bones I call a body was able to do with 4 months of training. However, with one look up and the realization that nowhere on the remaining course will it flatten out, I started to lose my mojo a bit:

"Is that a chairlift I hear, or circling vultures?"

The next 6.5k would be just like this, with the runners having to zigzag their way over rocks hand over foot. Even if I was still capable of running, I wouldn't be able to because all the loose rocks underfoot meant you had to strategically place each step or risk rolling an ankle and sliding back down the mountain. Shortly my "brisk hike", was gradually turning into a drunken stagger.

And then my calves gave out.

And then I started to cry.

And then I started to hyperventilate.

And then I started to vomit.

By 21k I was stopped by a race volunteer who made me sit down and take a few breaths. He kept telling me "piano... piano"... which in Italian means "take it easy". He gave me a pat on the back and stayed with me until I caught my breath. Then I asked him in a wretched mix of German, French, English and Spanish (the closest thing my warped mind could come up with) where the finish line was. He said it was just ahead, 20 more minutes to go. So I got up and carried on, staggering, occasionally falling to my knees, or going off course to vomit again. I came across the crest of the moraine, hoping to see the finish line, but instead found this:

More climbing. The shed at the top, which I thought was the finish line, was actually the 23k marker. It was still 3k short of the actual finish line. Slowly I crawled to the top, with spectators still chanting "hop hop Yen-nee-fair hop hop!".

Me coming up to the 23k station, closely followed by First Aiders and my Italian savior.

As I reached the station, another volunteer came up to me and literally ripped off my microchip (HARSH!) and told me I was done for the day. When I asked how far the finish line was, and if there was any chance I could just try to cross, he gave me "the look" (which I'm sure you can imagine) and pointed here:

The finish line is that tiny speck sticking up over that peak. On a good day, it would take me just over 20 minutes to run 3k. But there was no way - NO WAY - I was going to make that in my current state. I accepted defeat, handed over my microchip and went to go sulk in a corner.

Of course I was pretty devastated for a while, but then I looked back over the ground I had covered:

When I realized I couldn't even see the starting line village of Gstaad, I felt a wee bit better.

And when I looked at a map of the course, I felt even better:

Kinda puts it into perspective, doesn't it?

Ok, so now that the pity-party is well and truly over, there's only one question left:

When's the next race?