Cheongnamdae 100km Ultra Marathon Part 1: "This is so frustrating"
Last September, the Cheonan Samgeori Heungtaryeong 100km Ultra Marathon.
At the 45km mark, an injury flared up in my left sole.
Trying to compensate for the pain, I overstrained my right knee.
By the 77km mark, my right knee finally gave out.
With both legs failing, every step felt like agony.
I spent over four hours forcing myself to walk, barely crossing the Finish Line.
I couldn't even get in or out of a taxi on my own.
More than the pride of finishing, I just wanted to go home and see my family.
But those memories of agony were short-lived.
Before I knew it, I was already thinking about my next ultra marathon.
I don't even know why I want to do this again.
Yet, these words were already coming out of my mouth:
"My legs need to heal quickly so I can sign up for the next race..."
I thought two months would be enough.
But even after two months, my knee would inevitably throb whenever I ran more than 15km.
I let go of my greed and started over from 5km.
If 5km felt okay, I gradually increased the distance.
Two more months passed. I could finally run 20km in one go.
Instead of tensing up my legs out of fear of pain,
The natural rhythm of my feet hitting the ground returned.
It wasn't perfect, but two months before the race, I felt I had finally 'earned the right to try.'
After the Dong-A Marathon, I began dedicated LSD (Long Slow Distance) training with the Cheongnamdae Ultra participants.
From the Gwanaksan trails to a 55km LSD run.
Having missed four months of proper training due to injury, I was always the weakest link, trailing at the very back of the team.
Seeing me struggle, the Club President made an offer.
Since I usually prefer running alone, lost in my music and the scenery,
I didn't think much of his offer at the time.
But I had no idea then...
How much of a difference his help would make. I will share that story later.
On the day of the race, four of us were set to drive from Anyang to Cheongnamdae in the President's car.
I ate the breakfast my wife prepared and went over my gear one last time.
As I was heading out the door, my wife said nonchalantly,
"Huh? Why?"
"I mean, why do you keep doing something so dangerous? You're just going to come back injured again..."
It was half worry, half genuine disbelief.
If I were in her shoes, I would have felt the exact same way.
"I'm off!"
"Okay... good luck."
With that brief goodbye, I left the house.
