Cheongnamdae 100km Ultra Marathon Part 3 — 'A Thousand Thoughts'

Cheongnamdae 100km Ultra Marathon — Part 3

'A Thousand Thoughts'

I. Passing the 10km Mark

As I passed the 10km mark, I was feeling so good that I stopped to take a photo.

My legs felt great, and my mind was firmly locked in.

'Just don't push too hard.'

'If an injury hits, it's straight to hell — no matter what, don't overdo it.'

At my last ultra, an injury left me counting from 1 to 100 over and over for four and a half hours as I dragged myself through the final 20km.

Knowing that pain, I kept my excitement in check and stayed disciplined.

II. The Never-Ending Mountain Before 20km

Before my first ultra, I believed you had to run every meter — uphill, downhill, no matter what.

But during that first ultra, we had to cross a mountain, and the difference between running speed and walking speed was almost nothing.

And not a single person ran the entire mountain.

That's when I learned: 'Ultra marathons aren't about running every step.'

Past the 10km mark, we began climbing a mountain that seemed to have no end.

Almost everyone started walking. So did I.

But I quickly realized — this wasn't casual walking.

Everyone was walking at full speed, and I kept finding myself falling behind my group.

'They walk incredibly fast. I need to pick up the pace.'

I'd fall behind, jog a little to catch up, fall behind again, push my legs harder even as my calves burned.

Before long, the back of my ankles started tightening up.

'I didn't push myself running, so it's just walking — it should be fine.'

III. The Pain That Wouldn't Go Away Downhill

I expected the tightness in my ankles to ease once we hit the downhill. It didn't.

It wasn't my IT band. It wasn't my soles. Just a stubborn muscle tightness...

'It'll loosen up soon.'

At some point, the cherry blossoms were so beautiful that I stopped for a photo despite everything.

I ran downhill for a while, then hit flat ground — and the tightness in my ankles came right back.

I should have been able to pick up speed on the flats, but my ankles wouldn't let me.

With growing worry, I arrived at the second checkpoint.

Maybe if I eat enough rice cakes it'll get better? I must have eaten over 20.

It wasn't hunger. Maybe I was just trying to fill the anxiety.

IV. Another Uphill Begins

'Maybe it got better while I rested?'

I took a short break at the 20km checkpoint and tried running again. The tightness was still there.

'No, not here. Not now. It's only the beginning...'

I tried changing my running form — something that would use my ankles as little as possible.

'Huh... this actually works.'

But my speed dropped dramatically.

While others alternated between running and walking, I was barely faster than the walkers.

'I'll just keep going slowly and steadily.'

That was the only way to keep pace.

'I can't be falling apart before 30km...' The worry was there, but at least the pain was manageable. I figured I could keep going like this.

I settled into roughly a 7:30 per km pace.

Then another uphill started.

I tried to match the group's walking pace, and the pain in the back of my calves flared up again.

Jjong had pulled far ahead. Durumi, Bravo, our club captain, and me — four of us, moving at roughly the same speed. Until I couldn't keep up anymore.

"I'll go at my own pace. Please go ahead."

V. A Thousand Thoughts

Durumi and Bravo went ahead. The captain stayed.

"Come on, let's just walk together."

"No, Captain. Please go ahead. I'm slowing you down."

"I came here to pace you. Don't feel bad about it."

"You really don't have to..."

We walked together for maybe five minutes. Then I couldn't keep going.

"Captain... please, really go ahead. I feel terrible holding you back."

"I told you, let's just go together. Don't worry about it."

"No... I just... I need to do this on my own for a bit."

"Alright, Jeong. Take your time."

And just like that, I was alone.

A thousand thoughts flooded in.

'I can't even make it to 30km. Can I really go 100?'

'Why did I push so hard walking uphill?'

 

'If I quit here, what happens? Where do I even wait in the middle of the night?'

 

'If I go home without finishing... what will my wife say?'

And then I thought of my second son. The one who joined a running club at school because he watched his mom and dad run.

The one who kept counting down the days before the race. "Dad, how many days until the race? It's almost here."

'What am I going to tell him?'

The moment I thought 'What if I can't finish?' — a thousand reasons why I must finish came flooding in.

'I can't quit. I can't face all that disappointment.'

 

And for myself...

the weight of 'I couldn't finish 100km' would haunt me for far too long.

I stopped worrying and started doing. I gave up speed entirely, and with each step, I paused to stretch the back of my ankles — pulling hard on the tightness with every stride.

Runners passed me one after another. I didn't care. The only thing that mattered was loosening the knot in my muscles.

I pulled out the spray pain reliever, soaked the area, and kept stretching with every step.

It helped for a moment... then the pain came right back.

It was working, though. There had to be a better way.

Then I found one. Leaning against a wall, I pushed my ankle back as far as it would go. The knot loosened — just a little.

Every 300 or 500 meters, when the tightness returned, I repeated the same stretch.

And slowly, it became bearable.

'Okay... at least there's a way. When it hurts, stretch. Then keep going.'

Walk, stretch, walk, stretch. I kept falling further behind, but I could walk. That alone felt like a gift. And little by little, hope crept back in.

'Maybe if I keep doing this, it'll loosen up more. Please let it loosen up...'

Eventually, the end of the uphill came into view.

VI. The Captain Was Waiting

This still amazes me.

I told him to go ahead. I practically pushed him away because I felt so guilty.

Once he left, the guilt faded — but immediately, a new thought took its place: 'Can I actually finish this?'

A thousand worries piled on...

I was fighting my body and my mind at the same time, dragging myself forward alone.

And then, in the distance — the captain I had told to go ahead was standing there. Waiting for me.

It felt like meeting a lifeline.

Still feeling sorry, I tried again...

"Just go ahead... I'm fine, really."

"I came to Cheongnamdae to pace you to a healthy finish. Let's go together."

"Then... thank you. Thank you so much, Captain."

Grateful to no longer be alone, I carried on.

To be continued.