August 2021: A few hours after finishing Oslofjorden Rundt 100 mile race I was checking my phone to make sure no alarms were set to go off early in the morning. That’s when I saw that a race organiser had messaged me, inviting me to their 100 mile race in Rondane the following weekend. I told them thanks, but too soon. Maybe next year, if they designed a cool 100 mile buckle… (for some reason not all Norwegian 100 mile races give out buckles).
August 2022: At the start of Rondane 100 miles I was strangely un-nervous. Maybe I felt my quota of bad luck had been used up before race, having arrived at my accommodation after all the staff had gone home the day before, with what turned out to be a broken favourite head torch? Perhaps it was due to the beautiful scenery – the main reason why I switched from focusing on 24 hour races back to 100 miles? If you have a bad day in a 100 mile race at least you often have a bad day with a view. Whatever the reason, as I started chasing 100 mile buckle number 14 I was strangely calm.
The course started with a long climb through the old mines on the hillside, and then onwards and upwards following gravel roads and soft trails into the Alvdal mountains. The gradient and surface underfoot both allowed for a lot of running, but I also took some short walking breaks to conserve energy. The landscape opened up as we climbed. The hillsides were covered in purple heather and something white. At first I thought it was snow, but then I realised it was off course white moss. As the sun started setting the sky turned pink and then orange and blue. My pre race plan had been to stop frequently to take photos and create memories, and I considered stopping to capture the sunset, but then I started to think about the cut offs and calculate the average pace needed to meet the first cut off. I got it wrong, thinking I needed to run 37 km in 5 hours (it was 6 – which still doesn’t allow for much faffing) , and therefore I decided to keep on moving until I had a bit of a buffer time wise. I would definitely stop to capture the sunrise, most definitely!
A long descent took me back to down to Folldal. The trail was near perfect with just the occasional rock, root or fallen tree trunk to challenge you, but soft so that I felt that I wouldn’t hurt myself if I took a tumble. If this was typical for the rest of the race it would be even more enjoyable than expected. I had been to Rondane before with my parents, at a very young age. I couldn’t remember the trails very well, however I thought they couldn’t be too demanding as my parents had decided Rondane was the perfect place to introduce my sister and me to multi day hiking trips.
As I followed the river at the bottom of the valley it was getting properly dark, but I could still only just make out red ribbons hanging from the trees. A face plant signalled when it was time to switch on my brand new head torch, bought in the local sports shop the same morning. The course markings had bright reflective bits, very easy to spot in the dark. I had been running alone for the previous hour, but as head torches were switched on it turned out I was not as alone as it seemed. The markings led me away from the gravel road through a small forest and swampy areas towards check point 1, at which I arrived in just under 4,5 hours.
After cp1 the swampy terrain continued for a few kilometers, before we started following another gravel road taking us into the mountains and Rondane national park. We were to follow this road for more than 10k. It felt like I was running at quite a fast pace, but my watch told me otherwise. I think the road probably wasn’t as flat as it seemed in the dark, and that I was steadily climbing uphill.
At Grimsdalen tourist cabin, about 50 K into the race, the course turned off the road and into the mountains. At 4 am the runners taking part in the 100 km race would start from here, and just before the cabin a camp site has sprung up. It was now around 1.30 am, and eerily quiet as I made my way between the tents and camper vans, crossed a river, and started following the Norwegian Trekking Association’s trails. As the course now entered Rondane national park the race organisers were not allowed to mark this part of the course, but well established trails marked with cairns, the red Ts of the trekking association, and signposts at forks in the trail meant that navigation was not a problem. I had the gpx file on my watch too, but rarely had to look at it.
As I was climbing steadily the trails became more rocky and technical, and the temperature cooler. There seemed to be some raindrops in the air, or perhaps it was just a little foggy, but I managed to move just fast enough to avoid being cold. As the trail eventually headed downhill again the sky started turning orange at the end of the valley. I turned up the pace, not wanting to miss the sunrise, thereby catching some other runners ahead. However, I never did catch the sunrise as the course turned right, crossed a river and went uphill into a mountain pass, and the sunrise was now hidden behind the mountainside. When I reached the mountain pass, Dørålglupen, it was light enough for me to pack away my head torch again. Just after entering the pass the first 100 km runners came whizzing by at what seemed an impossible speed, considering we were climbing through loose scree and boulders from numerous rock falls from the mountain sides. Every rock wobbled and the sounds of rocks clattering against each other echoed throughout the canyon. The race was following the same route as I had with my parents back in the 80s, but I could absolutely not remember it being so tough. I was rather impressed with 10 year old me for managing such a challenging ascent, and very relieved when I was finally through on the other side and arrived at cp 2, Dørålseter, after 77 km.
My plan was for just a quick stop – but it ended up not being so quick. Since there were so few aid stations I had ingested almost only gels and energy drink up until then, so food was now a priority. And caffeine. It turned out they did not have coffee at the CP, but luckily I had brought my own, as running out of caffeine is one of my biggest mid race concerns. I changed socks and shoes – from Hoka Speedgoat to Tecton X. Somewhat reluctantly I also picked up my hiking poles. I had put them in my drop bag as I hadn’t been sure whether to use them, having not practised running with them since last year.
Ten kilometers later I wished I had left my poles in the drop bag. The trails were rougher and rockier than I expected, and the poles didn’t seem to do much except make my arms and shoulders tired from carrying them. I was at a point in the race where I often hit a low, around 90k, where I have been running very far already, but still have very far to go. It was time to take some pictures and try to just be present in moment, enjoying the mountains.
A new low occurred just an hour or so later, when I slipped as I was approaching a river. I fell backwards, banging my left posterior iliac crest and both elbows against the rocks below. I was almost hyperventilating due to the pain and feeling slightly nauseated, so I stopped to let the pain and my breathing settle. When I continued my left hip was bothering me quite a lot. A swelling had formed on my hip bone, just where the bottom of my running pack was, meaning it bounced against the sore spot with every step. I also seemed to have scraped off quite a lot of skin from the tip of my right elbow, and blood started dripping down onto my pole on that side. The terrain was quite easy here around the Bjørnhollia cabin, runable, but I walked the rest of the way to cp3 at Straumbu.
At the CP my bloody elbow attracted the attention of the race medics. They offered to clean it, then told me to let the wound dry a little before dressing it. I was happily munching on oranges and drinking cola when Monika came running over – shouting that there was blood everywhere.
It was lovely to see fellow 100 mile runner Monika at the cp, but a little sad too, as it meant her race was over. We stayed in same accommodation in Folldal, and had chatted a lot during the day before the race. Monika had been unsure whether to start due to a concussion. Having had to stop at cp 1, in typical ultra runner fashion she was now volunteering at cp3. She filled my water bottles, made me soup, and cleaned the blood from my chair, my arms, my legs, my poles… The medics managed to stop the bleeding from my elbow and put a band aid on it, and then I was on my way again.
From cp3 the course went up a monster of a hill. It seemed to go on forever, and I am pretty sure some of the gradients were around 45°. I had to stop to ‘admire the view’ repeatedly, as I was concerned that if I pushed too hard the blood flow to my gut would be cut off and the food and drink I had enjoyed at the CP would come back up. However, I did not experience any extreme fatigue if the sort I had in my last race in May, when I had just found out I had low iron levels and Vit D deficiency. I had felt much better during this summer, and what I felt now seemed just like normal tiredness for the latter stages of a 100 mile race.
I blamed tired legs for not running very much as the trail flattened, but it was probably more a mental issue. When it gets a little too rocky and technical I get scared of falling and injuring myself. I could also feel blisters starting to form on the balls of my feet- I should have changed socks at Straumbu, but forgot with all the blood.
CP 4, Breisjøseter: upon arriving here I was surprised to see that I had been going for 21 hours. I had kept the display on my watch switched off, and as there had been little need to use my watch for navigation I hadn’t looked at it much. I was in the lead amongst the females, which I had been all day. There were not many females left in race, only 5, and I seemed to have quite a solid lead despite doing a lot of walking. My dad had sent me messages cheering me on, telling me I only had 40 km to go – only there were more, as 100 miles in this case meant 164 km.
At the check point I had had soup, and out on the course just after I found the perfect dessert in the form of cloudberries. I was now in unfamiliar territory, and as I was unsure which signposts to follow I checked the course description on my phone and started using my watch more. I was quite happy when Mark, who I had been running near all the way from Straumbu, caught up with me. Having other runners in the viscinity was reassuring, when I didn’t see anyone else I always felt a slight stab of panic, fearing I was hopelessly lost. We went uphill, passing some cabins and people cheering us on. On the way up I tried to gulp down a gel for energy – and it came back up again. Was I getting stomach issues now, something I have become far too familiar with in my previous 100 mile races? I suckled energy drink, and tried another gel somewhat later. This time it stayed down, my body had just not wanted it right in the middle of the climb.
The people in the cabins had told us it would get easier on other side of the hill. Mark and I agreed they had lied. Then I lost Mark, and the trail, and my watch told me I was off track for first time. I retraced my steps and found both the trail and a reappearance of course markings in the form of red ribbons. The ribbons made it only slightly easier to find the way, as they were much further apart than at the beginning of course, and harder to see.
Grimsbu. 15 km to go. I just had a short stop, just wanting to get to the finish. I didn’t want food – in the latter stages of races I prefer to just drink. I was out of energy drink, but was allowed to fill a bottle with cola.
Initially I had hoped to finish around the 24 hour mark. Then my goal became to finish while still light. Now it was clear that I needed plan C: finish sub 30h to get a buckle. I had about 3,5 hours to meet that cut off.
It turns out I care a lot about 100 mile buckles. After finishing a tough 100 miler in 35h+ last year I was extremely disappointed when I realised that there were no buckles in that race (or medals, or other bling). I got a place on the podium, but it felt almost like a DNF. I told the organisers of Rondane this in a Facebook thread about finisher prices and sustainability last year. Rondane 100 promised to make me a buckle if I came to their race, and they were true to their word. They even consulted me about the design (but apparently didn’t like my suggestion, as they went with something completely different). After all this it would be embarrassing not to get that buckle (although I think those who finish in 30h+ deserve bling even more than the faster finishers, they have suffered even more for it).
I was powerwalking like crazy towards the finish, and then I managed to start running again. On a stretch of gravel road I managed a couple of sub 6 min kilometres, and as I continued along a grassy trail into a forest, head torch now back on, I was happy with my pace. That was until kilometer signs from organisers starting to appear. I thought I had only 7 km to go. The sign said 11. Adding to my frustration was navigation issues, for the first time in the race. The battery on my watch was finally running low, after 27 hours (it’s only supposed to last 18 hours in navigation mode, and usually dies after 14), so I had taken it off to recharge it. I was therefore trying to rely on the course markings, which were difficult to see. Unlike the markers in the beginning of the course these did not reflect the light from the head torch very well, so you could only really see them when they were straight in front of you. There were forks in trail, some of which were signposted, some of which were not. Navigation became quite time consuming, and the course didn’t seem logical. I saw the old mines below me – and expected to turn and run downhill the same way we had come up a day before. Instead the course continued straight ahead, and seemed to just go further and further away from the finish. Mark reappeared, and though I was annoyed at being caught by other runners I was glad for the help with navigating the final kilometers. Besides, Mark was in the 100 K race, so we weren’t really competing. Finally we were back down at bottom of the Folldal valley, and crossing the road to the finish. I finished in 29h 17 min, first female, but most importantly – I got that buckle! Mark got a buckle too! It turned out I had been running with him for nearly 10 hours thinking he was taking part in the 100k, when he was also running 100 miles.
Tom Erik and Rune, the number 1 and 3 finishers in the men’s 100 mile race, were waiting for me at the finish. This despite the time being after midnight and Tom Erik having finished 10 hours before me, setting a new course record in his first 100 miler. He is superman. We took some photos and chatted, and then Tom Erik gave me a lift to my B&B a mile up the hill in the old mines (yep, superman), saving me from walking up there on my blistered feet.
Tom Erik and I both agreed that we were glad we had run this race, but that we felt no need to do it again. It is a race that deserves a place on most ultra runners’ bucket list, but maybe it is more for mountain goats than beach lovers like me? Although…. Yes, my brain is now telling me that maybe I do want to do it again sometime in the future. Typical ultrarunner!
UltraMari 