If you caught Part 1 of my experiences at La Ultra—The High, you’ll know that at the end of it, the race hadn’t started yet, but I was already on a never-before high. Moving on...
When you’re in the middle of the mountains, everything else gets dwarfed. Time, that vast canvas stretching across the past and the future, ceases to cast its shadow on you. You feel greatly reduced in proportion against the towering backdrops, and you find yourself turning inward, reflecting on life and whatever else matters. Soon, the insignificance of the self transcends to relating better to others; people become closer, and however long you may have known them, you start addressing them with their first names, wanting to know more about their life stories and finding ways where you can connect better, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
And in all this, as you make your elaborate, well-thought out plans, the mountains stand stolidly and smile at you: bring me your plans, your spirits and your strength, and show me how high you can soar.
August 15th saw the runners and their crew assemble in Shenam Hall in Leh for an orientation by Rajat. He spoke to them about the course and the distances they would run: how unpredictable the weather conditions could be, necessary precautions they needed to take while running in the mountains, the checklist of the mandatory gear; criteria for being disqualified were also made amply clear. The medic teams who would be trailing the runners along the entire distance through the 5.5 days were introduced.
As for me, I had teamed up with Abhishek and Kunal, two hyper-energetic but super-Zen people behind the camera as I interviewed the runners. Together, we were also strategizing a documentary on La Ultra – The High, with a focus on the human spirit, strength, and mettle that we were sure to see as the races began. Abhishek had been with La Ultra for a few years now and knew the ins and outs of how the days would unfold.
On 16th morning, the runners and the crew left for Nubra valley, about 160 kms from Leh where the start line for the 111, 222, 333, 555 km runners was. Norbu, our trusted driver had been driving Rajat and his crew for the past 8 years and knew exactly what needed to be done along the way.
As I got accustomed to the hair pin bends up the ascent, watching the sheer cliffs on the sides, I realized how true the locals’ belief was about the majestic mountains:
“You don’t climb these high passes, these mountains let you do it.”
And one could only surrender to the mountains, hoping that the road ahead would take one where they wanted to go. And in that surrender, a calmness pervaded.
Om Mani Padme Hum, the Buddhist chant played on the car stereo and I felt myself relax further. Conversations in the car flowed, punctuated liberally with humor and jokes from Mukul, one of the core crew members, as we drove past freshly painted mile markers for the run. Before we knew it, we had reached Nubra Valley. I had hoped to see a clear star-studded sky in the night, but what welcomed us were ominous looking clouds and a slight drizzle.
Rajat called for a meeting of the core crew team, and I, for the first time, got a sense of the scale at which preparations were done for the event. Folders were distributed, minute-by-minute movement after the start of the race was discussed with each core crew member, and responsibilities were assigned.
Everyone was on board immediately, and I realized why there was such a strong sense of commitment among the crew to Rajat. His passion and invested energy towards La Ultra, his “third child” as he has often called it, was infectious. I was only just getting to know the crew and but even these initial observations gave me clear indications of what more would gradually unfold. It was also what it meant to them at a personal level, and what it revealed about them.
The morning of the 17th saw us milling with the runners in their camps as they went through the mandatory health check-ups before they stood at the start line that evening. Energy levels were high, with just a hint of nervousness here and there as a slight drizzle started to come down as the day progressed. Overcast skies, rain, and a 6 PM start seemed daunting to a few participants, not knowing what to expect at the mountain passes.
Mentally, I had told myself that I wanted to get out of my comfort zone. I wanted to be in the middle of the action even though that meant being on the road through the next 5.5 days, with no idea when and where we would get to rest and most importantly tend to nature’s calls. No, really, this was a serious concern, especially for me as a woman 😉. And boy, did I have to get out of that comfort zone!
Abhishek having been associated with La Ultra for a few years, I asked him how tough it would get, especially since I would be tagging with him and Rajat to observe the runners on the course. In response, he made me “sign” a disclaimer on video about not getting angry or slapping him if he woke me up in the middle of the night or wee hours of the morning while we drove through the mountains in Ladakh. The fun quotient was only getting higher.
The start line for the 111, 222, 333, 555 kms runners at La Ultra - The High
The locals of Nubra valley greeted us at the start line with tea and biscuits, dressed in their finery to pray to the Gods and to wish us all well. As the countdown to the start drew nearer, the clouds turned darker, and the rains grew heavier. Nevertheless, at 6PM the runners were on their way.
Who would have thought that the next 40 kms of the course would see rain pour down on the 35 runners? It was soon cold, wet, and dark. The stillness of the daunting mountains and the silences of the valley made me wonder what effect it was having on the runners.
The night promised to be intense and I chose to be in the car with Rajat and his team to see how he managed emergencies, the runners on the course, and took important decisions along the way. We were trailing the last runner on the course, pausing on the way to cheer them, or just check in on them as they maneuvered the course.
Mountains aren’t to be trifled with. Knowing the extreme weather conditions and what high altitudes do to the body in terms of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS), High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE), and High Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE), there was a fully equipped Army ambulance, and two medic cars trailing the runners.
At about 1 AM when we reached Khardung village (40.7 km mark), there was one runner in the ambulance, and three more who either opted out or were pulled off the course because they were unable to push forward due to AMS and/or hypothermia. The walkie talkie buzzed between Captain (Dr.) Shashi, Dr. Tvisha, and Rajat, as split-second decisions needed to be made to evacuate the runners to a lower altitude and under medical care. They were on their way to Leh soon.
It was not just the runners that were beginning to intrigue me but the behind the scenes action by Rajat and the crew and how such incidents were being managed with such equanimity and promptness in the dark hours of the night, and wee hours of the morning.
As we proceeded towards North Pullu (57.2 km into the run) the rain turned to snow, posing significant challenges to the runners. What I witnessed at the cut-off point at North Pullu around 4AM seemed more like a war zone with the crew attending to the runners. Some needed help to change into a dry set of clothes because their hands were numb, others to get into a sleeping bag to bring their body temperature back to normal, or be given something warm to drink, or being told that they could not continue further because they didn’t make it there within the specified time limit. There was a calmness in the midst of chaos that always caught my attention.
Later on, Rajat shared with me as we got back on the road, that one of the runners was soaked to the bone and didn’t have a dry set of clothes to change into. So he told him to get rid of all that he was wearing, get into the sleeping bag to stay warm, and later when a dry set of clothes was needed, Rajat dug into his own bag, and gave him his…underwear.
“You did what?” I asked, in disbelief.
”Yeah, you heard right,” said Rajat nonchalantly. And with what I had seen happen all night and morning, onwards we marched, on to the next thing that needed attention.
Did I tell you about the dog that started running with Jasmine who attempted the 222 km race? She joined the race at the 12 km mark and started running with Jasmine at the 21.6 km junction at Wari-La fork. They continued to run together for the next 50 kms till Rajat had to tell Jasmine that she would be unable to make it to the next cut-off point at Khardung-La because her pace was slow. Jasmine was drenched and cold, and respected Rajat’s decision as she hopped into the car with us. The dog meanwhile tagged along with another runner, through rain and snow and up the mountain.
I had interviewed Lukasz from Poland who was participating in the 555 kms category and had learnt that he had quit his job to train for La Ultra. This was his moment, he had said. He looked confident, nimble on his feet, and determined to finish. When Lukasz reached Khardung-La (72.8 kms) he had missed the cut off time (8 AM) by a few minutes, was hypothermic and could barely walk fast enough. My heart broke for him as he repeatedly asked Rajat if he really couldn’t continue. He hugged Rajat, expressed his love and gratitude, and said he would come back stronger, better prepared next year.
Later, when I asked the runners who got a DNF (Did Not Finish) in the Khardung-La café what they would like to eat or drink, I saw their dejected faces reflecting on what went wrong and how the months and years of training for this event fell through the cracks. Were they playing their mistakes in their head? Feeling the loss so acutely of not crossing the finish line? Or were they figuring out ways to move forward, having learnt from what went wrong and what needed to be corrected? Only time would tell when I would hear them again a few days later.
The runners waded their way through snow and slush and we found our cars skidding at the mountain pass with no snow chains to see us through. This snow was unseasonal, said Norbu, as we pushed our car that was stuck in the snow through existing car tyre tracks to help us move forward.
It was cold, probably -15C at Khardung-La, but the human mind was able to bypass that and be there in service to others who needed help. That large family I spoke about earlier, was growing even larger in times of adversity. I heard the story of Gregor, who gave away some of his gear to fellow runners to move on, when he was pulled off the course. “It was my pleasure. I couldn’t finish, they could,” said he. The human spirit was resplendently shining through.
(PC: La Ultra- The High Crew)
From Khardung-La to South Pullu the next cut-off point at 87 kms (11AM), the snow and the cold wreaked havoc as the runners were slowed down considerably, and some had multiple slips and falls throughout the course. This night tested their nerves, their physical and mental strength and those who made it to the cut-off at South Pullu were met with their cheering crew, their own personal crew cars, some warm food, and hopefully some rest.
The sun was finally out as the participants of the 111 kms category further went ahead to Shanti Stupa, the finish line of their race in Leh. Only 10 out of the 19 runners made it in the cut-off time of 20 hours for this category, amidst cheers from the La Ultra team and onlookers. The 222, 333, 555 runners had an additional 4 hours to make it to the cut off point at Shanti Stupa before they proceeded onwards.
As for us, we were exhausted with having not slept for close to 36 hours, but were glad that the runners who were still on the course were safe, moving forward with conviction, pushing their limits, and giving their all.
24 hours done, 108 hours more to go. What was in store for us?
What would happen to the 222, 333, 555 km runners (and the dog)? If the mountains allow them to pass, will they soar?
More on this in Part 3.