“I hate you! I hate you and your stupid ultramarathon race!”
I was exhausted. Physically and mentally spent. I had just run 100 kilometers through the night along the Southern Swedish coast.
Small single tracks, technical terrain, two steep climbs up the mythical mountain Kullaberg, and harsh weather had tested my limits.
And now the race organizer made us run past the finish line venue for another 6 km loop along the harbor of Båstad. And with each step further and further away from the finish line, my desperation and anger grew.
Just half an hour ago, I was in good spirits, and nothing had prepared me for the mental breakdown I was now experiencing. I was moving well and had just sent a friend a voice message informing her that I was already at the second big climb of the race and was feeling good overall.
But once I ran past the finish line, my body and mind shut down. Running was almost impossible, and no matter what motivating self-talk I tried to convince myself to keep running, my body wouldn’t cooperate. A sharp pain suddenly reminded me that I had stubbed my toe pretty badly throughout the race, and it felt like my toenail was coming off now.
I tried to calm myself down. Soon, I would be finished.
And going into the race, this was the only goal I truly set for myself. ul
Doubting My Fitness As I Travel To Compete in My First International Race
When I prepared to travel to Sweden, I still doubted my ability to finish this race. Training has been far from optimal after the epic fall during the Sachsentrail in June. The injury I sustained kept me from structured training for weeks and ultimately led to me having to cancel my start at the Race Across Scotland.
Then I caught Covid. And just 4 weeks before Kullamannen, I was sick with a cold again, which meant I also had to cancel my participation in the German Trail Championships.
Since the Sachsentrail in June, I haven’t run a single run over 50km. But I was healthy and injury-free and told myself I could at least try.
The race started on Friday at 10 pm, which was another reason for me to get anxious.
While it won’t be my first race where I had to run through the night, something about the late start made me nervous. I usually run first thing in the morning, so I have always felt comfortable with the morning starts of races. However, I was clueless about what to eat during the day, how to spend the day, and how my body would feel getting started at night.
On Wednesday, I arrived in Båstad, Sweden, to give myself some extra time to relax, explore the area, and shop in case I forgot essential race accessories (batteries, safety pins) at home.
The hotel was a self-check-in hotel, a new experience for me. In the reception area, I found an envelope with my name on it. Inside the envelope was the key to my room and a map explaining which house I would be staying at. It took me a few minutes to find the correct way in the dark, but eventually, I found my room and happily settled in at around 7 pm.
Relieved that I arrived safely, I sent a friend a voice message and got ready for bed.
Thursday, I explored the beautiful harbor of Båstad and panic-bought more batteries to ensure I would have a backup for my backup headlamp.
Early Morning Wake-Up on Race Day
With the late start in mind, I had tried to get my body used to later wake-up times in the 4 weeks leading up to the race. However, no matter how late I would go to bed, my body never adjusted, and I still regularly woke up around 4 am.
And race day was no different.
Hoping I could nap a bit during the day, I got up. I spent the morning writing my diary and reviewing the race guide before going to the venue to get my race bib and drop bag. I didn’t bother checking out the race expo. I was so nervous about the race that I left when I collected my bib and the drop bag.
Back at my hotel, I packed the drop bag and running pack and put myself back to bed, hoping to get some rest. However, I couldn’t fall asleep due to the loud storm that swept over the small town and spent most of the day listening to podcasts.
Around 4 pm, I got up and rearranged the contents of my bag at least 5 times before making my way to the race venue just after 6 pm. I was anxious about falling asleep on the trail, but there was no turning back now.
I was healthy and ready to go. I had no good excuse to not start and at least try.
I rearranged my pack again and put some gels into my after-race bag because I thought I had packed too much nutrition. Seeing how small the packs of other runners looked and how little they had brought, I wondered if I had overpacked. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken the extra clothes I thought I might need later in the race if I needed to walk?
Maybe taking two spare lamps and extra batteries was too much? But I knew I’d rather be safe than sorry, and I still had bad memories from my first 24-hour race, where I got way too cold when I needed to start walking at night because I brought too few clothes.
On the way to the bus that would bring us to the start in the small fishing village Höganäs, I met a British guy who eased my nerves. “You only need to do a bit of running and walking, and you’ll get to the finish.”
He was also confident I wouldn’t get lost because “UTMB races are marked very well.” Even though I would soon discover this was not the case for the Kullamannen Sprint Ultra, his faulty assumption calmed my pre-race nerves.
Once we arrived in Höganäs, we waited in the gymnasium for around one hour, got a short pre-race briefing from the race director, and then went outside to stand in the cold for another ten minutes or so before the race started.
The pre-race atmosphere outside was electric. Spectators stood at the sidelines, mystical music was playing, and the moderator urged us to “race hard, race smart.” He prepared us for the challenging journey ahead over rocky roads and small trails in harsh weather conditions. If we believed in the legend of Kullamannen, he would be with us; if we didn’t, he would stand in our way…. A rider with a mask covering his face appeared on a brown horse and rode in circles before the start line. It was a unique atmosphere, and I quickly forgot about the sheep and cows the race director mentioned we would encounter en route.
Trouble Finding My Rhythm at the Start
When the moderator counted down “3-2-1- run” I was shocked to see that my Garmin had returned to the normal watch-face. I selected the Kullmannen course a few minutes earlier but haven’t pressed “do course” yet because I wanted to start the timer once the race began.
So, I just started my watch with a simple “run.” I told myself running without the GPS track on my watch would be ok. After all, the course should be well-marked. At least, that’s what the British guy said.
However, after running for a few minutes, I decided to see if I could use the “do course” option while already running and tracking. Luckily, I could.
Not long after, I felt I was getting too hot and decided to take off my thin rain jacket. Fumbling around with it and losing my hat with an attached headlamp made me anxious. I was getting increasingly irritated and upset with myself and my decision to pack so much stuff, and I was upset I felt so heavy because I had put on a few kilos over the past couple of months.
But I remembered my friend’s words: “You can’t change it now.” And I couldn’t. I could only try to do my best. I could try to finish strong for her.
The Longer I Run, the Better I Become
It was a long way to aid station number 1. The wind coming from the sea was relentless and made running hard. It also seemed to rain slightly. I felt low on energy and reminded myself to drink my Tailwind recovery mix to help me get my body into a running mood. I also added a Precision Hydration gel and repeated my mantra: “The longer I run, the stronger I become.”
Spectators shouting “heja, heja” lifted me up. Despite soon feeling better, I wondered when the first aid station would finally arrive. This thought left once I climbed the first steep climb of the race. Happiness quickly found its way into my soul. Soon, I was moving downhill through a forest over roots and rocks and thought, “This is what I love.”
When I got to Svanshall aid station, I felt good.
However, when I tried to refill my water bottle, I had problems because the water canister wasn’t working correctly, and using the toilet was difficult because when I asked if they had some, I was met with a harsh “of course” and finger-pointing to some facilities in the back that weren’t marked. I couldn’t find the toilet easily, so I decided to quickly hop into a bush to pee somewhere along the way. I also couldn’t see any food except for a few oat cookies, so I grabbed 4 of them and went on my way.
Feeling a little grumpy now, I tried to cheer myself up with the thought of hot coffee awaiting me at the next aid station. What could be better than starting the new day with a nice cup of my favorite drink?
The Thought of Fresh Coffee Carried Me To Aid Station No. 2
The following section was all flat, but it was not easy due to the strong wind and the tricky navigation. Contrary to what the British chap thought, the route was not marked particularly well because it was a “by UTMB” race.
Quite the contrary. For most of the race, we followed the “Skåneleden” hiking trail and had to find the tiny trail markers that were hardly larger than a beer mat and quite difficult to see in the dark.
I wasn’t the only runner who made a wrong turn several times during the race. I was happy now that I had the route on my Garmin and could double-check whenever I was in doubt.
My gut felt surprisingly good, but a sloshing sound irritated me. I got some solid food into my system by nibbling on the oat cookies I still had. They tasted terrific, lifted my mood, and made my stomach happy.
There was a lot of asphalt running in this section as we ran through various small fishing villages. I was moving well but didn’t consume enough calories. I now regretted that I reduced the number of gels I wanted to carry just before hopping on the bus to the start of the race.
But I was feeling good and wondered if I needed my drop bag at all. It was deposited at the second aid station – at kilometer 45 already. My drop bag had a few gels, spare shoes, socks, and a change of clothes. But I thought I wouldn’t need it since it didn’t rain and my feet were still dry.
Little did I know that a long stretch without any food supply would follow checkpoint 2 at Råbocka.
When I arrived, I refilled one bottle with water and the other with Naäk energy drink. I never tested it in training but decided to use it. Until today, I have always broken the rule of “nothing new on race day” and experimented with different foods or energy drinks during races.
Then I went inside to get some coffee. But when I asked if they had some, I was told I would “need to wait a while” because they were still preparing it.
My mood turned sour.
I grabbed a few pieces of cinnamon bun and banana and continued running. I didn’t want to waste time eating their hot soup or waiting around until the coffee was ready. “Luckily, I did bring caffeine pills,” I thought. They would hopefully help me get over extreme tiredness should it arrive later.
Still, I was disappointed. I arrived around 4 am at Råbocka aid station, and it was the perfect time for my usual morning coffee.
A Long Stretch Without Food Supply
“It will soon be daylight,” I thought. Trying to perk myself up. And as soon as I started munching on the cinnamon bun, my mood lifted. These home-baked goodies tasted heavenly, and my gut loved the combination of fat and sugar.
Happily, I ran along a lonely road, thinking I was finally in the flow. I passed a couple of runners and would soon find myself on a small single track along the coast again. The trail was very technical, with rocks and roots, and I stubbed my toe several times. Then, a stretch through forests followed, where navigation was tricky.
Finally, I found myself running across a cow meadow for several kilometers. I was alone and felt thoroughly relaxed and at peace for the first time in the race. “This is heaven”, I thought to myself. The night sky was beautiful, and I could see various constellations. Around me, complete silence, only broken by the sound of my breathing and my shoes hitting the ground.
Then I could see the lights of houses in the distance and thought how nice it would be to soon reach the next aid station. I was feeling comfortably tired now.
Soon, I was with other runners again and noticed the light of my headlamp was weak. I switched the lamps and realized it was a mistake to not test them properly beforehand. The spare headlamp was way too tight for my head. I panicked and decided to just hold it in my hand, as daylight was breaking already anyway, and it wouldn’t be long until I could take it off again.
I was running along the coast again as the sun rose. But there was no time to stop and soak in the beautiful sunrise behind me. The wind was still cold, and I moved slowly across the stony trails on which I was now. And I needed to keep my focus.
Icy wooden bridges, rocky trails where running was impossible, and hard-to-see trail markings required me to stay alert, or else I would fall or take a wrong turn.
I didn’t count how often I missed a trail marker. Luckily, I would always quickly find the right way again, but I was aware now that I could not let my mind wander for even just a few minutes during this race.
It was a long stretch along the coast, and I felt exhausted. I met two runners who were running the race together. “You will make it.” the lady said. “You still look good.” “We’ll also be at the aid station soon. Hopefully, they’ll have sandwiches”, she added.
I was dreaming about those cinnamon buns and how I would eat as many as I could stomach at the next aid station.
Little did I know that the following two aid stations only had liquids. I either didn’t understand the race guide correctly, or it wasn’t as clearly explained. But I didn’t expect aid stations 3 and 4 to offer only water and Naäk energy drink. I ran past aid station 3, refilled one bottle with an energy drink at aid station 4, and tried to figure out how much food I still had in my pack.
I had a few gels left but was feeling high on sugar and decided to eat some of the macadamias I had brought. Knowing that my body craved something fatty later in a race, I brought them because the race organizers never replied to my email asking if there would be peanuts at the aid stations.
When I arrived at aid station 4 – Hovs Hallar at km 83 I realized there wouldn’t be and that the aid station fare of this race was way below the standard I was used to from the races in Germany.
Bananas, bread with cheese and ham, and cinnamon buns were all that was available at this last aid station. Drinks were limited to still water, coke, and Naäk energy drinks.
But I was happy. I ate a few pieces of cinnamon bun and grabbed a few more for the way. I filled my water bottles, stuffed two banana pieces in my pack, and started the steep ascend to Kullaberg.
Conquering the Mythical Kullaberg
I was in good spirits as I climbed up the mythical Kullaberg mountain. While the ascend was steep and technical, the beauty of the forest was awe-inspiring. I enjoyed finally being in the woods again and protected from the wind. The leaves covered plenty of rocks and roots. Having fallen twice in the race, I proceeded cautiously, remembering my hard fall during the “Sachsentrail.” I didn’t want to put myself in the hospital in a foreign country. The first descent included a long stretch of roads. I ran as fast as possible, not caring about potentially sore quads. After all, I was almost finished with the race and didn’t need to save my legs anymore.
On the second ascent, I sent my friend a voice message. I was tired but happy. I didn’t expect to feel so good at that point in the race. My thoughts alternated from “I will see how long the last 14 kilometers will take me” to “It would be so cool if I could finish before 12:00.” This second ascent was not as technical, but the descent all the more. A group of 3 guys caught up to me, and together, we ran the final stretch downhill, chatting about the race, how we would finish, and how our bodies felt. I enjoyed the distraction and the jokes we cracked. However, I was stupid enough to get caught up in their excitement about being almost done with the race, even though I knew we still had a good 8 kilometers to go.
An Unexpected Mental Breakdown
“Run your own race.” This was the mantra I repeated whenever I got anxious about someone overtaking me during the race. Now, so close to the finish, I abandoned this strategy and let myself get carried away by the excitement of the 3 guys that I was running with. Their pace was challenging for me, but I didn’t want to slow down. Then, I was forced to. My body didn’t want to cooperate any longer, and I needed to reduce the pace. I continued slowly and soon was on the same path I had hiked the day before the race. I was running towards Båstad harbor, knowing the race venue was close. Then I saw a sign that read “Finish.” And then…I had to run past the finish line for an extra loop around Båstad’s harbor. And each step I took brought me farther away from the finish.
Suddenly, I was overcome with emotion. Feeling a very sudden and powerful urge to cry, I was forced to walk. Frustration spread within me. I tried to cheer myself on “only 5 kilometers.” I tried to drink more energy drink. But nothing seemed to help. The straight path along the shore of Bastadt seemed endless, and with every step I took, I moved farther away from the finish, and I became more desperate. I alternated between a slow jog and a walk and eventually caught up with one of the guys I had descended Kullaberg with. “That finish is a total mindfuck” I said. “It truly is,” he replied in his charming American accent. “And I let it have its way with me.” He was struggling, too. Eventually, a right turn came, a last tiny hill to ascend. Finally, I would run past the spectators who cheered us on as we made our way towards the finish line. I was now running again, but barely.
Proud of My 15th Place finish
As soon as I crossed the finish line, my anger disappeared. I was happy that I had finished the race and now wanted nothing more than to put on some warm clothes and enjoy a cinnamon bun. They didn’t have cinnamon buns at the finish, but the vegan hot soup I got was delicious and warmed my body and soul. I had a nice chat with a guy I met at the finish line, who was also from Berlin (but we only found out after we’d already chatted a bit in English), then I proceeded to get my finish line bag, put on some warm clothes and went to collect my finisher shirt. Unfortunately, there were no benches or other places for the runners to sit. And since I didn’t want to sit on the cold floor, I stood around for a little while and waited for my drop bag to arrive.
On the way to my hotel, I stopped at a small bakery and bought a cinnamon bun and a small whole-grain roll. I enjoyed them before putting myself to sleep around 2 pm. I slept until the following day.
At breakfast, I enjoyed a chat with a guy from Luxembourg who completed the 100-mile edition of the race. He had done many international races already and told me that in every other race he had done, the aid stations were much better set up—closer together and with much more varied food options. This eased my mind a bit, as I thought maybe I was just spoiled by the excellent aid station set-up I have experienced in Germany in all my four years of ultrarunning so far.
But I wasn’t upset or disappointed. Quite the contrary. I couldn’t stop smiling that Sunday. Proud of my 15th place finish in this challenging race despite sub-par training and carrying a few extra kilos.
Kullmannen by UTMB was the most brutal race I have finished so far but also one of the most rewarding.