Hong Kong Four Trails Ultra Challenge: stairs a hundred times different and the same every time
02/10/2024. Four trails in Hong Kong, ~300 km, 14500 m+ in 60 or 72 hours – cross-country, asphalt, easy terrain, but mostly stair orgies. Support is only available between trails; otherwise, escorts aren’t even allowed to watch – because it’s a personal challenge… This is HK4TUC.
I should have been at Brazil 135 in January – I wasn’t because… well, because of that…. I chat to Terka about running and possible destinations when she mentions a race in Hong Kong I’ve never heard of. In a few days, I cannot resist and see what it actually is. I’m quite intrigued by it and even more intrigued by the fact that there is no cost to participate. I do a cursory search on what a ticket to Hong Kong costs now, and half-jokingly write to the owner and organizer of the event, Andre, to see if he’d like me. In lieu of a cover letter, I send a list of my events and add a few pearls from my participation, which, as you know, I usually approach in a punk way. Nothing for a few days – meanwhile I check the website and find that the application process is closed. I put it behind me, thinking it’s passé. And then I get an email with a text “we regret to inform you that you have been accepted”.
So that’s it. Like I have no training for 15km+ of elevation gain and only one month to prepare. Before that, though, I’m contacting my supporter Peter to see if he’ll come with me then. I think he’ll be tempted by the exotic destination, and he agrees. André writes me a few days later that his colleague at work is Czech, an athlete, and that he would be my support. I happily accept, because I can cancel my rental car, which would be a hassle to park in Hong Kong, not to mention the financial savings. There is a lively correspondence with David; he arranges all the possible and impossible; it is a huge help and a relief, because, for example, getting a SIM card is not an easy thing in HK.
The event is scheduled to start on February 10. The time is unknown; Andre always announces the exact start date up to 12 hours in advance. Our plane is booked for February 6, and Peter arrives in Olomouc the day before. We’ll go to Drápal for a beer. We fly from Vienna to Beijing and then to Hong Kong. The car ride to Vienna is uneventful, and before we know it, we are sitting in the airport lounge drinking beer; Peter is mainly drinking shots. The flight to Beijing is marked by attempts at sleep and lack of alcohol, as we are flying with the Chinese. On the other hand, it has one advantage: that we can fly over Russia, where “enemy” planes cannot, and therefore we save a few hours. We land in Beijing in the middle of the night; the airport is empty; everything is closed. We follow the airport navigation to guide us to the gates to HK, Macau and international destinations, but no luck. “Comrades” tell us one way, then another, but eventually we get to the “checkpoint,” where, of course, the big brother is taking pictures of faces, fingerprinting and stuff. And with a look on our faces like we’re there to steal it. After a few hours of waiting, we get on another plane and land in Hong Kong around noon.
There we have the classic arrival routine – luggage and withdrawing money in local currency from an ATM. David has sent his driver to the airport with a car to take us to our hotel. At the same time, he arranged for us to have our SIM cards and Octopus cards already activated, which is like a local payment card that you “load” funds onto and can be used to pay for everything in Hong Kong, including the subway (transport in general), restaurants, shops, etc. We feel like VIP guests; it’s a bit embarrassing. The luggage arrives safely, but when we walk out, no one has a plate with my name on it. We look around for two minutes when we see a person approaching, and it’s our driver. In the car, he drives us to the hotel; we feel like we’re in business class.
We have the rest of Wednesday, Thursday and Friday to do some sightseeing. After a short rest, we dive right into the whirlwind of the big city. I’ve seen many pictures of Hong Kong and know that the urban development is extreme. The reality surpasses it. I stare at it all with my mouth open and feel like an ant.
In the evening, before going to bed, Peter and I wash down these impressions with two cans of Pilsner, which we draw from the supplies we brought – the weight of the frothy beverage represents a significant part of our luggage. How else can we say…
Thursday, we spend in old Hong Kong, and in the evening we are invited by David to eat – we think it will be somehow casual, so we dress sportingly, I in three-quarter shorts. And when David takes us to a first-class steakhouse in Marriott, I feel like a countryside guy on a trip to Paris. The food is perfect, and when we get back to the hotel, we head out for another one or two at a local pub – by the way, the draught here is very “reasonably” priced, about 10 dollars a pint (haha). At that price, it’s a problem not to get ripped off. On Friday, we go for a car tour of part of the route with David, followed by another meal in the afternoon, this time invited by André, and past participants are here too. I’m not normally a big fan of Thai food, but after two beers, I like (almost) everything.
It’s Friday, 7 pm, and André still hasn’t announced a start time. That means we won’t have to get up at some ungodly hour. The tables are still full, but Peter and I get up, advising to the crowd that we have to get ready for the race and that we still need to drink some of the can beer. André is somewhat entertained hearing that, and we hear from a few other people that they have never seen such preparation for a race before…
21:44. The news is coming in. 12 hours to go! We don’t chat for long; things are ready; we finish our beer and fall asleep. My alarm goes off at 8:00, and it’s the ringing that really wakes me up. As before every race, a visit to the toilet facilities follows, which unfortunately doesn’t go well, so I’d better put in two Imodiums so I don’t screw up sometime in the early stages of the race. We leave at 8:30 and we walk to the start that should take us 10 minutes. David is already there waiting for us.
I feel some nervousness, mostly due to the knowledge that I haven’t adequately trained for 15 miles of elevation gain and stairs. However, I rely on my head – what else can I do?
The weather is relatively favorable, around 15 degrees, but it’s quite windy and I’m cold. I have a Hurricane packed in my backpack, but it’s too warm – I’m not going to sweat like a pig in a jacket right from the start. I have the light Tirano in my room, and Peter selflessly offers to run to get it for me. He has about 20 minutes – and he actually makes it. I’m still taking photos, and there are only minutes left. There are less than thirty runners. It’s a small event in the size of the field, but big in reputation. In Hong Kong itself, it’s an iconic race. I’ll be repeatedly convinced of that from the dozens of greetings and support from people on the trails, even though we’re not wearing any bibs.
The countdown sounds, and after the whistle we all get moving. Unlike the others, who have supposedly done more or less of the trail, my exploration of the terrain consisted only of climbing the first 200 meters the day before. I prefer to be surprised. A few people are starting to run, but it feels like a crap run. So I quietly ascend the concrete path, banana trees and bamboo growing nearby. After a kilometer, the trail breaks, veers right and continues as a wide concrete path, mostly gently descending. After a kilometer I’m already sweaty, so I take off my Tirano and run in just a T-shirt. The sun is shining; wind is blowing; it’s pleasant, and I’m loving the views of the big city below. Seven kilometers on concrete I’m enjoying. According to Streetview, this first section should go on for about 30 km at this point. That would be nice because the later the terrain and stairs come, the better for me.
But oops, off the road at the eighth signpost and up the stairs I go. I’m thinking maybe this will be some kind of connection section, but no. It’s only later that I find out that Streetview is for the MacLehose Trail, but for a trail designed for mountain bikes, so my photographic research was useless. Oh well, at least I didn’t stress too much beforehand. The first staircase kilometer goes up steeply. No regular ones, once higher, once lower, good and broken. Can’t keep a rhythm. That I’m exerting increased effort can be felt in my rapid breathing. Down those irregular stairs is no rest either. I’m beginning to realize the magnitude and difficulty of the whole event.
A few more hills follow, but before I get a chance to start swearing, I reach a three-kilometer stretch on the road, a heavily descending one at that, where I fix my mood.
And then more stairs, and then… how else, stairs. Good thing they’re in the woods, where the trees shield me from the sun’s rays. I climb steadily towards the highest peak of the first trail. I’m a bit surprised to find out that my first half marathon is in 2:30 – with all those stairs. I hope I didn’t overdo it. At Tai Mo Shan, that’s the top; it’s on the road, which I’m so excited about that I run up, even though it’s a slog. Down from the top, it’s another 2k on tarmac where I shake my legs out.
And then it’s stairs again. Sometimes a bit of trail, sometimes cross-country, but otherwise I have fun stumbling and harassing my ankles, which are lucky to be so loose that a few very unpleasant misplaced steps don’t hurt them.
If I’m not in the woods, I improve my mood by looking down at the skyscrapers of Hong Kong. They’re spectacular scenes.
After five hours in action, with about 37km in my legs, I arrive at the Shing Mun Dam – because I have no water, I ask some tourist for half a litre of water. However, there is a campsite behind the dam that is amply equipped with drink machines. The place is packed with people; fires are blazing; sausages are roasting and other stuff. From the machine, I take out a cold Coke and some lemon juice to change taste, take off my pack for the first time and drink in peace. It’s not time for the first body service yet. People around me are watching what I’m doing, so I have to maintain decorum. I have an empty circle of about five meters around me; do I smell already…? After fifteen minutes I head into the woods and again, what a surprise, up the stairs.
I’m already looking out for kilometer 50, the Sha Tin saddle, where I’ll have my service break. At the same time, there is a booth where you can buy something warm for your stomach. But before I get there from the dam, I struggle up steep hills, stairs that technically don’t suit me. Once I’m up and looking forward to run down, it’s even more challenging. I have to be careful not to roll down the stairs or, heaven forbid, the cliff next to them. I’m starting to feel tired, not just physically, but especially mentally.
From a minor feeling of despair I am awakened by the arrival at the pass. I buy a coke; I don’t feel like eating, but at least I unwrap a candy bar and sit down. I make some calls. I swallow salt tablets, guarana and hydrogen. The place is full of runners and spectators; the sun is shining; it’s pleasant. I don’t really want to leave. Twenty minutes later, I’m up. It’s 4:00 in the afternoon; I’m off to a good start. But I have no idea what the next few kilometers will bring. 50km to go on the first trail and 12 hours to the cut-off.
The clock is slowly ticking down. It’s monotonous – I’m working my way up like a Bulgarian, struggling down. Running is impossible in either case. I turn on the autopilot, but even so, the kilometers are coming in terribly slowly. There is a small section through the woods here and there, but these never last long. I get some distraction from Needle Hill – the reality lives up to the name – it’s a standing hill, like a needle – strangely, although the climb looks like it might take an hour, I’m up in 20 minutes; appearances are sometimes deceiving. I have to pretend like I’m having a great time at the top because it’s full of people cheering me on.
I’m 11 hours on the road. It’s slowly getting dark. I’m putting on my headlamp. The terrain is getting more and more unforgiving; I’m scared to even go down as the stairs are broken. Luckily for the darkness, I can’t see anything left or right, as my stride isn’t very steady and I’m in danger of falling at any moment. It has cooled down a lot, and judging by the steam escaping my mouth, I’m guessing it will be about 5 degrees. However, as I am still in such a physical and mental struggle, I can’t feel the cold even though I am still in shorts and a T-shirt.
According to the map, I should be approaching the sea. But in the middle of the darkness and amongst the rocks and steps, it doesn’t look like it. It’s just before midnight when, after descending several kilometers, I reach the road where there is a rest stop and a booth with drinks. I completed 80 kilometers, 20 to the end of the first part and 6 hours to the time limit. I have a desperate taste for something other than water, so I buy two bottles of some local drink from the vending machine – no cola here. I sit down; I empty one bottle inside me. I open the other; I start sipping, and after a few sips it comes.
Suddenly I feel dizzy. I feel nauseous, and my heart is pounding. I sit on the wall for a moment; I pick myself up, but almost fall to the ground. I sit up; I give it another 15 minutes. The pounding slowly stops. I tell myself I won’t get stuck here; I get up and slowly pedal away. I walk a mile downhill, crawling slowly, so hopefully everything will be okay. There is a slight climb, about 100 meters. My legs are suddenly on fire. My head is spinning. I sit down on the ground and wait for 5 minutes. I climb a mini hill; I go down, but the same thing on the next hill. I’m unable to take a single step up. I almost lose consciousness. I lie down on the ground as I am, in shorts and T-shirt, regardless of cold. I can’t even lift my arms to get my jacket out of my pack. Half an hour I’m there. My legs don’t serve me when I try to get up. At least I pull myself together enough to call and inform them that I’m out. I try again, but it’s clear it’s over. The next 20 kilometers still has a significant elevation gain, and going into terrain away from any civilization in this condition would be a suicide. At least this way I have 3 kilometers to the road where David and Peter can pick me up. With a heavy heart I call it a day and report to the supporters that I am slowly walking back. Meanwhile, they are already running towards me, because I haven’t reacted for a long time and they didn’t know if I had completely fallen down. We meet halfway, get to the car and everything is over.
I’m experiencing a huge disappointment. This is the first event in such a remote destination that ended in a DNF. But mostly I feel sorry for Peter and David who did the first and last, set everything up for the long journey, and in the end it was only 80 miles and 14 hours. We arrive at the hotel around 2 am; I take a shower, and we go to bed. In the morning I am tired and broken, but fine. And that’s the main thing.
For the next few days, Peter and I wander around Hong Kong, trying to fill the unexpectedly gained time. We take a beautiful cruise around Hong Kong on a private yacht chartered by David, and experience a bit of the nightlife too.
We also see the New Year’s fireworks. Sadly, the main objective remains unfulfilled.
Epilogue: You’re always learning. As for the reason for the failure, it was most likely hyponatremia, i.e. I had salted myself, and thermal shock, as I poured more ice-cold liquid into myself, which my body and heart didn’t like. Should I try it again? I don’t know; running up hills and stairs like I did during the last month leading up to the event isn’t something I consistently want to do, but the black mark from the unfinished challenge is biting a bit. We’ll see in the fall. And of course I can’t even know if Andre will want me in his squad of runners…
Final word: Biggest thanks go to Peter for his accompaniment and support, and to David for a perfectly organized stay (sorry man that it didn’t work out even for the 72 hours finish). Of course, also to everyone in the Czech Republic who kept their fingers crossed, including Terka, Hana, Tonda, Patrik, and my brother.
