The top of the ridge was a few meters wide, although the single-track was only the breadth of a foot. Grass, tall and golden, waved in the gentle breeze like a prairie sea. Here and there, tall pines grew up around the trail, stretching thick, ancient branches overhead. There were mesmerizing, awe-inspiring views in either direction. To the left, the ridge folded gently down into progressively thicker forest. To the right, a steep drop-off; and far below, rippling hills in shades of green and gold. Old trees dotted the hillsides, growing at odd angles to the slope. Two small, sister ridges branched off perpendicular to ours, lining a plunging, secret valley – untouched and unseen, save for this trail!
The trail we were running was the most remote and scenic part of the Cordillera Mountain Ultra in the Philippines, and it was one of the prettiest places I’ve ever been! The running adventure abroad that I’d dreamed of was unfolding under my feet.
Getting ready for adventures abroad
This was our first international trail race! A favorite friend of ours casually mentioned the Cordillera Mountain Ultra 50k to us, and from the moment I heard about it, I wanted to go. A chance to experience a new part of the Philippines while running a race? Yes please! It was so exciting and important to us that we wrote it into our new work contracts, securing a week off to run and play.
Nearly 5 months separated this race from our previous race, the 2017 Trans Jeju 100k. While we did take a bit of time off following that race, we were soon back up to full strength. This would be our first year of training all the way through the winter, but we were excited to tackle the challenge! November and December were cool and sunny, but bitter cold and snow served up a challenge in January and February. Still, we stuck to our training schedule: running in layers and crampons through the icy, dark winter mornings.
I must say, we were really regular about this round of training! We completed every workout we planned en route the Cordillera Mountain Ultra. This was partly because, unlike the previous year – luckily – no injuries derailed me. Although the cold initially seemed scary, I soon started to enjoy it. But our training rarely follows orthodoxy. This time, it was because we’d committed to a new project!
Maybe it’s hard to believe we’d never heard of Korea’s 100 famous mountains before. But we started our trail running and mountain adventures very much on our own, knowing few like-minded people. But now, we were meeting more and more similarly-inclined friends at races. Several of our new friends mentioned this peak project to us over the winter. And by January, we’d decided that we were going to climb Korea’s 100 mountains ourselves in 2018! And so, mountain mission #2 began!
Regular training was conducted exclusively on weekdays. On the weekends, we’d head off to distant mountains and climb 1, 2 or even 3 peaks. We’d link them if we could, running on long ridges or on forest roads to rack up kilometers. Or we’d climb up and down each peak, navigating by car, bus or train in between and counting up our vertical gain. We ventured into the unknown with every outing; never certain what kind of adventure we were in for. It might not have been by the book, but we thought our training would prove valuable. We’d have many different kinds of climbs under our feet before race day!
By the time March rolled around, we were ready for some fun in the hot sun for a change, and we were incredibly excited to re-visit the Philippines! The Cordillera Mountain Ultra was set to be one of our best adventures yet!
Our adventurous plan began as soon as we landed in Manila’s airport. There, we’d reserved a car – and immediately set out into rush hour traffic at dusk. It was hectic until we reached the highway – but then we enjoyed smooth sailing all the way to the base of the Cordillera mountain range. There, we transitioned onto the narrow mountain road to Baguio, somehow scenic even in the dark!
The first order of business the following day was checking into the race! To do this, we first had to drive nearly a vertical kilometer downhill again to the small village of Dalupirip on the Agno river, nestled deep in a remote valley. The atmosphere was rustic and welcoming – and the race scenery was worlds apart from our past experiences!
Then, over the next couple of days, we had time to relax. A little bit of local running at high elevation was on the menu, along with dining at a restaurant specializing in vegan versions of local dishes! This relaxing proved very relaxing indeed: we also cooked some simple meals in our little apartment and felt like locals, tucked away in a little maze of a neighborhood. We had so much free time on our hands! We watched movies, played games, read and took naps! It was the perfect way to prepare for our race. Plus, our vacation was already well underway.
The 2018 Cordillera Mountain Ultra
March 4th, 2018: Despite the restful days leading up to it, race morning did not have an auspicious beginning. Finding the car the morning of the race involved a bit of a clumsy stumble around in a dark, narrow alleyway. We’d parked in the daylight, but now I could not see my hand in front of my face, let alone my feet! Our headlamps? Carefully, neatly and uselessly packed into our vests, of course!
Once we reached car, I set our big bottle of pre-race hydration at my feet and got ready to navigate. But what was that horrible smell? Air pollution? Something wrong with the car? A sewer explosion? We closed the vents and quickly came to realize that the stench was enclosed with us. It was crap, literally; smeared all over the heel of one of my new shoes, with gross little clods of it all now over the floor and sticking to our bottled water as well. This distraction caused us to take a time-consuming wrong turn. None of this was exactly how I’d imagined the morning going!
Luckily, we were soon and safely at the Cordillera Mountain Ultra starting arch! And, once there, were able to put the day’s crappy start aside to enjoy the good race vibes. Although we had to wait a while, my anxiety remained at a relatively low hum as we chatted with our friends. A new friend, about to run her first 50k, told us her race plan was to complete the course ‘like a spider…or a snail’. As someone quite fond of animal metaphors myself, I enjoyed visualizing this!
At last, the assembled crowd counted down from 10 together, and, with the clanging of cowbells, all of the runners were off!
Quickly we were through the sleeping village onto a wide road, lit by hundreds of bobbing headlamps. Kent and I sped along quickly in the cool morning air, maintaining our position in the front-middle of the pack. It was crowded at first, and at one point everyone slowed to a single-file walk. We jumped out of the queue in an effort to run a little uphill if it was possible! But there was a real obstacle: a long, narrow suspension bridge dangling low over the Agno river!
It felt insane to cross this bridge in the dark! Although volunteers regulated how many people could cross at once, the multitude of running footsteps made the bridge bounce and sway. I wobbled my way across it, my hands tracing and sometimes clutching at the metal fencing close on either side of me.
On the other side, a narrow concrete footpath wound through another village, keeping us in one long line. When this turned into a dirt road, Kent overtook me, and I had to hurry to keep pace behind him! This first part was mainly flat, and the fast runners were going full tilt. Our race plan had been to go out conservatively in the first third of the race, to save some energy for later. But the field was starting to spread out, and we had space to run, so we did!
By the time we reached the foot of the monster climb, I was already soaked through: sweat dripping from my t-shirt onto my shoes. The air was cool in this pre-dawn darkness, but it was far hotter here than in Korea – where we were still training on snow and ice! And it was humid: thick, moist clouds rising up from the river around us.
The climb was a steep vertical kilometer upwards, switchbacks cut on top of one another into the mountainside, right up to the ridge. The mountain was dark against the dark sky, but a trail of headlamps led up seemingly into the heavens. It reminded me of Mount Fuji in 2011, where Kent and I fell in love. There was a dazzlingly starlit sky overhead. Soon, we were looking down on the clouds that filled the valley, lit by the bright, full moon into ethereal beauty. It was a gorgeous scene.
The grade of the climb necessitated we downshift to hiking. Still, this was some of the most aggressive hiking I’ve done in my life! We nudged past people pulled over for a breather on the narrow trail. Kent led the way. We often made eye contact on the sharp switchbacks, when he was towering twice his normal height or more over me! On and on we went, unrelenting in our pace: up, up, up! It was wonderfully tough.
And then, we were there! We’d made it up and were now standing on the mountain ridge! Perfect timing, too: the stunning amber and crimson hues of dawn were beginning to brighten the sky and cast golden light on the clouds and grassy hillsides. We had to stop: me to take it all in, and Kent to grab a refill on water the first mini water stop! The sky continued to marvel as we ran along a single-track dirt path that wound around a village.
At the first of two official checkpoints, we had our tags scanned and our gear checked. And then, onward, towards more of the most stunning race scenery I’ve ever experienced! I recognized this part instantly from some of the videos that I’d shown to Kent in order to convince him that we should sign up!
Golden ridges and valleys made a maze of the landscape until the Cordillera range met the plains in the distance. Pine needles underfoot and pine trees towering above us, despite our location in the tropics. It’s hard to put into words how tremendous this sight was, in all its depth and wildness and grandeur. The fractal patterns of the tree branches stood out in sharp definition, and all the colors were high contrast under the brilliantly blue morning sky. To be running here was a real gift, a blessing that I felt deeply.
I was in the lead again here, setting the pace and grazing my fingertips over the needles of adolescent pines and combing through tall grasses as we passed by. The trail changed constantly, sometimes into the forest that dwarfed us, sometimes in the open, shimmering grassland, and sometimes cut lower into the hillside over rockfalls and curving into shady bends. Looking down was both beautiful and thrilling. Looking ahead, tiny and colorful figures could be seen on the trail.
But we were essentially alone throughout this 10 kilometer section! The next interaction we had was with some volunteers operating a huge blue jug of treated water and jotting our numbers down in a spiral notebook. It felt wonderfully rustic, like we’d really stepped off-the-beaten path! We filled our waters here, before rounding the bend of a switchback and starting the final climb up the the peak of Mount Ugo.
Some friendly hikers and cows lined the way, and there were fun obstacles to climb!
We wound up skipping the peak proper, partly because it was off the course and crowded with hikers. But also because Kent reported feeling poorly, and I was eager to maintain our momentum in the hopes of helping him. So I thanked the mountain in my heart, paused for a quick photo and then we followed the orange ribbons leading steeply downhill.
However, Kent was starting to lose ground. It was strange: he’s usually so speedy whereas I tend towards conservatism until the very end of a run. I tried to reign myself in, but with a full tank of energy on an easy downhill, I was zooming. I’d stop to let him catch up, and each time I waited longer.’Sorry,’ he’d say, shuffling up. ‘It’s okay,’ I’d reply, setting off again and hoping he’d stay in my wake.
‘I’m so tired,’ he told me the next time I waited for him. I suggested he visualize the narrow, rooty dirt track as a waterslide, gently carrying both of us downhill – an idea that I was currently enjoying! Certain he was moments away from a second wind, I reminded him to keep eating and drinking; putting one foot in front of the other. But he was looking rougher and rougher, his pace slower and slower. ‘You got this!’ I’d cry, dashing away as soon as he approached in the hopes that he’d chase me.
But at CP2 he simply sat down. After refilling our waters and trying some boiled bananas, we needed to keep moving. It was hot, but not stifling in the shade of the forest. The trail was a gentle decline like our familiar dullegils at home, sometimes broadening beyond single-track. And then, just like I’d known he would, Kent caught up to me! I congratulated him on his second wind and cheered him ahead of me. But he assured me that it wouldn’t last. Irritably, I tried to swat those negative words away like flies.
Alas, he had been right. Down, down, down the mountain, slowing as we went. Suddenly, a calf cramp had Kent gasping and doubled over in pain. Three incredibly kind racers behind us stopped to help, and we carried on down together when Kent was able. I hated to see him suffering, but he was still eating, drinking and sweating – so I didn’t think he was in serious trouble. I thought it was still within the realm of normal for us. In many runs and races before, Kent had set the pace early while I struggled to slowly warm up, then I would lead us home when I finally hit my stride. We help each other, pushing and pulling and chatting our way over hill and dale.
This time, Kent kept pushing himself, even when we emerged into a bright, exposed section. The heat was hard on him, and it felt like ages before we reached another water point and a bit of shade. He rested until I insisted we go on, but he was struggling in earnest now, walking more than running. No amount of reasoning or pleading seemed to make a difference. I finally realized that things were getting serious when he started eyeing motorcycles and talking about riding one back to the start. Beside myself with worry, and, I’m not proud to admit, impatient, I forced him on.
At another water resupply point, I put ice in Kent’s shirt. Then I pulled him by the hand. He threatened to vomit, sit down and quit. He was furious at me for pushing him for a long time, then silent, dark-eyed and grey-skinned. I belatedly put on sunscreen as the sun beat down mercilessly on the last 10 kilometers of gravel road. I was no longer certain that he could do it or if he was even okay. But, if I could just summon enough strength for two and haul him downhill with all my might, I could put him in the hands of medical professionals. Runners had been passing us in a steady stream that now slowed to a trickle, as other runners were similarly undone by the relentless final uphill and draining heat. What could we do now but go on?
Finally we began to descend, reaching the thin, familiar trail through bamboo forest – and the last, long stretch of the Cordillera Mountain Ultra. Time blurred away; stopping, starting, waiting, wishing. We re-crossed that same dangling bridge from the start. I begged Kent to run the final few hundred meters over the line. He literally couldn’t, but he took my hand. I raised it over my head with mine as we crossed the finish, but it was a celebration just for us. Other runners posed for the photographers, while we snuck in unnoticed. No matter, because photos were the last thing on our minds then. Some volunteers soon spotted us and hung this race’s special carved wooden medals around our necks. My vision blurred by tears, I looked at Kent. He was still in pain, but he swore he could recover on his own.
I led him away from the crowds, and we had a coke and a sit in a local shop. I was still in emergency mode and watching Kent like a hawk – unsure if he really was okay. But some color was returning to his face, and the sugar brightened his eyes. He wanted to go home and clean up, eat and rest. We hadn’t seen our friends, and we both regretted not being able to spend more time basking in the friendly vibes of the race village. But it was still a long walk back to the car and a longer drive back up the hill. Somehow Kent did it, even though he looked like a skeleton and had completely lost his voice.
A nap, a feast and a shower immediately afterwards did him good, but it would be several days before Kent was feeling himself again. We later learned that he’d been experiencing all the classic symptoms of heatstroke. I just felt incredibly grateful that he was okay! Afterwards, it was time to enjoy some well-deserved time on the beach!
It hadn’t been easy, but we had done it – our 4th official 50k and our first race abroad!
Lessons Learned
This one is obvious: be careful in the heat!
We’d known that it would be a crazy experience, going from training in a winter wonderland to running in tropical paradise. I’d actually been a little nervous about it myself, even though I love the heat! But I kind of forgot about my worries when we landed in the Philippines and everything was just really fun. I was lulled into a sense of security with the breezy, fair weather in the heights of Baguio, where we were supposedly acclimatizing for a few days.
Beforehand, I read a few things about mimicking hot conditions meant for people training for desert events or gnarly races like the Badwater. But I hadn’t come up with any ways that we could imitate heat training ourselves. We don’t have access to a treadmill or sauna, and we were already wearing every item of our winter gear to survive our chilly trail runs. Plus, I wasn’t sure we needed to be going to extremes, because I wasn’t sure the weather would be extreme!
I’d heard so much about the Cordillera’s beautiful climate and landscape from the friend who recommended this race to us. The climate of this mountain range is described as ‘forever fall’. While this was true in the higher altitudes, it was still much warmer than what we were used to. The heat in the valleys was scorching! The tropical sun also beat down on us in a way I’d forgotten was even possible!
On a related note, I think we need to be taking in more salts and other electrolytes. The cramps that attacked Kent could be an indication that he was running low on essential nutrients. Maybe he sweat out all his minerals in the heat! And he wasn’t alone: early in the race I’d been disturbed by my puffy fingers and hot, dry face. This was definitely the hottest race we’ve done so far: all of our previous events were in the spring and fall in Korea. At times it was hot and sunny, but nothing like this heat. So this race was an important test of our heat tolerance and nutrition strategy.
In summary, I think if we run in a tropical place again (or find a midsummer run here in Korea), I think we should try to acclimatize more to the race conditions beforehand, and adjust our fueling plan to include lots of salts – especially for Kent!
Despite our heat-induced hardships, we’d both loved the Cordillera Mountain Ultra. Everything from the welcoming and friendly village volunteers who staffed the course checkpoints to the incredibly scenic views from Mt. Ugo’s ridges to the chance to explore a new place on the run. Given the chance, I’d go back and run this race again in a heartbeat!
Interested in running on the prettiest pine ridge yourself? Stay tuned for updates on the latest edition with the official Cordillera Mountain Ultra website!