This race got off to a very special start. Kent and I were surrounded by friends at the beginning of a trail we knew and loved. Despite the fact that the 50 mile race began at midnight, I felt energized and excited to start. We were as ready as we could be for the 2019 9 Dragons Ultra.
It turned out that all of our preparation, while it certainly helped us know what to expect of the trail, couldn’t compare to the intense day of racing that lay ahead of us. Racing the whole course against tight cut-offs wound up being a completely different, almost incomparable experience to our relaxed recces the month before. And there are some things we just couldn’t have prepared for.
*A couple of apologies before I get started on this race’s story:
1) I took zero photos. Not a single one. I spent the entire race, well, racing! I wanted to push myself, and I was concerned enough about those cutoff times that I didn’t even think about reaching for my phone. As you’ll soon see, I also had other concerns… So my apologies that this race report is rather heavy on the text and light on images!
2) I’d like to offer my sincerest apologies to anyone who read my recce report and had the impression that the 2019 9 Dragons Ultra would be anything other than your most difficult race yet. As I discovered myself, training on the course just couldn’t compare to racing the whole thing through. This race was wickedly tough – but wickedly gorgeous too!
Saturday: The 50 miler
Running up
As soon as the race began, we took off running! Knowing what to expect of the 2019 9 Dragons Ultra course meant we had some idea of how we should pace ourselves. The 50 mile trail is runnable for a long time in the beginning, and we thought it would be smart to get out ahead of the crowd. We still faced a few bottlenecks, but overall, we were really quick out of the gate.
I expected us to be slightly slower in the dark, but the wide trail was brightly lit by dozens of headlamps. That, combined with the generally smooth terrain, allowed for a good pace early on. I relished seeing the familiar features of the trail: the little temple on a pass, the bike gates made of tall posts that we had to wind our way through, the place where the trail turns into the bamboo and steepens suddenly.
As we passed all of these places that we remembered from our recce, I realized that we were going rather quickly indeed. It seemed as though the distances between these memorable course features had been significantly shortened. We were flying through the initial section of the 50 miler!
This seemed like a very good thing, because there was a 17 kilometer-long stretch between the start and the first check-point where we could refill on liquids. Also, we’d been pretty close to the cut-off time in training, so the fact that we were making such good time was encouraging. But we weren’t going so fast that I couldn’t appreciate the scenery. Yet.
That changed after we passed that first check-point. The road up to the top of Tai Mo Shan is long and fairly steep, but switchbacks make it manageable. I recalled running up most of it with ease in training. This time was a little different.
We made it into the first aid station after just 2 hours and 47 minutes! It had felt pretty easy up to this point.We had been running on and off with our friend Jaeseung through the first section. Here, after we zipped up our jackets against the cold, wet wind, we watched him stride away from us on his long giraffe-legs.
At first, we tried to keep up. With a little effort, Kent could. I’m a strong hiker, but my short little corgi legs were no match for these two long-legged greyhounds. I realized after a few kilometers that this furious hiking pace was harder for me to maintain than my easy running pace! Far from relaxing by downshifting to hiking, I was actually working harder.
The fog made the climb up to Hong Kong’s highest point pretty surreal. We could barely see our feet on the ground: the light from our headlamps simply scattered in the mist. The wind found its way into my jacket, inflating it like a balloon and making it rustle noisily. There were several streetlights at the top that cast an eerie orange glow. With buzzing electronic equipment, tall barbed wire fences and the swirling mist, it felt like we were in a science-fiction movie up there!
On the descent, I caught – and passed – the guys. But as I dashed downhill, I noted a burning in my quads that probably meant I’d been pushing it too hard on the uphill. By the time the road ended in my favorite boulder field, I was ready to dial down the pace a little. Kent took the lead here, but the three of us stayed a close pack as we dodged the big rocks and wound our way down.
It was probably around this point that we all began to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. Although we maintained a good pace, conversation fizzled out, and I stopped seeing the scenery. At the second checkpoint, I offered my watch instead of my chip for the race volunteers to scan. I then proceeded to make several ‘white sandwiches’ out of rice and crackers. But we were still in the clear: we’d reached CP2 in just under 90 minutes, putting us at 4 hours and 15 minutes of total running time.
The next section featured a couple of little villages and two small climbs. On our recce, we’d been chased by dogs and gotten fairly lost here! Luckily, this time most of the neighborhood pups seemed to be sleeping and we could simply follow the course ribbons. We proceeded through ‘the ropes’ section smoothly.
But on the long road towards Kadoorie Farm, we realized we’d lost Jaeseung. We waited for him at the third check-point, and he fell into a chair the moment he arrived, nauseous and exhausted. He later said he felt like he was sleep-running behind us. We didn’t want to leave him, but he told us he had to take a rest. At just over 5 and a half hours into the race, there wasn’t really any time pressure, but we did want to keep moving to avoid getting chilled or sleepy ourselves. After handing him a cup of warm and soothing ginger tea, we continued, walking with cups of our own!
Happily, just before the climb up Tai To Yan, Kent and I both had to pee. This was difficult to do discreetly in such a big race, but I was happy that neither of us were dehydrated. The chilly night and the ability to refill our bottles at aid stations was helping us stay better hydrated than we had been in our recces!
I had been looking forward to the climb up the rollercoaster ridge of Tai To Yan, and it did not disappoint! It was still a tough climb that held us to a hiking pace. But being there was night was special. The place where the wilderness began was delineated by deep shadow that the urban glow couldn’t penetrate. It was still well before dawn, but I felt alert ; alive in the cool air and mountaintop views! This is one of the best parts of the 9 Dragons 50 mile course!
Falling down
We crested the peak of Tai To Yan and began making progress along the rocky ridge, going up and down. This was tough on Kent. During our recces, some of the descents had bothered his left knee a little, much like the rocks on the Trans Jeju 100k course had. At our furious 9 Dragons pace, they were bothering him a lot more. It didn’t help that erosion had made tripping hazards out of every wooden stair. I could hear his heavy footfalls and some exclamations of pain, but every time I’d peek back at him, he’d hurry me along.
Suddenly I heard a much louder thud and turned back to see Kent sprawled sideways across the stairs. His knees were bloody, but he quickly assured me that he was okay. I pulled him to his feet. Looking down, he spied a rested metal spike holding the stair board in place against the eroded earth. ‘Did I land on that?’ he gasped. I didn’t think so, but it was a scary thought!
‘I have to throw up,’ he said, all the color draining from his face. His eyes lost their focus as I helped him back to the ground. He flopped backwards on the stairs making strange groaning sounds, his arms and legs twitching. Then he was still. His eyes were open but empty.
I heard a high pitched sound that I realized was coming from inside me. Terrified, I didn’t understand what was happening to my husband and worse, I had no idea how to help. He’d fallen on his backpack and, forgetting that I was wearing one too, I tried desperately to reach inside it for bandages, a safety blanket, a phone. I reached for his head with both hands, thinking to pull him onto my lap or turn his head to the side in case he did throw up.
Time seemed to stand still. But it was probably just a few seconds before the next pair of runners came running down the hill towards us. I screamed for help with all my might, and they rushed faster my way. One whipped out his phone to call emergency services and the other had me quickly on the line to the race director. A third runner ran up and handed me several packages of gauze.
On the phone, I tried to calm down and speak coherently. I remember standing up to assess the damage. I think I described Kent’s shredded knees as superficial injuries. The person on the other end of the phone asked me question after question which I tried to answer with my eyes constantly searching my husband for clues about his condition.
He’d been unconscious for a minute, maybe a little bit more, when he came to. He opened and closed his mouth, then he turned his head and seemed surprised by the crowd assembled around him. He pushed himself up on his elbow and immediately started waving the other runners on. ‘I’m okay,’ he insisted, to our collective disbelief. ‘You don’t need to call anyone. I’m going to get up now.’
I explained what was happening to the race base, and thanked the other runners for stopping. I knelt beside Kent and asked if he was truly okay. He felt like he’d just just hit some kind of reset button. And he was determined to continue.
Still in a kind of shock myself, I couldn’t quite believe him. I agreed to help him to his feet and to carry on towards the aid station at Fanling Station, if he could. I fully planned to turn him over to medical personnel there. Unlike Kent, I had completely stopped thinking about the race, and was just so glad to see him again!
We jogged downhill slowly. I questioned Kent every few steps about how he was doing and insisted he eat and drink. He set our pace and I followed him closely, watching him like a hawk. In this way, we eventually made it down to checkpoint four. Despite the terror atop Tai To Yan, we’d made it to this CP in almost exactly the same amount of time it had taken us in training: 7 hours and 54 minutes.
The biggest checkpoint of the 9 Dragons Ultra, this aid station held our drop bags and big tents offering hot food and medical aid. Kent agreed to visit the medical tent, where they re-bandaged his scrapes and wrapped his knee. But he also insisted I get our drop bags and set up for the second half of the race. Feeling a mix of concern and cautious optimism, I did so.
We would up spending around 20 minutes or so in this checkpoint – making it by far our longest aid station stop ever. I repacked our bags, refilled our bottles…and asked Kent probably 30 times if he was sure he was okay. And then…we went on!
Recovering on the run
Incredulous that Kent was able to continue, we started the second section with a fresh lease on life! Poles out, we tucked into the tough climb up the prickly mountain. We chatted with other racers, and enjoyed the warm morning sun.
I remembered every part of this nearly 19 kilometer long section: one of the toughest parts of the course with two big climbs and two smaller hills. Excited to revisit each, I charged ahead. Kent, happy to be continuing in the race, was close on my heels.
Until…he wasn’t. After crossing over the part that I nicknamed the ‘Scottish Highlands’, the course takes a long, rocky descent down to the coast and the checkpoint at Luk Keng. I was suddenly alone and surprised about it. Fighting panic, I quickly turned around to find Kent. I didn’t go very far before I saw him limping down the steps, but upright at least!
As we continued descending, slowly – and with me now once again in the rear – Kent went through a rough patch. He wasn’t sure if he should continue and he kept telling me to leave him. There was no way I was going to do that, and besides, now I was sure he could continue. He’d demonstrated amazing strength and perseverance, and I knew he didn’t really want to stop. So I stuck to him like glue.
After 12 hours and 22 minutes of running, we reached CP5. I immediately asked for some ice, and some volunteers helped Kent sit down on a little stool. They also ferried some little cups of coke over to us while we iced Kent’s knee, which was awesome!
The next section was that fun flat part by the seaside. I was ready to blaze it, and actually, so was Kent. Running on even, flat ground didn’t cause him much pain – it was the steep downhills, especially on stairs, that hurt. So we zoomed ahead. An American runner living in Thailand joined us through this area. Time passed quickly as we ran and chatted – and we were soon at the next aid station!
Once again, we checked Kent’s bandages and iced his knee. But we knew we couldn’t linger. We’d reached CP6 in just over 14 hours, well before the cut-off, but we needed every extra minute we could get for the next section. The trail through Pat Sin Leng Country Park is the most beautiful of the whole 9 Dragons Ultra – and definitely the most punishing. We’d need to keep moving quickly to avoid the final cutoff times.
My turn for troubles
This was the part of the race where the tables turned. Every rest and icing session seemed to help Kent a little more, and by this point he was his usual confident self, stomping the uphill. I, on the other hand, was slowing down.
I had been feeling excellent throughout the race. Aside from the scare on Tai To Yan, everything had been going really well for me. I felt like my nutrition and hydration were really dialed in and I was in no real physical pain. My favorite was section coming up, and I felt excited to revisit it! So what had gone wrong?
As I continued to slow down on the climb up, I tried to listen to my body. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribcage, despite my reduced pace. My breath was coming in fragmented gasps, punctuated by thick, yucky coughs. Trying to swallow made me nauseous, so despite my growling stomach, I felt like I couldn’t eat. My contact lenses felt sticky and my ears were itchy. All of these symptoms were familiar to me: I’d felt them all before. I was polluted.
Our training runs had been much shorter: just 8 and 9 hours each for the 50 mile course. And we’d been extra lucky with the weather: it had rained steadily throughout the night before we ran, with a few gentle showers during our two course recces. We were not quite so lucky this time. Although the sun was shining, the air was not good. I’m sensitive to air pollution and I began to feel it in a big way during this section.
Once I recognized what was happening, I decided to just look at this trail that I love and focus on the sights and sounds around me. I thought that would help me get through my symptoms. But we’d slowed down so much on the way up that making it to the next checkpoint on time had become a real concern. We had to hurry, so instead of admiring the scenery, I was just looking at my feet. And freaking out. Again.
Part of what is thrilling about this part of the trail is how remote it is. It’s just one trail on the very top of an undulating ridge. Once you’re up there, the only options are forward or backward. I’d loved this in training, but now it scared me. I’m somewhat skittish by nature, and thanks to Kent’s fall earlier, my mind was reeling with worst-case what-ifs. What if I had a full-on asthma attack? What could we even do?
I had to really talk myself through this. Aloud. At one point when I was sure I was either going to vomit or lose my breath entirely, I was reduced to repeating the words ‘you can and you will‘ to myself, over and over. And I did.
Running down
I forced myself to eat ginger jelly after ginger jelly. Slowly, I regained energy. I borrowed Kent’s buff (I’d left mine behind at CP4 when I swapped it for my cap) and put it over my nose and mouth. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it seemed to help a little bit. What had felt like hours of suffering had probably only been a matter of minutes. I’d been lucky. I rubbed my eyes free of grit, and just in time. It was time for the world’s gnarliest descent.
The trail down from the top of Pat Sin Leng is tough. It is comprised exclusively of rocky stairs. We both needed all of our focus to get down safely – and swiftly! We swapped positions again, and I led us down. I called encouragement back to Kent, who I knew would be hurting on this harsh downhill. Just like I hadn’t been able to hurry on top, he wasn’t really able to hurry down this part. It was a matter of simply putting one step in front of the other, staying focused and staying together.
When the terrain leveled out again, we called on all our reserves to make another speedy push towards the final checkpoint of the 9 Dragons 50 miler. It came into view just down the road – as did a familiar tall, lean figure jogging towards us. It was Jaeseung!
After his little nap at CP3, he’d continued on with Hyon Shim, another friend of ours. But when he arrived at CP4, his drop bag was missing. In it he had his sunglasses, poles and a host of other essentials that he didn’t know what to do without. Already depleted, he decided to drop out of the race. He’d been hanging out at the finish line when, after a couple of beers, he got the notion to come find us. So here he was, offering a little burst of good cheer and energy – reminding us that we still had enough time and we could do it!
We made it to this last CP in 17 hours and 29 minutes. With 31 minutes to go before the cutoff, this was the closest we’d cut it. We skipped the aid station and just started climbing. All we had to do was get up and over Cloudy Hill and then it was all downhill to the finish line. There were just 5 kilometers left, and we had 91 minutes to cover that ground. But we’d really be racing against the fading daylight. The sun had just set, and we did not have headlamps.
Luckily, we were both feeling fine, and energized from seeing our friend! We hurried as fast as we could up that hill and dashed down on the other side. Probably it was beautiful, with the city lights turning on and the colors of the sky dimming to twilight blue. But I don’t know, because once again, I was just looking at my feet and trying to run it in strong!
We made it to the bottom of that final hill in the last of the twilight. Streetlights lit the way to Tai Po Tao playground, where the finish line was waiting for us. As always, we linked hands and pounded the pavement in to the finish. 89 kilometers and 5000 meters of elevation gain in 18 hours and 35 minutes. The 9 Dragons Ultra was by far the hardest race we’ve done so far.
The Afterward
Despite the finish line, our ultra was actually not done. We were signed up to run the 50/50 – back-to-back 50 mile and 50 kilometer races. We completed the 50 miler just 25 minutes before the cutoff time. The race director was obligated to pull us aside and ask us if we were going to continue on to the the 50k the following day. On a finish line high, our first reaction was to say of course, but we quickly sobered up. Could Kent’s knee really go another 53 kilometers over 3500 meters? Or, if not, was I willing to abandon him and our first race as an official team?
It was a brutal decision. There was no question that we both wanted to do it. Kent had demonstrated heroic bravery and amazing recovery, running an additional 12 hours and more than 50 kilometers after taking a bad tumble. Could he manage that for a second day? As for me, I’d felt good throughout the race – minus an hour or so near the end. I could go on. This was what we came for.
On the other hand, I was all too keenly aware that we’d managed a miracle in finishing the 50 mile course despite Kent’s crazy fall! I recognized that going on would be the wrong choice for Kent. He risked doing permanent damage by forcing his body to suffer through a second ultra. We would also be risking a DNF if we opted to continue but couldn’t – and that seemed highly likely. Should Kent toe the line of a second, extremely demanding race already injured?
It seemed like continuing wasn’t really in the cards for Kent. But what about for me?
We’ve talked about running separate races before, and maybe that’s still something we’ll try one day. Kent was nothing but supportive of this idea. But I think we’d both be more comfortable if that was the plan all along. I’ve never run a 50k alone. Would I like to? Sure, to test myself – but not as a lifestyle choice. Would I like to now, after the hardest race of my life and with my partner possibly injured and needing my help? It did not seem right.
We’d signed up for the biggest challenge of our lives, and we’d already gotten that. We had a finish, and Kent was going to be okay. Maybe it made sense to call it rather than counting on another miracle or two. You’ll always wonder about the path you didn’t choose. But I know taking the 50 mile finish was definitely the right choice for Kent. I was less sure if it was the right choice for me, but I found that I couldn’t leave my teammate’s side.
Sunday: The 50k
So, our race was finished, but the 9 Dragons Ultra was far from over. And so was our involvement in this great event!
Over the next couple of days, I experienced a mix of complicated emotions. Some regret over stopping short of our original goal, relief at having been able to simply choose to switch into the 50 mile race without dire consequences, a deep enjoyment of eating in a reclining position, and surprisingly, an overwhelming desire to run again!
On Sunday morning, I woke up without an alarm, right at the time that the 50k race was starting. I wrote an emotional email to my coach and talked to my mom. Kent slept in a little, but when he woke, I knew there was no way he could have done the 50k race. I had to hand things to him in bed as he found it very hard to move for the first few hours of the day. He even asked me to fold or unfold his left leg for him as he changed positions!
What were we going to do with our day now? Luckily, we had each other, and we had our friends. We chatted with our friend Hyon Shim about meeting up later for a recovery feast. And then we decided to venture out for some sandwiches ourselves. On the way, I had a sudden brainstorm. What if we brought Jaeseung the fast food that he’d always dreamed of finding at an aid station? What if we took our own food there too and had a little picnic?
Kent should have been resting, but he liked my idea. So we took a taxi to Shing Mun reservoir, the site of CP4, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch while watching the other half of the 9 Dragons Ultra unfold as spectators. I didn’t feel angsty at all, to my relief. Instead, I put all my excess energy into cheering for the 50k runners and making sure they found the correct path to CP5. It was several hours before Jaeseung arrived, but by then we’d made lots of new friends!
We wandered across the dam to him. This day was much hotter than the previous one, and we were worried that our friend might be really suffering out there. On the road below a long staircase, Kent sat on the curb and I stood shifting from one foot to the other in nervous anticipation.Finally, there he was!
Jaeseung hopped down the stairs, and we ran with him back into the aid station. He had few words, and went immediately over to the jugs of water to douse his head. Afterwards, he sat on a chair, silent but breathing deeply. He told us he was overcoming the heat.
We stood with him, telling him interesting news from the race and encouraging him to eat and drink. After a bit of a rest, he ate half of his hamburger and packed the rest in his bag. It was time to go again.
We ran him over to the next set of stairs, going down this time, and wished him well! I hinted that there might be a surprise waiting for him if he could run quickly to CP5: I knew our friends Hyon Shim and Chris planned to meet him there! As for Kent and I, we planned to make our way to the finish to greet all of our friends crossing the line.
After one very long taxi ride in which we got lost about a dozen times, we made it to Shing Fung Studios just as it was getting dark. Kent got a hamburger and a beer, and we stood around talking to some of the people we’d met over the previous two days.
Anticipating the arrival of some of friends and Asia Trail Master legends, I went to stand beside the finish line. This was my first time spending an extended period of time on the other side of the line, and I loved it! The atmosphere is just as electric if you’re a spectator. I fist pumped with my inspirational friend Rao as he crossed the line in triumph. Leaped and laughed along with my hero Ruth. Hugged strangers and teared up over a few emotional finishes.
As we waited for Jaeseung, we were joined by Hyon Shim and Chris, who’d met him at CP5 and CP6. Although he’d blazed into CP5 in record time, they told us that he made it to CP6 with literally a minute to spare. He hadn’t even stopped running.
At 7:30 pm, a bell tolled and the music stopped, signaling the official end to the race. Jaeseung was still out there on the course. While we waited for him, we wound up talking to two guys who’d been standing at the finish line longer than we had. They were waiting for their girlfriends to finish their first 50k.
Jaeseung came running across the line at around 8:30. We all whooped and hollered for him and wrapped him in hugs. He was happy but shaken. He told us he’d done the last section of the race without a light. He’d run through the darkness constantly worried about falling or losing his way for the last two hours of the race. It had taken a bit of a toll on him, and he was eager to have a beer and relax. Our group of friends swarmed around him as he told the story of his race, and after a little while, I returned to the finish line.
Or what was left of it. The photographer had packed up and left. Crowds had dispersed. Some volunteers were disassembling the timing tent, while others were removing the finish line arch. All that was left was a ribbon laying on the ground, and our two new friends scanning the darkened road beyond it.
At quarter past nine, I saw two slow-moving, linked figures appear out of the blackness. The three of us remaining at the finish line burst into excited cheering. The two guys picked up the ribbon and held it out for their girlfriends to cross. I snapped a picture, but this triumphant scene suddenly turned scary.
Just a couple of meters away from their own special finish line, one of the girls collapsed. The other burst into tears as she struggled to support her friend’s sagging weight. The two guys dropped the ribbon and ran to their girls as I started shouting for a medic. I couldn’t helped but be swept up in all of the emotions myself. Reassured that both girls would be okay, I left the foursome to a little privacy.
I had a couple of other concerns myself. I wanted to figure out how to help Jaeseung catch his flight, which was set to leave in just a few hours! With the help of the race organizers, we ordered a taxi and got him packed off to the airport.
Where there had once been a hundred or more sweaty racers telling their stories over beers and burgers, there was now only a handful of runners and volunteers waiting quietly for the race shuttle. There were no more tents and there was no more music. Now we were just a bunch of weirdos assembled in a parking lot at night, in varying states of sweaty. Dinner with Hyon Shim and Chris ended up being a double date at a 7-11 that was somehow just perfect.
The next morning, we ran into the foursome from Singapore again! It was so nice to see the girls standing and smiling, and so inspiring to hear all four new ultra runners exclaim that they couldn’t wait to come back to this race next year.
So, Sunday didn’t unfold exactly like I’d planned. It wasn’t the day I’d originally wanted, but maybe it was the day I needed. I was feeling a lot of feels about the fact that Kent was okay and had been able to pull off the 50 miler despite what had happened. And I felt more strong emotions watching our friends go through their own races.
I was reminded that one of the best things about this sport is the friendships and connections I’ve made. Instead of focusing on myself, I spent Sunday thinking about other runners. I got to spend the day hanging out with a bunch of the coolest people I know and meeting some new friends too.
Plus, we wound up keeping a little something to look forward to: we will return for next year’s 9 Dragons Ultra – and we’re gonna conquer that 50/50!
With many thanks to the excellent 9 Dragons Ultra team who put on an amazing race and put up with my dozens of questions in advance (and after), to the volunteers and photographers who made great memories with us and helped us capture them, and to all of the good friends I got to share this experience with.
Interested in taking on one of the toughest challenges around? Keep your eyes on the official site for updates on next year’s edition! See you there!