Hell Again

The Buddha Trails 2022

"Isn’t victory being able to push our bodies and minds to their limits and, in doing so, discovering that they have led us to find ourselves anew and to create new dreams?” - Kilian Jornet¹

“I have discovered that I hate myself.” - Me, when running.

I think it’s fair to say I have a complicated relationship with running. I have whined about it before (here and here) but truth be told, running is an integral part of my life. Not in a run-every-morning kind of way, but I normally manage to get in a couple of runs in a week. Over time, I have even grown to enjoy the shorter runs on flat courses when a giddy mix of endorphins, adrenaline, and 2000’s pop-punk, fuels the desire to run fast. These short runs do not have any agenda, they are not part of a training regimen for any race. They are wholly self-serving; undertaken only because I want to feel the wind in my face, to empty my mind of all thoughts, to just keep moving faster in search of the elusive balance - when your body seems to move with minimal effort, in perfect strides and your feet barely ever touch the ground. Achieving, and then sustaining, that balance is what makes short runs so exhilarating.

The long training runs before a race, however, are a different story. Especially when they involve ascents and hill repetitions, which, unfortunately, is inevitable if you’re training for a trail running event: like The Buddha Trails 2022.

I was introduced to trail running a couple of years ago and took an instant liking to it. Running on forested trails with glorious views of valleys and mountains, is a far cry from running on city roads with views of concrete monoliths. Also, you don’t have to constantly look over your shoulder to avoid getting hit by auto-rickshaws. Win-win.

As I’d mentioned in last week’s issue, Shouvik and I had signed up for the 30km category of The Buddha Trails in 2021². I knew it’d be a challenging event. The 30km race route has an elevation gain of almost 1800 meters (nearly 6000 feet) so it was certainly not going to be your average morning jog. In addition, the organisers (The Hell Race) had dropped subtle hints about the race in the shape of these two maxims:

“Not For The Weak Of Will”

“दर्द से भी ज़्यादा दर्दनाक” (More terrible than pain)

Not exactly warm and welcoming missives, are they?

But, despite these warnings, nothing could have prepared me for the excruciating pain and torment I suffered during the event last year. I was completely wrung out and the muscles in my legs were aflame with agony. Running was out of the question. I stumbled on the flat sections and downhills; on the climbs, I crawled on all fours. Eventually, I somehow made it to the finish line but we missed the cut-off time by 30 minutes. Runners who finish the race within the cut-off time are entitled to a race medal, an official certificate of completion and, most importantly, bragging rights. Everyone else is consigned to the ignominious ‘DNF’ (Did Not Finish) category.

So, of course, we had to go back this year³.

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The Buddha Trails race route starts and ends at Rimbick, a small hamlet around 65kms from Darjeeling. The people of Rimbick, more than anything else, make this race special. In the days leading up to the race, participants from all corners of the country flood into this tiny place and the people of Rimbick make space for them in their homes and in their hearts. The hospitality (and delicious food) I’ve encountered in my two visits to Rimbick, has been memorable.

Perhaps the residents of Rimbick understand that runners participating in this race are tortured souls who are deeply anguished. The kindness and succour they offer to runners may well be out of pity. “Look at these fools who have come here seeking suffering”, they say to each other, “let us ease their misery while we can. For tomorrow, they will be weeping on the race route.”

The weeping starts around the 9km mark, when you reach Gurdum village. Before that, the first 6kms takes you down from the starting point, at Rimbick Bazaar, to a narrow, picturesque foot-bridge which spans the Srikhola river.

Srikhola Bridge. Image Source

Once you cross the bridge, the route starts winding up the hill and leads you into a forest, the trail skirting a gurgling stream. By this point, you’ve left motorable roads and civilization behind, with only the other runners and an occasional pack of mules for company. The trail is difficult but you feel like you have things under control. You focus on climbing steadily, rhythm being more important than speed. After a brief stop at a hydration and refuelling station, you continue moving up the hill. Only now, your legs feel heavier and it is more difficult to move. The forest cover is gone and the sun is beating down on you. The ascent is relentlessly steep, each step higher than the last. You check your watch and you realise you have to do this for the next 2kms, till you reach the U-turn at the 11km mark. Every part of your body hurts and you just want to find a shrub-free rock and sit down for a few minutes, give your legs a rest. Then you remember what happened last year. This was the section where your body gave up on you and you had to stop. This was the section where your race unravelled. Stopping is how it all started. You pause to take a few deep breaths, and you keep moving. Slowly, ever so slowly, but moving forward and upward. Runners who will finish on the podium start making their way down the hill and some of them shout: “You’re almost there!” or “The U-turn is 200 meters away, come on!” You are grateful for these words of encouragement. But they are lying. The U-turn is still half a kilometre away. You mumble curses under your breath and you carry on. All you can do is chip away at the distance, one step at a time and finally, finally, you reach the U-turn. It took you an hour to cover 2kms, a distance you can run in less than 10 minutes, but you don’t care. You made it here without stopping. The toughest section of the race is now behind you. Now, you begin to believe this time will be different. This time, there will be no ‘DNF’.

I would love to say the rest of the race was a breeze but I would be lying. After a 3km downhill segment from the U-turn, the route gains elevation again for the next 4-5kms, as runners make their way to Upper Srikhola. These climbs are tedious and time-consuming - after 3 hours on the trail, exhaustion starts setting in.

However, there’s also a measure of confidence you feel from knowing you’ve made it this far much faster than last year. You’ve battled through all the sections where you struggled before, and you’re still on your feet, still moving. It is that confidence that now fuels your run. Although, to be fair, you’re hardly running anymore - walking for large stretches and jogging in brief spells. And that’s okay. It is enough to carry you back down to Srikhola bridge and then the last 6kms to the finish point. A few hundred meters before the finish you see the locals lined up on either side of the road cheering, hooting and clapping. Children are banging on drums and the joy is contagious, infecting your weary, fatigued body. Unbidden, your legs pick up the pace and you start running the last stretch, high-fiving every inviting open palm along the way. The finish line is in sight and you’re filled with a sense of euphoria. You can taste the feeling in your mouth: it tastes like mud, salt and sweat.

You cross the timing mat 6 hours and 9 minutes from when you started the race. Almost an hour within the cut-off time of 7 hours.

It’s over. It’s done.

This time, was different. This time, there was no ‘DNF’.

1. For those who may not know him, Kilian Jornet is one of the greatest trail runners of our generation.

2. The headline event in The Buddha Trails is the ultra-marathon 65km race, in which runners go to Sandakphu (a popular trekking route). The Sandakphu trek typically takes 5 - 6 days. The runners cover this distance in less than 15 hours. Go figure.

3. Are you beginning to understand why I say I hate myself?