Blitzgrieg. That’s the word that characterised my attitude at the checkpoints. In Slătioara, as at the other checkpoints, I simply gave my number to be scanned, grabbed a bottle of water and stormed off. By the time the other two runners figured out what they were up to, I already had a 200 meter lead.
It worked, but each time they managed to pick up the pace and catch up with me.
“Unbelievable! It’s the first time you’ve run with two other runners from Romania, for so long, at an ultra” the Voice tells me, respectfully. I agree, and with admiration for Cătălin and Cristi, I take out my sticks for the most efficient effort.
Cătălin has managed to blow my neck out effortlessly on the descents, and Cristi is doing great on the climbs. This made the climb to Rarau II one that I stuck with Cristi. I pity Sorecau for not taking his sticks, but he has plenty of time to catch up.
Nutrition up to this point is working well, but not great. Every gel seems to fill me up and make me bloated, but I’m doing what every runner would do at a point like this: burp and get high. Cristi laughs, not just to himself, and tries to get into small talk with me again, but I’m too focused for small talk.
5 minutes later, karma hits me and I feel the first low of the race. My legs get soft, my arms no longer dig my poles into the ground well and I find it hard to maintain a running stride even on easy uphill stretches.
Cristi feels blood and takes the lead. Within 2 minutes he reaches the CP, feeds and goes. I’m 200 yards behind him. It seems like everything around me is running on fast forward, while I’m moving in replay.
I whistle for M to get out of the car and open the trunk for me to refuel. She checks online to see where I am while I tap on her window.
I drink a 3-sip Red Bull with the regulation electrolytes, grab my gels for the next section and head out. Forget the sticks. I come back for them after a few dozen yards and lose about 2 minutes.
I lose Cristi from my field of vision.
I don’t panic, because it’s not even 40 kilometres. A lot can still happen.
I maintain my cruising speed. I get a bold idea to stick a stick in. I try to shove it between my cheek and cheekbones and dissolve it with small gulps of water. But either the pace is too intense (about 04:30 min/km) or I don’t really need it, I throw up the stick and a few sips of Red Bull along with it.
For a moment, it occurs to me that Manole may have wandered off and that I’m ahead of him – I had time to think about that on the seemingly endless forester. I reach the CP in Zugreni though and the volunteers let me know I’m 20 seconds behind him.
“Start approaching him, keep doing what you’re doing. We support you.” Voice.