Lantau: An Unexpected Journey (130315, Fri - 150315, Sun, TransLantau 100K 2015, Lantau, Hong Kong)

Hiking up towards summit of Lantau Peak (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Friday's dinner with the Swees was a less chatty session by the beach of sleepy town, Mui Wo, on Lantau Island, Hong Kong.

Along with Ben and his wife, Yee Hua, I was in the company of six other runners. We were generally  reserved, perhaps in anticipation of the event about to happen in a few hours time.

  

At least, I can say that for myself.

At 11.30pm, the TransLantau 100km will begin. It is a race renowned for its brutality that could make Vibram HK100 its gentler sister in the further northwest of the SAR.

  

Having settled the carbo-loading, I walked to the start-line at the Silvermine Bay Beach and found a nearby spot in a recreational section of benches and tables. I got into settling my equipments and race vest until Christopher popped by to join in the prep. We had to make sure that all things required for the event are there, especially batteries for our headlights.

"We need at least nine per night", I warned. It was a lesson learned while racing in Hong Kong two years back. Due to cold weather conditions, batteries drain out faster and I depleted close to six pieces before dawn during the VHK100.

  

In addition, TL100 does not have a designated checkpoint for drop bags storage. In other words, you are expected to bear the burden of every necessities all the way through.

Just then, another familiar face appeared: Reuben Cheang, an ultra-runner I had known back in my first year of running and was popular in the circle for his numerous ultra exploits including completing the 217km Badwater race.

  

"So you will be running tonight?", I asked.

"Nope. I'm volunteering."

  

"Volunteering?"

"I will be the sweeper runner at the back."

  

That's comforting to know. Perhaps, when my last ounce of energy burns off, I will need his help to get off the trails. The last time that I needed evacuation during a race was at last year's Ultra Trail Mount Fuji (UTMF) over a potential affliction with hypothermia. The race officials managed to send me back to my lodging by a 4WD.

It's coming close to a year since that race in 2014. Needless to say, a disappointing year with two DNFs and no official finishes for the 100km/+ ultras. Hopefully, tonight will mark an end to a prolonged drought of victories.

  

Hopefully.

______________________________

Before race start. (L-R): Kim Lai (extreme left), Kenny (fifth from left) and author (extreme right). Photo courtesy of Kenny Lim.

As time drew near, the start pen filled up with runners in race apparels and weather-proof jackets of various hues, armed with headlights and hiking poles. A flying camera drone whizzed over, eliciting some enthusiastic reactions from participants. Giving the race its blessings, a lion dance troupe marched into the front, that before a burst of confetti gunned off the event.

 

Exiting the beach, the speedy procession of racers u-turned and streamed through the quiet neighborhood suburb. Around 1km later, we were welcomed by our first hill and greeted by Chinese tombstones by the trail side.

Pre-race wait at TransLantau 100 race site, Lantau, Hong Kong. Photos courtesy of Terry Tan.

The early part of ascent was easy, with the usual human choke-up along the narrow trail path. Most of us could only keep to fast walks, while some who were impatient enough to spring forward on less seasoned grounds to overtake.

  

As the stretch of runners slowly thinned out, some serenity settled in. The near-silence was abruptly broken by a female racer chatting lively in Cantonese with other runners.

It lasted for about 20 minutes or so.

  

"She just keeps talking and talking and talking", I said to Sanmuga who was just at my front.

  

After the peak of Lo Fu Tau,  the first major descent was a quick manoeuvre on rockier surfaces, at some point, encountering a technical section where a rope had been installed to aid runners in clambering the gnarly down-slope.

Along the way, Sanumuga tripped and slammed into tall grasses, no injuries fortunately. Otherwise, we were fairly fresh upon reaching the first checkpoint at Pak Mong (12km) where I masticated a piece of banana.

  

Sunset Peak awaited next and in the form of a ferocious 8km+ mount, from a level of about 32m to the highest point at 854m. Initially faring comfortably at a brisk pace, the debilitating effects of the climb hit me midway and my head zoned to and fro of drowsiness. I stopped a few times for rest before sitting down for a slightly longer break. Even before 20km, I was already enervated heavily by from the exhausting hike.

Sunset Peak (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Adding to my woes was an unkind weather with the aggravating cold. A fog had by then covered the summit vicinity, rendering visibility to a hazardous low. As I settled down for yet another breather, a runner passed by, muttering what sounded like a pessimistic suggestion to me to head back towards the last aid station.

  

Dreadfully low on blood sugar and languid, I weaved off onto a trail path near Sunset Peak and  soon approached a split in two directions. Worryingly enough, there were no indicators, the absence of reflective bands to mark the route.

  

I gambled on it and choose the right turn. After a few minutes of running, I realised that it was a wrong diversion and hastened back to where I first started.

I am confused now. Where the hell am I?

  

Alone in the chilly dark with just the beam of my headlight blazing, I pulled out my iPhone 6 from my race vest and hoped to find my answers through a GPS-reliant city map app and a PDF copy of the race route issued by the race organisers. Even those were not helping much. The app seemed off-tune to its actual location, and the map, with a yellow line snaking out the course on the photograph of a Lantau Island map with fold creases, was hardly interpretable on a 4.7 inch screen.

  

I did the next rational thing by retracing my steps towards Checkpoint 1, with the surety I might bump into a back-end runner along the way. It happened but the other guy was just about as lost after I expressed my doubts over the route taken (which was the left turn of the split).

Another few more minutes of retracing and we found that we had missed the left turn of an even earlier split. Our obscure surroundings had threw us off course and I wondered how many had erroneously wandered away, over the mountain.

  

We were soon darting down slopes and steps, passing by other racers which was a welcome sight. Checkpoint 2 at Pak Kung Au appeared 2km later and a table of edible supplies awaited. Tremendously relieved, I wolfed down Nutella bread spreads and electrolyte liquid like a deprived vampire.

Aid station at Pak Kung Au, Checkpoint 2 (21km). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Still, about twenty minutes since I leaved Checkpoint 2, I continued to struggle with back-to-back semi-knockout effects from the lack of sleep. Surrendering to my body's plead for mercy, I sat down by the trail side and buried my head in enclosed arms. I could imagine the pitiful sight it was as other runners zipped past, some perhaps concerned that I  had gone unconscious.

  

The nap lasted to about five minutes. The next time I got up, it felt different. It wasn't obvious initially but after a while, I was able to run steadier and slightly more awake.

By about 24.70km and six hours 36 minutes later, dawn was breaking as I descended another flight of steps, a little more revived than before.

  

At the end of the steps, 3km+ of flat concrete pavement lies ahead, a good tone-down after hours of climbing. As remnants of darkness slowly dimmed into the emerging morning, my mood perked with the optimism of pulling through this race. From this section, I applied a run-walk technique in which I ran for as much as my energy permitted before transiting to walk. I used certain objects in my vicinity as 'cut-offs', such a lamp post, a tree and a gap across the ground.

The tactic worked well. 

I began to recover my lead as I gradually overtook runners one by one, at least those in the back to mid packs.

Upon pushing through the steep entry of Shek Pik Country Trail, I diverted to the north and embarked on a winding 5km, with a moderate D+ progress. On the edge of the trail, the scenery on the west opened up, graced with the beauty of mountainous terrains and verdant expanse of trees as well as Shek Pik Reservoir at the bottom. Inching towards 413m in altitude, my modest fear of heights kicked in and I was unable to hold my admiration of the landscape longer than I would want to.

Lantau's landscape (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

The arrival at Checkpoint 3 (33km, Ngong Ping) was 8:03am, Saturday, with a moody weather and  wispy drizzle. I caught up with Christopher and Alan in the midst of their break, the latter about to leave the aid station.

Christopher taking a break at Checkpoint 3 (Ngong Ping). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

  This time round, the mini-buffet here was slightly more generous with its varieties than Checkpoint 2. Like a famishing hamster, I grabbed, with moistly hands, a generous portion of peanut butter spreads and potatoes. I continued the rest of my journey on the Ngong Ping Fun Walk, a name which at this point of the race sounded like a sarcastic dig at my agony.

Checkpoint 3 at Ngong Ping (33km). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

 Past 19 minutes later, a left turn took me along the 3.5km tarmac of Ngong Ping Road which tags alongside with Lantau Trail Section 4. Christopher, in his red top, was within my sights but his consistent pacing effectively kept me from catching up with him. Nevertheless, I was more comfortable with bidding my time, now that I settled into the groove of run-walking the race. Eventually, when the opportunity comes, I will overtake when I'm able to.

  

For now, the pace was getting some pick-up with the downhill on the road, albeit some minor ups in between. It was one of the easiest sections so far before entering Lantau Trail Section 5.

There, I bumped into Alan once more as well as Teck Siong and Paulina taking a break along the slope. Paulina did not look quite well but, probably, so was I, according to Alan.

"Your face look pale", he observed.

  

Though tired and all, I was generally well and functioning.

Still, the peculiarity of my current energetic state never escape me. 

In the earlier wee hours of Saturday, I fought up towards Sunset Peak as morale bled off a battered body and mind, and moments when it seemed DNF was breathing closer with each step.

  

Since then, that moment of weakness had faded off.

In retrospect, I don't think I was ever mentally enthusiastic about my chances even before my flight from Changi. The weeks before hardly saw an amount of training reasonably quantifiable for ultras. More than a year had passed before LT100 when I last endured over more than 10 to 20 hours in a 100km/+ race and that event, Craze Ultra 100 Miles, ripped a huge chunk out of me. Could I possibly survive this monster given that my last two DNFs, in Ultra Trail Mount Fuji and Peak-To-Peak, were not quite distant memories?

Venturing further after cresting yet another hill hump, the familiar mist of the Lantauian mountains once more manifested its ghostly grandeur. And then the answer, to my insistence on doing this crazy race materlialised before my eyes: it was, again, a mountain ridge under an intense cloud of water droplets, but this one appeared more alluring than some of the previous few and seemed to probe the intents of my heart.

Why I am here?

Does it matter?

This is where I want and meant to be, not a better time than now, and nowhere else but here. In this purgatory of a treacherous heaven, would it be sacrilegious to suggest a divine purpose in these mountains?

Opening up my arms, I embraced the moment, knowing well enough that being here was the most important thing. 

For now.

From then on, the run towards Checkpoint 4 at Kau Ling Chung was invigorated with purposefulness and confidence as I charged by trail scarps and across switchbacks. With each dynamic swing of the legs, shreds of my everyday identity was cast into the winds. Instead of Terry The Almost Underpaid Office Worker, I was, in this duration, Ted, Trail Fighter Rouge.

  

At 10:16am and 44km at Lantau Trail Section 8, the volunteers at Checkpoint 4 welcomed my arrival and had the sensory tag on my wrist scanned with a smartphone. 

It is the 4G way of registering runners at various stations in the race.

______________________________

The exit off Section 8 was rather easy: less than a kilometer of descent, followed by a right turn towards Section 7. Afterwards, it would be a long hike over a range of hills and mountains, with a dispersal of runners seen walking up the exposed trail slopes.

While advancing on a route bypassing Ling Wui Shan Tsuen on the east, I managed to gain on Mun Cheong, one of the folks at the Fat Ass Run (FAR) group.

"Siong San is up ahead by 20 minutes", he informed, of the lead another FAR member was extending.

San was nowhere in sight when I went on a knee-bursting descent down a stack of high steps to the coast of Yi O. From there, it was concrete pavement once more, on a mildly undulating surface bound for Fan Kwai Tong. The path connects to a bridge next to what looks like a small man-made wetland, and then links to the main road in Tai O, a straight dash for Checkpoint 5 at a local school.

It was 56km by then.

"Terry!", I heard as I entered the school canteen for refreshments. I caught sight of two people at the far end of the area but couldn't make out who they are due to my fatigue.

Once gaining clarity, I realised it was Chris Yun and Reuben. The latter inquired about my needs and all I could think about was my depleting blood sugar.

"I need Nutella bread spreads", I uttered. Or any other stuffs fully loaded with calories. There were no bread so Reuben got me a paper bowl of instant noodles with soup, M&Ms and some sour fruit.

School building, location of Checkpoint 5,  Tai O (56km). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

School canteen at Checkpoint 5. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

I was humbled by his gesture. The man is one of the toughest ultra-runners I know in Singapore and it's heartening to see individuals like his kind volunteering his services to the community. He continued to ask if I still want anything else.

"...but I can't give you a massage", he joked.

I checked with Chris and Reuben about the status of the rest of our friends, specifically Kenny (Chris' husband) Bok Ong, Siong San, Terence and Sanmuga.

Terence had already left a long time ago while Kenny and Bok were hours behind towards reaching Tai O. Chris and Reuben were unsure if Siong San had even came in.

Just then, Mun Cheong dropped by and minutes later, Siong San who actually took a wrong direction before making it to the checkpoint. Both shared a mat on the canteen floor and dozed off.

San (left) and Cheong took a rest at Checkpoint 5. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

I queried with Reuben about the upcoming trail towards Checkpoint 6 at Ngong Ping, particularly some place that involved bushwhacking up a hill.

"Oh, that section is tough", he warned

With that caution in mind, I consulted the elevation profile graph of LT100 on my iPhone, ensuring that I had consumed enough for the road ahead. I had never been this attentive to race info until the race. I used to assume that an ultra will always be a journey of ups and downs (literally), with unpredictable incidents that even the best of preparations may not be sufficient. 

Elevation profile graph of TransLantau 100. Image courtesy of Asia Sport Connection Ltd.

_____________________________

Bidding farewell to Chris and Reuben, I left the aid station at a very forgiving pace of a brisk walk. There was just enough time to hold back speed and enjoy the early afternoon after 1pm. 

Crossing over to the other side of a river, I wandered along Sun Ki Street which cuts through a row of quiet village houses. 13 minutes later, I reached a coastal trail on the east of Tai O and continued for another 46 minutes by the waters next to the Zhujiang River Estuary.

At 2:12pm, the forewarned bushwhack came, a short but difficult 2km+ over a few hill humps. The route crams through a narrow trail, tightly congested on both sides with shrubs, bushes and branches so that one cannot evade the scratches by plants when moving past.

Good pace management assuaged the physical toil of the ascent. I went for a few steps ahead before pausing for a very brief rest and ample recovery for my legs. Then repeat the same thing again. An all-out effort would be a near-suicidal act.

More than agony from exhaustion, I was increasingly annoyed by the prolonged bouts of bushwhacks and hill humps when it seemed I was getting nearer to the highest point of the section. Thankfully, the weather was humane with its moderate coolness and humidity but my mind would not spare Clement Dumont, the LT100 race director, its indignation.

Only a sadistic man could think of a torture like this.

Hills near Ngong Ping. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

On a positive note, the slow climb was an opportunity to witness first-hand the courtesy of Hong Kong's trail runners. Whether alone or in a column, the locals gladly give way to overtakers by stepping aside, no egos, really.

I managed to have a conversation with one of them, a lady who looks to be in her 50s, as we trudged our way towards a Ngong Ping cable car station. She asked on why I have not bring along a pair of hiking poles for the race.

"...because I'm training for UTMF (Ultra Trail Mount Fuji)," was one of my answers. It is, at least, the most sensible reason other than to strip off additional weight on the race vest. Perhaps out of concern of environmental damage and an obligation to preserve its UNESCO World Heritage status, the Japaneses have banned the use of hiking poles from 2014 onwards, rendering UTMF a harder race at some of its more technical sections.While the same ruling does not apply for LT100, I thought it's better that I endure the entire 100km without the sticks.

Cable cars bound for Ngong Ping (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

 Moreover, my observation of some pole-equipped participants for the past hours only strengthen my theory that sticks could do little in boosting efficient movements once reaching a degree of over-dependence. I had seen people who were so cautious of moving that their poles had to be strategically planted on the ground before they would even dare bring their feet forward.

Hence, the effect was a decreased spontaneity of natural leg movements when racing with hiking sticks. Walks become more robotic and less enjoyable, and the sheer boredom puts this practice into question. After such an experience, the Vietnam Mountain Marathon (2013) was the last event where I employed poles.

About 16 hours and 58 minutes, just before 4.30pm, I recorded 68km at the original Ngong Ping Checkpoint 3 which now served as Checkpoint 6.

Heading towards Checkpoint 6 at Ngong Ping. Photo courtesy of Shawn Cheung.

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Dominating as the king of heights in TL100 was Lantau Peak, the highest point in the race at 934m (the second tallest summit in Hong Kong) and my next destination. With that cleared, the route dives to Checkpoint 7 at Pak Kung Au, and more forgiving peaks follow till the end point at Mui Wo.

Still... how hard can that be?

Lantau Peak (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

 It was not a question posed out of pride or ignorance,  but of familiarity. Last year, I flew to the SAR for a one day quickie on the Lantau trails, with the peak as the biggest highlight. Although it was an exhausting push to the top, the main bulk of the pain was actually felt in the lower half of the climb, which were mostly high steps. The rest of the ascent, while steep, is not as punishing and enters into the misty shroud of the summit.

That little weekend fling was several months ago. Having accumulated about 70km on rugged terrain now, could my still-functioning legs be able to persist against the elevations on this particular part of the course?

I commenced on the ascent conservatively.

A few high steps up.

Stop. Break for a few seconds and allow the legs to recover from the strain.

Walk on up again and repeat.

It was finally ingrained into my mentality that a climb need not be a banzai charge to the bitter end.

I passed by a ragged runner sitting on a step.

OK. The tactic was working. I will just keep at it until this part is done.

Soon, I got to the upper half of the summit. It will be easy from here.

Along the ascent towards Lantau Peak (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Should I be surprised by the fact that at this point, it actually turned out well when it was expected to be tougher?

I remembered Wee's words on the TransLantau 100.

"It was not that hard one," he remarked, in his thick mid-generational Singlish accent.

Initially, I thought that comment was made based on Wee's more extensive resume of completed races. After all, this man took down Ultra Trail Mount Du Blanc into his list of admirable achievements. So how would a rookie like myself be able to tone down my challenge in the same breath as he does?

But it was not out of arrogance, not even seasoned experiences, that Wee said what would have been the most irrational thing to be heard by a novice.

Yes, TransLantau 100 is hard and brutal. Still, it is not as extravagantly difficult as some (as well as the more pessimistic regions of my mind) have made it out to be.

From a good handful of folks, I had heard tales of eye-popping high mountain slopes and the hellish stretch in reaching the finish line. I have been warned of the relentless bushwhack that would precede Lantau Peak and the murder it would commit on my energy reserves.

In short, I have been told enough to give this race second thoughts.

Yet, the many hours till now (with the exception of my excruciating hike around Sunset Peak), have generally been a different story. Aside from fatigue and the occasional hunger, I was in, at least, average condition and, from 21km+ onwards, overtaking runners which was about 95% of the time versus being passed.

Not long after, I reached Lantau Peak as a thick mist covered and swept across the area.

Summit of Lantau Peak (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Going down was the hairier part. Along the exiting slope at Lantau Trail Section 3 is a dirt path as well as several large rocks with smooth and moist surfaces. Stepping carelessly on one of those would prove to be any fool's downfall, literally. The thought of tumbling down the peak restricted my hike to a painfully slow pace.

A fellow racer, upon noticing my highly cautious descent, advised me to walk down sideways. This way, if I should step on a slippery rock, my body posture will be sturdy enough to prevent falling.

Descending from the summit of Lantau Peak (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Several more minutes to 6pm, the sky was already dimming for the coming night. My speed picked up a little along the trail ridge as I felt the urgency to reach the Pak Kung Au aid station, another 'double-checkpoint' which had served as one after the Sunset Peak rundown on Saturday morning.

Arriving at checkpoint 7 after nearly one hour from Lantau Peak, I met Sanmuga who was about to leave the aid station. We had a brief chat as I prepared my rations and two headlights, ensuring fresh batts in place to keep the lumen burning.

The journey from here will be a more merciful deal compared to the taxing hours in the early and middle parts of the race. However, those periods had inflicted a massive drain of energy and even with 27km left, the distance still felt like an eternity of miles off a marathon. 

It is going to take outstanding patience to bear through the rest of the race.

______________________________

It was getting dark as I left Checkpoint 7 and ventured onto a trail that contoured by the side of a mountain at Lantau South Country Park. Once the declining visibility warranted for it, my headlight went live with beam blast and penetrated the darkness. In this quiet evening, it was just the sound of my footsteps, breathing and the bouncing items in my race vest.

Zipping along dirt surfaces and boulders-strewn gullies, I could imagine being the Initial D (a Japanese manga) protagonist, Takumi Fujiwara, speeding and drifting his iconic AE86 Trueno along the mountain passes of  Mount Akina. Such was the energetic vibe of the night, to still be moving at a decent pace and relishing it, the joy of an ultra trail runner.

Midway, my headlight began to weaken, which was puzzling as I thought batteries with sufficient power had been installed into the device. This prompted me to stop and draw out my second headlight and thankfully, it was amply bright to shine the way forward. As a light glare from another runner approached, I quickly secured the straps of my race vest and scooted off.

At about 81km+, the route started to descend down South Lantau Country Trail to the unlit South Lantau Road. I briefly relinked to another portion of the trail before crossing over to Lantau Trail Section 12. One more hill climb and a rush-down that brought me to Checkpoint 8 at Chi Ma Wan Road.

By then, Sanmuga, who reached the aid station around the same time as I did, decided to lie down for a nap. He needed not to worry much. Anyone who had came this far would stand a very good chance of finishing the race. It was, after all, less than a half marathon left, at 83km.

However, there were still a handful of hilltops to surmount. The body had long proven its capability to conquer the terrains but the mind was now wishing to be done with the race quickly.

After the hills, I found myself slipping off into a Twilight Zone of sorts at Chi Ma Wan Country Trail.

The horror there was not a stalking spectre over the trees. It was not a shadowy creature lurking in the woods. And, even though plausible, not a pack of feral dogs that would snarled at incoming intruders.

It was the unadulterated madness of monotony, manifested in a series of near-identical trail sections passed through. Everything just looked the same; the way the dirt paths turned and even the arrangement of boulders on the ground. It was as if a supernatural entity had somehow stretched the trail around so as to look endless, or send the unfortunate runner into a trance of a repetitive mental hell, of which escape is almost futile.

The humdrum was gradually killing my enthusiasm. In dying urgency to flee this insanity, I spiked up the pace and tried to run continuously for several minutes but could only exert out a couple of short bursts.

Alas, the distance did not seem to get shorter. I felt as if I had been dashing around in circles.

I hasted past a Caucasian runner who was resting on a boulder at the edge of the trail, facing towards the surrounding waters of the Admasta Channel. Has he lost hope, I wondered, to be so torn up by the ceaseless struggle along this passage that he needs to recollect himself before going further?

Personally, I was pretty hung up at that point. Elevation gains are piffling along this trail area but so disconcerting is the effort to complete it.

When it finally concluded (after what's actually was a very short but intolerable 4km),  the dirt path ended abruptly, with two paths on the left and right of the trail.

A new problem arose: Which one should I take?

There was a lack of proper indications on the directions. Even strips of reflective bands, hung on trees by the right side, did not look like race official objects, rather more resembling of random stuffs put in place by hikers or park rangers.

I checked my iPhone to verify from my map app and a PDF copy of the Lantau map, but, like my uncertainty around Sunset Peak on Saturday monring, the same conundrum struck me.

I decided to sit and wait for another runner to come my way, hoping he will be able to elucidate on the correct direction.

A few minutes later, a local racer dropped by. However, he was just about as confused as I was, and had to make a phone call and check with his friend.

"The left side," he said after gathering the answer.

A brief while lasted on that path until I had a nagging sense that we were deviating away from the actual route. Looking at my smartphone, I realised that we seem to be drifting away from Checkpoint 9 at Shap Long, instead of towards it. I voiced my concern to my temporal companion who did not doubt my worries. We retraced our steps to where we began after the end of the Chi Ma Wan Country Trail and eventually bumped into a group of runners.

This time, the clarifications were more convincing: it's the right turn, that is, the right direction.

Just to be sure, I ran ahead of the other runners and kept an eye for reflective bands that could confirm the route taken. The tell tale signs appeared and, though a little unsure, I was now more confident that we are not going to get lost anytime soon.

Following a bridge crossing , a hill climb and a run-through in what looked like a bamboo forest, we reached the fringe of a small settlement at Chi Ma Wan Road.  94km later and 12 minutes past midnight on Sunday morning, we came to the final aid station at Shap Long, a lonely outpost with few volunteers and a less attractive spread of food available.

Not that the latter mattered much; 6km of race distance remained and it will be all over in, at least, an hour's time. Finishing was no longer a deniable outcome.

I eagerly launched off for the final assault.

______________________________

I tried, whatever my waning strength allowed, to sustain my run which would many times slowed to a fast walk. No worries as long as the average pace was consistent and my legs do not collapsed halfway.

The route headed northeast and skirted the sea by Chi Ma Wan. Along the way, an exposed pipeline accompanied the concrete path I pounded on. I passed by a brick house that seemed abandoned.

Is there a ghost in there? 

My imagination managed to spook me once more as I closed in steadily to Mui Wo.

In the horizon, I could see the dark form of a hill and wondered if I was going to climb over or circumvent around it. I couldn't quite remember how I went through the area but eventually, I ended up on Lantau Trail Section 12.

The last trail section to tackle.

Flickers of light, obscured by tree cover, came into view as I darted by the rear of  Mui Wo Ferry Pier Road. A welcoming sight of civilization, with orange glow illuminations of what's possibly the local bus depot and a sewage treatment plant.

The trail exit leads down a short flight of stairs, and then a tarmac road.

Another right turn, this time around weathered, concrete buildings, and running past a small group of cheering patrons sitting outside a closed restaurant.

I overtook my last competitor on the way.
 

Mui Wo (Recce trip to Lantau, Hong Kong, 13 September 2014, Saturday). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

Moving by the ferry terminal, I felt slightly irritated that route directions were ambiguous once more. How am I expected to know if I have gone the right way? It did not make sense why the thought would even bothered me at this point when the end was just less than a mile away.

All that uncertainties would soon be wiped off by the exhilaration of the outcome.

The finale took me across a bridge. On the bumpy sands of the Silvermine Bay Beach. And then the inflatable balloon gantry, bearing the TransLantau logo, appeared.

At about 1:05am on Sunday morning, my journey ended, in 25 hours, 35 minute and 23 seconds.

Finishing at Silvermine Bay Beach. Photo courtesy of Jenny Liu (Sportsoho.com)

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Rest was rather uncomfortable, with the severely sore legs and dirt on my skin. Unfortunately, my lodging was situated in Kowloon and the ferry terminal was closed for the night, though I was not in a hurry to depart from Lantau.

For the next several hours till the event's conclusion, I decided to wait on my fellow compatriots and take snapshots of their triumphant moments of finishing the race. It was probably the best I could do for them.

Kim Lai (left) and Ben Swee finished the race. Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.

 I did the same thing last year at UTMF, except that I had dropped out at 28km and went back early to my accommodation near the Kawaguchiko train station.

Instead of sulking and indulging in self-pity the following morning, I made my way down to the race site at

Yagisaki Kouen which is located by Lake Kawaguchi. I was there for most of Saturday till late Sunday morning, patiently anticipating the arrivals of Singaporean racers.

In that edition of UTMF, the DNF rate of the Singapore contingent was significantly high. Two runners, Kai Wei and Chris Yeo, completed the dreaded 169km distance. Only one racer, Alvin Png, ran the whole of  the shorter category, the 80km+ Shizuoka To Yamanashi (STY).

It could have been one of those unfinished businesses I would never come back to for the rest of my life. Except, with a promise I made to a race official during my evacuation off the trail, and an unremitting sense that my DNF might be a very premature decision, I felt deeply an imperative desire that UTMF must be attempted again, this year.

Thankfully, I had a successful registration, guaranteeing me a spot for the upcoming race.

In fact, I joined TransLantau 2015 as part of my preparations and training for UTMF. With the former in March, it would be about a month away until April when I would fly to Japan for my major.

However, things did not go as planned. The UTMF committee scheduled the event to late September due to concerns over extreme cold and the risk of hypothermia. The revised date is supposedly the 'warmer' season so I would have lesser worries over a disastrous outing like what happened last year.

As it turned out, there is now additional gracious months to ramp up my training.

With my finish at TranLantau, I was bestowed with valuable experiences which would be beneficial in my quest of UTMF. I was somehow surprised by the lessons that I received from TL100, considering my initial pre-race apprehensions. In addition, not only had I broke a drought, in which I had not completed a 100km/+ race for more than a year, I also underwent what may well be my best performances in that ultra distance.

With those achievements in hand, my confidence in competing UTMF rose.

Maybe, this might be my year.

And maybe, just maybe, there has always been a divine purpose behind all these events.

Interestingly, in the one to two months after UTMF, I will be expected to start on my degree studies, another unsettled business not related to running. The period will mark a prolonged season of 16-18 months in which I'm highly unlikely to join any ultras. With a busy work life and night classes, it will be a tight squeeze on training hours.

In other words, UTMF is my last ultra before spending over a year in temporal retirement.

It's now a do-or-die endeavour and I owe myself little excuses not to finish.

Yet, has there always been a deeper motivation for me in doing the race, this time round?

Has it been.... about someone in my heart?

Personalized finisher's certificate for TransLantau 100 (2015). Photo courtesy of Terry Tan.