The 2006 Tenzing Hillary Everest Marathon

by Michael Kerr

Reproduced with permission from the Author

When I crossed the finish line at Ironman Australia 2006, I was a broken man. I had my best swim ever and even managed a good bike time - but fell apart on the run. I usually enjoy hills, but my training hadn't been up to standard and Ironman is not a race to come to, unprepared.

So with determination to rebuild my running I contacted Mari-Mar at Travelling Fit to organise a flight to a place where I could do some hill training. Mari-Mar is an ex-Ironwoman who now concentrates on organizing overseas trips to exotic events such as the Great Wall Marathon (China), Kilimanjaro Marathon (Africa), and Mont-Blanc Marathon (Europe).

I informed Mari-Mar of my need for some hill training. Anything that does not include a swim, ride, and run can only be considered training. With that in mind, I boarded a flight bound for Nepal on 10 May 2006. Mari-Mar has booked me on a 20 day trip to Everest Base Camp to do a mountain marathon run. "Hilly enough for you?" are Mari-Mar's farewell words.

I arrive at Kathmandu. Its a great city, but not that much good for training. Situated in a wide valley it provides little opportunity for training. Each day I get out at 6am to run the empty streets. By 8am the place is full of store vendors, tourists, motorcycles, minivans, and trucks. It doesn't quiet down again until 10pm, so if I don't run early, I don't run at all.

Here I meet up with the rest of the group - Tom and Richard from the UK, Claus from Denmark, Eric (Canada), Thomas (Germany), and Geoff (another aussie). We suspect we'll meet others along the trail. After a couple of days the group flies to the township of Lukla perched on the edge of the Himalayan foothills (foothills in Nepal is somewhat loosely used - all of these hills are over 2,500m and some go over 4,500m.

Each day we walk about 10km and camp each night. The walk starts at 2,800m and reaches Base Camp about 10 days later at an altitude of 5,360m (the summit of Everest is still another 3.5km up - vertically!). At 5,300m the oxygen level is only 50% that of sea level, so breathing is difficult even without trying to run. Some days we only walk a few kilometers as we have to limit the gain in altitude. Some of us manage a couple of short runs just to keep the muscle memory intact.

We pass the idle hours at night by playing cards. We introduce the 'pub rules' that if any team loses without winning a point they have to do a streak run at Base Camp (akin to pub rules for billiards). Sure enough, eventually my team did lose. So for some the journey held additional apprehension.

Food is quite basic - porridge and toast for breakfast, pasta for lunch, and soup, lentils, and spam for dinner. I'm supplementing my nutritional needs with GU. Its important to drink plenty of fluids. Apart from the physical exertion the body dehydrates quickly at altitude. Eight litres per day is the recommended minimum by the doctors accompanying us.

Altitude sickness (AS) is a constant concern once we get above 4,000m. At best it gives you a severe hangover type headache, at worst it's fatal. Everything is going well for me on the walk up to 5,000m. While others are suffering headaches and sleepless nights, I seem to have missed out, apart from a mild upset stomach. All that changes at Gorak Shep, a village located at 5,100m.

That night I wake up struggling to breath. The doctors had briefed us about this - an effect of high altitude. Their advice was to relax, that sounds simple but - at 3am, zipped up tight in a sleeping bag, and hyperventilating - the last thing on my mind is relaxing. I free myself from my sleeping bag and spend the rest of the night standing outside.

The next morning the doctor checks me over and confirms mild altitude sickness. I commence a course of Diamox - a drug that is a preventative and treatment for AS - but not a cure. The only cure for AS is to descend, something I will not be doing for another 4 days (on race day).

I had hoped to make the trip without the assistance of medication. I'd even teased the others who were using Diamox that their race would be tainted by a drugs scandal. Now I was the worst offender - Diamox, antibiotics, paracetamol, ibuprofen, whatever.

One thing you should not do with AS is ascend. Unfortunately for me, the day at Gorak Shep is the only time I have the opportunity to walk up the ridgeline to Kala Patthar (5,550m), to get uninterrupted views of Everest. The weather is terrible - blowing a gale and snowing occasionally. The walk takes a couple of hours. I have to keep sitting down every few metres and falling asleep (a symptom of AS). Luckily Tom is mindful of my condition and continually wakes me up to get me going again. The view of Everest was worth it.

The next day we walk along the Kumbe glacier to Base Camp. I don't think any of the 30 odd westerners expected the first 5km of the run to be on rock and ice. Memories of the legendary Penrith triathlete, Ched Townes is on my mind. Ched lost his life trying to climb Everest - We hang a Nepalese prayer flag as a tribute to him at Base Camp.

The doctors gave us all a quick medical examination before they left to be stationed along the run course. One of the doctors had been part of the team that had lost cards without scoring - he left without completing his nude run. I think he thought we had forgotten but it was more that none of us particularly wanted to see a naked man running around that we let him go.

The Base camp became an unofficial drug dispensary the day before the run. "Have you got any Voltaren?" "I'll swap you some Imodium." "Ooh what's that big orange tablet - can I have one?"

Run day is upon us. 29 May - to commemorate the first ascent of Everest by Tensing and Hillary on 29 May 1953. I'm up at 5am after another sleepless night. I can't eat anything for breakfast and I feel exhausted - both effects of altitude sickness. I'm still in my tent getting ready when I hear someone approach Geoff "I hear Mike has some Imodium - I need it bad". Geoff acts as middle man as the transaction takes place. I unzipped the tent door and only my hand extends offering the tablets.

The race starts at 7am and the Nepalese runners disappear like mountain goats. To them running at altitude is a part of everyday life. The going is much slower for me and the other westerners. I have done a number of mountain runs before. Most organizers require you to carry a small first aid kit and emergency provisions. For this event - no requirements. I decide to carry the usual stuff - water, GU, first aid kit, emergency blanket, torch, whistle, and spare set of thermal clothes - it is after all just a hill training run.

The weather is unpredictable - it's the start of the monsoon season. At the start its zero degrees and snowing, at the 26k mark its clear and hot, by the finish its raining and cold. At times the visibility is down to a couple of metres. At one point I take the wrong track. Luckily another runner sees me disappearing into the mist and calls me back. Claus is not so lucky - he takes the wrong turn and has to swim across a glacial river to rejoin the run.

Nepal must be the hilliest country in the world. Its about 150km across and in that distance it goes from 80m above sea level to 8,848m (with lots of ups and downs in between). Luckily for me the run is predominantly down hill but there are a number of steep climbs along the route.

At the base of one such climb I grab a bottle of coke from a volunteer at one of the sparsely spaced aid stations. Due to nausea (another AS symptom) I haven't been able to consume the usual GU every half hour and my endurance is suffering. Opening a fizzy drink at altitude is quite an experience. Even my cautiousness was not enough to prevent the contents erupting over me.

Finally I reach the top of the climb and am looking forward to coasting down the other side. Then I trip over, dropping my bottle of coke into a pile of yak dung. "Oh well, things can't get much worse" I think as I dust myself off and have a quick swig out of the drink.

After 7 hours I crest the last hill to commence the descent into Namache Bazaar and the finish line. At this point I've caught up with two British triathletes who will be doing Half Ironman UK in another two weeks. Steve tells me he doesn't even have a bike at the moment. (After hearing that Chris McCormack's bike is stolen at the race I emailed Steve asking if he had acquired a new Kestral - he replied no, adding that Macca was still unbeatable even without his own bike).

Reaching the finish line was a relief. I was much more interested in a hot shower than the finishers medal that was hung around my neck - a reaction to spending 14 days washing from a small bowl of cold water each morning.

The first Nepalese runner crossed the line in a time of 3:35 (I think the locals know some shortcuts). The first westerner, Major Tom Perkins from the British Army, finished in just over 6 hours. Tom was doing the event as a charity run to raise money for the families of soldiers wounded in Iraq. He had completed a tour of duty in Iraq and it was something he did not wish to relive. It was a good reminder to me about how lucky we are in Australia.

The first (and only) western female (Kendra from UK) completed the course in 12 hours. Kendra had just turned up at Base Camp the day before the event and thought it would be a fun thing to do. Presentation was held that night and most of the group happily indulged in the celebrations until the early hours.

The next morning we were up at 7am to walk 40km down the valley to Lukla to get our flight back to Kathmandu. The mountain weather had closed in again and our pilot chose to take off with zero visibility - flying basically on memory to avoid the 4,000m+ mountain range directly across the valley from the airstrip.

After a day to recover, I was heading back to Oz. On the way home I detoured to Phuket for a week of future recovery. On my arrival I see that the Inaugural Phuket Marathon is on in two weeks time so I decide to extend my stay. I'm planning on doing Ironman Malaysia in February 2007 and so I figure a run in the heat and humidity should be fun.

The race starts at 5am; it is 30 degrees and 85% humidity. The day just keeps getting hotter and I get slower. 4:58 - looks like I've still got a lot to do to get back to my running best.