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When the entire Himalayan range came into view, I couldn’t help but be moved. I remembered the last evening of 2010, when I was also on a plane from Beijing to Xiamen (running the Xiamen Marathon), and saw the most beautiful sunset at 10,000 meters altitude. I made a New Year’s wish then. A year had flown by, and my 2011 had been wonderful and fulfilling. Looking out the window, I made another wish for 2012. The scene felt so familiar.
Originally, we planned to fly to Pokhara on the 30th, but upon arrival on the 29th, we learned that our companions had booked tickets for the 31st, so we stayed in Kathmandu for rest and preparation.
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On the 31st morning, during the flight from Kathmandu to Pokhara, I was lucky enough to spot Machhapuchhre (Fishtail Mountain). When luck really shines on someone, it just keeps coming.
I have to say, although Pokhara and Kathmandu are in the same country, they feel distinctly different—Pokhara is more like Southeast Asia. It’s quiet, laid-back, and though it was winter, spring-like blooms were everywhere. Surrounded by snow-capped mountains, the city also has the beautiful Phewa Lake nearby.
The photographer on the far left is Li Yang. We met him in Kathmandu by chance, and he came along specifically to take photos for us. I was deeply touched. Most remarkably, he was incredibly kind and dedicated. Later, we found out he was good friends with Zi Chen, Bei Chuang, and Lele, which brought us even closer.
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The second, third, and fourth from the left are three Hong Kong athletes. The second from the left is a foreigner who speaks excellent Mandarin and Cantonese (he’s very familiar with the HK100 trail running route). The Hong Kong girl in the third position ran alongside me for a while. The Hong Kong man in the fourth got lost and eventually took a taxi back on his own at noon on the 2nd.
On the afternoon of the 31st, we collected our gear. The organizing committee’s office had been temporarily set up in the hotel bar where we were staying, Hotel Barahi. The starting line was also there. Seeing the three fellow compatriots from Hong Kong made me happy. But the Nepalese really weren’t very reliable—the bib numbers were changed on-site haphazardly, which led to many runners’ results being recorded incorrectly later.
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Here, I must thank Yun Yanqiao. Since I had no experience with trail running, he prepared a lot of gear for me. Worried that I might not make it back in time, he brought me two headlamps with spare batteries and energy supplements. They really helped me run comfortably, and the recovery wasn’t as painful either. He advised me to bring enough warm clothing and was extremely thoughtful.
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The Annapurna Trail Runs in Pokhara, Nepal, feature challenges at 100km, 70km, and 50km. These events start at an elevation of 827m in the well-known rugged mountain trails of the Annapurna range. We pass through Landruk at 1565m and Modi River at 1350m, then climb steep paths to Ghandruk, and finally arrive at Deurali at 2100m. Athletes in the 50km event turn southward here, descending to Birethanti at 1025m. The 100km athletes continue upward, then head north to Chomrong, eventually meeting up with the 70km athletes above Tadapani.
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The 70km athletes ascend from Ghandruk to Tadapani, nestled within a beautiful forest at 2630m. Then they reach Bhurungdi Khola at 2400m, and finally follow cliffs up to Deurali at 3210m. The ridge leading to Ghorepani is absolutely stunning, winding through the mythically rich landscapes of the Annapurna range, with Manaslu stretching east and Dhaulagiri west.
From Ghorepani at 2860m, the 70km athletes follow a short stretch of the Himalayan path. They meet up with the 50km athletes who have finished earlier at Birethanti, and then descend together down 1835m of mountain trail. The 100km athletes, after completing their section, take a rest before continuing.
The lowest elevation is 827m, and the highest is 3210m, with a total elevation gain of 4200m. A total of 115 participants from around the world joined the race. It’s said we were the first group of Chinese to ever compete. Completing the race within the official time earns you 3 UTMB points.
The hotel hosted a grand New Year’s Eve party on the 31st, but none of us felt like joining. We went to bed early. Unfortunately, the party noise was too loud, and I can’t even remember how I fell asleep. At 4:30 AM on January 1st, the alarm rang. We packed our gear, and to our surprise, the hotel even served breakfast—it was a pleasant shock. Our hotel was the starting point, and even so, we were in a frenzy, stashing our bags just two minutes before departure (if we hadn’t returned by the evening of the 1st, we would have had to stay at the finish line).
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Before the start, I wanted to find photographer Li Yang to take a group photo with us, but there wasn’t even time for that. No one had time to warm up, and we all took off in a rush.
At 5:30 AM, Pokhara was quiet. The first 10km were on roads in poor condition, full of potholes. Just ten minutes into the race, there was a light drizzle. I’m not sure if it was the altitude or because I’d never raced so early before, but I just couldn’t pick up the pace. For the first 5km, Wang Lei slowed her pace to run with me. After struggling to keep up intermittently, she ended up holding my hand and running with me like that until about the 5km mark. I insisted she go ahead, as it was obvious I wasn’t in the zone—I probably needed to slow down even more. Wang Lei seemed a bit worried when we parted, repeatedly reminding me to quit if things got tough and to stay safe. We said our goodbyes, knowing we wouldn’t see each other again until the finish line.
Looking up, there were no stars. A few foreigners passed me, and then I encountered six local girls. They had no headlamps, no preparation, and no supplies. I ran with them for a while. Around the 7km mark, they started slowing down. I guessed their strength was in uphill sections, so I didn’t wait for them and kept going. Around the 8km mark, I met the Hong Kong girl. I was surprised she was behind me, since during gear prep she’d told me her full marathon time was 3:40. My pace was quite slow at the time. She later said her knee was injured, so she was taking it slow, hoping to reach safely before dark.
I reached the 10km mark at 1 hour and 45 minutes. The organizers had a supply station there, but when my watch showed 10km, there was nothing. I kept running uphill to the 12km mark before seeing a supply point. After that, the supply stations were generally off by about 2–3km and weren’t very accurate.
We started climbing uphill on dirt paths, which were in terrible condition. With continuous uphill sections and rocky, uneven terrain, it was nearly impossible to run. We walked along a main road for several kilometers without seeing any signs.
After a muddy section—which was actually fairly flat—I suggested to the Hong Kong girl that we try running. But just as we started, she stepped on a rock, stumbled, and fell flat on her face, covered in dirt and with a scraped hand. Thankfully, she was well-equipped and used disinfectant wipes to treat the wound before bandaging it up. We continued on foot.
She said she was walking at a fast pace, almost jogging, at around an 8:30 min/km pace. But I’m not used to walking, so I ended up running and stopping intermittently. Even at her walking speed, I couldn’t keep up. We basically moved in and out of sync, one in front of the other. She told me to slow down a bit in the front and save energy for the second half. Around the 14km mark, the inside of my thighs started to hurt—I think I’d pulled a muscle. It wasn’t too painful, but it was noticeable.
At the 14km mark, there were two forks in the road with no signs. I thought the right path looked more like the main route and wanted to take it. A local athlete, a girl, pointed to a small pile of rocks on the side of the road ahead and said it was probably a marker left by previous runners—we should go left. But the Hong Kong girl was behind us, some distance away. I said I had a friend back there and needed to wait for her, or she might take the wrong path. After waiting about five minutes, I spotted her in the distance and waved to her. Then I continued running forward with the local girl.
At the 15km mark, there was a sign pointing right. The local girl said she wanted to go left because it was a shorter route. Since she spoke the local language, she said a villager had told her so. I told her to go ahead, and even if she knew the area, cutting corners wasn’t allowed. I waited for the Hong Kong girl, and then the two of us followed the sign and took the right fork.
I began to feel a dull pain in my lower back. The Hong Kong girl said it might be because I wasn’t used to running with a loaded pack. Also, lacking experience, I’d carried too much water at the start—I should have gradually picked up supplies at each aid station instead.
After about 16km, we entered a village with many forks in the road, but we didn’t encounter any villagers. The two of us could only try to recognize the route. Suddenly, a voice called out from behind: “Hi, not this way!” A local cowherd was waving and shouting at us. We turned back. I guessed there must have been many runners who got lost at this intersection and the ones before it. We were lucky—there were always helpful people around at critical moments.
We kept moving uphill, endlessly, with countless slopes in all forms. There were no signs at all. At another fork, the Hong Kong girl chose to go left, entering the forest. The further we went, the more uneasy I felt. I was sure we were off course again because we hadn’t seen any signs for a long time. When we reached another three-way intersection up ahead, we stopped. I looked around for anyone nearby and shouted twice, but only heard echoes. The Hong Kong girl told me to wait there and not move. She went ahead to scout. About five minutes later, I heard someone calling my name in Chinese from behind. Turning around, I saw the Hong Kong girl’s teammate—the same foreigner who spoke excellent Mandarin and Cantonese. With him was an Indonesian, someone I’d run with briefly before.
I asked the Hong Kong guy why he was behind us. He said he’d been taking wrong turns the whole time. I told him we thought we might be lost too—there was a fork up ahead, and we didn’t know which way to go. We were already deep in the forest, and getting lost would be a nightmare. By then, the Hong Kong girl had returned. The four of us pulled out maps, compasses, and GPS watches to figure out our route. The general direction and elevation seemed correct, so we decided to keep going. We pushed through the forest, still climbing, and still saw no signs.
I asked the Hong Kong guy why he was behind us. He said he had been taking wrong turns. I told him we seemed to be lost as well — there was a fork in the road up ahead and we weren’t sure which way to go. Moreover, since everyone had already entered the forested area, getting lost could be quite troublesome. At that moment, the Hong Kong girl came back, and the four of us took out the map, compass, and GPS watches to start figuring things out. The general direction and altitude seemed correct, so the four of us decided to keep moving forward. We continued uphill through the forest but never saw any trail markers.
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