REAL TRAILS
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Our life is continuous motion…
The Beginning of the Journey
When your life is taking its normal course and going steady and surgeless, when there is too much sweet for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, everything becomes a routine and the constant effortless floating in one direction makes you feel exhausted. This sickeningly sweet aftermath of a prolonged full-bellied satisfaction starts to overwhelm, and you lose your motivation and no longer know what your goal is. When every single event in your life is scheduled in advance everything becomes boring, monotonous, and dull.
In 2014 after I had won a boxing tournament and been selected for a prestigious contest, I was excited to start preparing for the upcoming fight. I was training intensely, according to the plan: jogging in the morning, then training with punch bags, then rest, and in the evening – fight training again.
I was going to maintain this training routine for three months in a row. I was physically and mentally ready for loads like this. Training to the max, to the point of exhaustion, was giving me so much joy and satisfaction. Some types of personality need regular rest because it is necessary for them to shift their attention to something else for some time, otherwise they will certainly feel overtrained, which will lead to nervous breakdowns and worsen their performance. In other words, overtraining means losing motivation for them. But it had never been my case. I had never understood this approach and couldn’t accept it. I liked pushing my limits further and further every time, refining my technique by multiple repetitions of blows and combinations.
My preparations were in full swing, and it seemed like nothing could stop me or lead me astray when, unfortunately, a fatal contingency jumbled my plans and all my life. I seriously injured my middle finger. There was a risk at some point that it even could have been amputated…
I couldn’t flex my finger for almost a year after the surgery. Every day I was doing exercises for the mobilization of the joint. I could see the progress but it was extremely slow, and it had still been a long time before I was able to close my fist and make a blow.
I was trying to keep up my spirits and continued training, hoping that I would soon be able to fight again. I had to refuse from some exercises that used to be my routine and change others to adapt them to fighting with one hand. For months and months, every day, I kept on training and hoping I would soon recover. A year and a half passed before I could fight again with both hands without pain in my finger.
In 2014–2015, during the first twelve months, I decided to concentrate on running. Every training I ran, I gradually increased my speed and distance. I normally did 70 to 140 km of cross-country running a week. I started to feel excited at the thought that I was already able to compete with other runners. In spring 2016 I applied to participate in the Kazan half-marathon (21 km). My finishing time turned out to be really good.
Next thing I did, inspired by my first running performance and new emotions, was applying for a 28 km trail run. This competition was expected to be something extreme which was especially interesting for me. The organizers promised that it would be so hard that one would have to really go beyond ordinary human abilities. I arrived at the competition venue a week before the start. I got off the train and immediately felt the harshness of the severely continental climate. It often grew hotter than +40 °С in that place. I stayed at a local woman’s house in the countryside. After I got there and left my things, I walked to the lake. It was around 5 km away from the village.
I reached the lakeside by the sunset. Straining its dazzling red rays through the clouds, the sun was reflecting in the crystal clear water of the lake. Like a sculptor mesmerized by its creation, it was looking into the flawless mirror, taking its time before disappearing over the horizon. I took a few pictures of this enchanting spectacle and went back to my local home.
There was almost no wind. The hot air mixed with a slight smell of bromine emanating from the lake gave me a sense of tranquility. For the next few days I was feeling drowsy but was still going for a run every day. A lonely oasis in a desert, the remote village transformed into the capital of running for the participants and their supporters who came from all over the world. The newcomers gobbled up everything from the local shops so quickly that the shelves became empty for some time. The most popular item was drinking water. Local tap water was not suitable for drinking. The imported water in barrels was musty and could only be used for showers or washing dishes. It was too risky to drink. The territory was adjacent to the border, which meant that there were special rules for being here. Multiple roadblocks and a lot of military personnel struck my eye. It made everyone feel that we were in some kind of a secret zone, under surveillance.
In the morning I went to the start package pickup point. I showed my passport and medical certificate, and the volunteer provided me with a backpack where I found a t-shirt, a participant bib number, and a few other things.
The day was destined. It was waiting for me around the corner. The start was at 6-28 a.m. for all distances. On the 28th of May 2016, in the morning, almost 400 people went out to challenge themselves and the steppe. The sun was shining in the cloudless sky, boding a serious heat test for everyone outside. The temperature was already running high. I was one of them crazily brave superhumans. The run started, and short-distance runners (those who signed up for 28 km) ran in front of everyone, speeding up from the first minutes. I was trying my best to keep within the first ten athletes during the entire distance. After the first 10 km in the steppe under the blazing hot sun you truly realize that the only source of support you can count on is feeding stations with water and fruits organized by volunteers.
Yellow, red and ash-gray colours and large open spaces of the steppe were beckoning me, inviting me further and further. With Joe Cocker’s blues in my headphones, I was covering one kilometer after another at my normal speed. I didn’t even notice I was getting closer to “Chertova Balka” – “Hell Hollow” – on the 20th kilometer of the distance. It was a very serious test for me: a descend first, then an extended sharp ascent. Then the last seven kilometers in a straight line: it felt as if my feet were moving forward by themselves, regardless of my will. I seemed to speed up effortlessly. I completed the distance and got a successful finisher’s medal. I could tell I had done well. I had managed to overcome myself and beat the distance. 28 kilometers was not only the finishing line but also the place where 56 kilometers runners turned around and started to run back. A few people fainted from sunstroke. The heat was terrible.
Those who finished their distance were wandering the desolate lakeshore quietly, reflecting. Nobody was talking to each other but there was still an invisible connection between us at that moment. The participants of the 56 km ultramarathon were reaching the 28 km check line, had a short break and continued the distance to get to the finishing line on time.
I wanted to escape the mess at the finishing line and walked off to the lakeshore. The buses were waiting for the last runner to take us back to the start. Time was floating by, unnoticed.
When I reached the lake I only found a steep cliff high above the water. I didn’t have the slightest desire to climb down. I sat on the cliff, took the finisher’s medal out and examined it closely. The 28 km distance was engraved on one side, and an eagle on the other side. I felt like I was able to see and watch his flight. The eagle was soaring in the sky, spreading his wings, moving along with the sizzling hot flows of air. He was hot. He was starving. He was keeping a sharp look-out, searching for prey, to survive in this lifeless steppe. What a paradoxical fight for one’s life! He didn’t know any other life since the day he was born. This was his freedom and he would have never changed it for a comfortable cage in a zoo where he would have been well fed every day.