Looking back on a challenging training and performance experience in the Anglo-Celtic Plate 100k race, Karla Borland shares her story.
It has taken me some time to gather my thoughts and write about this, although it may sound more dramatic than it actually is!
If you’ve been following my blogs and social media, you may know that I had a rough spring. In April, I tripped during a cool down and injured my knee. After resting and attempting to train and race (I dropped out of the Thames Path 100 at 40 miles), I received an MRI in June which revealed that I had fractured the bone under my cartilage in my femur and experienced significant tibial bone bruising.
Since then, my racing plans have undergone several changes, but I ultimately decided to compete in the Irish 100km Championships in August.
Striving for consistent training
Feeling like I had already encountered my fair share of misfortune this year, I was determined to achieve a solid result. Throughout the summer, I managed to string together several weeks of good training and completed a fantastic long run in hot conditions on the Red Squirrel Trail in the Isle of Wight in July.
Being a playful person, I enjoy spending time with my nieces and nephews. So, after completing a 35-mile long run, I thought it would be fun to visit an inflatable water park.
In the back of my mind, a small voice reminded me about the importance of recovery and the risk of injury, but I chose to ignore it.
Unfortunately, a large man slipped on the platform 2 meters above me, causing both of us to tumble into the water. I felt a bit unwell that evening, but I attributed it to dehydration and the champagne I had been drinking (the best recovery drink, right?). The next morning, I woke up with severe vertigo and a throbbing headache, which lasted for the next two weeks.
When it rains, it pours
Just as I was starting to recover and consider resuming training, I received my second vaccine dose. Having studied veterinary medicine at Cambridge, I value the importance of vaccines and believe that everyone who can get vaccinated should do so.
Unfortunately, I experienced a vaccine reaction, with a huge rash and swollen lymph nodes in my groin and armpit, accompanied by a feeling of being hit by a bus. Another week of training lost.
Photo: Provided by the athlete
A glimmer of hope
Amidst all these challenges, Northern Ireland offered me a late opportunity to join the Anglo Celtic Plate team. It was my first senior international vest, and the significance of this cannot be expressed in words.
In the back of my mind, I questioned whether my body was signaling the need for a break. However, I was highly motivated to push forward and give my best for the team.
Fortunately, I had a family vacation in the Cotswolds scheduled for the following week. With only two weeks remaining until the race, I was eager to fit in some last-minute training. Despite feeling exhausted (spending time with my nieces and nephews is both enjoyable and draining), I managed some excellent runs.
Additional obstacles in the way
On the last night of our vacation, I suddenly experienced extreme nausea and was unable to join the family for our final meal together. Instead, I laid in the car, trying to prevent myself from vomiting. I suspected that I had eaten some bad whitebait and hoped the symptoms would pass. Unfortunately, they didn’t!
One week before the race, I spent the weekend in bed, taking anti-nausea medication and trying to eat sporadically. This led to some difficult conversations between me and my husband throughout the week.
While my husband thought I was crazy to race, I couldn’t fathom the idea of not trying. My mom also sided with my husband. We flew to Dublin for the 100km race, and the evening before, I was overcome with tears due to how ill I felt.
Tom Craggs, my coach, stressed the importance of prioritizing my health, but he also understood the significance of the race to me.
Pushing through the challenges
I tend to feel nervous before races, often experiencing an upset stomach. So, feeling my usual pre-race jitters, I managed to eat some breakfast and nibble on a few crackers before the start. I was eager to get going, aware that I would likely not feel okay for long.
Until about 20 miles, I felt relatively good, maintaining the pace I had hoped for and feeling fine. Just after the 20-mile mark, however, I became extremely nauseous and started regurgitating everything in my stomach. I had brought along some anti-nausea medication, which I took in an attempt not to panic.
Despite my efforts, the nausea persisted, and the only thing I could occasionally keep down was flat coke. In endurance running, flat coke is often referred to as “the little red ambulance,” and it certainly felt that way. At one point, I confided in a fellow Northern Ireland runner about how unwell I was feeling. He delivered an inspiring pep talk about my resilience, and somehow, I kept moving forward.
Mind over matter
I don’t have much recollection of the race beyond the 26-mile mark. It repeatedly felt like I couldn’t complete another lap (the course was 1.14 miles long), and I engaged in a lot of self-talk and mental negotiation. I simply focused on running to the next corner or the next section of the lap. Despite moving slowly, I made an effort to keep a smile on my face and keep going.
By some miracle, I crossed the finish line and unexpectedly won the silver medal in the Irish Championships. Our team also earned the bronze medal, and I set a new Northern Ireland and Ulster record for 100 kilometers.
Photo: Provided by the athlete
The following days were not pleasant, and my parents were so concerned that they almost didn’t allow me to take the flight back home. However, I believed that enduring a one-hour flight was preferable to a three-hour car ride.
I have never pushed myself so far mentally and physically in a race. Since then, I have taken two weeks off from running and am slowly starting to jog again. I still experience intermittent nausea, but I am gradually feeling better. I am uncertain if participating in the race was the right decision, but I am proud that I persevered. Once I fully recover, I am excited to see what I can accomplish when I am feeling my best.