Perfect Storm
It was a turbulent week to be honest.
Leading into the 55km ultra trail race (See: G.O.A.T. Ultra Trail Race), I'd a lackluster few days - not much exercise, not much sunshine, slow workdays, a dispute, losing a good friend - all rolled into one little untimely fireball. However, I'd never expected that fireball to turn to a perfect storm on a trail run!
I went into this event with minimal expectations since it was going to be my "rucking meditation". I knew I wanted to be out in the wilderness for several hours as therapy. The rugged, loopy, exposed terrain of Jebel Jais and my energy levels didn't quite match for a "strong" race. I've been on podiums in shorter trail races before. No hunger or expectations here.
I'd planned to capture as much as 2/3rds of the race experience and walk away in peace to get ready for work week. (See: Ron George: GOAT Ultra 50KM: Part 1 - The Planning).
A shameful reveal here is that on the Sunday before the race weekend, I'd chaired a call with teammates Alina and Maqdad where we'd discussed some last-minute tips for the race. Maqdad, a veteran of 100km ultras in the middle east, spoke a few words towards the end of the call about taping the ankle. I thought it was generally good advice for what he said would be protection against smashing against rocks.
I should have taken better notes. Alina taped her foot on his advice believing it was going to act as good anti-twist protection. I didn't. Instead, I wore ankle-calf sleeves that offered nothing more than a medium level of compression. After we finish the race, Alina would tell me that the tape was her "gamechanger".
Mid-week, we read the forecast that the weather on the mountain would get nasty. One of my key mistakes was not integrating all that information into a better strategy. Yes, I should have taped my ankles for slippery slopes. I packed my Salomon Speedcross shoes in case the mud got worse, but I virtually never touched them during the race, as you’ll see below.
Fast forward to Sunday 25th January. As is a ritual now on the weekends, I hit the road at 3:00AM. I picked up Heza, who was going to be our designated crew driver, and Alina - both from Dubai - and drove the 2 hours to Ras al Khaimah. The drive went surprisingly quick. We talked about mental health, cooking, Lithuania, Dubai. Not much discussion about the course itself. I was wide awake, but I let Heza drive.
Heza, in his 20's, was on short visit to Dubai amidst his college break in Lithuania, and became a vital part of the trip. He'd told us he wanted to learn about trail races, so I obliged. He was going to act as our crew and have a little bit of time to himself while we were out racing.
We reached the foot of the mountain at 5:05 AM. A 30-minute drive from the ADNOC station got us to the chilly summit, where the bright lights of the race village greeted us. We pulled into the gravel parking lot, got ready, caught up with fellow runners, and took a few photos.
We lined up at 6:40 AM, shivering. To make matters worse, a delayed start meant we didn’t actually get moving until 7:00 AM.
I cannot overstate how heavy and loaded I felt, with nearly 10 to 12 kg on my back in the form of food, water, and gear. I was carrying 2.5 liters of water, a medical kit, poles, food, electrolytes, an emergency blanket, and more - a "kitchen cabinet" of supplies that I greatly dislike but which was mandatory for the event. However, I would soon be very thankful I had brought along a set of lightweight hiking poles; we’ll get to that in a moment.
I must admit, I have a love-hate relationship with trail running. Coming from a background as a "roadie," all this extra weight feels counterproductive to movement. But a few bad experiences on long trail runs have taught me that this is "life protection," not just dead weight.
Once the race began, the first 10-15 minutes of pavement running toward Puro Café got the body warmed up. Alina and I stayed together until we hung a sharp right onto the trail that would drop us approximately 1,500m down to Wadi Galilah. Up to this point, I felt no stress and had no real anticipation of what was coming.
This 9km descent caught me completely off guard. The landscape was jagged, steep, and uneven - exposed, with loose stones and rocks everywhere. (I later learned from a race organizer that the recent December rains had left the trail in much worse condition than usual). Alina quickly disappeared from sight. She was teasing me earlier that day about how I would be flying. How wrong!
Then, it happened. I wasn't even jogging at this point because of the long queue of runners ahead of me trying to navigate the descent. I happened to step on loose sections in three different spots, feeling agonizing, awkward twists in my right foot each time.
The Hoka Mafate's on my feet felt unwieldy on this particular terrain. Had I not tied my laces correctly? Something was off. The coordination between my feet and my mind simply wasn't there. I signaled for the people behind me to pass and took the last spot in the group. I knew instantly that something was wrong, but I kept moving - slowly, one step at a time.
Nearly two hours after the descent to the checkpoint at Wadi Galilah, while relaxedly refilling my food stores, I noticed the first signs of a bulging right ankle. Through my socks, the lateral malleolus looked like a blunt tennis ball. Interestingly, the pain hadn't fully registered at that point. Too many hormones in the blood.
I passed several exasperated people at the checkpoint, and despite seeing a few runners quitting the race to catch a taxi back, the thought of stopping simply didn't occur to me. I just kept walking - perhaps out of ignorance or bliss - but I wasn't particularly excited either. In 20 years of running, I had never injured my ankle seriously (not my knees). I always felt that my coordination and my body had the upper hand, but today, that control just wasn't there.
The Meditative Grind up Stairway to Heaven
On the valley trail of Wadi Galilah, snaking between towering mountains on either side, I attempted to jog. My legs gave out. That was the moment the pain finally registered; I could only manage one minute at a time. At this point, I aborted all attempts to run and decided to walk to decrease the load. I was going to walk the rest of the way. I knew it would be a long day, but since it was only 10:00 AM, I knew I had some time left before sundown.
I won’t go into too much detail about what happened next. Suffice it to say, fueled by a mix of motivation, adrenaline, and the pure emotion of needing to summit this mountain for my kids, I ended up climbing the right bank of Stairway to Heaven. This involved a 2,000m ascent toward Ras Al Ghash, the Sheikh’s Palace, and eventually back to the parking lot at the top of Jebel Jais.
Looking back, I was "in the zone." It was a meditative, urgent, and deliberate trek, utilizing the power of "ski-poling" up the rocks. I didn’t call a single person during that entire ascent. It wasn't laziness; there was hardly any cell reception, and I needed the time for myself. At the same time, I wasn't in the mood to camp out on the slopes for the night - I had to push through with that injured ankle.
Eventually, my triceps and back began to stiffen from the exertion of poling my way up. It wasn’t exactly easy or efficient, but I tried to move with as much precision as possible, even though it cost me time. I had to carefully dig the tips of the poles into the right spots among the rocks, ensuring my hands stayed below heart level. I also had to make sure the poles weren't reaching too far ahead of my feet, all while ensuring my right foot rolled off the ground in a straight, neutral position.
Perhaps it was this slow, deliberate action that dialed the intensity down a notch and turned the climb into a true meditation. I was having fun, yet I wasn’t having fun - it all somehow balanced out.
It was close to 5:00 PM when I reached the Sheikh’s Palace checkpoint. I had climbed 2,200m by this point. Shivering and unable to use my fingers (I stashed my gloves somewhere in the deep pockets of my backpack), I was helped into a chair by two volunteers who assisted me in dialing a few numbers. It was only then that I learned the organizers had officially canceled the event; it was simply too risky to let people continue. But why only now?
A quick call to my teammate, Alina, confirmed that they had blocked her group at the Bear Grylls station. She had been forced to stop and was now heading back up the mountain with Heza. I instructed Heza to meet me at the parking lot where he had originally dropped us, and I officially abandoned the race.
No one at the checkpoint could offer me a lift down the steep 1.2km road to the parking lot. After a cup of Coke, I got back on my feet, held my dignity together, and limped down the final stretch of roadway to the start/finish area. That section alone must have taken me 25–30 minutes to cover!
Upon reaching the finish line and hugging my teammates, my first thought was to get rid of my shoes and check the extent of the damage. A medic at the race tent offered to wrap my foot in a cold compress while Heza got me a plate of chicken and rice. I felt proud of Alina; she had made her way through to Bear Grylls, proving she has the mettle for long challenges. The preparation was clearly paying off in her development as an ultra-trail runner.
A fierce wind picked up at the summit, so we didn't hang around for long. I was helped into the backseat of our vehicle, where I laid my leg high and horizontal. We drove back to Dubai, finally reaching the city at 10:00 PM.
The Aftermath: Diagnosis
The next morning, I visited an orthopedic surgeon at NMC Royal, DIP. The two-hour wait for an X-ray was a blessing in disguise; by chance, I saw my friend Dr. Balaji, the Medical Director at NMC, in the hallway as I rolled past in a wheelchair. He was able to speed up the process for me.
The doctor confirmed that I had ruptured my anterior talofibular ligament (ATFL). I accepted with resignation that, due to the swelling, I would have to wait a few weeks for an MRI. Until then, I was prescribed rest, icing, and elevation. For anyone it might help, here is the list of my prescriptions. Please note: these are strong anti-inflammatories and painkillers that can be hard on the stomach, which is why an anti-acidity medication was included.
Prescriptions:
- Elmetacin (Indometacin): Topical anti-inflammatory spray.
- Serodase (Serratiopeptidase): Enzyme to reduce swelling and inflammation.
- ProRise (Omeprazole): Proton-pump inhibitor to protect the stomach lining.
- Loflam (Aceclofenac): Strong NSAID for pain and inflammation.
Final Reflections
A short Instagram video of my day -> https://www.instagram.com/p/DT9fyAFCADV/
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