Ice ultra - stage four

Stage four : the day I'd been dreading. The long stage, coming at a point in the race where our legs are getting tired and we're starting to flag. This stage is called the Sami stage, named after the people indigenous to this area, the reindeer herders. They work closely with the race team, in preparing the trails, race organisation, sourcing local requirements. A team of local Sami work on the race all week and support the runners as much as the race owners and medics. They are hard core awesome. So, for them, this stage.
Up, getting a bit fatigued. Found spicy noodles in the cabin : we all ate some for breakfast, a welcome break from cereal. Skidoo ride back to the race start. Off we go. Earlier start, amazing sunrise across the lake. Different race feel today : people aware that we need to make the 50k cut off (8pm), or we're not allowed to continue with a race time. Concentrating on trying to move faster. Spent the day by myself. Unfortunately, my ankle ligaments had started to balloon from all the uneven terrain this week : the day was managed between painkillers, food, trying to keep moving. Heavy reliance on my poles. Keep going, keep going. Started to relax about four pm: I hit a checkpoint with four hours to make the final cut off. Plus, the Sami had carved an incredible ice throne covered in reindeer skin, to sit in and giggle for a moment. Brilliant.
Keep going, keep going. Starting to get cold across the lake. At last : the 50k checkpoint. The race director informed me that I was allowed to continue : I. E., get a final race time overall. Hot food, laughing with relief. 'only' 14k to go

Plod on. Running on empty now - absolutely nothing left in me to try and shuffle or jog. Complete darkness apart from my head torch. Fortunately the next checkpoint came quickly. Ha ha I thought, I'm feeling so good I don't even need to rest. Up through a forest path. Down, down. Cold. Mind starting to play tricks..... I'm cold, there's no one here, what if I stop because I'm so tired, how long before hypothermia sets in. What if my head torch battery goes, my fingers too numb to work out how to check : how long would I stand in the darkness before someone realises I'm not moving anymore. Shite. What if I stop moving. Keep going, keep going. Near panic. Calm down, singing David Bowie songs out loud - if anyone heard, they would think I was bonkers. Keep going. Finally, a light and movement from behind. The race director on a bike, checking I was OK. No cheerful wave back this time : just a nod that I could keep moving. I am truly shattered by now. More plodding. Hungry but I can't remember where my snacks are. Water frozen solid in my bottle : stupid girl. Bonkers. Lights in the distance. Hopefully for the race. Uneven icy lake, can't control my feet, too tired now. Round

the outskirts of a lake, lights getting closer. Heard voices. Oh thank you, thank you. Night camp. Oh my word, that was horrible. Small incline. Race director waiting at the top. You OK? Turn your head torch off and look. Lower half of the sky had turned green - first showing of the northern lights. Flipping heck. The scariest section of the race, followed by the elation of seeing the lights. I cannot believe my luck, cannot believe my swing in emotions. I limp into the visitors centre where we are sleeping. Too tired to eat. Find a space on the floor to roll out my sleeping bag. Legs will not settle. One of the medics spotted me, found more painkillers, finally napped.

Flipping heck. What a day.