I have always loved to run trail. But I had never gotten around to enter a proper long trail race. There is a reason for that. I am by any account not built for running. Obvious sports for my body type and appetite are rugby, shot putt or galley slave. On flat terrain, I am a snail. Speed is my accomplice only downhill. And that is a good thing as I absolutely love running downhill. I hammer them. Brakes off, brain off.

As this was the year, I was to turn 50, I wanted to celebrate by running a marathon. Or maybe just show that I could still run a marathon. Some men buy a Porsche for their midlife crisis, others start running. In early January I tried to book Copenhagen Marathon for May but, alas, it was sold out. I looked around for another race and saw a 50K on Bornholm. How perfect – 50 for 50. So I entered. The 1,800 vertical meters in 2023 version of Hammer Trail did scare the bejesus out of me. But 2024 was the year I was going to do all the most difficult things I had told myself (thanks, Dave Goggins!). And so, a perfect challenge.

Running Hammer Trail was a huge step-up from the annual flat half marathon I had been running for the last three years. I upped my training regimen from 25K per week, to 40K, then 60K and ending at 80K in the first two weeks of April before tapering the last two weeks ahead of the race. My evenings were spent watching trail running videos. I voraciously read up on ultra training and did my best to implement the learnings. I did the full ultra nerd-out.

In mid-March I ran the North Coast Ultra 30K trail run with 350 meters of vertical with my friend Gugge. That went well. But my training was vertically challenged. Getting vertical meters is difficult in flat Denmark. To illustrate, we have a 147-meter hill that is named the Sky Mountain. The Danish Everest.

So I spent Easter, late March in 2024, running Mountain Bike trails in Svanninge Bakker in Southern Fynen, where there was some elevation, maybe 40-50 meters on each climb. I found a couple of 15-meter hills in the forest near our home that I would run up and down enough to get 900 meters of vertical in one training session. Running up those hills 30 times in a row wasn’t boring, it was far too hard for that. Also, I swam daily in the winter-cold ocean with my wife. It was terrible but built up willpower and stamina. Finally, I was ready for the race. I hoped.

Hammer Trail is about 10 years old and prides itself of being the toughest ultra in Denmark with lots of ascent. This year there were about 30 entrants for the 50 miler and 80 for the 50K. The race is situated in the gnarly nature of North Bornholm, an island well off the Danish and Swedish coasts, full of lumpy rocks, forests and pirates. The 50K race consists of two rounds, each round consisting of a south-going 17k loop, followed by a north-going 8k loop, with each round having 1,000 meters of ascent and descent. I tried to plan which hills to climb and which to run, on the optimistic assumption that it might be possible to run some of the less steep ones. I was to learn.

My 15-year-old daughter Rosa kindly agreed to come and crew me against getting an Apollo, probably the world’s largest ice cream which they sell in nearby Gudhjem. To pile the pressure on myself, I told her she would only get it if I finished.

We drove to Bornholm Friday afternoon, over the bridge to Sweden and then the ferry from Ystad to Rønne. Just a four-hour skip and hop from Copenhagen. The landscape was beautiful. Spring had just arrived. The beech forests were light green and the rapeseed fields marigold yellow. We found an Italian restaurant in Gudhjem for my carb-loading. We then drove to our bed & breakfast.

There, I laid out all my gear. There was a surprising amount. Trail shoes, compression socks, hydration vest, poles and quiver, 20 gels, 2 bonk bars, gaiters (not necessary), knee band (not necessary, thankfully) plus bandages and other safety equipment enforced by the organizers (not necessary in the end, thankfully). Extra t-shirts and shorts, even an extra pair of shoes and lots more. I packed it carefully, some in my running vest, some in my dropbag. Then I laid down on my bed and wrote out my race goals.

The primary outcome goal, i.e., those I hoped to achieve was to complete the race, secondarily to do it under 8 hours. My training had pointed to being able to run faster. But when the organizers released the 2024 route a week before the start, they had added 2 kilometres to now be at 53.3K and another 200 metres of vertical, leaving me 2,000 meters to climb and ascend. That was really far from my training max of 30 kilometres and 900 of vertical. I mentally crossed myself. I was deep into unchartered territory. I pulled a bit back on my thinking of a 7.30 time, thinking that having low expectations and high ambitions would make for a better day.

My process goals, i.e., those goals that I could control, were firstly, to smile the whole way and spread good cheer, second, to thank the aid station helpers and my daughter, and third, to eat a minimum of 200 calories an hour. I was going to try to run the first 25% at a heart rate of under 150, then go over to an RPE of 6-7. And just take it bit by bit, kilometre by kilometre. All rather sensible and boring. Yawn.

I slept poorly, being well jacked-up, taught and excited. I was humming like an arrow on the bow. After a chat over a light breakfast with a lovely Finnish father and daughter, fellow 50K runners, Rosa and I walked to the start. I was in luck. It was a stunning morning, 7 degrees, no rain, a tad of sun and not too windy either. Perfect running weather. My legs felt great, my equipment was in order. I put my dropbag in the aidstation. Boom. I was ready.

As the starter called us to the 7 am start, I positioned myself at the back. That, I thought, would stop me from going out too hard. Hopefully, it would also mean that I would overtake people rather than being overtaken. Rosa took a video of the start, where you can hear her commenting on my performance: “Not a great start”. Yeah, it was slow.

I ran at the back for the first 2 kilometres. Then, there was a big technical descent down to a rocky beach. Having kept the handbrake on for too long, I let go and passed several people on the descent and on the bouldery beach. Surprised, I looked up at the climb. It looked vertical. Easily the most difficult I have seen in Denmark. A big queue formed.

Nothing for it, I would just have to spider up like the ones ahead of me. Both hands and both feet were engaged. I pulled out my poles to help me. Almost at the top, a pole slide and hit the guy behind me in the head. I profusely apologized but luckily his cap had saved him. He was totally cool about it. Claus, as he was called, I did not see for another 48 kilometres until he passed me fifteen minutes before the finish line. I had no problem with that. I was just delighted he still had two eyes.

A few kilometres further on there was a technical descent. For the non-laymen, that means steep downhill. Some slid down on their bottom. About 1/3 down, a girl had completely frozen in fear. I lent her my poles and slid-jumped-skipped to the bottom. I waited there and got my poles back a minute later. I hoped she would be ok next time down. She soon overtook me like a rocket. I eventually passed her another 7 or 8Ks down the road. She had stopped and it looked like she was eating berries off a bush. I was tempted to stop and inquire what berries were ripe in early May but kept my focus on the job at hand.

Before that, I had done the 200 steps down to the beach at Jons Kapel to ring the bell and then back up again the stairs. I felt strong but still early days. With the loop turning north again, I made a push through the long forest bit with its fun, muddy trails and overtook a few more people. This back of the loop was undulating but nothing as serious as the front along the ocean. Near the end of the loop, we passed Hammershus again but this time further away and so had the full vista with the glimmering ocean framing the castle ruins. It was stunning in the blue morning light.

At this point my mind was definitely going into “compete and not just complete”-mode. I did my fastest K of the day going into the aid station at the end of the first round, my prey being two other runners. At the aid station, I met Rosa and refilled my bottles. Great boost to see her. Next, was the 8 km loop which on the vert map looked more jagged.

I was delighted with how I felt coming back into the goal area, now halfway. I was at about 3 1/2 hours which was a bit faster than I had planned for and happy with that. No doubt there was likely to be a drop-off in time on the second loop – I gave myself permission for that. I felt good about reaching my 8-hour goal but also “interested” in what would happen on the second round. The first had been a joy, almost exclusively single-track trails with almost no tarmac or wide dirt roads.

Rosa and I had a quick chat while I refilled my vest from my dropbag. It cheered me up immensely to see her face and feel her good cheer. I took some of the sports drink that was on offer but soon found it was too strong for me. I had forgotten the old adage: Never try something new on race day.

I set off for the second half in good spirits. A few people had come into the goal area after me. I thought they had left ahead of me, so I tried catching them up. Turned out I was wrong but that meant I pushed hard. Probably too hard. I sped past a bunch of walkers, yelling “runner from the back”, hammered the steep downhill down to the beach and then spidered up the very steep climb up to Hammershus where I had hit the guy in the head with my poles.  Ouchhhh, getting to the top, I was definitely not feeling as fresh as the first time. There would be more hiking on the up-hills this time for sure.

From Hammershus, I kept the hammer down to see if I could catch the other guys up and eventually saw someone ahead. But those were different people. It slowly dawned on me that the others had left the aid station after me. I ran with the new guys for a while with Jons Kapel, the southern most part of the loop, soon coming up. I spent longer at the aid station there this time, chatting to the volunteers and thanking them. Then down the 200 steps to ring the bell. And then the 2,000 steps back up. At least that’s what it felt like this time. I was panting at the top like a 500-pound guy on a treadmill.

From the start, I had told myself that the last third of the race would be the ‘interesting’ one, the part of the race where I would really see what I was made of. Where I had to go into the pain cave. I was now getting into that last third.

My track record on that was not great. In 2006 I ran my one and only marathon in Berlin. In that race, about halfway, I realized that I would not make my four-hour goal. My mind started eating me, at least that was how it felt. Negative thoughts flooded my brain, telling me to stop, to quit, that I was a loser. At 31K in Berlin, I cramped up in my left calf muscle, further denting my mental state. Getting to the goal line was hell. I walked most of the last 7Ks. Sure, the Berlin race was hard physically but how my brain turned on me was like a nightmare. I vowed never to run another marathon again – at least not in a city. A horrible experience.

So you will understand my apprehension. After fifteen years of daily meditation, I thought I probably had the mental side better in hand, but until I was there, I would not know. I was now getting into that danger zone. Was I pain-cave-ready?

Coming up from Jons Kapel, I ran with a few other guys through the forest part and lost them on the downhills that I was still running hard – at least I thought so. I started feeling cramps on the small muscles in the side of my quads, there was a niggle in the glutes and a twinge in my right calf muscle. As a subscriber to the Central Governor Theory, I followed Jens Voight’s advice and told my legs to “Shut up”. Once I did that, the pains magically all disappeared. My mood was still great. I was still running with a smile, chatting with and greeting everyone.

With about 12Ks left, I banged my left foot into a rock, howling in pain. I was up and running in a second but wincing and feeling that two toes might have been broken. I will try to run it off, I told myself, and lo and behold, the pain went away after twenty seconds.

Going back into the aid station I overtook a couple of other runners. I was planning on giving those places back with a long-ish stop, chatting with Rosa, changing my t-shirt and refuelling. My legs were starting to bonk. I was twenty minutes slower on the second 17K loop as compared to the first but still net overtaking. But I was feeling the inevitable slowdown.

Rosa was there, cheering. It was a big shot of energy-love right in my veins. We chatted while I ate a banana and a Bonk Bar and slowly got moving again.

I had run on- and off with Jesper on the way back from Jons Kapel and we started the last loop together, walking. Soon I got my legs going and trundled up the long climb, with a beautiful view out over the Hammer Lake, leaving Jesper behind. The first 25K runner were starting to run by me full tilt. Disgusting, I jokingly told myself, in awe at how they still had the energy to run up these steep hills. The long ascent was followed by a long descent down through the forest, imminently runnable.

On the first time on that descent, I had vaulted a fallen tree across the track by leaning an arm and swinging my legs over it sideways, very elegantly so, I thought. As I tried it a second time, I felt a cramp hit and decided that now the time for games was over. Also, my stomach was playing up and I was getting serious nausea. That Bonk Bar. Again, that mistake of trying something new. I hoped I wouldn’t heave it back up again. I refocused myself. Just get the next kilometre squared away, Carl-Johan.

On the next big ascent, I could almost feel my central governor taking the power off. The battery was starting to run on empty, going up was much, much harder. My breathing on the climbs was getting laboured and that was just walking. I should have trained quads and glutes more, done more hill training. And even some stairmaster at the gym for those blasted steps at Jons Kapel. And still that nausea.

Jesper blew by me on the vertical ascent where I had to take multiple breathing pauses. Just focus on the next step, smile and enjoy, I refocused myself. You are doing great. I still had two hours to finish this 8K loop and then it would be race completed in under my 8-hour goal. I had plenty of time to make that.

I was going even slower now. There always seemed to be another damn turn and another damn ascent that I could not remember. But somehow, I was halfway on this loop. The 25K racers kept speeding past me. Still disgusting. Claus now caught up to me also. Luckily, he hung around to chat.

Claus had run many ultras and was using this as a training run for a big race in Austria in the summer. He was delighted it was my first ultra and told me to be careful in not getting infected: “Once you have the ultra-virus, you can never get rid of it.” On the next ascent, I told him to run on, so I did not slow him down. Anything above zero degrees I was walking at this point..

My watch was now up on 52K so I must be getting close. Only one steep climb to go. That ascent seemed never-ending and a few 25K boys and girls overtook me and another 50K guy was threatening from the back. Eeech, I was keen to keep him behind me. Finally, I reached the top and stammered fast downhill as hammering was now a memory only.

I recovered quickly, eating a banana and drinking lots of water with a big smile that was impossible to remove from my face. Berry-eating girl finished and so had made it down the technical descent the second time. I was delighted for her. I sweaty-hugged Claus and some of the other runners I had run with out there. And then it was time for the Apollo, so Rosa and I packed up and made our way towards our B&B.

As we walked back through the forest, I suddenly felt incredibly proud of myself and teared up. Doing something that I had thought impossible moved me immensely. It expanded me. It also gave me a black nail and a broken toe. The latter I taped up, the former was a mark that I was now a real runner.

Later, Rosa walked and I hobbled down the road in Gudhjem to get the Apollo icecream. Rosa and I shared it and almost finished the ginormous lolly, content with a job well done.

Infected as I am, I have signed up for the 50K South Coast Ultra in August…