Okay, let's be honest. After running two 100-kilometer ultra-trail races in just five weeks, my body should have been officially on strike. Most people would be horizontal, maybe with a nice warm compress and a long, philosophical stare at their ceiling.
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| BTS Ultra: The most beautiful ultra-race I ever run |
Yet, here I was, standing at the BTS Ultra start line. This was the third, and final, monster in my slightly mad, self-imposed trilogy. The mountain air was sharp and cold, but also buzzing with a strange, electric energy. I expected a full choir of aches and doubts to greet me, a symphony of 'what ifs' and 'why did I dos' louder than a rock concert.
But instead? Silence. A surprising calm hummed beneath my skin. There was no overwhelming tiredness from BDG Ultra or Trans Jeju, those two beasts I'd already wrestled. Three full weeks I’d poured into recovery, focused entirely on healing, on preparing for Bromo’s unique challenge. My Amazfit T-Rex 3 Pro had quietly tracked every training session, every recovery nap (almost!), giving me solid, data-backed confidence. It paid off. My internal optimists, usually a quiet bunch, were actually winning the argument for once.
Even with a third 100K looming, a crazy big task for most, and frankly, a bit bonkers for anyone, stress felt like a distant rumor. This wasn't just another race dot on my calendar. It was the legend. This famous 100K race, winding through ancient volcanic areas and tough peaks, felt less like a course and more like a sacred landscape where volcanoes stand guard. Where the earth breathes old fire and wisdom.
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| Third ultra trail 100K in 8 weeks |
This race, I truly believe, is the most beautiful ultra-trail race I have ever run. Its natural beauty just pulls you in. Huge peaks touching the sky, the fresh, cold mountain air that wakes you up, the deep quiet before dawn that feels like the world is holding its breath.
The race started at midnight. It was like a silent river of lights flowing from Artotel Cabin Bromo into the huge, dark night. My usual easy pace settled into a steady, calm rhythm. A quiet chat with the trail itself. We reached B29, a part that's known for being narrow. It’s a slow, careful shuffle up a steep hill, a forced lesson in working together. After that, the path went towards Ranu Pane. This part was sometimes "annoying" with its sunken tracks from motorbikes. Each careful step was a dance to avoid twisting an ankle, but my ASICS Gel-Trabuco 13 shoes, bless their grippy soles, held firm.
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| B29 Climb at Night |
Then, the reward: Ranu Kumbolo (km 25). Even if its famous beauty was hidden in morning fog, its full glory veiled, just being near that calm lake was amazing. It felt like walking into a painting, a quick, dreamy moment of peace before the trail turned, going back to Ranu Pane. It was a short, beautiful break, a quiet promise of what was beyond the clouds.
The real challenge of the volcanic area started as we went from Ranu Pane towards Jemplang (km 45). And that’s where things went wrong. Right at WS Jemplang, among the busy tourists, a visitor stepped hard on my left leg. A sharp jolt of pain, a quick flash. But in the moment, I just shook it off. "I can push through this," I told myself. That's a common phrase for ultra-runners who are really good at fooling themselves. Oh, how silly that thought sounds now!
From WS Jemplang (km 45) to Bromo Sand (km 57), I found a brief, good rhythm with Desi, a friend doing the 70K race. She’s a champion, usually super fast. But that day she wasn't quite 100%. So, she took it easy with me. We ran together through the almost alien landscape of Bromo’s sand sea. It’s a place where the world feels empty, vast, and very old. A sign of nature's raw power. We split up at km 57 as our paths went different ways.
After Desi, another friend appeared. From Bromo Sand (km 57) all the way to Pananjakan (km 89), I met Yudit, a friend from the EPIC Trail. We understood each other as we faced the long, tough climbs and descents. The trail went past Dingklik (km 62) and Mororejo (km 76). The climb to Pananjakan was especially "emotional", a dark ascent that made me question every choice I'd ever made.
But as night got deeper, the little pain in my left leg grew. It became louder, more demanding, like a drummer beating a never-ending, painful rhythm in my bone. By km 89, my left leg screamed with every step. It was a full rebellion that even I couldn't ignore. Walking, especially on downhill, became pure torture. Each step was a tiny, sharp pain.
My inner talks, usually a mix of planning and jokes about myself, became more urgent, more desperate. "Just one more step," I'd beg myself, then try to make a deal, then demand. Crazy thoughts, caused by tiredness and that nagging pain, became my constant friends. Each thought was a small, private battle won by simply refusing to stop. By stubbornly putting one foot in front of the other, even when it screamed.
This last 100K, the end of three races in eight weeks, was more than just a physical challenge. It taught me a deep lesson in listening. Listening to my body’s quiet pleas, my mind’s doubts, and my spirit’s quiet, strong roar. It showed me the deep strength hidden in being vulnerable. The surprising power of just showing up, hurt but determined, even when every part of you wants to quit. It changed how I understood endurance. It wasn't just about physical strength. It was a stubborn, refusal to let my spirit break. To not give in to the idea of losing.
The final push from Pananjakan back to the finish line happened in slow motion. It was pure willpower. From Pananjakan, Greendo, another friend from EPIC Trail, joined Yudit and me. All three of us were moving through a haze of tiredness. My left leg screamed with every single step, a constant, sharp reminder of my earlier "innocence." We decided to walk, not run, together to the finish. It was a shared struggle, a group decision made out of friendship and tiredness.
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| Finished BTS Ultra 100K with Green & Yudit |
We crossed the finish line in 27.5 hours. My goal, a quiet dream I had, was to finish under 24 hours. Because of that left leg problem, I missed it. The first sting of not reaching my goal, the quiet disappointment, was definitely there. But then, even with the pain and the missed time, I felt incredibly, deeply thankful. It wasn't just a finish line. It was the finish line of a dream I thought was impossible. Proof of what tired legs and a bit of beautiful craziness can really achieve.
My heartfelt thanks go out to these amazing Bromo Tengger Semeru mountains, whose beauty both wore me down and lifted me up. To the dedicated organizers and tireless volunteers who make such impossible journeys possible, giving so much of their time. To my amazing friends and support system, whose presence, was a guiding light through the darkest hours. And most of all, to my own body and spirit, for somehow, against all odds, finding a way to keep going and proving that "impossible" is just a suggestion.
This trilogy, this wild, breathless sprint over 300+ km in eight weeks, taught me more about life than any office meeting or textbook ever could. It’s about being brave enough to set impossible goals. It’s about being humble enough to face your limits. And it’s about finding the amazing, often surprising, strength you have when you push past them. It’s about finding the music in the pain, the rhythm in the constant moving forward, and the quiet win in simply showing up, again and again.
Just a few days after finishing BTS Ultra, my left leg still had a faint ache, a gentle reminder of its rebellion. I found myself looking through all the race photos. Each one a memory, a story. And you know what? A new, wild idea started forming in my mind. I began to dream. I want to run 100 miles (170K) at BTS Ultra 2026! Wish me luck with that crazy, beautiful idea! My running shoes might need a quiet retirement, maybe a special spot on a shelf. But the wild whispers of the trail? They're still singing in my soul, calling me, always, to the next adventure.
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