Coast to Coast Ultra Night Trail. The name alone sends chills down my spine. I analyzed the data and pored over past races to understand this beast. It wasn't perfect. It was a wild, chaotic symphony of iron will, searing pain, and choices that flirt with deep regret, all set against the backdrop of Yogyakarta’s hidden beauty where every mile becomes a story told for years to come—a haunting song of survival.
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| CTC Ultra 80K |
My race prep was not good. Other runners feasted on carbs and chased dreams of glory while I fought a losing battle against a common cold. I choked down ginger tea and braced myself for my first vitamin shot. Running an ultra while ill is a dangerous gamble, yet I stood at the line with no excuses and a body at war, knowing that if I could master the internal storm of my mind, the miles beneath my feet would eventually yield to the sheer force of my determination.
Section 1: Start To Queen South (0-6.8Km)
Four o’clock arrived. Traditional dancers moved with a haunting, rhythmic grace. We surged forward onto the Parangtritis sand like a pack of hopeful madmen. The sun blazed overhead while I chewed Degirol to keep my lungs open. I reached the first checkpoint, battling through a haze of grit and heat.
Section 2: Queen South To Alas Curukboto (6.8Km - 13.3Km)
I left Queen South with a flicker of hope. The next six kilometers were a trial of slippery roots and sudden drops. It took over an hour of relentless grinding. Eleven runners quit here.
Section 3: Alas Curukboto To Palgading (13.3Km - 18.8Km)
The jungle finally released me. Palgading offered open fields and rolling hills. I climbed into 50th place. Two more runners surrendered to the night. I found a temporary rhythm in the clearing, feeling the breeze on my skin and watching the horizon expand, realizing that despite the bugs and the fatigue, there was a strange, haunting beauty in the way the landscape shifted beneath the darkening sky.
Section 4: Palgading To Omah Pojok (18.8Km - 26Km)
Shadows stretched across the fields. The path to Omah Pojok became a blur of fading light and gentle inclines. I hit the first major cutoff with time to spare. Eight runners walked away. I sat in the dirt and stared at a meager serving of a quarter egg, fueling my body not with calories, but with the cold, sharp desperation of a man who has traveled too far to turn back now.
Section 5: Omah Pojok To Giritirto (26Km - 33Km)
Midnight took the world. The trail to Giritirto stretched seven kilometers into the absolute void. I moved through sleeping villages to the rhythmic pulse of crickets and the haunting, distant echoes of gamelan music. Nine more spirits broke in the darkness, leaving me to click on my headlamp and steel my nerves for the true psychological warfare that begins only when the sun goes down and the trail becomes a tunnel of shadow.
Section 6: Giritirto To Ngoro Oro (33Km - 37.9Km)
Ngoro Oro felt like a hallucination. The distance was short, yet the effort was immense. Fatigue began to warp my perception of time. Seventeen runners quit in this section alone. That number was a physical blow. I sat and forced food into a stomach that wanted nothing, understanding that from this point forward, the race would no longer be won by the legs, but by the quiet, stubborn voice in my head that refused to let me lie down.
Section 7: Ngoro Oro To Cerme Cave (37.9Km - 41.8Km)
I had never run this late before. The path to Cerme Cave was a jagged spine of rock and forest. My headlamp flickered against the heavy dark. I stayed near 43rd place. While my friend swapped gear, I stood in the biting air and watched the shadows dance, feeling the weight of the mountain press against my chest as we prepared to dive even deeper into the freezing, relentless heart of the Yogyakarta night.
Section 8: Cerme Cave To Srunggo (41.8Km - 47.6Km)
Srunggo felt a thousand miles away. My legs screamed in protest. My stomach turned to lead. The trail twisted upward with a cruelty that demanded every remaining spark of my strength. It took nearly two hours to cover a mere six kilometers, but I arrived at the checkpoint and ate tasteless food with a mechanical focus, driven by the singular, rhythmic mantra of putting one foot in front of the other until the world stopped shaking.
Section 9: Srunggo To Eagle Statue (47.6Km - 56Km)
This was the long hollow. Eight kilometers of absolute isolation stretched toward the silent Eagle Statue. My world shrunk to a tiny circle of headlamp light. Rain began to fall around 2 AM, soaking my spirit and chilling my bones. Thirteen more runners vanished into the mist, while I trudged past the stone witness of the Eagle, too broken to even lift my head, lost in a trance of movement where the only reality was the burning of my quads and the steady drumbeat of the rain.
Section 10: Eagle Statue To Surotopo (56Km - 59Km)
The path to Surotopo was a grueling, endless fight. I was starving for sleep. I reached the drop bag and realized I had no place to change. So, I changed in the chicken coop! Don't ask. I drank, looked into the darkness, and wondered if I was moving at all. Maybe I was just dreaming.
Section 11: Surotopo To Khayangan (59Km - 69Km)
Surotopo to Khayangan: ten kilometers. Just words, but they felt like a joke. It felt like running a marathon on the moon. This was the longest part, a test in the dark going uphill. My headlamp made the trees look like dancing monsters. Then, the sun came up, making the sky look pale. I pushed harder, trying to go faster. I knew the last COP was near. Three hours later, I walked slowly into Khayangan, near 62nd place. Two more people had disappeared. Three hours of pain, so real and never-ending. What made me keep going? Just being stubborn, maybe. Or dreaming of a soft chair and a hot meal at the end, though there was nothing.
Section 12: Khayangan To Sand Dune (69Km - 74Km)
Khayangan was the final breath. The Sand Dune called from the distance like a siren song. Each step was a struggle as my feet sank into the shifting earth. I moved without thought. I reached the final checkpoint just minutes before 9 AM, watching more runners succumb to the heat and the distance, yet I remained in 64th place, a survivor drifting through a landscape of sand and sweat as the end finally came into view.
Section 13: Sand Dune To Finish (74Km - 80.9Km)
The end was close; I could taste it. The last few kilometers were like walking through sand on the moon. I knew I'd make it to the finish before the final cutoff, so I just walked. Pride be damned, I wasn't racing anymore. Driven by relief, and the burning need for a shower, I put one foot in front of the other. An hour passed. Then, I saw the finish line. I was 64th. It was over. I walked across the line, feeling happy and surprised. I had survived CTC Ultra.
Lessons Learned and Takeaways
Looking back, CTC Ultra taught me a lot. The data showed that this race was too hard for many people. Half of the runners did not finish. I started quite strong, then struggled in the middle, and finally made it to the end. My pacing was bad, my food choices were not good, and my will almost broke. But I learned. I found strength I didn't know I had. I learned that ginger doesn't work magic. And I learned that ultra runners are wonderfully crazy.
What did I learn from this hard experience? A few things that are true. Listen to your body. Don't just ignore the pain. That cold I didn't care about? That was a mistake. Control your speed. Going fast at the start doesn't matter at the end. Fuel your body. Gels are not enough. And most of all, be strong in your mind. When your body is weak, your mind must lead. CTC Ultra tested me more than ever before. It made me wiser.
No one can finish an ultra alone. Even though I was suffering for hours, I felt the help of others: volunteers and other runners. The volunteers were like angels in the night. They gave us water and hope. And the runners were my brothers and sisters in pain. We all understood each other's craziness. We helped each other go forward, one painful step at a time. Thank you to all of you. You made the suffering worth it.
CTC Ultra. It was one of the hardest races I have ever done. It broke my limits, burned away my weakness, and left my body feeling like a war zone. But it gave me something special: a look at my own strength. Would I do it again? Ask me in a month, when the pain is not so bad. Until then, I will be happy knowing that I survived. And maybe, next time, I will stop to take a picture of the view.
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