Christine giving Mark water along the way CLICK FOR MORE PHOTOS...

With our trip to Vietnam already booked, I am looking at the map over a few beers one night, pondering a way to combine my enthusiasm for running and travel. Vietnam looks to be a long skinny country, and suffering a severe attack of optimism, I decide that it may be possible for this weekend-warrior to run across it. The fact I have not been training properly, or that I am getting too old for this sort of thing seems of little consequence. Rather, the idea seems more and more possible with each downed beer. Feeling very "ego-testicle", I tell friends of my plan. Now I am committed.

The area chosen for the run is in the Central Highlands, through the province of Quang Tri. Starting at the Laos border (Lao Bao) through the Annamite Mountains and along Route 9 out towards the coast to a place called Dong Ha - a distance of 84 Kilometers.

Quang Tri became one of the most heavily bombed parts of the planets during the "American War." The badly misnamed Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) that split Vietnam into the communist North and the U.S.-backed South was one of the war's bloodiest battlegrounds with over 100,000 killed. Here both sides defended their frontlines with everything they had, leaving the wastelands of the DMZ infested with huge caches of landmines and unexploded ordinance. It is estimated that about four tons of weapons were thrown or laid on Quang Tri per square meter!

Even today, the war continues to ravish the Quang Tri province. In a typical week, at least one child gets killed or maimed by unexpleded bombs or mines in Quang Tri. Definitely not a place to stray from the road if you value your extremities!

While researching the route before leaving Canada, I discover through the help of the Canadian Consulate that special permission is required from the Foreign Relations Department of Quang Tri Province to do this run. Information about the area is difficult to obtain, but after much correspondence, some of the required documents are provided. With many questions unanswered, we are trepidatiously on our way.

After three weeks of travel in Vietnam we arrive in Hue, and arrange a driver and English speaking guide to accompany us, and help my wife Christine who has volunteered to be my support staff along the run.

We take a buttock pummeling drive over the ridiculously rutted road to Quang Tri Province and then proceed west, towards the Laos border to reconnoitre the route. When the car stops just short of the border we ask why, and are told by the driver (Mr. Thanh) and guide (Mr. Huy) that Lao Bao is a smuggling area with a lot of corruption and they are afraid of the police here. While still in the car, a comical sight unfolds, as we see cigarette smugglers looking like the Michelin Tire man - taped up from head to foot with cigarettes under large baggy coats. They waddle robot-like past us about to make a detour to bypass customs guards.

Back to Khe Sanh where we plan on spending the night so I can start at daybreak tomorrow. There are two government guesthouses - and neither very appealing. Our guide in chatting with some locals has come up with an alternative. We follow him to a new building that turns out to be the bank. The bank manager lives in one room and has two others for rent. We are astonished by the room - it is immaculate and even has hot water and a western toilet. A girl working there brings fresh roses and tea to our room - we can't believe our good fortune!

December 18, 2000 is the day. We arise at 4:00 a.m. and eat our baguette, jackfruit chips, and bag of peanuts - not exactly a breakfast of champions, but finding good food is a problem here. The four of us then set off for the Laos border in the pre-dawn hours, like some kind of covert action.

05:30 - The Laos border. A quick picture at mile zero, then with the night in retreat, and adrenaline pumping, the run and adventure begins.

06:15 - Forty five minutes into the run, an interesting encounter with some women from the Bru hilltribe. They are both smoking long pipes and their mouths are blackened. Strapped to their backs are huge baskets of bananas so I stop and buy one (never met a carbohydrate I didn't like). The women gaze at me in complete bewilderment, as if I have descended from another planet. Quickly, Im off - feeling vividly alive and alert to whatever may be waiting around the next corner.

06:40 - Pass through Lang Vei, an old Special Forces Camp where many lives were lost during the war, when it was overrun by North Vietnamese tanks. An old tank #268 commemerates the battle.

07:30 - After a steady 20 km uphill climb through the Annamite Mountains in the rain, and with the wind whistling in my ears, I've reached Khe Sanh on a high plateau surrounded by mist shrouded mountains. An old lady passes by carrying her dinner - one of the 'black dogs' that is considered a delicacy in these parts. Yikes, a friggin' filet of fido!

07:45 - Pass the Khe Sanh combat base immortalized during the war. Running is tough, as the wet roads are covered in a slippery red mud, which somehow seems appropriate since this was the scene of one of the bloodiest battles of the war. The area was also devastated by the millions of gallons of agent orange dumped on the forests to deprive the guerilla forces of cover.

08:00 - Starting the steep decent down through the mountains. Spirits buoyed by beautiful melodious bird calls coming from somewhere in the mist. I can feel the first sign of ache in my legs. Christine is in love with her newly purchased Vietnamese hat. It’s like having a pitched straw roof over your head. The water slides off its sides, careening past her shoulders and helping keep her dry!

08:45 - Yikes! Coming around a sharp bend I'm almost slammed head on by a large freight truck on the wrong side of the road. With the air horn blasting, it's overtaking a sad-looking bus belching nauseous black diesel fumes. I'm forced to jump off the road while this multitude of metal passes by. Vehicles with 4 or more wheels do not recognize vehicles with any fewer as legitimate highway users - and on these roads animals and people are at the very bottom of the food chain!

09:20 - Reach the famous Dakrong Bridge, and have 51 km to go. Stop here to vomit and get a dry shirt. Scolded by Christine for not drinking enough water. I reflect back to a pre-trip email I received from a tourist information center regarding my inquiry about this run - "Dear Sir: You don't wary about the wide of 84 km - can run across Vietnam by train or by car." Obviously they couldn't conceive the idea of running across the country 'by legs'!

09:40 - Halted by a leg cramp, and the 'urge to surge' has evaporated. Christine applies some tiger balm and the cramp seems to ease. Every village I run through people stare wide eyed, probably thinking that this stranger with skin the color of cooked rice, who runs with nobody chasing him, doesn't have both chopsticks in the same bowl! Any idiot can run a marathon - it takes a special kind of idiot to run an ultramarathon!

10:30 - After five hours the intense humidity, the cold, and terrain are starting to take their toll. The thought that I maybe unable to finish is a gnawing horror within me. Some villagers pass by laden with huge baskets of firewood. I think about how hard they must work to survive, and think how easy our lives are. I remind myself that ultra runs are about being disciplined and willing to endure pain with patience. I tell myself to keep moving onward - put one foot in front of the other - take one stride - then take another.

11:00 - Picturesque countryside and fascinating village life in the stilted thatch roofed hill tribe villages scattered along the Cua Viet River. A woman is busy pounding rice with a huge block of wood while her family looks on. Another woman passes by, one arm holding an infant and the other slapping the rump of a lethargic water buffalo. At one point I come across a fellow with a mobile garden shop on the back of his bicycle who wants to sell me a tree! Right pal, this would be about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike! I can't help but chuckle at the encounter.

12:00 - Cold and miserable, my energy is deteriorating relentlessly. I have hit the proverbial wall, and it feels like I have an elephant on my back! While stopped on the side of the road to massage cramps we attract a huge audience of rag-tag children, gawking wide-eyed at the strange sight before them. I force myself up and shuffle off at the speed of an arthritic sloth, followed like the pied piper, with the boisterous bedraggled bunch in tow.

13:00 - Battling exhaustion and pushed to the edge, I'm feeling dizzy and sick, and throw up a second time. After 7 ½ hours of running, I had planned on being finished, but much to my chagrin I still have many miles to go, and am searching the depths of my stamina. Christine is upset because she sees my condition and wants me to stop, but realizes how important this run is to me. I ask her to not let me quit under any circumstance. She has always said, if you can look in one ear, and see light out of the other, you're an ultra runner!

13:20 - Pass the Rockpile, which is a 350-meter high rocky hill used by the US Marines as an outpost because the caves at the top provided protection while allowing artillery placed there to control the surrounding area. Shortly after, a hill is being dynamited and I'm detained by workers for several minutes until the blasting and the falling rocks are finished. I am hoping the break will provide a resurgence of energy. It does not. The desperate struggle between a set purpose and an utterly exhausted frame continues.

14:00 - Hypothermia setting in and my body is starting to shut down, turning my dream into a nightmare. Both legs cramping badly, and at this point I am enjoying this purposeless suffer-fest about as much as a spinal tap! Rule # 1 - if you're going to be a cross country runner - pick a small country! So with my legs crying out their complaints after all the hard yards, I set off with all the grace of a drunken ostritch, focusing hard on the near impossible task of getting each foot to follow the other.

15:30 - At a restricted area in Cam Lo where the car cannot stop, an army guy grabs at my arm. My passport and permits have gone ahead in the car, and I'm afraid that if I stop I may not get going again. I shrug off his hand, pointing ahead yelling "Dong Ha - Dong Ha". He is yelling something and I'm as nervous as a whore in church. Afraid to look back, I keep going dreading what may happen next. My heart is pounding and suddenly, at 52 years of age, I find religion! My prayers are answered and nothing happens. A few kilometers down the road I see our car - relief washes over me.

16:00 - With 70 km worth of lung-and-limb-shocking distance run, I have stopped sweating and starting to wobble. The car is now stopping every kilometer to check on me and Christine is so worried she won't leave my side. We are again being followed by a bunch of clamoring school kids and when I stop they have a bicycle pile up. One of the kids picks up a rock and hits me right in the ear with it. I am stunned but too damned exhausted to do anything. With a full plate of stubborn, I plod on, my pace slowed to the point that I could be rear-ended by a sleepy snail!

17:00 - As darkness approaches there is nothing left in me. I quote comes to mind from another ultrarunner Ephraim Romesberg who once said: " I always start these events with very lofty goals, like I'm going to do something special. And after a point of body deterioration,the goals get evaluated down to basically where I am now - where the best I can hope for is to avoid throwing up on my shoes." I'm barely able to walk, and starting to become delirious. Clinging like a barnacle to my goal of finishing, I grit my teeth, and struggle on determined to finish. Please let me survive to the end. Please let me finish.

17:37 - Finally, we round a corner and Christine sees the DONG HA sign. I desperately stagger to the sign, that wonderful and gorgeous sign. A price has been paid - but I have made it - I have actually run across Vietnam.

We are told that that nobody has ever done this before. If this is so, I am honored to be the first. It shows that with ordinary talent and extraordinary perseverance, all things are possible. Christine takes the momentous photo and I collapse into the car - but the day is far from done.

Christine suggests going to the hospital in Dong Ha, but apparently I talk her out of that and we head back to towards Hue. From this point I know nothing about what is happening so I will use Christine's words as to the events that follow.

18:15 - Mark is now delirious, and vomiting in the car. His breathing is fast and labored and he feels quite cool. Very worried, I ask our guide to find a hospital in Quang Tri town. I am concerned we may not make it back to Hue without medical attention.

We arrive at a small, decrepit looking building that is in fact the Trieu Hai Region Hospital. Mark is lifted into an old wheelchair that's more lopsided than a Cuban election. I am kicking myself for not pulling him off the run (retrospect is a wonderful thing). However this is a fleeting thought as I must focus on getting him through this.

He is wheeled down a long dark hall through a set of metal doors into intensive care, and I am appalled at the damp room with walls that appear to have mould growing on them. We get Mark up onto the bed and he is struggling and asking me not to let him drift off. My heart is breaking but I must remain logical.

I put my intensive care background to work, giving the guide instructions to relay to the doctors and nurses. A rusted tank of oxygen is brought in and O2 is provided, and I check the needles before intravenous fluid and electrolytes are hooked up. Mark vomits 2 or 3 liters of fluids over the bed and floor. Then, to my horror he vomits up some blood!

Blankets arrive, and an ancient looking electric heater is brought in. Hot water bottles are applied over the IV tubing and the chest area, as Mark's temperature has fallen dangerously low.

About 21:00 my jaw is aching from chomping so hard on my gum. I realize I haven't gone to the bathroom or eaten since breakfast. I find the bathrooms, which confirms the hospitals poor facilities. When Mark has to pee they use an old plastic IV bag with the top cut off!

Mark asks for water & food, but when given a cracker he vomits it up immediately, but I am most relieved there is no blood this time. A fourth bag of IV is given by the doctors who are doing just a splendid job of everything and have my complete confidence.

By 21:30 Mark is becoming alert and realizes he is in a hospital. Mark curses when he notices the needle in his arm - as needles are always a major concern when travelling abroad. Doctors want him to stay overnight, but he has other plans. After a long discussion doctors agree that if the impatient patient remains stable, he can leave about 23:00.

Now I begin to worry about the costs and ask our guide to have them prepare our bill. We are worried that we may not have enough money to cover the costs. I need not worry as the bill is 100,900 dong - the equivalent of about eleven dollars Canadian. Unbelievable!

The nurses and doctors are quite pleased that Mark has recovered - he is probably one of the very few Westerners they have ever had in their hospital. One doctor's comments to me as translated by Mr. Huy: "We apologize for our poor facilities, but we did save your husband's life." I start to cry.

We express our sincere thanks and appreciation to these wonderful folks who helped us in this most unlikely place. Mark says he feels like he has been hit by a Mac truck, but to my surprise, and delight he is walking out of the hospital.

While leaving we try to give these kind people some extra money but they refuse - so we leave it on the table asking them to please purchase something for the hospital if they will not take it for themselves. As in most of Vietnam, the people do so much, with so little.

We owe so much to not only the proficient staff here, but also to our driver and our guide who kept us safe, found us help, and stood by us through the whole incredible ordeal. Mark and I leave in tears, so grateful and totally overcome with emotion.

Shortly after 1 a.m. we arrive back in Hue ending what has truly been an epic day. As we leave the car, our guide Mr. Huy turns to Mark and says: "Maybe when you recover - you try different sport - maybe like dancing!"

Perhaps the gentleman has a point!

Mark Colegrave/Christine Penney
Victoria, B.C. Canada
E-mail: mcolegrave@telus.net