My pov


It’s still not a race story, not even sure I’ll have one in the traditional terms including fueling who we met along the way and the other blabla I often read from others.

I wanted this Ultrabalaton experience to go as smooth as possible in terms of me focusing on the joy of the run, and play no necessary parts as a soulmate or a powerwoman or anything like that, just be there and experience. My last three attempts on previous UBs I had to be so strong in the mind game, had to hold up so I lift the others, put my needs behind etc. 

I was willing to have my ego down and give the controll out of my hand while focusing on the team as well. Feel the flow, and study my feelings, though I knew at one point I would need to prioritize in favor of the team rather my needs. It’s a team work anyways. We hardly knew each other, in fact the third blonde we met on the scene. That was already something out of comfortzone, but it was such an easy going meeting, I was releived. When met we walked towards the race tent in almost indentifying outfits and hair when all of a sudden two bold guys passed us, immediately without saying a word we started laughing about the double twin effect, trying to make a photo of all 4 of us from behind.

We introduced ourselves to each other with this big laugh and I started to ease into the situation, it could be fun afterall. Not as planned but option B might be as good I thought. 

We met up with the third girl arriving from Vienna and the team finally were together. I still had some uneasiness in me, we were sitting and eating pasta to fuel with running peeps, but could not feel comfortable, kinda outsider. Heading home and after sleep, 2 hours before the start I woke up ok and anxiously calm and ready to rock.

Until I realized the wind. Until it hit me, that it wasn’t a breeze nor it will go away soon. In fact forecast warned about the storm coming after. I prayed for the storm so the wind would stop. Inside of me. Not that I showed confidence on the outside, I can’t do it really, but I kept my worries unspoken, showing an anxious face and that seemed normal to everyone having the same feelings shown on all runners. 

I had the first leg, about 28k, and I didn’t let the wind taking my mind over, though it pushed my body everywhere along the way. Hot and windy. And when it was over I was already cold. That made me worried, whether I would have enough clothes. Had my goodluck tights I planned not to wear just bring on as a charm had to be put on already in the morning and other than that only a tights for the night, where I wasn’t counting on the rain. Nor the cold. 2nd leg, a half marathon I knew I hate, ran it already 2 times, it’s beautiful and really just mesmerizing view but on the carway with limited trees to shade or keep the wind away. I still enjoyed it, and yes I’ve met some runners bikers cheer squads on the way, and I loved it, got into to the flow so much I forgot about pace. And that was somehow the vibe I was wishing for – more precisely with no wind – the joy of running. And than it hit me to run faster stronger etc, we were on a race darlin’ and I’m part of a team. Back to struggle. 

Between legs I tried to rest, but it was too intense in the car our support team -godblessthem- were on their on world to do it the best, and navigating and talking sometimes made it impossible to focus on myself, out of the car was too windy, too cold too much. That sometimes felt out of comfortzone more than the running itself. I planned to take it easy between my runs waiting and cheering on the others, lay on the grass and enjoy the moment. This was out of the question. We all were getting tired, having melt downs already and the wind just made it impossible to be alone in the nature for even couple of minutes to get my mind back to push mode. Willingness reduced and my third leg was coming soon a relatively short 16 turned 18k.

Sunset beautiful, I even got a half ice cream scoop while shielding in a bar’s terrace waiting on my turn. That I knew when was getting really dark, and I hoped for the wind go gentler on me. Not that my words were listened. Funny guy ran 4k with me out of my 18, and it somehow felt ok, felt a bit that I’m slowing down but chrono was constant on pace, so I was relefied I had done that too. 

Car-resting was the only option by than, the wind started to come in gusts as well 60-80km/h. We got a warning from the orgainizers about the arriving storm. I knew it would start at my last leg. But the wind was already unbearable, it pushed me to the ground as soon as getting out of the car. The substitute girl was still going strong, my other mate started to lose total interest in everything and that made me go low a bit too. I was not willing to take over any of her legs and it gave me a big bunch of guilt. I felt really bad for not being a teamplayer but I just had enough of this BS as well. And I still had another 17-18k as well. 

Which went almost smooth even though it was ice and major rainstorm making me soaked by running only 10 meters. Only 17,9 k to go. I actually enjoyed it. Supporter man came along with me. I told him around 1k that I won’t be talking amd apologized promising I would the next day. We went silent mode figthing with the weather elements, and once again I got into the flow. In horizontal ice rain. 

And enjoyed to finish and cried a bit. It wasn ‘t because Mini brought into the pouring monsoon my only dry jacket so I would not get cold making it obvious that there is seriously no more clothes to dry myself with and don’t shiver of the cold for another two hours until we make it to the finishline.

But I cried of relief that I actually ran my part and a bit more and although I seriously had the feeling to just leave the whole race I ran it. I finally could sit in the car, and thought I did my part, and I ran as planned. Immediately after I realized the guilt factor in m e but this was eased over a phone conversation that I should be ok with this rather than go low again. 

The next part was rainy and stormy as well, but fortunately the questionable last leg which I was not willing to take over went rainfree, and this might gave power to our last 6 km. Passing the finishline I smiled as per the pictures but I was not satisfied in terms of overwhelming joy and happiness. A bit of emptyness and big amount of annoyance for the wind. Wanted to sleep finally.

Got a bit upset that Coach was not there to greet us, but I understood he needed some sleep as well. He might could cheer me up a bit.

Got our pics taken and interview given but I was so rushing, I wanted warm and dry clothes, a glass of wine and a blanket to hide under. And the next morning, 2hrs later I woke up to a sunny but still windy weather, a happy phonecall and the day of the award ceremony.

And I still wasn’t satisfied with my performance.

The only thing I’m really proud about as of now is that I seriously was afraid the wind will affect me much more, but I’d survived. Struggles, but won the mindgame on this one. But only on the wind part.

To be cont.

The win


No it’s not from Coachella. 

Sometimes I wonder. Wonder about how life would’ve turned out if I was keep running the track at 18, and wouldn’t quit my runner’s life chosing to be a teenager instead. If I went and took the scholarship I was given to either UH where I spent my afternoons with Carl Lewis and my bestie April – who actually made it to Atlanta as a softball player even though she and also his brother and my bf at the time were just awesome at kicking ass on track- as a junior at high school in Houston or UCLA where I was also given a chance and a massive scholarship. But instead I wanted if anywhere but to New York University with a hope of majoring in film but there was no option for a runner nor my parents could or would pay for it. And so I quit running for no reason other than I didn’t feel like giving a tiny bit of fvck anymore and any of my power to become a pro.

I wonder how today would be if I was to become an athlete by profession, in Hungary. Minority ran at that time, and though the crew was awesome I gave up on pushing limits rather I went to party with them. I was fast and strong by birth, talent so I was called but did never was willing to stand out by striving for a result or any fame. That’s me. Run for fun is something different, I cared none for any hard work. Stamp it as a teenage phrase but obviously I’m like that. Except some cases, I work and push hard, but I guess regularly I’m fine achieving goals within my comfortzone.

Some years later here I am, with mixed thoughts running a lot and pretending to be a coach for some. I do my best, I love my ‘kiddos’ but what do they know! I’m not a coach, nor a runner.

But here I am once again, running a 220km ultrarace with two other girls, we are a trio, and in the end we win. I supposed to be happy and proud. I can’t write about my feelings just yet, I’m overwhelmed with so many thoughts. How I felt not prepapered and in fact I wasn’t. And there was the wind. This time it was really a wind that everyone felt. Was killer. I was neither prepares for that nor the rain in the middle of the night. There were meltdowns among our team as well. And I couldn’t really help out cause I was tired as well, was not willing. I hate myself for that. I was happy to talk over the phone telling how we were progressing and asked how they were, this gave me some power. I got in a verbal fight few times after. And cried and felt bad, and really low. I was told really bad things and I told awful things. I ran a lot and I ran relatively fast. We all ran fast. Did I give my 110 percent? I’m not sure yet, but I feel I didn’t. I smiled and cried and felt worn out a lot. I still need to digest.

But we won. And we did really good as I hear back.

We won and I have mixed feelings.

Expect the unexpected


It’s that time of the year again. Ultrabalaton.

I’ve done it 3 times, not a biggie, since it’s on for 10 years now. Omg, since 2007. 

And it’s basically was never done by me alone so doesn’t count as an ultra anyways. Salute to the individuals trying and finishing the race of 220km around Europe’s biggest race alone. Wow. Hats down and hands up. And farewell cheers to newcomers this year especially the ultratrailboy, considering it’s asphalt, I totally look forward having a cheer on him, or as he says please gently tap my back when passing. He will do good, he will be thought along the way to be a hero!

So, I’ve done it 3 times. Once as a 10 peeps group of Nike team, considering my breakthrough to running community and my so called presence in Budapest running scene. So called markstone no1 of my runlife. Next year we went with the bff-to-be M supported by the ultratrail boy – he still hates this name if his- and was a huge succes coming in 5th at the boy division but who cares cause we ducking ran 110km each, we thought we were like moddafukkers, that was and is something to be proud AF. Next year we repeated out of memory, coming in fourth, still happy, but kinda routine. I thought, he thought it was enougj for numerous reasons, there is no such thing as running something so unordinary the second or more times. It becomes a routine and come all the responsibilities and pb willings before the proudness. 

I was asked to go as a women team this year. Being a liberal and genderfree acceptionally, I didn’t really care but in the other hand I was ok with the thought to realistically finally race on the UB and not feel the undergrading to not be counted as a real perosnality but to put into a category where I might slow down my partner by being a women. Not that it occured, but in fact I will race a week after the UB with bro and another guy as a men team once again and  I will definitely slow them as they are fast, faster and fastest btw. Same with our summer challenge with Bro around another lake, the two of us in brother/sisterhoosld tiszato ultra. But that is another story, another enjoyment factor. 

So. Ultrabalaton, we trained for as a road to trio, 3 girls, loads a pressure cause it’s not only completing but competing in fact in a category I really belong to by birth. And more than competing with myself, though that is big chunk of the game as well. So I agreed and keenly awaited the race to finally occur.

There were differences in preparations but I took it as a girls’ thing. We decided to have gears customized. We decided to have some uniqueness in us. Lipstick perhaps, braids or something. We are women afterall. Whatever that means.

So we had our shirts and a week to go to go girlpower. And suddenlz everything just seem to fall apart…

Expect the unexpected.

Was in the calm state of mind in terms of the race. In fact that was the only certain thing in my life, going smoothly awaiting for the day. 

2 weeks prior I was finally told there is no option to bring a bike along with us even though I was seriously requesting a biker supporter for my night leg part as I ‘m scared around the neighborhood even daytime known for its notoriusly partiing partylife. Been there done that and was lightly sexually harrassed there before, was no biggie, but with almost 100k in my legs with no actual sleeping for over 20hrs I was tired enough to react normally. Anyways, bike was out. Optionally I’d managed to get a hand on a foldable one which definitely could fit in the van we were getting supported by for the race. Bike was back in the game.

Calmness remained.

For another 2 days or so, when my fellow voltwomen lady started to raise the red flag about her pain in the knee.

Another 2 days and several doctors later the verdict became obvious, that she is injured and although has no constant pain in her leg, when in hard work the pain could – and that’s a yes or no- come back and could cause major problem. 

Obviously we should stop at that point, normally, this on a regular basis means, she stand up and tells the rest of us teammates the issue and find a solution by finding a substitute. But she turned maniac she was willing to run, and getting anxious about jeopardizing the teamresult. We stayed calm with the other girl, keenly awaiting to have her decision made, but also got anxious how out race will go. The third girl never ran more than 40k at once, amd although this race divided by legs she still would need to run 70k total this time. I in the other hand am a senior in terms of having run this race as duo, so I had experience. But no training this season, and even though 86k is significantly less than last year’s 120, my logged miles in the winter suggested I’m not prepared for this one either. Kamikaze is my mantra for the race.

2 days went by with agonizing calling possible candidates 4 days before the race whether they would join us and run 80-ish km-s with us. Gotta tell, not easy to find anyone having the time and the legs to do this, but we still found some crazy ladies junping on the idea.

The only problem was, that injured Mini still had not and in fact has not made up her mind. So we put the ladies on hold running out of time in reality. Totally understanding Mini’s point of view, she amd perhaps us would rather do this together. But we were running out of time. Constant phone conversations and chats turning me into a psychologist once again, by wednesday night I realized this is BS.

We are jeopardizing our team by going too emotional on this. Thos thought didn’t come easy but life made it clear by that time. 

Our driver and in this case our van seemed going away as well. Driver got sick, but he would not lend the van.

This was the point I considered to look for hidden cameras around myself, seriously this started to become a well scripted realoty show for me. 

And I bursted out. We need to be as team and stop whining. We are volt we are women and we will race. If it’s a duo than a duo but we gotta do it.

By this morning, 2 days prior the race we found a supergirl being pur third leg. We still don’t know whether we willbe supported by a van or a renault clio. Still don’t know about the bike, but I rather give up on that, and have no idea if the van won’t come where would we be sleeping beforethe start line.

I believe that so many q-s will be answered and the race will be awesome, but this tapering is not my favorite. Especially cause this year all my race preps seem so out of comfortzone and hectic that I start to think 2017 is about not be able to taper for any race of mine.

I’d love to be anxious excited about the run itself finally, but I guess I won’t have time for it anyways. Plans change by the hour, and probably the best would be to be already feel nervous at the start line.

Two days to go.

#whyrunningrocks

Pic from Nanna

There is something extraordinary which makes me histerically cry and smile out loud. Nike did it again. And it is not an ad, and it’s not something because I’m too loyal really.

This is all about the people. The believers. Participants. The lookers and the watchers. And the pacers. In capital letters. PACERS.

They are human too I must guess. And as an evidence of the picture they dance too. They have fun. They can go beyond limits as well and they have fun too. Stressrelease. They did their job. Namelessly and awesomly.

Took the day with work and calming/in fact getting myself into vibes/ the stress with some videos of Kingchoge. Kip kip, I know. Watch him re in Rio, and some track races before he turned 20. His formed changed even more to perfection by saturday I don’t know how that is possible. I kept daydreaming on an elite brain, yes, bro’s mindwork as well, all the controll they take on for a run possibly real life. Awesome discipline and again I cried. I’m so far.

And the next day? They dance the stress and controll away. Wonder how these pacers took the responsibility or the driver of the Tesla. Watching track meets on youtube there were some useless pacers regard of their times really running so far away for Mo for example. But breaking2 ones, even though their names were written but perhaps noone can really recall any, they did have their breaking too. How serious they were and how happy they seem here.

I need a race, I need something to run seriously than let lose. 

I really admire these people and their success of all the hard work put in, and by having a major support behind him, Kipchoge’s calmness in terms of his loved ones believing him. I think it’s something so unique meanwhile so natural. To some. And that is the whole picture breaking down to the basics. Strive for it, so much, his mimics or none mimics, his really lose and calm face gestures, he must had suffered, but his face was so relaxed, almost all the way. Mesmerizing to watch really. 

When I prepped for labor, probably my most intense marathon ever I was told to let my face relaxed, I could not. Wish I could. Wonder how it affected my daughter’s birth.

I try to relax my face while running. And when I feel my face is in the good way, that is when I’m in the flow, vibing through a race, even a run. Face the race, makes sense. That reminds me in some face I could never get out of my head, ever. Real gestures, nothing compared to Eliud’s calmness, different kind of approach, still olympic worthy though. Race and real life wise too.  But Kipchoge has something different. He must be an awesome runner leg-wise, but his mindgame is the most we amateurs could if anything to study and learn and copy. Paste here: breaking3 is my breaking2.

There is no finishline. And simultaneously  I dream on the days support gave me power to calm myself to enjoyment. Remembering the days makes me smile, and I felt some love on today’s solo run. Unique yet it was so natural some days. And I miss it. But there is no finishline. 

Goals still on and my goals my runs. 

One for the run

📷 szasza

May the force on the 4th was awaited but got me tired. Thursdays are a usual 3 a day runs, 2 I coach and run, one I simply run with the fast buddies. This means 5:30 am waking up, and start with the day by dressing to run attire, packing office-wise, and 2 for two more rounds of runs. 

I usually get dead tired and question my ability to actually survive a 3rd round hushing the thought aside, it’s only a social run rather than a serious workout, though those involve either speed plays such as fartleks or intervalls, but on a seriously moderate level for me. Because I kill myself on the morning -2nd -run, going insanely fast compare to comfortzone. Guys pace the pace and themselves, they chit and chat while I try to keep the level of my breathing towards under audio voice of unbearable. I have fun with them, but still it makes me anxious and worried whether I could keep up. In the end it’s all ok, and I never look back in why I questioned my presence on the session. 

It’s good to be around these guys and not think for a minute or an hour. 

Otherwise it’s robotic mode.

Feel so heavy wishing to feel weightless. Need my wings back on. I feel needless. Left behind but perhaps never was carried anyways. I cannot take a hand usually, I must do it on my own, than I whine for being alone to deal with all. Myself. 

The Fast neighbor started to explain to me the other day that I do have a presence of something unique. Stop. I told him, my least femme fatale way, he doesn’t know me, noone really probably, otherwise this would he know better.

On Friday once again I ran 3 a day. Felt like needed a bed asap but then again, friday night live is on, could not make it to sleep on time. History revisited both real and silver screen-wise. Suddenly once and always it hits how much I miss grandma. She was some great ladieness on her own, and I wish I was that strong. Like her. Role model. In all ways. Except she could not cry. And I like to cry it out. 

Saturday I woke up early. Once we decided to watch the breaking2 together, but were never able to break our own barriers. I cry and goosebumps comes when finishline getting closer, I’m livechatting with the moustache trail guy who is there on the scene, and it makes it all so so so close, I feel I’m there I feel the determination and discipline, even feel the muscles so intensely wanting the sub2. What a wake up for a saturday. I keep all frames to my memory to revisit when I will race ever from now on. 

Otherwise I keep up. Robotic. 

Mirror yoself

Kinda like trainspotting choose life monologue.


Telling a secret. No matter what’s the plan the psychologist choses for your therapy, it always contains: if not loving at least accepting yourself, and in order to do it, look in the mirror, tell yourself nice things, do.not.ever.try. to throw up on yourself but smile and like the image you see. 

Blah-blah.

When little all you get from strangers and not-so-stranger-relatives why so strange is how pretty you are, for the lucky one, although as a person there is nothing to had been done or achieved looking pretty even as a child. The still luckier ones gets the, wow, so sweet so interesting looking statements – still based purely on looks inherited from parents. And the rest? Well, there are the ones having an uhm special, hey she doesnt even look like a child look – bad or not, the parents still are totally in love anyways. 

So, growing up being the lucky one, being pretty (and weird) already grown up by age still being pretty – or at least they say so- still being weird I’m stuck at the momentum of why on earth I’m pretty and weird and totally out of place but proud of it. Why I rebel?

Why I seek happiness? A different kind of self proudness? Friendships that last forever? Happiness that lasts forever? Being the one and only? Yes, that’s a hard one. One cannot be one and only for everyone. In all terms and in all characters. And I’m a rebel anyways. 

I take those selfies pure and unretouched with no make up. Only some grading here and there. I feel lonely sometimes. These days. I’ve messed up my marathon, sometimes I even think my life too. But I look in the mirror and keep telling myself -not- how cool is to live in my own skin. Not.  always. never. whatever.

I am thankful. I am hurt. I cry inside and out and I smile with 32 teeth. I eat godiva as a alternative intake of iron my body misses so much, I go for a run to take a selfie instead of looking at the mirror. Yes, I do that.

I talk to some and stopped talking to one. I keep pushing and I stopped pretending to go pro. I still go pro as a fun though, easier, wiser, makes me happier kinda way, so I will never go pro in reality, my dreams only. Don’t take myself serious really. Had my take on going serious, believing in future as a plan. Keep finding excuses not to go for a run while I cannot wait more than anything to run the day. Every day. 

Look in the mirror.

For me, it’s alternative choice once again.

I take selfies. Running ones. Like a mirror.

I take chocolate instead of B12 and iron as a pill. Like pills.

I eat spinach and drink beet root unmeasurably. Like pill supplements.

I cry out loud. Like I can’t act normal and adultish.

I sometime believe that I’m loved, like specially loved by one.

I suck at marathon. Like running 3:14 sucks. But it does suck.

I say goodbye when it hurts. Real life out of comfort-zone situations just don’t feel cathartic.

I still want to run a good marathon.

I still believe in destiny.

I cannot stand still.

Or sit still.

Don’t look in the mirror first thing in the morning.

I miss morning coffee first thing in the morning.

And I run.

And I love.

And take selfies to log my days, better than looking at the mirror, really.

And I write instead of writing to reach out for contact. 

Wind in Wien


Theatre of emotions

Dare to think big was the main drive and marathon plan for Vienna. That’s before it started snowing and found out the in Vienna the weather forecast not only states wind but gusts as well. There is never no wind in Vienna. 

Dreamt big, and gave up on it almost immediately looking at the weather app notoriously hoping for a major change while updating for current stats almost every half an hour. But wind would not dare to stop, so I tucked my watch under my long sleeves not to be able to check the pace at the start line and all I wished for is to enjoy the race.

Having only two long runs in the legs since last november, those were my marathon training basically. Ran 30k twice, and did some speed work only when participating two halfs – berlin and vivicitta with unsatisfactory sub90- who was I fooling to go for a PB anyways. Bro kept telling me I gotta believe in myself. That was my marathon plan.

Than again, I started running with no visual on my chrono, only the feel and the feel of the wind. And the gusts, gee those were some powerful ones straight into my face later to my whole body. I trully enjoyed running up until 23-ish I would say, when all of a sudden I’d realized soon should be taking some fuel into me. That reminded on the fact that I haven’t run on fuel for my last couple of races, there was no need for it anyways, halfs I can take with nada. Tried to get the bloks out if my pocket just to realize my hands were frozen, but all it took is another 2k to finally manage to unzip and take out to hand. Decided to just hold for the rest of the road, no way I would be able to pack’em away and out once again. Deep in these kinda serious talk I suddenly saw bro cheering like a maniac and I felt something extraordinary never before. This personal satisfaction gave mixed vibes, I smiled but I also suddenly wanted to stop to hug him and hold him tightly to walk to some cafe and just eat a zacher rather than running a marathon. I passed by and smiled and kepz hearing the cheers for another km, he was that awesomly loud. 

Gave me power against the increasing wind just to realize I lost mind at 31. Knew, it’s too late but should at least drink some water. Couldn’t, opted no for a gel, and only at 36 had forced myself to finally drink some coke. 

I imagined myself one of those lost-mind-runners-at-the-finish who can’t find the finish gate running in slalom, that how I should look was pretty sure. So acted like a drunk pretending not to be a drunk when M passed me offering a gel -he said I look like shit- but I almost threw up on him only hearing the word gel. Yak.

I also thought of seeing bro again and I wasn’t sure what would be better to meet or not. Was pretty sure if I saw him again I immediately stop, and that I believed was ok. Eased my thoughts with 2km and will be over with the wall, but didn’t seem to pass on this. Fortunately G came again on the cheering at around 38-39 I think among with the most annoying gusts ever, but at that point I didn’t want to stop anymore, well I wanted to but also finish the race. A neveremding story came for the last 4km, and my finishing sprint happened at a 5:20 pace I’m quite sure. Had no catarsis at the end, and suprisingly I still ran a 3:14 marathon. Don’t know how I managed to run this, but that made me laugh. 

This maraton really thought me to enjoy passing the finishline. Never felt satisfied with myself after finishing a race because I always thought I had some power left. This time. All power was gone and that is something new and something good to be proud of myself. Competing with myself is one thing, competing with wind and myself is kinda hard to be trained for. I’m no good with the wind. Also keep thinking of bro’s cheer, whether I felt so thankful and happy about it that I lost some power on that I’m pretty sure. Running on emotions are not the same as running with a full heart. Confidence missing in the previous. But that was one modafakka awesomness on the other hand. 

And now I must begin with my marathon training. 

Failing a marathon still running 3:14 is pretty embarassing and I must appreciate and acknowledge my body’s capabilities. Those legs are some badass girlpowers and I love them!!