Into to the unknown
My story from running ultramarathon in Brazil
Text: Simen Holvik, Photo: private, Leandro Bolina Nascimento, Daniel Steven Lara Nascimento and Fernando Carrilho.
Sunday
It is a Sunday in early January. The time is 3:49 am. I am waiting for the bus. With a small backpack. On my way to Brazil to run. No other luggage. On my feet are the shoes I will wear during the race. In my bag I have an Ezekiel bread and a thousand US dollars in cash. I have endless thoughts in my head. Never been to Brazil, never been to South America. Can’t speak the language and don’t know the people who will pick me up at the airport. My only two points of reference are Lucinao Alves and Mario Lacerda. I met Luciano for five minutes before a race in Greece in 2021. Have texted him a bit ahead of the race, and he will be part of my support crew. Mario is the race director, and has expressed several times that my stay in Brazil is his responsibility. He refers to himself as Commandate Mario Lacerda. He has full control on which plane I arrive on, and where I will stay during my entire stay in Brazil.
The plan was for me to drive three hours from the airport in São Paulo to São José da Boa Vista, where the start of the race takes place. The week before departure, Commandate Mario thought that it was not safe for me to be alone in São José da Boa Vista from Sunday until race day on Thursday. He therefore instructed Luciano to book me into a hotel in São Paulo instead. I will therefore stay there until Luciano picks me up after two days.
The flight from Amsterdam to São Paulo leaves at 9:55 am. I sit there with my FFp2 certified face mask, while people cough and sneeze on all sides around me.
After twelve drowsy hours, the big city looms up below me, terrifying in its size. São Paulo is the economic and industrial center of Brazil, with a population of almost twenty million. Arrive at 6:18 pm local time and switches on the mobile phone. The first thing that comes up is a message from the Department of Foreign Affairs in connection with the upcoming presidential inauguration: “(…) It is encouraged to follow the situation in the media and listen to advice from local authorities”. The second that ticks in a message from Telia: “(…) price to call Norway 8.99 / min (…)”.
I have no luggage to wait for, so I go straight to passport control. Getting stamped in and moving towards the exit. Is tired. At home it is now past 10:00 pm and I have been on my feet for a long time. Open up WhatsApp, and send a message to Luciano and Mario that I have arrived in the country. Suddenly a new message ticks in. From an unknown person. “Hi Simon! I’m Lucas, Luciano’s friend who will meet you at the airport. Black jacket and jeans”. I send him a picture of me. “Has a yellow cap with the words Simen Holvik on it, easy to recognise”, I write back.
Mario has asked me to be observant. And don’t get me wrong. “This is something different from Norway”, he said. I’m a little paranoid, thinking about my stack of fresh US dollars in my bag. And that I stand out. Looks like an easy swap for sure. An easy exchange with money in the bag.
In the arrivals hall, a guy comes towards me. He fits the description of Lucas. It’s Lucas. We go to the car, meet his wife and drive to the hotel. The conversation goes away. They say they practice English. It is noticeable. After a long trip through chaotic traffic and some wrong driving, we arrive at the hotel. Takes out the phone and snaps a picture of me and Lucas. Both with thumbs up. Sends to Luciano and Mario as proof. Now I am safely placed in the room. Everyone is satisfied.
Monday
It is Monday. I haven’t slept well and wake up exhausted. Do I feel any lump in my throat? Am I a little heavy-headed? Am I starting to get sick? These are thoughts that always come before a race, but this time they feel extra close.
This race is extremely important to me. This year I have bet a lot. Took a year’s unpaid leave from work to focus on running, to see how far I can go with 100% focus. At the same time, I want to have more time with the children. Training will be my day job this year. I am now 45 years old and feel the time is perfect to take a “break” in life, skip a bit of the time pressure, follow your heart. Live the dream!
One of my big goals for the year is to be selected to run the world’s most iconic and tough ultra race, the Badwater 135 in Death Valley. To be selected to participate, it is a great advantage to have the Brazil 135 race on your CV, in addition to a host of other requirements. Brazil 135 is also an arena for making contacts with Badwater. There are many veterans here. If I’m going to have any chance of being selected for Badwater at all, I have to finish here. Can’t lie in a hotel bed with a fever. I feel that the turbidity in my throat and the heavy head are stressing me out a bit.
I wasn’t quite 100% when I left. At the end of last year, I suddenly contracted covid-19 for the third time. It has now been two months. I feel sniffly. The plan down here was to sleep a lot and recover. Hasn’t worked so far. Trying to tell myself that I always feel bad the days before races. But I understand that it is a lie.
Don’t know the city, but know I have to get out of the hotel room. The room I live in feels like a prison cell. Almost like I’m in storage, until someone comes to pick me up. Not too far from the truth. Put on my running gear and report to Lucinao. Asking for “permission”. I get a thumbs up. Even though it is now summer here, everyone is wearing long trousers. I’m the only one with shorts. Many nights of poor sleep have frayed the nerves. I suspect that everyone will take me. Starting to get paranoid. Runs fast. Find a nearby park with other people.
I have always been very fond of food and beer. Life and pleasures. Sometimes a little too happy. So fond of food that I almost weighed 100 kg. Before I traveled down to Brazil, I had inquired a little about what kind of dishes I had to check out. Everyone mentioned Feijoada, a Brazilian black bean stew. Someone talked about cheese from the Minas region. About Pão de queijo, a Brazilian cheese bread. Still others spoke warmly of the grilled Picanha. (Strangely, no one mentioned the caramel pudding down here. Best I’ve tasted. More on that later). Googled dishes, looked at pictures and daydreamed away.
In the evening I found a restaurant and struggled to order. I had no idea what I ordered, but it tasted good. Powerful diet.
When evening came, a message from Luciano ticked in. He told me to stay in the room. A larger demonstration had been announced in the street behind the hotel at 6:00 pm. Sunday’s demonstration in the capital Brasilia had gotten completely out of control, where hundreds of supporters of the outgoing president, Bolsonaro, had stormed the National Congress. It was feared that today’s demonstration here would end in new chaos.
Like a disobedient child, I carefully walked out of the hotel and looked up into the air. Three police helicopters circled in the air above us and I saw people rushing up the street.
Was a good boy and went back up to the room. Locked the door and followed the demonstration via Twitter. Read about car tires on fire on the motorway. From the street outside the hotel, I heard large crowds.
Crawled under the covers and fell asleep.
Tuesday
Woke up. It was Tuesday. Day three. Have slept badly again. Felt that this city is too big for me. Could almost feel like there were twenty million others out there. Yesterday was tiring. I lay in the room for a long time and checked the news, while many searchlights from helicopters buzzed over my head.
Today I finally met Luciano. We have sent a lot of messages on WhatsApp, but not talked. Only now did I find out that he didn’t know a single word of English. Came as a shock. Took another picture and sent to Mario. Another thumbs up.
Eventually Regis and Karin came along. Friends of Luciano who was also supposed to be part of my support team. Fortunately, Regis knew a little English, and with help from Google Translate we were able to communicate. I know zero Portuguese. He had fixed the rental car, a pick-up. We had an easy dinner before driving towards São João da Boa Vista. (Was an enormously good steak and heavenly bean stew). On the way we stopped at a shopping center to buy the necessary food for the race. I tried to explain to them that I’m really only going to run on sports drink and gel. But it was not so easy to explain. I “gave in” and accepted their proposal. We filled up the shopping baskets and moved on.
After just under three hours on the motorway to the north, we arrived at São João da Boa Vista. I immediately felt the calm subside. Here lived less than a hundred thousand inhabitants, and was exactly how I have imagined a Brazilian small town to be. My two nights in the big city now feel wasted.
Check into the hotel, find the running shoes and get out. It’s a relief to feel fresh air. To get out of the million city of São Paulo and into a city with just under a hundred thousand inhabitants. Why couldn’t I go here right away? Feel a completely different energy. There is warmth, love and security. In São Paulo there was chaos and stress. There is a completely different calm here.
I take out my mobile phone and find the route to the race. The race follows a pilgrimage route called Caminho da Fé, or the Way of Faith. In two days the start will take place. 217 kilometers and almost six thousand meters in altitude.
In the evening I finally meet Mario. A lovely type. He comes towards me and gives me a real teddy bear hug. The venue is filled with ultra runners. Never have I seen so many tattoos gathered in one place. The place oozes with lived life. Of dreams. Lovely!
Wednesday
Woke up, it was Wednesday. Was extremely craving coffee. Went out of the hotel and wandered restlessly on unknown streets. Still tired and heavy in the head. The town was quiet. It was still early. I wandered around trying to find a place to get coffee. Finally I found a small cubicle where some people were sitting. Walked in and asked for a coffee. Was served coffee from a red plastic pot. I sat down at a table with a sticky plastic cloth and took a big gulp. Just before I spat out. There was a lot of sugar here. And I mean *a lot*. Pure sugar water with a little coffee flavor. Bad start. Couldn’t spit out. Paid and moved on.
The rest of the day disappeared in a pre-race meeting. I handed over my US dollars in entry fee, there was distribution of start numbers, photo sessions, information and more food. In between, everything was interrupted by huge rain showers. Rain that drummed on the roof of the building, and that flooded the whole room.
Everything just dragged out. After a lot of time with speeches and interviews from everyone who comes from abroad, I feel that I am tired. Or maybe it’s just nerves before the race?
Thursday
It’s Thursday, the race starts in a few hours. I’m getting ready. It is hot. I’ve slathered myself in sunscreen, taped my nipples, and am just wandering around in my own thoughts. Don’t know what to expect. I fear the heat, and I fear the rain. It is said that it will rain extremely heavily. Looking forward to how the next 24 hours will be.
But I cannot fail. My entire Badwater application, my entire year, my dream — depends on me getting there.
Strolling down to the square where the start will take place. Wandering around in my own thoughts. Looking at all the people. Take in the atmosphere. Now it’s just before.
The Brazilian national anthem, Hino Nacional Brasileiro, is now resounding out of cracked speakers, and “everyone” is singing along. A wonderful, powerful melody. Mario is standing at the very front in my, slightly too tight, t-shirt. He salutes the flag and sings loudly. I feel a lump in my throat. I’m almost crying.
Fanfare over. And there goes the start! Is chaos from the starting area. People are running like crazy. Way too fast. They rush forward. I have to concentrate not to trip. But eventually it calms down naturally. This is not the race where you should burn everything from the start. It starts with a good climb straight from the start. The first 16 kilometers have a 20% climb at the end.
—
Is a freedom to just get started. I feel for it. Ask myself. And examines. Is a bit snotty, but okay enough. It flows well and the bones work.
On this race, you must have car support. My “bodyguard” Luciano runs with me a lot at the start. Usually, I prefer to run alone. Feels a bit strange, but I try to focus on me and mine.
It’s good to have Luciano there. A security. But I don’t understand anything he says, and he doesn’t understand me. We try our best to use body language, but it’s getting frustrating. He talks and I nod. In the end, I think “whatever”, and just pretend that I understand what he means.
Starting to struggle. These are slopes that I have never trained on. And I can’t take in enough nutrition. But I still have energy. But inside me it’s just going downhill. It’s just a matter of time before I lose my “grip” and understanding of where I am. Soon I just want to leave. But I don’t understand that now.
Out of nowhere huge rain showers come and wash down on us. Like standing in a shower that washes off our sweat. Which cleanses us.
The race has many checkpoints. But there are hardly any people to be seen. Many of the checkpoints are unmanned, and you have to take a picture with your mobile phone to prove that you have visited. It is zero problem to cheat for those who want to. Here, no one follows along. You can sit in a car and drive forward. No one checks and no one follows up. But who does it in races like this? Everyone who is involved here is running for their own part. Against himself. The entire ultra runner culture is based on honesty and one’s own struggle. Everyone runs with their own “why?”. It would be totally pointless to cheat on such a race.
Facts:
The Brazil 135 Ultramarathon Solo is an invitational race of 217 kilometers that runs at the beginning of January each year. It is a non-stop race that runs from São José da Boa Vista to Paraisópolis in the state of Minas Gerais. The starting city is a three-hour drive north of the big city of São Paulo. The price to participate is 990 US dollars which is paid in cash the day before the race.
From Amsterdam to São Paulo, it takes just under 12 hours by plane. The time zone is minus four hours compared to Norway. This is a unique race, which has been held every year since 2005. Not only is this race extremely important to the ultra community in South America, it also has a strong link to the Badwater 135. Race director Mario Lacerda is a Badwater 135 veteran and has transferred much of the rawness to his own race. The winner of Brazil 135 is also guaranteed a place in Badwater. But just having Brazil on your CV counts positively for a Badwater 135 application.
In order to participate, you must send in an application and then complete an interview with the race leader Mario. In addition to the Solo 135 (217 km) distance, which I did, you can also sign up for Solo 80 (135 km), Dupla (relay with two) or Quarteto (relay with four).
You can run without support, but it is recommended to bring your own crew and a car with everything you need, as there are only a few places with support from the race organizer — moreover, there are limited opportunities to buy something along the course.
It is a tough race with many and long hills. The weather can be challenging with a combination of sometimes very heavy rain, muddy gravel roads and then scorching sun (up to 30 degrees Celcius). January is a summer month in Brazil.
Runs mostly on reddish-brown, occasionally very muddy and uneven, forest roads. Some parts have asphalt. Into some of the towns there are uneven concrete slabs that require full concentration not to trip. There is also a minor bit with single trail running.
The surroundings are fantastic. Mostly wide open landscapes, but also areas with doves of banana palms or coffee bushes hanging over you. I see wild horses running up the valley sides as I approach. Running through sleepy, quiet villages. See no shops, see no people. I run a slalom between cackling hens. The dogs don’t care. They are sleeping or dead.
What destroys the idyll is the eternal noise from “my” pickup truck, which is constantly behind or in front of me.
In between, the sky opens up and the rain pours down. Throws his shirt and runs there shirtless. Is cooling. The rain envelops me in something magical. Never experienced anything like it. Is like in a dream. Here I run early in January, while all my colleagues are at work. And at home there is snow and freezing temperatures. This is another world. I’m living the dream. I feel privileged. Running on the Path of Faith.
Several times the car gets stuck in the mud, or has to turn around because the road has rained away. I do not care. I am then left to myself. Bring some extra energy and meet the crew again later. Sometimes an hour, other times they take a detour of many hours. I’m never afraid.
Friday
The day disappears and it becomes night. I too am disappearing more and more. Eventually, I almost completely disappear. The energy is drained. Am dizzy, bored and just want to get into myself. Needs love and security. I’m having trouble understanding what’s going on. I just want to sit, but they won’t let me. I lay down, but they lift me up. They drive me forward. Like an animal. They “whip” me forward. All the time with the car driving behind me. I see my shadow in front of me. Starting to hate the car. I feel persecuted. But the bright lights from the car also provide security. If I stop and want to talk, they drive on. They understand what I want. I just want to lie down and not go on. (But then we would not have performed. Luciano and the gang are only sticking to the mission I have given them. I had warned them about this very situation. “Only interrupt me if there is danger of death.”) They stick to the agreement, and is not tempted by my poverty.
I have not been able to take in nourishment for countless hours. The system has gone into saving mode. The heat and the enormous physical effort eventually make it difficult to consume and digest food. The body prioritizes. Food doesn’t taste like it used to, food that I used to be able to chew just grows big in my mouth and doesn’t go down. Something is happening with the food digestion. The enzymes run wild. Trying different things. Feels like everything is settling down at the top and just waiting to get back up together on the road. I take my finger to my throat. Repeatedly. Throwing up and staggering from side to side. Before I try to eat something else. Another attempt. An eternal round dance.
I’m tired and feel like I’m letting them down. Feeling a sense of guilt. I feel like I’m just “joking” around. Here they have set aside days of their holiday to help me. And there the four of them sit, driving behind me in a small pickup truck, watching a tragedy unfold in front of them. A fall. Felt sorry for Luciano, who has dragged his wife Débora and the couple of friends Regis and Karin into this decay. I feel I have failed my friend, that I am not delivering as he had envisioned. I try to pull myself together, but I can’t. Luciano no longer runs with me. Has he given up too? Now he sends the ladies. They run ahead. He might think it will help. That it will awaken some primal powers in me. But it’s hard going. (Now in retrospect, I only remember glimpses of these hours. I remember we entered a slightly larger town. Throwing up in the middle of a traffic light. Passers-by yelling at me.)
The only thing that can help me out is to get down some food that is “sitting”. The way out and up from these destructive and heavy thoughts, up from decay, is to get energy. And there! Now I can eat and keep a Mentos without throwing up. Feeling a victory. Now I’m on my way up. It gives me hope. Remember that Luciano suddenly gets out of the car. He tells me to close my eyes. What happens now? The next thing I realize is that he is throwing a large glass of ice cold water in my face. I have woken up. The danger over. A few minutes later we enter one of the few checkpoints with people. Eat a little more, and get a massage. The Awakening! Now we are at it again.
We’re getting close. The sun is burning. Is euphoric. Has a good drive. We are now in 2nd place and just have to keep up the pace. We have come out of the valley of darkness and my inner decline. Now we’re really getting started. Luciano is also at it again. Back in the driver’s seat. He makes sure to fill my arm sleeves with ice and pour ice cold water on my head. He pushes me. He knows what this means. If we keep up the pace, 2nd place is secured.
But even though I have a good drive, I am dead tired. But don’t notice it. Is high on adrenaline and endorphins. Luciano pushes me hard. Makes me summon unimaginable powers. I never get told how far behind me 3rd place is (perhaps Luciano knows that they are very far behind), but he doesn’t say anything. Just being told to keep going. I push what I can. Feels that 3rd place is right behind. (In retrospect, the person in 3rd place was several hours behind me, but then and there something made me constantly move. A threat.)
In many places the car has to turn around because the road is broken. I then put on the running vest and fill up with water. 25 kilometers before the finish line, the car gets stuck in mud again and has to be pulled up by a tractor. They won’t come after me. I have run on and do not notice that they are not coming. (I don’t see my crew again until right before the finish line).
It’s getting extremely hot. I haven’t brought enough drink or food with me. Didn’t expect to have to run alone, without support, for three to four hours. I thought they were right behind. Find some puddles where I wet the hat. Splashes dirty water in the face. The body boils.
Eventually I run towards civilisation, and pass a house where someone is sitting outside. Get a bottle of ice cold water. Tastes heavenly. A little later I find a fountain. And even a little later I meet some hikers, who share some water. Three kilometers before the finish line, a restaurant appears. They give me another bottle of ice cold water. Crashes almost all of it and pours the rest into the neck. I am saved. I feel like I only have a few kilometers left.
Just before the finish I finally meet Luciano, Regis, Karin and Débora again. I’m almost crying. Luciano throws himself around my neck. He was afraid they had lost me. That I wouldn’t get to the finish line. Together we run into the city. The mission is complete. Finishes in 2nd place with a time of 27:41:42. Both up to 1st place and down to 3rd place is just under three hours.
Regis summarizes the dramatic ending like this:
On the last stretch we got stuck in the mud twice. In the first. we needed the help of a tractor to get free, in the second we managed to get on by backing up and turning around. A feeling of defeat and worry took over the team. Simen would be alone on the final stretch, without support. We went back and drove like crazy to Paraisópolis.
When we arrived we were sure that Simen had already crossed the finish line. But he wasn’t there. We went back to save Simen, “our baby”. We were desperate, and everything turned into a rescue operation. When we were about to leave the town and enter the path, Simen appears to me when we come up the hill, tears flowed and we laughed like never before. In the end, everything worked out… the whole team crossed the finish line together. That was a relief.”
We made it. It is a cliché that “this achievement belongs to you”, but in this case it is true. I ended up in a dark hole, got weak, threw up, was dizzy, didn’t know where I was, wanted to leave, just wanted to talk and sit — but they managed to put me in my place. Just right strings. Also humble and loving when they saw that I needed it, then pushed me out and pushed me forward. Luciano, Regis, Karin and Débora — I am eternally grateful that you were there. That you took many days from your own free time, that you sat there together in a small car for almost 30 hours and followed me.
Saturday
I’ve been dreaming of Feijoada since I booked my trip to Brazil. Looked at recipes, looked at pictures and, not least, I mentioned this to my crew, before all meals — if we couldn’t order Feijoada. But it is not that simple. This national dish, a stew of black beans, pork (of various “body parts”) and cured sausage, is only served on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Today is the day. Today is Saturday. On the road from Paraisópolis to São Paulo, the day after we reached the finish line, we stop in São José dos Campos, the hometown of Regis and Karin. Now is the time.
The place is called Bar Coronel. There is a bustling life outside and inside. The queue runs along the premises and around the corner. We get a queue number and wait on the street outside. Karin gives me beer (tastes heavenly!). Close your eyes and feel the sun warming you. Gives time to think. Feeling very grateful. For life. Because I got to the finish line. For the kids. That we are healthy.
Eventually get assigned a table, and I order another beer. And then the Feijoada finally arrives on the table. Almost like ribbing on Christmas Eve. Fantastic. What a firework of a dish! Immensely powerful. Extremely good. A memory for life.
What I learned from my week in Brazil is that they are extremely good at caramel pudding. Of course, order a caramel pudding here too. Again perfect.
The owner of the restaurant, Rogério Bento Córdoba, approaches our table. An eccentric, lovely guy. He is good at English. We’re talking about the caramel pudding and running. About the grandmother’s recipes. And he shows me pictures from his “previous” life as an overweight person. Running had saved his life.
After a substantial lunch, we continue our journey towards São Paulo.
The day after the race, I do a mandatory body check. A bit of abrasion on the body, and clearly emaciated after far too little energy in the last day. The feet look good with no noticeable chafing.
Arrive in São Paulo early in the evening and check into a hotel in the Osasco district. Saying goodbye to Karin and Regis. They deliver the rental car, while Débora and Luciano will stay the night and make sure I get safely to the airport the next day.
My week in Brazil is almost over. What am I left with? Adventure, wonderful people, lots of warmth and love. Delicious food. Security, but also gangs, poverty and need.
Sunday
On the last day, I will withdraw money to pay back what everyone had put in. Me, Débora and Luciano enter a locked ATM room. Must withdraw in several installments due to the amount limits. After each withdrawal, I give the money to Lucinao, who quickly hides it in his rucksack. Suddenly he looks at me and motions for us to go out. Inside the room, an outsider appears. In addition, we are also being watched from the outside. (That’s why you don’t have to go out alone, he says). We get out safely and move on. Luciano then quickly goes into the nearest toilet, and puts the money in an even safer room at the bottom of the bag.
For a somewhat naive Norwegian, this is something new, but this is part of life in Brazil. There are big differences and a lot of distress. And there is a reason why Luciano was asked by Mario to look after me from the time I arrived in the country until I leave.
On the way to the airport, we take the train. Luciano suddenly asks me to put the phone away and pack it into my bag. Entering the train, two people come towards us and look at me. They rap and sing something while pointing. Everyone laughs. I try to laugh along, but I don’t get the gist.
I get to the airport safely, rummage through all the shops, and sit down at the first and nearest pub. Order a large beer which I drink quickly. Getting another one while I try to sum up the week. All the impressions. Everything goes around a bit for me as I sit deep down at the bottom of beer number two. Can still feel their warmth and love. All the smiles. The clamps.
I board the plane. I sit down and fall asleep. After 12 hours I wake up. We have landed. I have landed. Back to reality. The adventure is over.
— — — — — — —
Many people ask how much the trip to Brazil cost: For my part, I was so lucky that I didn’t have to fly in any Norwegians across the Atlantic. I had a crew of four. They showed up for free. Two of my crew lived a two-hour flight away. Paid for their flight. Paid the crew’s hotel expenses. In addition, there were costs for my flight, hotel, rental car, fuel, participation fee, covid-19 fit-to-fly test and food during the race. In total, the price was just under 70,000. Of this, I was able to finance just over 60,000 from corporate sponsorship, sales of t-shirts and some private donations via Vipps.
This year I don’t have a job, and am completely dependent on support to get this going. If you want to support me, this can be done at Vipps #662995
