"Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall," said Jordan. "And I guess it always will, no matter how old we get. It's a way of clearing out the old and making room for something new."
There is some resemblance between the dramatic glamour of THE GREAT GATSBY and UTMB-WEEK in CHAMONIX; however, I will not elaborate on what I think UTMB is or isn't.
What matters for this race report is that, although the JORDAN BAKER character in THE GREAT GATSBY is generally not to be trusted, I think she speaks the truth about fall, and that it applies to this race I hope to do many times over as AUGUST comes to SEPTEMBER.
'Cause that's the plan. To return. But I'm getting ahead of myself. (Ironically, a theme throughout.)
We sat on a bench by the start line corral about an hour before the start. SYNNE and MY MOM were looking out for me, ensuring I ate, drank some, and had my picture taken. I was utterly distracted by the task at hand, though. Although I'd never been on any part of the course before, I thought I was mentally prepared, having known about the race from the start of my career and seeing so much of it online. I knew COURMAYEUR would be a circus of anxious runners, aggressive members of the media, and enthusiastic spectators. I knew the objective data from the course. It just wasn't enough. I found myself overwhelmed by the task at hand, and even in brief moments of peace, I chewed on seeds of doubt in my training that bloomed into carnivorous plants in my stomach, eating me up from the inside.
So, I decided to get into the start corral much earlier than I had to, judging that I'd be better off just putting myself into the race instead of standing outside and waiting for the inevitable. I found MATT and got a reassuring hug. Then, the inevitable came and went with much fanfare. Like caged animals being let out to graze after a long winter inside, the ensuing stampede through the picturesque town of COURMAYEUR was comically intense, considering the distance we were embarking upon.
I'd heard that trying to pass people would get difficult once we hit the trail, but I don't think that's true. If you want to pass, you can. You probably shouldn't, though. The pointy end of this field is razor-sharp. Even just a poke will have your blood dripping, and you don't want your vessel to start leaking at launch when the voyage will be long and strenuous.
With these made-up stoicisms from a mind that only has one 100km finish to its name and none in the mountains, I pulled out my poles and started working my way up the longest climb of the day, to the highest point of the course, TETE DE LA TRANCHE. Cool-ass name. Anyway, the first 40 minutes or so felt really nice. Above the tree line, the sun caught us all exposed, and I consciously decided not to run uphill if I wasn't covered by tree-cast shade to stay in control of my effort. There weren't many people around me running anymore anyway.
Against the backdrop of the most beautiful panoramic view of the incredible peaks surrounding us, I started cruising down from the top of TETE DE LA TRANCHE towards the first aid station, REFUGE BERTONE. I had hit the top at the exact minute I planned on and did the same at BERTONE. Pretty impressive, I thought to myself, considering I had never set foot here before. On the way down there, I saw RYAN with his camera, and I lit up. We don't know each other as well as I'd like, but I feel like he gets me. I slowed to bump fists with him. As I've written about before, sharing these experiences with people you have so much love for does not compare to any athletic endeavor I've embarked upon before finding running.
Out of the aid station, I found myself side by side with AASMUND and we headed for ARNOUVAZ. I set the pace, and he told me when to pull out the poles and when to keep them tucked. It was pretty good teamwork. We both seemed in control of our efforts, and on the descent to ARNOUVAZ, the 25km aid station, we even caught up to RAMON and ANDERS, both runners I did not expect to see the backs of so early, but here they were!
Even close to 2000 MASL, the heat of the day was starting to get to us and the shadeless climb up to GRAND COL FERRET claimed some victims. I ended up putting in a gap on the company I was in, and I kept catching up to runners whose only names I know from impressive results and leaderboards. I was eating and drinking well and my effort was very much controlled and stable. I still welcomed the downhill after cresting the top, though. Back down in LA FOULY, I was side by side with AASMUND again, but I was in and out of the aid station much quicker than him. We were nearing the halfway mark and I was on the hunt.
First, I sew PETTER. He was limping and chatting on a telephone. I guessed correctly that he was pulling the plug. Then, I saw DAKOTA and started thinking that I might be having the day I always dreamed of. I mean, it's DAKOTA. He's a legend and was in the top 3 here only a year ago. You wouldn't think so based on how he moves compared to me, however. At no point did it hit me that I don't need to run this pace, even though it felt comfortable and honestly gratifying. What I did realize was that I had to be close to top 20, if not the top 10, and it was probably a little too early for that. If I didn't note here that it made me very excited, I'd feel like I'd be lying. Fact is though, I'm not yet properly familiar with how these races are supposed to feel. How it fluctuates so much also tricks me, I think. Looking back, I was too eager. Right then and there, I did what I thought was right.
It was not until I put my back to the sun on the ascent of the steep trail up from the valley to CHAMPEX-LAC, where I would see SYNNE and MY MOM for the first time, that I really started feeling the heat. No one was catching up yet, but the sheer scale of this undertaking – the fact that I was just halfway in terms of distance – was starting to dawn on me.
At CHAMPEX-LAC, the aid station 54 kilometers into the race, a party was going on. I’ve seen the pictures and the videos, but they don’t do this place justice. Hundreds of people were lining the trail in and out of the station. I knew some, but more seemed to know me. I was in 18th place, top 20 at CCC, with less to go than I had traversed, and someone said I was only minutes behind the top 10. That was absolutely ridiculous, and went straight to my overheating and overstimulated head. I stormed into the aid station and found SYNNE scrambling to make room for me. My new bottles were prepared although, and I hastily grabbed them with some extra gels. I don’t recollect much from this little stop. I hope I told her I love her. She says now I did, but I wasn’t present to the degree I would like to be, and probably had to be if I wanted to stay in control of my effort. I chalk that up to my lack of experience and bubbling enthusiasm. After leaving, it was a significant stretch of very runnable terrain, but fatigue started creeping in as I returned to myself. I checked my watch and realized I was about 15-20 minutes quicker here than I had predicted. I was on course for a ridiculous time, and I started doing the math on how much slower I could go in the final half than the first and still make it under 12 hours, which had been my initial goal.
While doing the math, the first of the final three climbs began. It was a prolonged climb, and the terrain was the most technical and steep it had been so far. Little did I know it would get worse, but it was probably good that I didn’t. Still, it reality-oriented my calculations, and my mentality quickly shifted from "I'm having the day I dreamed of" to "I just need to make it back to CHAMONIX."
On the downhill to TRIENT, it was apparent that my quads were going first. I had been on top of my nutrition and, for a long time, also my pace, but I let myself get a little eager from ARNOUVAZ to CHAMPEX-LAC, and it was time to start paying the price for it.
Although I was losing time and places, the task became much more straightforward now that I could only think of returning to CHAMONIX. I entered TRIENT, an iconic little town 70km into the race, with a demure little church packed with crews and supporters. Compared to CHAMPEX-LAC, I was much more present here. SYNNE had again outdone herself, being entirely on top of her crewing duties, and I made sure to tell her before I left again this time. At this point, I didn’t know what pains and struggles MY MOM and her had been through to get here on time via the bus system, but I’m forever grateful for it. If they’d missed me there, that might have broken me. Instead, I clumsily broke a pole on even, non-technical ground for the second race in a row! It was unfortunate, considering I was facing the steepest climb of the day, and my strength was waning. I stuffed the snapped pole away and found a long stick to aid my hike up. Looking back, it was pretty resourceful, and I remember seeing the comedy in it. I also remembered thinking of GANDALF and the failed crossing of CARADHRAS and how my position felt similar. Instead of turning back for the MINES OF MORIA, though, I had to dig deep within myself to push through the increasing pain now manifested in cramps on the inside of both of my thighs.
I didn’t get to the other side of those cramps; I just slowed down a lot. Going down into VALLORCINE, the last crewed aid station about 15 kilometers from CHAMONIX, I was given the opportunity to see TONI crush on her way to victory, and I got to see SYNNE and MY MOM again. It was another F1-level pit stop, all thanks to SYNNE. I spent less than 2 minutes in total in timed aid stations in the race, which I am very proud of, especially considering how much I just wanted to relieve my aching body towards the end. Deep down, I knew that the only relief for me was in CHAMONIX. Thus, I marched on with all I could muster of strength and speed. Looking at my splits, that doesn’t say much, but looking within, it meant everything.
I had thought the climb to LA FLEGERE was just a steep ski slope. That’s what I had seen in the pictures, at least. It turned out it’s probably the most technical climb on the course, and that was the last thing I needed. Looking back, it seems like it must have gone by quickly because I don’t remember much until catching up to NORDA-MATT, whom I had shared some miles with earlier. Looking at the data, though, it was probably the slowest climb I’ve ever done in a race. MATT and I found peace in having each other here, as both clearly struggled. We joked about how if you fall close to the finish line in a staged cycling race, you get the same time as the rest of the field you’re in, so we should just throw ourselves off the mountain and argue for a similar outcome for us with all the people who were passing us. Chats like that brightened up the gloomy trod we were on. Then, all of a sudden, literal darkness started falling upon us. I had hoped to finish before it was time to pull out the headlamp, but no... this had been the longest stretch of running in my life, and my sub-12-hour goal was ticking away with every limped step I took.
With the headlamp on, I trotted away from MATT. I only had one thing going for me: the ability to put one foot in front of the other and then the next, but that was enough. At the top of LA FLEGERE, I looked down upon the bright yellow lights from the city. It seemed too far. Yet, I heard traffic and the speaker at the finish line. I knew that I would get there no matter how long it took me to hobble down.
In the woods, my world was reduced to a cone of light, and I lost all sense of time and place, except for the rocks I placed my feet on in great agony. I just had to get it done.
Suddenly, I saw MY MOM, who had come at least 3 kilometers out from CHAMONIX to meet me. She had not put on trail running shoes. She did not have a headlamp. She had made friends with a spectator who lit up the trail for her, and they tried to keep up with me, but I barely registered it. I was worried for MY MOM 'cause she was obviously concerned for me, but I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t speak. I was so close now. I was so close...
As I took my first step on the paved surface in town, AASMUND passed me. I was happy for him. We had ended up having very different days but would likely finish within seconds of each other. I was sick of being passed, but I could do nothing. It didn't really matter at this point if I was 20th or 30th. I hadn’t had the day I dreamed of, but for a while there, I thought I did. I had no choice but to accept that two-thirds of my race went spectacularly and that there was no limit to how slow I could go in the final third. I would take that willingly beforehand; when I was so scared of what I was about to do at the start line, I was shivering. I put myself out there, I gave myself a shot, and I'm so proud of doing so.
However, I’m most proud of the company I was surrounded by going down the finish chute. Everyone from the SATISFY team was there. They have given me everything, and it took everything to get here. I love them so much.
The memory I have of the final stretch with the countless high-fives and cheers is something I’ll cherish forever. Crossing the line... Yeah, forever.
I finished 31st overall in 12 hours and 20-something minutes. It's been ten days, and I'm already obsessed with planning my next attempt. But before that, I had to start over once more — clearing out the old to make space for what's to come.
Comments