The end occurred for me at Trient, rather than Chamonix as
intended. After 72km, 18 hours and 4.3km
of vertical climb, I decided I couldn’t keep going.
It’s been a day since then and I have been blessed by the experience of
watching runners arriving through the streets of Chamonix, down the little
street leading to the church square.
They are in different states of disrepair, some swaggering
as exhaustion nearly takes them over, some energetically sprinting to the line, but
the beauty of the joy on their faces is universal. They arrive with their family and friends
joining them on the run to the finish line, national flags held aloft, Go Pro’s
taking it all in, fists punching the air, slapping hands,
roaring in triumph and bending down to kiss the finish line as their supporters
embrace them. The Japanese runners, with
utmost grace, turn at the end and bow. I
think they bow to the trail, to the challenges they have just faced and
overcome. It shows respect for the
experience and respect that I share for this great event.
It was hard to watch in some ways. That could have been me, etc. I don’t know why I feel this way – it’s only
a challenge if there is a risk of not succeeding and for me that risk came to
pass. There really is no shame in that
and I feel a great sense of accomplishment.
The race begins with a climb out of Courmayeur, on the
Italian side of Mont Blanc. Through the
streets of this little alpine town, through the forest fringes and then up and up and up. At
the start, I speculated with the other runners around me which hill we were
supposed to be climbing. The only ones I
could see seemed to touch the sky and it was one of those. I reached the top of
Tete de la Tronche after 3 hours of climbing, 1.4km over 10km.
It’s hard to comprehend how big these hills are. I come from a country with mountains and I
love the experience of running in the high hills around Central Otago. But I have never had to do this sort of
climbing before. When steep becomes
steeper, when you can’t look up for fear of seeing that you are nowhere near
the top, even when you think you must be. Distraction provided solace – the little mountain flowers, the sounds
of streams, the cooling breeze as you reach the higher altitudes.
The trail goes along one side of the valley, with the
Mont Blanc massif on the other side. There
are many high peaks in this range, but it was the glaciers that were particularly impressive. They
sat frozen in the valleys, but they look like they should be flowing. They almost seem like they shouldn’t be there
and of course they are fragile and shrinking as temperatures are rising.
The sun was coming out and it was a smooth and undulating
valley trail, slightly downhill. Some
Australian walkers were coming in the other direction. They saw the flag on my race bib and said “Aussie?”. I replied “Kiwi” and they said “go mate!”. I was cruising, enjoying the surroundings and
eating up the kms.
The next hill was Grand Col Ferret. Climbing out of the Arnuva aid station and
high in the valley, we passed an unlikely group of spectators who were cheering
on each runner individually as they came past.
“Allez Olivier”, “allez Georges”, “allez Mal...com” as they struggled with the pronunciation
of my name. There were not many non-Europeans in the race – about half of the participants were from France and
no-one else from NZ.
Heat spots were developing on the soles of my feet and I put
plasters on half way up the hill to prevent or forestall blisters. This was a shorter climb than to Tete de la
Tronche, but it seemed equally hard. Grinding climbing and everyone around me was
feeling it.
And then it levelled off and we tumbled down into
Switzerland, into the valley of Ferret. In
contrast to the mild conditions in Italy, mist and damp had blown in and the
high valley had acted like a net to capture it.
Light rain fell as we traversed down along its flanks. It seemed so green and lush in comparison to
the Italian side. The dings of arriving text messages started as my NZ supporters were getting online and checking my progress. This must have seemed strange to the European runners around me that I was getting text messages in the middle of the night.
We passed through charming picture postcard villages in the
valley, before a stiff climb to reach Champex de Lac. This
was the midpoint of the race, at 55km, and your assistant could join you
there. Fi found me and took me away to
find a table to get some food and drink.
Looking back, I really wasn’t in great shape at this point. I stared at the pasta and Bolognese sauce and
could only poke at it and the soup and cake seemed completely unappetising. I knew I needed fuel, but I didn’t want to
eat. I was fussing with minor things and
my concentration was wandering.
The rain was coming down steadily as I exited the tent, now deeply dark
as I fumbled with my head torch to get it to work properly. And then up again. This hill was only about 400m of vertical, but it seemed
as high as the previous two. The dark doesn’t
help as you have no idea really how close you are to the summit. I would occasionally look up and spot a beam
of light from another runner, which indicated I had a way to go. Sometimes that beam of light seemed
impossibly high up and my heart sank as I did the mental calculations of how
long and hard it would be to reach that point.
The cow bells eerily rang through the valleys, like siren’s calls.
Every step now was uncomfortable, as the blisters had
reached their full potential. I tried to
vary the foot landings to relieve the pressure. Despite the rain, the air was so dry – my eyes were dry and I was so thirsty. My breath was shortening and my speed dropped
in an attempt to preserve energy. The
descent from La Giete to Trient was a struggle and many runners overtook me. It was technical, with big drop offs as it
steeply descended towards Trient. My legs
were feeling weak as I planned my strategy for the next aid station. I would go to the medical centre and see what
they could do about the blisters and try and get some food down.
I arrived in Trient at 3.15am, surprised that I was only 30
minutes from the cut off time. I thought
I had more time up my sleeve. After
seeing the medical people, I had that moment.
I looked out into the rainy night, weighed it all up and decided my race
was over.
In the lead up to the event, I told myself that there would
be moments when you wanted to give up, but that you just had to press on. I tried to picture myself in those moments
and how I would convince my mind to overcome the body. I knew it would be in the dead of night and
that I would be tired and cold. I
prepared with chocolate almond croissants in my bag as rewards for succeeding on
keeping going. That’s fine, but when
that moment came, I didn’t feel like pressing on.
My son Hamish sent me a message during the race with a quote "From all the powers the world enchains, man frees himself when self-control he gains". That is so true. I didn’t go into this lightly. I trained hard for six months and many months before that in build up. I was focused and prepared. Blisters were an amateur error in retrospect and, although altitude may have been a factor, I should have found ways to deal with fuel intake and stomach problems.
My son Hamish sent me a message during the race with a quote "From all the powers the world enchains, man frees himself when self-control he gains". That is so true. I didn’t go into this lightly. I trained hard for six months and many months before that in build up. I was focused and prepared. Blisters were an amateur error in retrospect and, although altitude may have been a factor, I should have found ways to deal with fuel intake and stomach problems.
Here's my video of the day.
Footnote: I successfully finished the CCC in 2018. Here's the post.
