Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc-CCC 2014

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. 

I saw it in the eyes of the finishers.  They knew this was a substantial challenge and they had achieved a great feat of human endurance.  I take my hat off to all of them, and to all that, like me, tried but didn’t quite make it.

Here's my video of the day.

Footnote: I successfully finished the CCC in 2018.  Here's the post.