Written by Timmy Olson - http://www.timothyallenolson.com/

Darkness deserves gratitude. It is the alleluia point at which we learn to understand that all growth does not take place in the sunlight. ~Joan Chittister

Climb up too Col de la Seigne. Photo: Damiano Levati

I’ve never wanted to quit a race so bad, not because of injury – even though my left calf could not function for 3/4 of the race – but because I was so mentally and emotionally broken. During the death march from La Fouly (108k) to Champex-Lac (140k) I questioned everything. I hurt immensely, I cried, I had a conversation with a cow, I was broken beyond repair. I kept telling myself, the alleluia point would come, transcendence would ascend my crippled spirit and I would start to fly; it never came to be, but the perseverance to continue on, made the journey and finish very special.

Having the race play out smoothly and feel strong would have been ideal, but what fun is that. The experience I had soldiering around the UTMB trail was incredible; I learned more about myself, I fell more in love with my family and became even more grateful for my body and life. Winning could have been fun, but everyone who made the trip around the mountain, achieved all they needed out there. I’m very content and satisfied with the effort it took to circle Mont Blanc, climb 33000ft and end up back in beautiful Chamonix to celebrate the journey.

Starting in Chamonix at 4:30pm, the town was electric, I wandered down from my home at four trying to stay calm as the crowds and runners vibrated with excitement. We took off as the town roared with cheers from every corner, the streets were lined with spectators high-fiving and encouraging us on. We passed a bar where a guy was handing out cups of beer, I passed this aid station, but appreciated the joy and ambiance of the town. I was already in about 25th place and comfortable with a nice mellow start to start the journey, I knew there’d be plenty of time to race as the day and night progressed.

We were in Les Houches (8k) lickedy-split and heading up the first climb of the day. I was stoked with my legs as the climb felt effortless and in no time a crew of us reached the top and we’re bombing down hill. I took the descents easy as I wanted to save my quads and also be cautious of a bum ankle I sprained on a Mont Blanc trip the week before.

We ticked off kilometers quickly as we continued down. I eventually felt someone running extremely close to my side and some kids shouting in french to me. I thought to myself that the person to my right was almost going to trip me; I turned to my right and started to move out of the way, when I realized that the close “runners” were not people but 3 goats grinding out 5min k’s. These goats meant business and apparently train in the Alps a lot. Their bellies weighed and jiggled more than our packs and their feet were quicker too as they passed myself, Vagin Armstrong and Miguel Heras who eventually had an amazing 2nd place finish. I laughed out loud as thee others were startled by the goats, it looked as if the goats might beat us all!

The goat race was heating up; I thought they would tire, but then 20 minutes passed by, with them still side by side. Arriving on 30 minutes they were looking worn, they stopped to regain their composure at a bridge blocking my way. I encouraged and scooted them on and they found a second wind! I passed them just a moment before we entered the streets of Saint-Gervais (21k) to a generous applause from the crowds; the goats got a standing ovation! I however pulled away and they were the last goats I would race with on this trip.

Les Contamines. Photo: Irunfar It was fairly flat as I cruised the 10k over to Les Contamines (31k 1170m) to see my crew for the first time. I did have a tiny low patch in this stretch as I felt a little dehydrated from the quickish start. So I tried to hydrate more when I arrived to my crew. I came into the aid station calm and focused on getting all I needed as I would not see my crew again till Courmayer 77k in.

I slammed some kombucha green tea, it was delicious, I drank some other green tea, I drank some coke, I wanted to be good and caffeinated as I started my run through the night. I felt solid and ready to take on the night, I kissed my wife and was out remembering everything I needed but my extra 400ml of Coke; crap I thought as I could not turn back now.

Photo: Christophe Aubonnet

I continued on in my own rhythm moving at a decent pace as the night started to creep in. The next few aid stations you could smell a ways away with the smoke from their fires glowing and drawing me in and through Notre Dame de la Gorge (35k 1215m). The crowds cheered as the fires blazed, I was focused as I hiked upwards to our first real climb of the day to the top of Croix du Bonhomme at 2443 meters high and 44k into the race. I moved well to this spot, but was already starting to feel the creeping feeling of stiffness in my calf that would progress throughout the night.

I crested Croix du Bonhomme and started my sluggish decent down, it was full on dark, I was not very trusting of my bum ankle and it was fairly technical for me on this section. It went from grassy slopes with ankle busting divots and meandering washed out out animal trails everywhere. Other sections had wet slick rock that was always slanted in a manor that would not gift an actual foot placement and push off, leaving me timid and embarrassingly slow as I wanted to keep my ankle happy for at least the first half of the race. I was passed quickly by Anton – who had a great race and might of won without the achilles and hamstring issue – I wished him good luck and to keep flying and that I was hoping to see him again down the road. Jonah Budd also sped by as they both could navigate the trail much quicker. They easily gapped me, leaving me to embrace the night running my own race which I was very content with. Crossing river from Les Chapieux.

Photo: Damiano Levati

I entered Les Chapieux (49k 1549m) to our first gear check of the night. They showed me pictures of the gear and I pulled out my tightly wrapped and never used gear to prove I had the mandatory accessories. I briefly saw Anton as he moved out and I took a moment to drink some coke and put on another head torch, feeling good but wanting to not have the leaders gap me too much.

The next section was way more douche-grade road than I anticipated. I tried to run this section at a decent clip, trying to keep the leaders lights in sight and before the higher altitude and steepness decreased my running to a hike. As we finally retreated from the road and started moving the switch backs up to Col de la Seigne (60k and 2516meters), I could see some head torches cruzing up the hill and after I neared the top I turned around to see the zig-zags of lights swerving below for as far as I could see. It was insane to look at the string of head torches behind, very cool to race with so many like-minded people.

Hiking hard up the climbs I was grasping for a solid breath. My lamp would catch many a cows eyes; I stopped to absorb the moment, the Big Dipper lit up the sky to my left, the stars were luminous and glorious. Night running under star-light is the bomb! Mentally I was in a good spot, but I was not moving as fast as I would have liked, I told myself this was good as there was plenty of running left.

Descending to Lac Combal (64k) came and went, I did not see a lake. I grunted up to Arête du Mont-Favre (68k 2435m) tired and sore, but excited to push on. Nothing spectacular but the stars, the mountains were hiding, getting their beauty sleep to give us strength in the morning. For me there was not much sleep, I’d lost my beauty and had many kilometers to go. Uff da.

It was a steep decent into Courmayeur (77k 1200m) and I took it down hard. The altitude and calf were cramping my style in the ups so I tried to do my best to catch up on the downs. Not very successful as I was 30 minutes back from the leaders and was feeling worn from the first half of the day. I tried to regroup, get inspiration from seeing my wife, fuel up properly and restock supplies for the rest of the night. I drank more kombucha, green tea, and some more coke while my wife changed the batteries in my head lamp. I tried to prepare myself for the battle ahead but not sure how I was going to gain that much ground on them.

I was finally on the part of the course I was familiar with from reconning this section with my wife and Joe weeks ago. I knew the rest of the course well and knew I needed to run a bit on the road before a steep hike up to Refuge Bertone (82k 1989m). I was feeling ok at first, but just destroyed within minutes of starting the climb. I was mentally exhausted at the idea of trying to catch up, I was disappointed with myself, I was frustrated with my calf; so I took a poop. This was the start of a low patch that continued on for much of the race.

Recon above Grand Col Ferret. Photo: Joe Grant

I entered Bertone defeated, delirious, deflated and destroyed. I laughed out load as I sat on the table as a bench, shaking my head and not knowing my next move. I thanked the volunteers for their support, I carried on figuring I was out of the race but could at least enjoy running in the Alps. So that’s what I did, I ate a tasty Justin’s nut butter and contemplated life, I took a VFuel gel in for good measure. I swayed with the wind and marched like a drunken sailor. I told myself, this is what I came here for, to be broken, to not know the way out, but to have faith that this was just a low moment with good times soon to follow. Oh the humor.

It finally leveled out and I started to run ever so slowly. I could see head torches closing in on me from behind. I think I ran a little faster. I entered Refuge Bonatti (89k 2010m) with a guy from Spain, I looked up and saw Lizzy Hawker, I told her I was broken with a smile; she laughed and told me to keep going. The aid station guy told me that I couldn’t take coke out of the aid station, I told him that was not true, I took a sip and some to go. I’m dying here, damnit, let me have some bloody coke, is what I wanted to say, but I just smiled and went on my way, coke in toe. Then I continued to climb. The night fog.

Photo: Ian Corless

The next part of the trail went decently smooth, just some sweet single track that I could run fairly well and enjoy the night. Arnuva (94k 1769m) came pretty quick after a few descending switch backs, I could see the leaders on the next big climb, figuring they had about an hour on me, and so it goes. I took my time trough the aid station and started the big climb that would bring me to the highest part of the day and into Switzerland.

I hiked with intention, but could just not push off well; I was perturbed with my calf issues but tried to just focus on the next ribbon ahead. It’s all I could do, 20 meters, ribbon, 20 more, ribbon, like a treasure hunt to the top. As I progressed to the top it started getting foggier and windy, I thought of putting on my verto jacket to block the chill, but was basically just too lazy to get it out. I pushed on, munched on some gel and eventually reached the top of Grand Col Ferret (99k 2537m), I said hi to volunteers, had my bib scanned and with cold joints creaked my way down.

By this point of the night I was pretty much done, I didn’t see much need to continue on, I was almost positive my gastrocnemius was going to explode out of its sheath; it didn’t but it was pretty pissed off. All I wanted to do was stumble my way to my crew and go back to Chamonix and drink some vin. That was the plan which seamed reasonable, I just needed to get off the mean-ass mountain.

With nothing better to do I continued to run down, down and down. Out of the fog and many a switch backs, finally hitting the pavement leading to La Fouly (108k 1598m). I stopped in the middle of the road to pee, at least I was hydrated. I came to the aid hoping to see someone I knew and drop out. Man was this place packed with good people, friendly volunteers to deliver coke, Killian and Emile were there to encourage, so were Bryon (Irunfar) and Ian (TalkUltra) to snap some shots. Lots of my North Face family were there too, one of the sweetest people in the world, Lisa was there to encourage me and tell me my family was excited and ready to see me at Champe-Lac; it was all enormously encouraging but I still wanted to quit.

Photo: Christophe Aubonnet

I couldn’t form the words, “I quit”, so I marched on; figured I would suffer and contemplate life just a little more. This next section of the course was one of the longest stretches of my life, to be honest it’s a little foggy; I was doubly blocking it out and also just bumbling around mumbling to myself. In the mist of my gloom I somehow rolled through Praz de Fort (117k 1151m) and was on my way through the mushroom forest trail climbing to Champex-Lac (122k 1477m), to see my crew and end the day and go home.

My blurry eyes could not focus much, I remember a TV crew following me up the climb and asking how I felt, I had other words to tell the camera but I responded with “I was crushed but enjoying the beauty”, I was mostly just crushed. Saying that out-loud hit a nerve and I finally hit the final wall. I made it maybe another kilometer before I rested my head against a tree and cried for a moment, my mind was shattered and my will broken. After a good moment with the tree I proceeded to laugh at my weak self and stumbled on.

I came upon some cows grazing in a field with the backdrop of glowing, newly sunrise lit mountains; three of the cows turned their heads and I believed to have asked me “what the hell was I doing”? I agreed, I did not know, but I sure as hell wasn’t quitting. I finished the climb and entered the aid station focusing on no one, but my loving wife.

I sat down to drink some random things and complain to her about my night. She listened and told me it wasn’t much farther. She suggested meeting up 10 miles down the road at the next crew point and I agreed. As we were restocking my pack and getting a seconds rest, my North Face teammate and friend Mike Foote entered the station looking tired from the night as well. I believe we were in 6th and 7th respectively and I was stoked to see a familiar face.

Champex-Lac. Photo: Irunfar

I left the station a little early than him knowing the next section was flat and rolling before a steep climb up to Bovine 132k (1987m). I moved with purpose, knowing each minute was closer to finishing this exhausting task, I still doubted I would finish, but I was considering the notion; this was a good sign.

After the rolling section I retreated to power-hike mode and climbed one of the last three big climbs to Chamonix. Reaching the top I had the duty of navigating a handful of huge horned bull-like cows blocking the trail. I asked politely if they’d move, yelling and gingerly maneuvering around hoping to not get kicked, they obliged and let me through with Mike clipping at my heals and finally a vision of another runner 10 minutes in the distance.

We all moved at about the same speed to Trient 139k (1300m), not really getting glimpses of each other, but aware we were all close. At Trient aid station I believed to have seen a bunch of people but not really sure; I tried to move somewhat quick, drink kombucha, green tea and some coke. To my surprise Anton was in there sitting down, I encouraged him, but unfortunately his legs were more than bothersome at that time and he’d have to call it a day. Huge bummer as he was really having a strong race, I’m sure he’ll be back to finish what he started next year.

This next section I’ve run twice before and the last time being the Saturday before the race. I knew it well, was dreading the final climb and decent but excited to be so close to making the finish a reality. I said hi to my crew, got some updates of the leaders from my good buddy Martin Gaffuri and took off. The climb came quick and I powered up at a reasonable clip, Foote was catching up quick and by the top of Catogne (144k 2027m) he had caught up and we were able to chit-chat about our time in the mountains. It felt so good to run with someone. Velocrine.

Photo: iRunFar

We talked some and also both mentioned there might not be much talking but a lot of grunting as we painfully started the long down hill into Vallocrine (149k 1260m), we laughed some too. I was enjoying running with someone, but as the real decent started and down was the only chance my calf felt good I decided to push the last few kilometers. I bounced down good and upon entering Vallorcine, Martin let me know I was only a few minutes back of Julien and 4th place. I ran through the aid making sure I had every last item needed and a good luck hug and kiss from my inspiration to finish, Krista and Tristan. I told them I would see them soon and took off like rocket, a slow broken rocket, but non-the-less moving.

I tried to move quick and block out the pain and as I came close to Col des Montets (153k 1451m) I saw Julien. Tired and not being able to say much, I said good job and kept running with anything I had left. It was getting warm out and there was one hard climb left. Knowing two really good climbers – Julien and Foote – were on my tail, I pushed the last climb up to La Tete aux Vent (157k 2130m) with all I had. I was completely in my own world and struggling with every step. I vaguely remember seeing Killian and Emilie again enjoying the sunshine and cheering for me to keep moving. It was good to see all the smiling faces, but the steep grunt took every last drop of courage left.

I reached La Flegere (160k 1860m) and only had 8k of decent to the finish. I painfully tumbled my way down just wishing and hoping for the end to be near. Finally popping out to the road I was cheered in by Guillaume filming the finish and enjoyed the last kilometer to relax and soak in the fact I was actually going to finish. I never thought I was going to accomplish this one, not for over half the race; I’ve never had so much doubt in myself as I struggled again and again to make peace with how the day was unfolding. I’m extremely happy to have finished, end up in 4th and overcome adversity to cross the line in beautiful Chamonix. It was a satisfying run to say the least and one amazing trip for my first time in Europe.

Photo: iRunFar

I’m so grateful for all the love showered over me from family (Tristan, Krista, Debbie and Bob), friends (Martin and Anna), and everyone else cheering me on all day and night long. But more than anything, I’m grateful for the selfless love of my wife who spent our 5 year wedding anniversary crewing me all night, when she should have been taken out to a nice restaurant and given diamonds to let her know how much she means to me. Instead she spent the day and night sleep deprived, taking care of me and our son and smiling and loving being in the mountains and catching glimpses of me around the way. Thank you so much for all you are.

Photo: iRunFar

Photo: Fabrice Van De Cauter

Read more at timothyallenolson.com: UTMB 2013 http://wp.me/p46SvM-lA

Written by Rich Cranswick - http://lejog2014.blogspot.co.uk/

James E handing out pointless maps. Made Chris run & get a spare too ;)

Road to Nowhere

Disco's that way lads...

A shiny arse

Inside the van, Steve was straight off into doze mode and Tom looked like he’d be very happy to sleep anywhere. I tried to wind my sugar-fuelled body into getting 30 minutes down-time but it didn’t work, so I set about resupplying the Snickers pouch (yep. I had one specifically bought as it fits 4 hours of nutty nutrition), recharging the Nokia I was using for GPS and dropping pretzels all over the floor (sorry guys, hope you got the deposit back).

 

After 50 minutes of a planned 30 minute stop we shuffled out of the van and off down the canal again.

 

This time something was different.

The sky had a blue tinge.

Dawn was approaching.

 

Now I've read about the euphoria associated with running to the dawn, and I’ve done some night running, but I’ve never experienced full on fatigue while watching the sun rise. It’s bloody fantastic.

 

And with the new dawn came a new order. Or orders to be more precise. 

 

We were obviously getting tired, and even without Tom’s long-dead Garmin we could tell the pace was continually dropping. Having left the night bus with around 70 minutes to the cut-off, we needed to at least maintain 4mph.

 

I’ve mentioned a lot about Tom in the last part as we’d formed a mutual alliance based on endlessly taking the piss out of eachother. I haven’t mentioned much about Steve. The only reason being he was trotting along at our 12 min /mile pace like he was born running. While Tom and I bitched and moaned about every gate and incline, Steve glided on as though he was on rails. Maybe he was hurting, maybe not, but throughout he remained the model of calm.

 

Turns out Steve is also bloody good at a) timekeeping and b) motivation. Tom was struggling to hold a constant pace after his 8 weeks layoff due to a broken foot, so Steve paced us on a 10/5 regime. 10 minutes of (we guessed) 5mph running and 5 of 3mph walking. Enough to maintain the buffer and keep grinding through the miles.

 

There were more CPs heading off to the Thames. I had thought we might make the 100 miles in 24 hours - a goal I have never achieved as I’d only run 62 miles before this. Although it would have been madness to chase a goal in this type of race, had I not been with the guys I definitely would have gone for it and blown up a few miles after.

 

By now things are getting a little hazy as we went past the 24 hour mark and into unknown territory. Actually forget that last bit. We’d been in unknown territory FOR 24 hours. We’d now reached ‘happy with that, the rest is a bonus’ territory. 

 

There was one more CP in Reading before the Thames turn and secretly I was thinking they’d stretch that leg to send us away from Streatley for maybe a mile before doubling us back at the next CP. I may just be as devious as J&J as I was seeing all sorts of permutations. Or I may just have been paranoid. I’m not a glass-half-empty type of guy, more a ‘don’t trust the glass, drink from the tap'. 

 

So much better on the PoS to believe the worst and for it not to happen than be unprepared for a nasty shock.

 

As we crossed the Thames we unfortunately managed to scare the bejeezus out of  a small kid scootering along happily on a perfect autumn Saturday. Looking back she saw 3 disheveled runners limping toward her in a scene from an 80's undead movie. And one with a day-glo red beard that made him look like an evil Santa. Unsurprisingly she suddenly decided to scoot a lot faster. I’d like to apologise for that. It was unnecessary. Next time it’s a green beard and red hair. So much more friendly.

 

And so to Streatley, where it all started and where we knew we weren’t done. Not by a long way.

 

Earlier I'd mentioned to the guys that it would be pure evil to run us all the way in then make us start the Winter 100. Tom told me to shut up in no uncertain terms but guess what. We did. 

 

I’d like to say that the hills were a welcome relief after such a long, flat, straight run. I’d be lying. A lot. 

 

We needed hills like.. well. We just didn’t need hills.

 

What really didn’t help that I think I may have told the guys that we were in line to miss the cut-off to Swincombe, so we (very stupidly as it turned out) kicked up the pace to around 10 min/miles, and gawd alive did it hurt. 

 

For absolute grit and determination I have to take my hat, coat & shoes off to Tiny Tim (Tom is 6'3 so I'd coined this nickname many hours ago). He had been suffering for more hours that I can remember but with the prospect of dropping, he took the pace and pushed us up through the hills. How he did it I don’t know but his sheer force of will dragged us on at what for that point in the race was a suicidal pace.

 

The reason why I call it stupid is that we didn't have to push the pace. We’d miscalculated and were fine on the 10/5 routine we’d been on for hours. Once we realised this after about 3 miles it came as a real blow. We’d probably just killed any chance we had of finishing and nobody really felt like talking. We just trudged on.

 

Then we started to meet the W100 runners returning from the out-and-back leg. It was almost as if the music had come on in the patriotic part of a particularly harrowing “ do or die” move. EVERYONE who passed us gave us a ‘keep on guys’, ‘good work’, ‘doing great’. It gets me a bit just remembering this. That is what ultra running is about. That is why I am now a fully-fledged addict. They saw us hurting and willed us on.And we went on. We made Swincombe and collapsed.

 

On the way in we’d met Sam, who was limping pretty badly from a previous tendon issue. I’d really wanted to see if we could drag him to the CP with us as it didn’t seem right passing such an awesome runner, but he waved us on saying he’d walk it in. I later learned he’d dropped shortly after. It was the right decision and will mean he can seriously kick some ass in 2014. (Ok, enough of the hoo-har stuff. Background music is now off).

 

So now we had a decision. James had called to say Sam had dropped and wanted to know whether the 3 muscateers wanted to carry on. We agreed to at least see the route and then decide. Then we saw the beast that was a hilly 15 miles and a 4 hour cutoff. We were barely walking by this point and it had taken over a minute for us to get out of the camp chairs to look at the map. So of course we limped out of the CP and into the darkness.For some reason we decided to sing a bit too. It helped.

 

Down the the hill & up the next. An arrow-straight path to the Swan Way and on to the next CP. We had no chance of making the cut-off. We knew that. What we also knew is that the end would never be a CP. James has a habit of hiding in bushes and jumping out at people. Sometimes for races too.Could we have lived with the knowledge that we’d dropped 400m from the end? So on we went.

 

The wrong way.

Eventually after two more hours of pointless wandering in the dark, we called in to drop and waited to be picked up

 

We’d covered more ground in more time than I ever thought possible. We’d bantered, insulted eachother, cajoled, threatened and invented anti-chafing devices over the last 31 hours that I will not forget for a long, long time. We’d run ourselves into the ground and had nothing more to give. The end was immaterial.. the race was over.

 

The funny thing was It didn’t matter. We were done. We’d won.

One last message before this blog entry is done....

The reason I’m doing this. What got me into walking last year and then running this year is to raise money for Alice's Escapes. Alice was an inspirational lady, and the charity provides respite to sick kids and their families.

 

Take a look.. Read her story. You might just be motivated to do something Idiotic ;)

Written by Rich Cranswick - http://lejog2014.blogspot.co.uk/

Well, it looks like normal running service has been resumed (touch wood). The 100km Stour Valley Path - my first proper ultra and 100% successful sweeper-avoiding run.

I had booked in to a local Newmarket pub close to the start. Downside = they had a band playing Friday night that would make Disaster Area sound like St Winifreds School Choir, so no sleep for me till midnight. But I did get a good back massage through the bass vibrations from the floor. Upside = they opened the kitchen early for me and I managed to scarf down a large fried breakfast before setting off, so I was amply fueled for anything the SVP may throw at us.  

Saturday morning 7:15 saw 30-odd runners assemble for the early start. The fast, lean running machines went two hours later. The difference in start times means I gained an advantage and managed to munch my way through 4 checkpoints before being overtaken by the more running-orientated competitors. The majority of the fast bunch did look like they needed the food more than I did, though to let such a great spread spoil would be criminal. So I did my best.

Yep.. idiots.

As the race progressed I cleared a slippery Devils Dyke in the rain, then buddied up with  Jem and Simon to lead the first group, after they first decided to add an extra 2k to the route by getting lost. Together we ran up some lovely ploughed fields taking most of the clay soil with us, passed the same beardy guy in a camper van at several key waypoints (thanks for the water refill) and were hooted, clapped and cajoled on by a load of cheery checkpoint chappies, including Organiser Matt, Matt's Mum, and James Adams who very kindly blogged LeJOG. I must admit I was very rude to the guy, pointing at him and saying something inane along the lines of "I know you from Facebook - you're James Elson". I was glad of the protection of my fluorescent "Idiots Running Club" T-shirt, which thankfully proved a great disclaimer throughout.

One part that sticks in the mind was at Long Melford Hall. The Stour Valley Path goes directly down the "grand avenue" though the gates half-way down the long driveway were chained shut, with only an open door to the gatehouse marked "gift shop". I jogged through, apologised for the muddy footprints to the the cashier, sheepishly pointed to the T-shirt by way of an explanation and exited quickly. Well, if you apply the "exit through the gift shop" policy on a national trail you have to expect all & sundry coming through - and at that point I definitely fell into the sundry category.

As the race went on it was clear that Simon was suffering, as he was losing touch with Jem and I on the hills. We hit the 50k mark in around 5h 30 and with back problems becoming too much he decided to bail at the next CP, which left the two of us to carry on. I was still feeling OK but Jem's knees were beginning to suffer. As both of us were in this for a finish rather than a time, we decided only to run the flat sections. My legs were overjoyed and we had the chance to stride out and look around a bit rather than head-down plodding.

The checkpoints started at mile 13 and the distance between decreased as the race progressed, though the last two must have been mis-marked as my legs were certain I ran 26 and 34 miles respectively. The mandatory head-torch came in handy as we ran the last 2 hours in the dark and river-mist. Eery, chilly but exciting at the same time. As an additional kicker the last 3 gates were padlocked shut so a bit of climbing was in order. Just what you need in the dark after 60 miles and 14h running, but we were so close to finishing we'd have crawled through barbed wire just to get to the point where you can stop running and lie down.

The organisation was second-to-none with great route maps and tape markers complementing the normal SVP signs. These proved to be invaluable as we played "spot the tape". First person to spot shouted "TAPE". Sounds like the sort of game a 5-year-old would quickly tire of but after 50+ miles neither of us had many marbles left and anything that took the mind away from grinding out the miles was a bonus.

We eventually managed to cross the line together at 9:35pm in 14:20, hands held high in celebration that it was all over. Job done. As is was pretty cold by the river, Jem and I said our farewells and he left.  I had intended to find a B&B but was so drained I just put up a tent by the trees and crawled in, crashing out till 7am and a short walk to Manningtree train station and home.

Two days down I can now walk up stairs without holding on to the walls, and may even try a light jog tomorrow. Chuffed to bits that I managed to avoid the dreaded DNF & really glad we both booked a finish under the cutoff. Despite his "never again" comments in the low-points I had the cheek to tell Jem that it won't be his last. I have a feeling it won't be.

Very well organised, marked and staffed ultra from Matt and Nic - already asked if I can pay now to book number #1 for next year. We will see ;) 

For me it's the start of the winter lumpy stuff, next stop Wales for the Wye Valley 50

Written by Tim Lambert - http://fromsofatoultra.com/

Written by Andrew Benham - http://uphillstruggler.blogspot.co.uk/

This weekend was the 2014 Mud Crew Roseland August Trail - the RAT - and this year I had entered the Plague distance.  To explain: there are four distances on offer - the black, red & white routes, 32, 20 & 11 miles respectively, are linear courses traversing the Cornish coast path along the Roseland peninsular. Depending on your choice of distance you will be taken by bus to the relevant start point and run back to the start. For the really stupid few though a bus would not be necessary. Those of us signed up to the plague would start from the finish and run, overnight, to St Anthony's head, turn around and run back. A total of 64 miles along some of the most brutal and unforgiving terrain the coast path has to offer.

At the briefing

Ready for the off

Coming up out of Pentewan are a couple more big hills which went by surprisingly quickly. At Mevagissey I joined up with a small group and chatted to one guy in particular for a while (sorry can't remember your name, I'm crap at this at the best of times!). Before long it seemed we were coming into Gorran Haven and check point 2. I didn't want to be drawn in to spending too much time at the check points - I knew I could run 20 miles on a litre of water and so dibbed and ran again with my sights firmly set on Portloe. This led to me finding myself alone on the trail again and I settled into a good rhythm. The trail from Gorran Haven is gently up hill but mostly not too technical for a fairly long stretch up to Dodman point. 

Not long after I started to recognise the outline of the cliff and realised I was approaching Nare Head. I had set up camp here last year while photographing and remembered watching runners' head torches moving back and forward as they tried to find the correct line. The memory didn't help me much and I did the same, eventually getting myself up onto the headland and being passed by several others in the process.

Beautiful sunrise, somewhere near Portscatho

From Nare Head there is a good view of the remainder of the route and Portscatho - the final checkpoint before St Anthony was lit up and glowing in the distance. I was quite put out at just how distant it was though and there were a fair few hills still to go. Arriving at the beach before the Nare Hotel I met another runner - I remembered her from last year - and we chatted for a bit as we wound our way along the final stretch up to Portscatho. By now the sun was rising and what a sunrise! I certainly got a big boost from those golden rays as they warmed my back and pushed me on. 

Portscatho in the early morning sun

 

Happy to see the sun at last

It was pretty cool to arrive at Portscatho and be greeted by a bunch of Superheros; quite surreal and a great lift. I stopped to fill up with water and watched several runners pass on while I snacked and sorted out moving some food into places I could get at it before once more heading off.

Super marshals, Portscatho

The section from Portscatho to St Anthony is relatively flat and quite runnable and I'd been looking forward to this, however the truth was I was starting to feel knackered by now and it showed on these four miles. Runners were passing me and those that had already turned were heading back, always with an exchanged "well done" for each other. I also saw Charlie Whitton photographing and stopped for a chat for a minute or two. On arrival at St Anthony I rang my support crew and spoke to Bronwen, asking her to pass on my turn around time - 7:30 - and expected return pace. As I was about to find out I was being optimistic about my likely pace on the return leg.

Happy trails, leaving Portscatho

 

Beautiful views across Carrick Roads to Pendennis & Falmouth

Heading back, even in those first few miles I was really starting to flag. I ran as much as I could though and got back to Portscatho where I intended to have some soup and a sit down. Andy Jukes was there when I arrived and he told me he'd just dropped with a tendon issue in his ankle. I said I'd realised I was running slower than my goal and was a bit pissed off about it and he gave me the talking to I needed - to forget about pace and concentrate on doing whatever I needed to do to finish. The soup was an epic fail unfortunately, I just couldn't face it - the only thing I rejected all day. So it was back to gels and flapjacks and off I went again.

Black route runners coming through

The next miles along to, and over the top of, Nare Head were increasingly difficult, though by now the black route runners had started catching me up and I was bouyed up by words of encouragement from just about everyone that passed. I didn't feel like I was "doing great" or "looking good" though and struggled to give more than a grunt in return I'm afraid. Dropping down from Nare head my quads finally started to give up on me and this added to the sense of doom and gloom that I was slipping into. Up until now I was running down hill quite well but all of a sudden it was all I could do to keep up right and hobble my way down the steep bank I was on. Luckily it wasn't far to Portloe; as I got to the top of the hill above the village I heard the starting horn for the red route and saw the runners all filing out on their merry way. Minutes later the welcome sight of Hannah, Bronwen & Jenna waving me in lifted my spirits and I dragged myself into the checkpoint for a bit of a sit down and a change of socks. I had given the kids a list of questions to ask me when they saw me - do you need any food, have you been taking your salt tablets, etc. Of course the only one that interested them was "when did you last pee?" which they gleefully shouted as I arrived. This would be the greeting I received at every check point until the end!  I should also thank the unknown black route runner who handed me some Compeed and plasters to sort out my one blister; once that was sorted and I had loaded up with more food and drank a couple of glasses of coke I was off again.

Although it was a long old way to Gorran Haven and the next official check point (10 miles) I knew there would be a water station at Port Holland and the girls were to meet me at Caerhays so this section would be broken up nicely. I settled in to a steady pace up to Portholland, running a bit with another Plague runner and soon enough we were descending the steep steps into the village. It was good to see Andy Goundry handing out sweets and drinks and we had a little chat before heading off across the rocks. Charlie Whitton was just across the rocks taking photos and I stopped for a quick chat again with him - he later told me I was in a dark place when I spoke to him there - before moving on. I think this section up to Caerhays was my lowest point; I just couldn't get any kind of pace, everything hurt and I was struggling to just keep my mind on the next little section - the enormity of what I still  had to do just kept on rearing up.

At Caerhays the girls walked up the hill and over the fields with me. Just before leaving them I was passed by Justin Lowell; I noticed he was wearing headphones and this reminded me that I too had an mp3 player with me. I whipped it out and stuck on some tunes and the transformation was incredible. The pain in my legs receded, my mood lifted and I was off again (I don't think I was moving any faster but in my mind I was flying!). Before long I was actually enjoying the day again, pumping my fists to the music, singing along, and smiling inside and out.

Vault beach and the start of a lovely long downhill section toward Gorran Haven

After some hard miles over Dodman point there is a lovely long downhill section almost all the way to Gorran. I ran into Gorran Haven on a high and told everyone how much better I was feeling. Gutted to find no Coke left I downed a can of Red Bull which actually went down pretty well and shot off. Hannah didn't want to try and park in Meva so arranged to meet me at Pentewan. I continued in a positive mood for a few more miles, though bizarrely I was becoming unusually emotional. Every time I thought about finishing I would feel like I was choking up, only to be laughing hysterically seconds later. Everything seemed very sharp and intense and I was at times almost euphoric, even though I was hurting. I've never experienced this on a run before.

Port Mellon and feeling it!

 

oh dear!

At Port Mellon the route moves onto the road and the positive energy I had been riding on started to fall away to be replaced by a feeling of complete exhaustion. By now though I didn't care, as I reached the top of the hill above the harbour in Meva the two marshals there cheered me on and told me what I already knew - "You've got this, its in the bag now". At the other side of the harbour a marshal kindly donated some of her own water as I was sure I hadn't enough to make it to Pentewan without running out. I'd been managing my water well up until then I couldn't imagine running dry on those steep climbs ahead. One of those climbs, an absolute mother of a hill, nearly broke me and I had to dig seep to carry on but again, soon enough I was approaching the check point. The girls ran me in and I got a high five and a pep talk from Fergie about how I had plenty of time and could walk the last bit if I needed to and still get in. I feasted on water melon while Izzy filled my bottles and then I was off to take on those dreaded final sets of steps in the last four miles.

Really? More steps?

I think by now I was taking about 25 minutes per mile but was still surprised at how well I climbed the last few hills. With only a mile or so to go my Garmin told me it was low on battery. Checking the time I also reckoned if I picked up the pace a bit I might get in under 17 and a half hours and so that's what I did. I marched up the last hill through Porthpean like a man possessed; in the end the Garmin made it and I crossed the line in 17:31:58. Best of all the girls were there to run the last few metres holding my hands which made it all the better. The post race beer was a beautiful thing to behold; but before long my body was starting to shut down. Having showered and wrapped up in as many clothes as I could find I ate Pizza and shuffled off to bed at about 8:30! Broken but satisfied.

It remains only to thank everyone involved. Ferg and the rest of the team made this such a great event, everything was so well run & having ultra runners manning all the check points meant you got looked after at every point along the way - whether that meant filling your bottles, checking you were eating or just giving you a kick up the backside and telling you to get on with it. That's why these events shine out as some of the best in the country and why people just keep coming back year after year. And thanks as well to Hannah, Bronwen and Jenna, my support crew and long suffering family.

I was at the water trough in the centre of town next to the Maison des Guides. I drank plenty of the amazing cool water and then dunked my head in to wash the thick layer of salt that had formed over the previous three hours of blissful, sun-filled Chamonix trail running at it's best. I had left home in Argentiere heading straight up for just over 1000 metres to Lac Blanc, from there I traversed westwards to La Flegere before continuing across to Plan Praz which is the finish point of the Mont Blanc vertical km race which would be held in a few days time. I then dropped down the fast but slightly technical trail just across from the vkm route. Which bought me to the glorious head dunking in the centre of town as hundreds of holiday makers sauntered around enjoying the warmth of the sun. 

It was here that I assessed how fatigued I was. The sun was battering me and I was quite tired but not too bad really. From here I planned to head up to the plan des auiguille which is another vertical km in climbing then head across to Montenvers, drop down to Le Bois then back home. This was my last big run before the upcoming Mont Blanc 80km. I had predicted around 5hrs for this circuit. My predictions are generally fairly good, but this time I would be around 2 hrs out! As I headed up the climb out of Chamonix, the storm clouds where gathering and dull and distant rumbles of thunder where threatening to head in my direction. I hadn't eaten yet and so decided to grab my emergency bar out of my waist pack. My energy levels were dipping. As I unzipped the pouch I remembered that I had eaten it a few days previously and not replaced it. My hand rummaged around slightly panicky hoping my memory had failed me, but no, for once it was right. Well as you can imagine, the next 4 hours turned into a death march and on returning home I was utterly spent. Not my finest race preparation! 

It was 0330. I was alone and pacing around the same square with the trough in that I had recently dunked my head into. As the time ticked on more and more runners were approaching from around every corner, some alone and others in groups. I had rested as much as life would allow since my last run and I felt ok. I was starting to feel like the last year of living in the mountains was having a strong effect. Mentally I felt very strong. I knew the majority of the course and it was a real beast. But there were to be no major suprises for me. My descending was not the finest out there but it was no longer destroying my quads. I was excited to get going. With over 6000 metres of ascent and plenty of technical terrain to deal with this was going to be a major challenge and it was shorter than what I consider my stronger distance. My usual priorities were in place : Enjoy, finish and cross the line feeling like I could give no more. The first was a given due to the location, and if the second happened then the third would be pretty much guaranteed as I knew there would be no easy way round this course. It was going to be the toughest 80km of my life yet!

Our numbers had our countries flag on which is always a nice touch as you can easily spot fellow countrymen. Shortly before the off a Brit squeezed through the ever thickening gaggle of nervous runners towards me. He introduced himself (Name forgotten I'm afraid) and we squashed a running resume conversation in the final 10 minutes before the off. I had placed myself around mid way in the pack. This is starting to become a habit with Alpine races. I like the fact that there will be many people ahead who I will probably pass, but the slower more controlled start that was forced on me prevents me from going too hard on the first section which I have learnt is often a large climb and where the last thing I want to do is blow a gasket before I've even peaked the first climb. 

As the infectiously excitable Euro start was in full swing, I shouted best of luck to my new friend, The countdown wound it's way down and then we were off. The first part of the climb is the short road section of the vertical km. If you have ran this or seen it, you will know that it is rather steep and I was soon telling myself to stop running and begin my power walk. I may as well start now as this was going to get well used today! Within 5 minutes I could see the snake of headlights ahead going left and fading into the trees as the climb to Bellachat began in earnest. Whenever the slope eased a little I would run and if it was wide enough I would pass runners, trying to keep the accelerations as smooth and minimal as possible so as not to turn the whole thing into a sprints session. Sure enough I was steadily passing lots of runners and as I did I wondered whether I would see them again during the race. I was feeling in control and enjoying the climb. The chills I had felt while waiting on the startline had been replaced by heavy sweating as I worked consistantly hard with the slight glow in the sky that was the beginnings of a beautiful day.

I felt good as I climbed the final section of zig zag path before the Bellachat refuge. We had climbed around 1200 metres so far and ahead there was a further 300 that would take us up to Brevent. This was a fun section which is a little rocky and technical in places but mostly runnable. My head torch was not needed now so I gratefully pulled it from my head and stuffed it deep in one of my bags side pockets hoping that I wouldn't be needing it later that day. As I bounded along the first harsh rays of the sun appeared up ahead from behind the Aiguille des Chardonnet. It was just perfect and really gave me a little extra bounce to my run, though I knew this would be shortlived. The weather forecast was for a warm sunny day, so with my generally poor history of heat during long runs, the sun could very well soon not be such a source of joy, but for the time being that was certainly not on my mind.

From the top of Brevent the descent is fairly long, quite rocky but fast terrain. I again focused on being as smooth as possible. I knew that, Plan Praz at the bottom of the descent I would be rewarded with my first cp with food and drink. I stopped here and made sure I took on plenty of fluid and lots of cheese and sauscisson. It tasted great now, but I was sure that in 10 hours time I probably wouldn't be as keen. With the first major climb behind me, and with the gaps between runners ever widening, I was starting to feel as though the race had properly started now and I was comfortable and eager to run to Flegere then Tete aux vents as this section was a good runnable, yet still challenging part which had fine views across the valley to the Mont Blanc massif. Not that I needed the motivation, but I was hardly going to push it away! 

Although I felt strong along this top section, partly because of my familiarity with it, I was as disciplined as possible and tried not to get carried away as I continued to chase people down and pass them. The temperature was rising rapidly now the sun was fully risen. The heat is often my biggest enemy in races, but we have had a lot of warm weather in Chamonix before the race and I was hoping that maybe I had actually acclimatised a little. 

I was passing some people that were already looking a little worse for wear. I fely for them as there was so far left. I could completely imagine that if you weren't used to the scale of Alpine climbs and descents you could very easily overcook things very quickly. I know as I've been there! Once I had hopped along the top section to Tete aux ventes I begun the descent which is also the final ascent on the UTMB. It is a tough final climb for a 100 miler and it is pretty steep with a few technical sections making it a fun descent which I could take advantage of as my legs and feet were still relatively fresh. I really enjoyed bounding down here and felt strong on the technical sections. I smiled half with the joy of the descent and half with humour as I imagined how I would be gingerly descending the final drop of the day back into Chamonix. 

There were a quite a few spectators at the road crossing at the bottom which is the Col des Montets. I took in the boost that the cheers and ringing cow bells provided as I crossed the road before the gentle descent down to le Bois. I was all alone here and was really excited as the next section would be the only section of the course I hadn't seen before. What a great way to discover you local trails! Once at the bottom, I crossed the same road again and was directed onto a path which I had run before when I went up to Mont Buet a month earlier. It is a runnable trail that follows the river upstream. After a while I crossed a footbridge and then I was on new territory. Soon the trail was breaking away from the river and began to slope upwards, gaining steepness as it progressed. I was soon above the treeline and was suddenly feeling the full effects of the hot sun as it's oppressive heat hammered away at me. The particular geography of the valley also meant that it was perfectly still here so no releif was provided from the cool breeze which I would feel later on. The climb was long and the footpath seemed like it was seldom trod being very narrow. There were rocky sections which demanded use of my hands and some ironwork. All in all this was a fantastic section. I turned a corner and saw that the climb continued for a fair distance as I squinted in the bright sun to see the runners ahead scrambling throug the snow we were now trudging through. With the height gained came cooler air which my sweat dripping body much needed. Considering how hard I was working and the temperature, I was happy with how things were working. I had acclimatised to some extent to the heat.

Once over the top the descent begun down the snow which was turning slushy under the heat of the sun. The running was fun as I slid all over the place as I fought to stay upright. The last section of snow was a gully that was steep and looking ahead I could see runners falling and sliding down on their backsides. Here goes! I tried to glissade with only slight glimmers of success. I fell a number of times before working out that instead of getting back up I should join the backside sliders and make my way down faster and with more control. Such style! 

Once I had 'negotiated' the last of the snow for the day, it was back onto beautiful rocky trail that was descending down to Lac d'Emosson. The sky was a deep blue and I was thoroughly enjoying this new section though I would soon be back on familiar trail. I was beginning to feel the signs of exhaustion setting in but I had been going quite hard for a number of hours so was not too surprised. The next climb was from Vallorcine straight up to Aiguillette des Possettes which was a vertical km! I wasn't expecting an easy ride!

I stopped a few times on the long downhill to Vallorcine at river crossings to drink the cold water instead of the hot water in my bottles. One time I dunked my head under to clean the salt from my face. Once on the valley floor I followed the markers and was pulled along by the cheering crowds of spectators which were sat out in the beautiful alpine meadows enjoying the sun. It was good to be in the shelter of the cp tent. I made sure my bottles were topped up with cold water and ate what I could before slowly jogging off to the start of the climb with one handful of cheese and the other full of sausage. I immediately began walking as my first foot hit the slope. The first section is possibly the steepest. Pointless even trying to run this during a race of this length. Let's see if I can find some sort of rhythm.

I soon finished off my sweaty handfulls of Savoyarde treats, washed it down with some still cold water and attempted to zone in to my not-too-fast-but-consistant rhythm. After 15 minutes or so, I realised that my earlier thoughts about this being a tough climb were true. Although I had fared better than normal in the sun, it had still be working it's black magic on me. The good news was that there was no nausea yet which would be crippling. Although the climb was tough, I was making good steady progress up through the never ending switchbacks. Once up on the Col des possettes and back out of the trees the incline levels off a bit giving you some respite before the final push to the top. I had run this many times in the last year and the familiarity was comforting. I passed a number of hikers here before topping out and geting stuck into the descent which starts out prety technical in places and later switches into fairly smooth trail. My tired legs were not allowing me to descend as I normally do on this trail, but I felt that my progress was good and overall I was in ok shape for this stage.

I passed through a quiet Le Tour. No cp here and the next one wouldn't be till Argentiere, so I stopped at the fountain and topped up again. The trail from Le Tour to Argentiere was undulating which made a nice chenge. I ran the whole lot but it was a sedate run. There was still a moster climb left so there was no need to be pushing it too hard. I had too save something. As I came off the trail onto the road that ran into Argentiere and more importantly the next cp, I was feeling sluggish. I stopped at the cp and stayed for a couple of minutes as I made myself eat something and regroup. I thanked the crew and walked off stiffly before slowly breaking into a heavy jog. It was nice to run so close to home knowing that the majority of the course had been run. 

The trail to le Bois was the Petite Balcon Nord and was again undulating. I was starting to suffer but no-one was catching me up. Everyone was now suffering! At the Le Bois cp I again stopped and forced myself to eat whatever I could and drank a bellyfull of water before hiking off to the bottom of the final climb. This climb takes you to Montenvers train station overlooking the Mer de Glace. It begins with switchbacks through the trees and ends with some steeper stuff through large rocks. This quickly turned into a zombie march. My breathing was short and fast and my heart rate was through the roof as I crawled along at a slugs pace. Amazingly I still managed to overtake a few people on this final climb. There was some serious suffering going on up here!

I was happy and relieved to finally reach the cp at the top here. Stopped and again made sure I was ready for the final push to the finish. First up was a long traverse to the Plan de l'Aiguille followed by the 1km drop down to Chamonix. I got myself into a slow but steady plod and picked up two others.  A Swiss chap and A Japanese lady. I didn't walk once along this final traverse and because my pace was so slow, I kept checking whether either of the two trailing close behind wanted to path but they said my pace was fine. The consistancy across the top here was paying off as we soon starting passing the odd runner who was suffering a little more. Just before the end of this top section, the Swiss chap dropped off the back and then it was just me and the Japanese lady who seemed to be half my size.

As the final drop into town begun I felt heavy and stiff but soon things eased off a little allowing me to speed up a little. My Japanese friend on the other hand seemed smooth and light on her feet. I stood aside after about 20 minutes and told her to pass. She didn't want to but I knew she was descending far quicker than I was. Once past I stayed with her for another 10 minutes before the elastic snapped. My stomach was beginning to complain and with each footfall, a hollow pain would echo through my torso. I walked numerous times on the remainder of the down. 

I burst out of the trees and started to walk again. There was around a 500 metre walk up to the main road. I'd just walk up to there then run the final few hundred metres to the finish I thought. Just as I was approaching the junction a group of supporters up ahead begun cheering and I got carried away with it and started running. I do love a Chamonix finish. So many people around and everyone cheers you on. It's such a fantastic atmosphere that for a brief moment a huge grin spreads across your face and the pain is forgotten. I crossed the line, immediately collected my medal and then I needed to sit but as I tried to walk to a free bit of curb, my muscles failed to operate. My feet were dragging across the floor. Jesus get me down on the floor before I drop!

What an incredible race! I absolutely loved it. It was everything I wanted. I had managed to come in at 56th place too. I was really happy with how everything had gone. If you love beautiful and really tough trail then I strongly recommend this one. I rarely repeat races but this just maybe one of them! 

Thanks for reading. Happy running.