Written by Jim Tinnion - http://midlands-fell.blogspot.co.uk

Near the summit of Branstree, above Haweswater

I'd heard about the Three Rings of Shap 100k challenge walk from my friend Roger Lloyd, who'd completed two of the rings in 2011. When Zoe and I discussed the Hundred and she said she'd quite fancy doing it next year (that's not exactly what she said in fairness but never mind...) I checked the entry requirements for next year's Hundred and the first available qualifier was the Three Rings. Given that the others were all on flatter terrain which I might find a little less interesting, and that they were all at the "soft" distance of 50 miles, we decided a week after the Hundred to go for the Three Rings of Shap. You can never say whether you're going to be able to do a Hundred, but 100k to 100 miles is a considerably smaller step up than 50 miles to 100k.

Having registered so close to the event (less than two weeks to go) we didn't have much time for prep other than to book a hotel (the Shap Wells Hotel a few miles away) for the night before and the night after, and to copy A4 maps from my 1:25k OS maps, mark them up, and print the route sheets.

So after a comfy night's sleep, we popped into the Shap Memorial Hall to register (all of one minute to pick up our tallies and let them know we intended to start late) and then back to the hotel for a decent breakfast. We returned to the event centre at about 8:30 and sorted kit, starting at 8:54am.

There were very few behind us (only two runners I think) as we set out on the first ring - a trip out up Wet Sleddale and Mosedale to Branstree and Selside Pike, then down Swindale to Rosgill and back past Shap Abbey to Shap itself. We set a decent rapid walking pace out to the River Lowther and up into Wet Sleddale, climbing above the reservoir with Zoe looking very much the part and doing a lot of the nav work.

Across a meadow to the farm in Wet Sleddale - they were liming the field beyond the farm

Zoe, looking the part and enjoying it (at Mile 4!)

From road above the reservoir we took a track zigzagging past Sleddale Hall which is abandoned but looks like it may be under restoration. Another 3km took us up to the watershed between Wet Sleddale and Mosedale, where we consulted the map and compass for a few moments to check that the indistinct grass path would lead us down to the bridge in Mosedale. We ran the descent and jogged across the bridge and up to Mosedale Cottage (which has been refurbished fairly recently) where we overtook the first walkers from the main start, a family group of five doing just the first ring.

Just before Mosedale Cottage (12km)

The climb to Branstree was relatively straightforward, up a stream to a wall and then along the ridge to the top. Except that I got too near the stream at one point and left my right leg in the most gloopy hole full of brown slop imaginable. Anyway we caught another couple of walkers up at the top and from then on it would be a fairly steady stream for the remainder of the first loop.

We headed along the fenceline to Selside Pike where we caught another few walkers up at the top and from then on it would be a fairly steady stream for the remainder of the first loop.

View to Haweswater from between Branstree and Selside Pike

Summit of Selside Pike (17km)

Pair of walkers near the summit of Selside Pike

From Selside Pike we dropped down across Hobgrumble Gill to a short climb onto Nabs Moor, before descending easy slopes to the top of Forces Falls, the point at which Mosedale runs down into Swindale. The descent from here to the valley of Swindale was beautiful, down a rocky ridge adjacent to a series of waterfalls and plunge pools.

Beautiful plunge pools on Swindale Beck

View down into Swindale

Technical descending into Swindale

Zoe running the final section of the descent

A short run along the edge of the beck through moraine led to a lane which turned into the road and led to the first checkpoint at Truss Gap. In a barn by the road were a couple of the Cumbria LDWA stalwarts, logging time, clipping tallies and dispensing superb baked goods. Two currant slices and a piece of cherry cake later and we were on our way up a gentle traversing path to climb above Swindale, passing a farm at Rayside and then recrossing Swindale Beck before joining the road over the River Lowther into Rosgill.

We snuck through a footpath next to an almost abandoned cottage to join a lovely grassy path which ran along the break of the escarpment above the River Lowther, passing close by Shap Abbey to reach the village of Keld, and then followed anothe path through fields past the brilliantly-named "Goggleby Stone" back to Shap and the event centre.

Shap Abbey

Having walked and jogged the first 18 miles and 2,600' of climbing in a bit under 5 hours, we took 25 minutes at the checkpoint to regroup. I redressed my foot which was rubbing quite badly, filled our bottle, swapped the maps and route description and we had a cup of tea.

Duly refreshed we set out on the steady eastward climb which would set us on the way around the second "rivers" ring.  (22 min to start of Zoe's track)

This took us up to Hardendale and over Iron Hill into Reagill and then down to eet the River Livennet at Barnskew. I'd never heard of the Livennet before but it drains quite a significant area north of Crosby Rasenworth Fell between the Lowther and the Lune, and the section we followed was a lovey reach of river. About a third of the way along the river (at about the 8 mile point on the leg) we came to the promised water point...

World's most primitive checkpoint - good selection of broken digestives in there, but Zoe grabbed the only malted milk before I had chance to...

I really liked the minimalist and simplistic approach to resupply here. The next section of the route was really pretty, criss-crossing the River Livennet over a series of small bridges.

Stepping stones across the Livennet, about the only place we didn't cross!

Eventually we left the banks of the Livennet and passed through the villages of King's Meaburn and Morland before skirting Cliburn (which looked quite pretty on the descent to the bridge). Leaving the second field after Cliburn there was a big boggy patch (one of very few) and Zoe slipped and saved herself from falling using the stile, which unfortunately was wrapped in barbed wire. We stopped for running repairs with the world's tiniest plaster (the only one left in my first aid kit - must replace them when I use them) and some Micropore. Duly patched up we finished this field section, came out via a farm land onto a road, and then had a real draggy section of a bit over 2km to the checkpoint at Great Strickland.

The checkpoint was in the Strickland Arms (well in the back garden actually). This was at 53.5km: I'm quite glad I didn't realise that at the time, it seemed like we'd already gone a fair way - we reached the checkpoint at 18:16 (09:22 elapsed). We stopped for maybe ten minutes while I patched up my feet again, and partook of the excellent selection of savoury snacks (including mini-pasties - a very welcome first time I've seen these on an event). Just as we were getting ready to leave it started to rain, so we cagged up there and then - I thought it might last a while!

Another 2km of roads led us down and across the River Leith (second of the three rivers this Ring is named for) and on to another of those places where we made a minor navigational error, using the wrong "gate by pylon". Zoe and I had passed a couple of groups of walkers on the road and with a bit of shouted communication we soon sorted it out and found the key bridge over the West Coast Main Line. A zigzag under the motorway led us up to the A6 at Hackthorpe. It was raining on and off, and we wanted to get as far as we could back towards Shap before it set in properly, so I avoided the temptation of another pub, and we headed on uphill through a nature reserve-type area, trending left on unmarked paths through deep undergrowth in the hope that this would bring us out in the right place. We actually came out 200m NE of the gate we'd hoped to be at, but fortunately there was another track through the nettles.

We passed through a gate and a short section of woodland into Lowther deer park. As we came down Round Hill towards Lord Greening's Plantation we could see a big herd of deer off to our left. They seemed fairly unconcerned about the string of walkers spread out over their grazing land. A bit of up and down and a long section with woods on our right led us out of the deer park and across fields to High Knipe. Zoe and I were making good progress, mostly powerhiking but with some running too, and we passed quite a lot of participants on this section.

Shortly after High Knipe Farm, on a section of road, we came to the second unmanned checkpoint on this Ring, at 62km. Again there were biscuits and water. We must have overtaken a good few folks because this time there was a reasonable choice of biscuits left including a chocolate chip cookie!
 
From here we dropped down rapidly to the River Lowther, which we crossed on a fairly bouncy suspension footbridge. We turned and ran upstream with the river on out left for a couple of kilometers to reach Bampton Grange, where we crossed the river and heded along the other side to reach Rosgill - the only point we'd pass twice during the Three Rings.

We passed the cottage we'd been past on the first Ring, then made a second, more serious navigational error, turning left too soon (following someone else who'd done the same thing - never assume the folk in front know where they're going). We sorted it out after a couple of minutes with the map and hopping over two barbed wire fences, continuing uphill towards Shap in increasingly heavy rain. By the top of the next hill it was pouring, and we could see the chap who'd gone too far left was now away over to the right of the route in a field containing the almost aptly-named Thunder Stone. We shouted him, but I don't think he could hear over the rain.

Crossing the lane we made a diagonal beeline across three fields of very wet long pasture which finished off soaking my feet and made sure the repair work I'd done at Strickland would need re-doing at Shap. We followed the Ring One route into Shap from the end of the fields and reached the Hall (70km) at 21:12 (12:18 elapsed time). There weren't too many in the hall this time and we realised quite a few of those there we packing up to go home after two Rings.

We took way too long at the checkpoint really, but I re-dressed my feet from scratch and put new socks and fresh insoles in my shoes to try to keep feet dry for a while. We both ate some proper food too, and changes into a totally fresh set of (dry) clothes. I changed cag from my racing jacket which isn't really ideal for long trips into my mountain jacket which is much better for nights out. We left the hall at dusk, I guess just before 22:00 as the fastest runners were starting to come back in off Ring 3. I was quite pleased to see we hadn't actually been lapped! But I kept remembering the aim here was to ensure Zoe finished and qualified for the 2014 Hundred, and to do so I just needed to keep myself in one piece. So we would be doing relatively little running on the night section!

We started, still in heavy rain, up across the railway and along a stony lane into fields, climbing diagonally to reach a footbridge over the M6. From there we walked through rough fields along the east side of the motorway before I made yet another navigational error and this time decided not to follow the pair in front, but to climb left. Unfortunately it was a hundred yards too soon and we had to drop back down and try again in the next field.

At the top of this climb we crossed the haul road for Hardendale Quarry then followed another haul road down to the hamlet of Oddendale. By now we'd caught up the pair in front, Tony Natale and Andy Carpenter. We passed them on the next section, a long track on a green road gently uphill towards an enclosure called "Potrigg". Just after this we were supposed to fork left, and did so a little too late in the very last vestiges of twilight. Fortunately Tony and Andy shouted us. We then found and followed a nice line across Crosby Ravensworth Fell to reach a critical wall corner. From here the navigation would be straightforward, keeping a wall on our left for 2km as we made a crcuit of the headwaters of the River Livennet.

We then crossed another kilometer of open ground to meet the Orton - Crosby Rasenworth road. I think we were supposed to go straight over here and up past a plantation between this road and the Appleby to Orton road, but we missed it and ended up following the first road uphill to the junction of the two. By now Tony and Andy were in front of us again, and we duly caught and passed them again on the climb to Beacon Hill. We worked together to identify the gate to leave the fell through and dropped down across some fairly indistinct ground into the first of the limestone pavement landscape to try to find the entrance to Great Asby Scar National Nature Reserve.

Once in the reserve we followed a track which curved left after a little while. I'd noted we didn't want to go left when I went through the maps before the event, but went left anyway for some reason. Again Tony and Andy came to the rescue. The rest of the route through the Nature Reserve was straightforward though, and we were fairly soon out onto a farm track which became the road leading to the final manned checkpoint of the event, at Great Asby (86km, arrived at 01:22, time elapsed 16:30).

The checkpoint was brilliant, a gazebo with side panels (is that a tent then?) and a gas heater in the corner of a field. The malt loaf and chees was even better. We stopped ten minutes, and then headed out, passing several other participants on the road down towards Great Asby. These would be the last folks we'd overtake except for Tony and Andy (again!). We hiked up a long farm lane past the entrance to Halligill Farm, and promptly I got confused again on another tricky section. I set a bearing to follow the line of the path marked on the OS, and we ended up in the middle of nowhere at a brand new fence. A hunt around revealed no sign of any stiles. Zoe caught sight of Tony and Andy's headtorches down to the left, and we now realised they'd done the route before, so we made a beeline for them, and caught them up once more in the vivinity of Gaythorne Hall.

We walked together for a while up to a road junction on Coalpit Hill (wonder what they used to do there?) and then down the byway to Bank Head Farm, before we jogged on ahead down into a very sleepy Crosby Ravensworth village. It was now about 3am and just starting to get light as we trotted through the village. The next section was a long slog up a pretty little valley, first on a lane, then on green tracks through fields. We could see Tony and Andy's headtorches some way behind. My torch was off now except to look at the instructions. Zoe was very tired on this section, not so much physically, more just in terms of feeling she needed to sleep. I couldn't persuade her to eat anything or take a ProPlus either. Anyway she rallied as we reached Oddendale. It was her only bad patch really.

From here on back it was a case (largely) of following the outward route, along the quarry road and then around Hardendale Nab, with a slightly different route taking us north of the house at The Nab and down through fields to the motorway bridge. There were some pretty inquisitive horses in the first field and Zoe was a bit worried by them, so we jogged down to the motorway. After the bridge the last two kilometres back into Shap were fairly plain sailing. We arrived back at the Hall at 04:29, 19 hours and 32 minutes after we had started. I have the total distance from GPS as 103.3km.

The hall was almost deserted - there had only been one finisher since 3am. We were checked in and very well looked after with hot quiche making a really satisfacory breakfast! Tony and Andy came in three minutes after us and we were finally able to have a decent chat, having swapped places several times en route. After a while we gathered our stuff together and headed back to the Shap Wells Hotel to get some sleep.

I was pretty satsfied with this event. There wasn't any way our time was likely to set the world on fire, me three weeks after a hundred miler and with sore feet, and Zoe on her first event over 50km. But we finished joint 35th out of 89 starters and 55 finishers, and we achieved the objective of getting Zoe qualified for the Hundred. Not only that but we'd had a great and very varied big day's running and walking and really enjoyed it together.

Written by Paul Giblin - http://pyllon.com

Taking a trip

I’d wanted my first race of the season to be a challenge and it certainly delivered. I somehow had it in my head when I entered months before that it was pretty tough – but maybe just 4,500m ascent tough (with 127KM). I hadn’t fully registered the course profile until much closer to the race – a fairly technical 8,500m of ascent (and returns).

I arrived in GC a few of weeks before the race to get in about 10 days of training before resting up in preparation. As always it was a challenge trying to do it on a budget and I had some interesting experiences in hostels and locations I certainly wouldn’t have chosen if I’d had the luxury. More ‘character building’ in my old man’s terms, and nothing that I would change now. When you’re on your own for a while and have no one around, you just have to get on with it and survive with what you have available. It’s a useful exercise in itself. I know now just how torturous a dorm full of snoring men can be, and I always appreciate having access to food shops right on my doorstep!

First Race of the Season

Day before the race I made my fourth and final move of the trip as my folks arrived. We set up in a small holiday apartment in a pleasant enough complex in Maspalomas. I really enjoyed their company even with the race looming large. 

At registration I was informed that there were no more buses available to get me to the start on the other side of the island. Bit of a shambles from the organisers as there were a lot of people in the same boat. Having been part of the UTMB machine for the last few years, you very much expect the organisation to be of a similar standard. Lesson learned.

Race started at 11pm on the Friday from Ageate in the north-west of the island. My Folks kindly drove us there (about 90mins away) and they headed back to Maspalomas just after 8pm. Some sitting around in the cold and at 10.30 I was on the start line. No elite place for me in this race. I was halfway back being prodded by sticks and elbows and listening to the MC announce all those over on an Ultra World Tour pass.

11pm. Go!

Bit of squeeze to get going and immediately into a climb which eased into an easier road section where I could pass a 60 – 70 people, before tuning onto the main climb. For 1,500m. No point in pretending this was going to be easy.

Sitting around at the harbour had been cold and the wind was strong when it blustered. I was wearing too much but didn’t want to stop to sort it as I knew the trail got narrow and rocky further up and I’d be caught up in the chaos. It wasn’t until after the first checkpoint at 10km (over the biggest climb of the course) I could finally cool off. Humidity in the forest in particular felt high and the light from your headtorch illuminated the moisture in the air.

First big descent was tricky. Not sure if I was just settling in, my headtorch wasn’t lighting things properly or I was just a bit clumsy but I had a couple of almost serious slips which only served to make me more and more angry at myself.

Aid stations were the normal euro affairs. Water, coke, overstims, and where there was food it was banana and orange pieces, cheese, meat, nuts etc. The volunteers were all very pleasant and helpful.

First few hours I wasn’t feeling great but tried to get into a groove and not fall into doubt and negativity. After the first few slips I was being passed on many of the descents then making it back up on the climbs, a pattern that continued for a lot of the race.

By 3 or 4 am, you kind of lose track exactly where you are, what checkpoint you’ll see next and when you’ll hit the next big climb. The organisers had printed the race profile on the bib (a good idea I thought) however the profile wasn’t exactly reflective of reality. Where it was downhill for 6km on the illustration you’d also find 2 x 150m ascents.

By 5am my nao headtorch was causing me a serious headache. Pressed tight against the forehead and catching the top of my neck it felt like someone was squeezing my head. I need a new one!

I was on the 3rd big climb of the day before there was enough light for me to stop and stuff it into my pack. Instant relief.

Big target from there was Garanon – about 83k and the site of the big aid station with hot food and a drop bag if you were doing it unsupported (as I was). They did a very un-rushed kit check before searching for my drop bag (it was there apparently). 5 minutes later it appeared. I decided then it was worth spending some time to eat properly, sort out my stuff and prepare for the last 50K. I chatted with a lovely American woman (Hoka team athlete) who had to withdraw with sickness a few stages into the race. We joked, she helped me sort some food and it lifted my spirits. As they say, good people run.

Heading South

Straight out of Garanon is a pretty steep climb to the highest point on the course at around 2,000m. From there (if you believed the profile illustration) it was pretty much all downhill other than a few short ups.

At this point all other runners doing the shorter distances were all on the course. Nice to see some other people about but at times hard to get past – either running in groups, with iPods or just not willing to yield. Time to ban ipods on courses like this organisers!

On the crazy steep descent to Arterea there were trains of runners clearly not comfortable with the steep and deep rocky terrain and you had to get pretty forceful with shouts to have any chance of passing. I felt really good on the most technical descent and no-one passed me there. Before I knew it I was near the bottom and the penultimate aid station. I heard a shout from a noisy crowd and picked out my mum (they’d managed to drive up). I ran on, my dad handed me some water and I went in to the aid station to refill my bottles. Was nice to know someone was looking out for me.

It was getting hot by this point but I’d stuck with Osmo and solids the whole race without issue so had to pretend I hadn’t noticed the giant Coke dispenser. More fruit and nuts and I was off again to finish the thing.

Shortly after I discovered some more unanticipated climbs. Laughed a bit. Kept drinking. Chewed on some Honeystingers (with caffeine this time).

Nearing the recognisable outskirts of Maspalomas they made us run the 2 miles or so on the dried up river bed. I had been looking forward to some Tarmac. At the dunes it was a right turn towards Faro and then the additional 1.5k they had added to the finish. To top it off, they made you run on the sand as a final test of commitment. Almost funny. Almost.

Looking back

Top 20 finish had been a tough shift and I was a little disappointed. Tactically it was decent. I needed to protect my legs for at least the first half as I couldn’t afford the psychological impact of a DNF. I hadn’t quite felt myself all race but finished feeling pretty strong. It’s a difficult race to train for as its so early in the year and all we have is a cold, wet and windy Scottish winter. You just can’t get enough time in the mountains with anywhere close to the right conditions.

I learned a lot however and put my 2014 UTMB DNF to bed in my first race of the season. No easing into it gently. I may be doing this full-time now but there’s still a lot of learning to do. With it brings a little more pressure but it’s where I need to be and I’ll not shy away from putting myself out there – racing with the best in the world and running difficult courses that won’t always play to my strengths.

Lots more to come. Mark these words. The journey continues…..

“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high…..Where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection”

Kit

• Shoes: Pearl Izumi EM Trail N1
• Socks: Feetures Elite light cushion
• Pack: Nathan VaporAir
• Poles: Mountain King Trail Blaze
• Hydration: Osmo Active hydration
• Nutrition: HoneyStinger waffles and chews

Written by Luke Latimer - https://jurarunner.wordpress.com

As usual it’s taken me far too long to get this written down, but with the Crawley 12 hour race in a few weeks I thought this was the perfect time to remember what I did wrong.  It would be nice to have a list of things I did right, but sadly, no. I still managed to cover about 107 miles, which isn’t bad but falls short of what I think I should be capable of (although past performance isn’t nessesarily an indicator of the future!). The race itself is very simple (how many times can you run round a 400m track?), and is a perfect example of everything I love in an event. It’s small, extremely well organised by incredibly friendly and approachable people. The low key approach engenders a great atmosphere and the motley collection of runners were packed with interesting stories and enthusiasm. Being able to run shoulder to shoulder with a 80+ year old on course to complete 100 miles, and a trio of superhuman ladies who smashed records and crushed the entry level for team GB Ultra was both humbling and inspirational. This is a true, and (mostly) serious list of tips for running your first 24 hour track race. Some, if not all of the points are totally obvious, and normal people really shouldn’t need the advice.

I’m no elite

Make sure you actually have a place in the race

Yes, yes, obvious. The thing is, I sent my application off and promptly got stuck into training and planning. As the  weeks went on, and I languished on the waiting list, the mental focus that an imminent race gives you just wasn’t there. This meant that training was half hearted at best, and I figured that I’d pretty much wing the planning part: running in circles for ages: I’d just done the GUCR, how hard could it be?

If you don’t have a confirmed place, then at least pretend you have and train accordingly. Finding out two days before doesn’t give you nearly enough time.

One chap even turned up on the day and snagged a last minute place, though he crashed out in a bent-double vomiting state after a short few hours. Another arrow in the back of the last minute race entrant.

Don’t start the day with a massive hangover

Again, not something that should really need to be spelled out. However, the lack of concentration and general over confidence given #1, plus having heavy drinking friends round the night before culminated in a very not-ready head and body come race morning.

It’s hard to say whether this is the biggest mistake I made, quite possibly though, as it led to most of the others.

Work out your target pace sensibly, based on reality

Final results

For an elite athlete, calculating your goal distance using last year’s winner is a very good strategy, particular if you’re also aiming to secure a place in Team GB.

If, on the other hand, you are not an elite, and last year’s winner was other worldly Marco Consani, who covered 154 miles, then your sights have more than likely been set far outside the range of your physical capabilities.

In practice this means that you’re constantly berating yourself for going too slow, when in fact you’re going about twice as fast as you should be.

I would say to pick a comfortable marathon pace, then drop that by about 25%, probably more.

Don’t set off too fast

Lack of planning, large hangover and ridiculous ambitions and yes, you’re already going way too fast. I did the first marathon in under 4 hours, was near the top of the score board and felt great.

Obviously it didn’t last and my pace halved very soon after.

Having a bleary eyed notion of “go out as hard as possible and hang on as long as you can” is just daft, glycogen gets instantly depleted leaving you running on fumes way too soon.

If you’ve lapped James Elson, you’re going too quickly

Say no more!

To be fair to James, he looked to be suffering from an injury and pulled out before the end. Plus I was clearly going to blow up.

Don’t try new food on the day, as lovely as it might look and taste

Hangover to blame again. I remember thinking how delicious the melon and grapes on the food station were. They were cool, refreshing and gave me a nice little boost.

Fast forward 10 hours and I’d pretty much set up camp in the men’s room, and when I wasn’t  there I was painfully dragging my sore and bloated belly back as fast as I could hobble.

Not a good idea.

Do try and remember your lap counters name

More generally, be nice to your lap counter, they’ve got a long gruelling night ahead of them, and sense of humour failures don’t make for a pleasant atmosphere.

Chances are they are looking after a few runners, and when a lap only takes a couple of minutes they’re hard at work.

On the odd occasion when they are distracted, being able to call our their name will save you valuable seconds, and is a whole lot polite than yelling “Did you get me? Luke here, hello?! HELLO!”

Having support really… helps

My wife and child stuck around for the first half hour, but when my 3 year old daughter had seen me run round in circles and not win or even finish, she soon got bored. Not before entertaining everyone with happy shouts of “daddy!” every time I passed her.

They also rocked up again for the  last hour, and that alone kept my spirits up for at least 4 hours.

Other people had whole families camped out all night, feeding and watering their runners regularly. Not sure how I’ll persuade mine to do the same, but I think it would give a massive psychological boost, especially in those famously miserable hours just before dawn.

Don’t underestimate the mental aspect

I honestly hadn’t given much thought to what it would actually be like running for 24 hours within such a confined area.

All the big races I’d done in the past were huge loops or “epic adventure” point to point routes.

The key difference, which was obviously clear to every person who commented on my upcoming loop fest, is that every step forward, every second spent moving, takes you one tiny sliver closer to the end.

When it finally dawned on me that I could just sit down and the race would still end at midday, regardless of whether I did any sort of moving or not, was a revelation.

A revelation that took a lot of willpower (and two 30 minute snoozes in the back of Hughs car) to purge and get back into any kind of constant forward motion.

In summary

It was a lot harder than I thought it would be, deserved more respect than I gave it, and was absolutely bloody brilliant.

I’ve got a confirmed place for September, so that’s one item ticked off the list already!

Geoff, the legend

Written by Luke Latimer - https://jurarunner.wordpress.com

It turns out that just as there are different kinds of pain, there are different kinds of listening too.

There’s a silly joke that somehow managed to become my overriding training motivator:

If I listened to my body, I’d never get out of bed

No wonder I kept getting injured.

I’m standing at the starting line on the 400 meter track in Tooting Bec, waiting along with 46 others for the signal to start our journey to self transcendence (hopefully) by running, walking or crawling as many laps as we can over the following 24 hours.

Not for the first time I reflect that I really have no business being here, I haven’t been able to train properly for 5 months (3 of those didn’t involve any running whatsoever) and should have given up my place to someone more deserving.

I didn’t though, the need to be part of an event is like the irresistible lure of a narcotic, an itch that hasn’t been scratched for over a year. This isn’t just any old event either, encapsulating nearly everything I love about long distance running, especially the small field and quirky mix of runners and supporters. Most ultra runners think 24h track racing is weird, let alone the general population, and that suits me just fine, presumably because I feel comfortable in the mix.

People are drawn to this race (and type of event) for various reasons; curiosity to how far they can run without the distractions of navigating (or distractions of any kind!), attempting to qualify for national teams, or maybe just to see what the fuss is all about.

I’m glad I did turn up. I ended up having the best race I’ve ever had, and I wasn’t even racing.

No PB, no great epiphanies, no new friendships forged from grinding out painful mile after mile together. I ran and walked 101.7 miles, and nothing really hurt very much. I was happy and calm (most of the time), tested different food than I normally eat (partial win), experimented with a very controlled caffeine intake (fail – fell asleep for an hour!) but above all I listened to my body.

A few months ago I saw a therapist to help me give up smoking (hardly a useful habit, even if you don’t have aspirations of being called an athlete), mostly using hypnosis to allow me to think clearly and calmly, without distractions.

The session worked and over the course of it a couple of, ahem, “matters requiring attention” broke free from their shackles, and now out in the open couldn’t really be ignored for much longer.  I booked myself back in for some follow up discussions.

We’ve all got issues, and they affect us in different ways. I learnt a lot about myself over the subsequent months, but importantly we didn’t dwell on what caused those destructive tangled pathways and instead were very focused on the future. Considering how to apply the lessons I’d learned, looking ahead with a slightly raised chin, that little bit better equipped mentally, and a feeling of being a smidge more in control of my destiny.

You can hear noises without listening to their meaning or content, the sound waves pass through your passive body, or the signals from nerves dissipate without triggering any response.

Automatons and reflexes manage to cover the bulk of events that manage to break though the first barrier, and even if some thought is required, you’re often in autopilot mode. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing: we don’t have the time or capacity to employ deep thinking for everything that comes along.

There are some things, and some times, when a good listen is the only appropriate action, when ignoring it could lead to your relationship breaking up, or irreversible health deterioration, or something else you really don’t want to happen. The big stuff, or the big life changing outcomes at any rate.

It’s easy to gloss over lots of things in your life that seem to be the norm, an innate and unchangeable part of your personality, but sitting in a quiet room, wrapped in a warm blanket with nothing else to do for an hour, with a non judgemental, objective listener, who was asking good questions, has a way of allowing you to question some of those.

For example I hadn’t considered the relationship between my mind and my body. (I’ll spare you the other revelations).

“Relationship” sounds daft, but of course they’re related, and both can affect the other. Generally it seems that the mind decides and the body obeys. Certainly in my case anyway, and most of the time my body does what it’s told, until it just stops and refuses to play any more.

When I dug deeper, it became clear that over the last year or so I’d become angry and upset with my misbehaving physical parts.  I’d begun doling out punishment in the form of withheld rest, booze and gruelling workouts in return for the disappointment of injury which was thwarting my grandiose plans of running successes.

When prompted to remember times when I was in a better place, two races came to mind immediately. One was the Crawley 12h track race, when I felt that I was gliding effortlessly along above the ground, in a very happy place. The other was surprisingly the Spine Race: I remember being in complete awe of my legs, I kept eating and they just kept moving, for days and days, with no complaints.

I need more of those kinds of memories.

As I gently trundled around the Tooting track a large chunk of my attention was constantly assessing pain levels. Nothing unusual about that, but I was very clear that I’d stop if anything hurt too much, something I’ve never allowed myself to think before.

I had some secret and not so secret mileage goals, but for the first time wasn’t all that bothered whether I hit them or not, they were further down the priority list than finishing in one piece.

My race plan had been to start slowly and slow down, but I hadn’t anticipated being behind the 83 year old for over 7 hours! Thankfully he slowed down a bit and let me save some face.

I knew better than to chase the “sprinters”, some inevitability burnt themselves out, but a few kept up an amazing pace for the entire race. Norbert Mihalik ran 161 miles, that’s 6 back to back 4 hour marathons… mind blowing.

A few friendly faces turned up at different times and provided a bit of distraction, not that I was particularly bored, but it was nice to see Debbie and Martin, who have been very involved in my running ups and downs, as well as giving me food experimentation ideas (and incredibly useful nutrition and training plans).

Marissa popped in for a while for some nice chats and to drop off some more food and water, all very much appreciated, as was my now very neatly organised table.

James and Ben swung by on their way to the pub, then decided to stick around and cheer me on for a couple of hours instead. They provided some good entertainment but I was very tempted to stop for a can of beer and some pizza!

Ben even came back the next morning on his long run, ostensibly to make sure I was ok but I suspect to take photos of the mess he anticipated finding. He took the disappointment well and did some kit maintenance chores for me.

Anna B was lap counting during the night, and her whooping and cheering really helped me to keep smiling, even though by that point I was staggering all over the place like a drunk. I think it was due to lack of caffeine but it could be lack of practice too – training your child to make their own breakfast at the weekend is so worth it.

My family and in laws turned up for the last hour, which was just the best thing ever. The shouts of “come on daddy, run!” even got me out of my ultra shuffle for a few laps.

Even though I covered a lot of miles without any training – which I think demonstrates that a strong base fitness and endurance level does last a long time – I definitely suffered in other aspects. My feet hurt a lot, and I didn’t make it through the night without sleeping, neither of which are typically a problem in a relatively short race like this. Also I was incredibly tired and hungry for the next week, so my recovery was a bit slower than normal.

I’m still unrealistically ambitious, but I’ve got a new angle now. Lots of attention to what I actually need, from better core strength to more sleep and less time exercising (really!).

I want to be able to run as I get older, at any speed, much more than I want to win any races.  

Listen to those niggles, they need just as much attention as a hungry belly, and get that foam roller out of the cupboard, it’s your new best mate.

https://www.strava.com/activities/1189585698

Written by Kingsley Jones - https://kingsleyjones.wordpress.com

Where do you start with a blog about the Tor des Geants? The end seems as good a place as any. It’s marketed as the longest ultra trail in the world, at 330km with +24,000m height gain. This year was its 6th edition, and due to horrific weather the whole race was terminated when I’d run 222.5km with c.+16,000m vertical. All us survivors who had reached or passed the 200km point of Gresonney Saint Jean, were declared ‘finishers’, hence the all important jacket in the photo above.

It’s two months since the race, and I’ve had a long while to ponder if I feel like I was cheated by the weather, or if I had a great time anyway. Initially I felt the former, as though the carpet had been pulled from beneath me, but it was the right decision and I’m delighted and proud to have been involved in this amazing event. It is the furthest I’ve ever raced before, and I had no major issues, and yet learnt a huge amount about myself and race technique.

I look on people who tell me they’ve had a ‘life changing’ experience, with the usual amount of cynicism I feel it normally deserves, so I won’t attempt to classify my Tor des Geants (TDG) experience as one of those, though it comes as close to it as I dare go. There is something verging on spiritual about the connection you feel with the landscape, partially as a reaction to sleep deprivation, physical fatigue, sensory overload, and mental stress. I’ve run the UTMB series races 5 times so far, and the maximum number of nights running is two in a row. The TDG promised up to six nights out, with a maximum running time of 150 hours.

The TDG makes a huge loop of the Aosta valley in northern Italy, and visits the four main mountain massifs that form its borders; the Mont Blanc, Gran Paradiso, Monte Rosa and Matterhorn. The mountains are steeped in history, and when you are running for 150 hours, there’s plenty of time to consider the first attempts on the peaks and passes you cross during the race. There’s all too much time to consider the tragedies and disasters too, none more so than when running past the memorial to Chinese runner Yuan Yang who died in a freak accident in the 2013 TDG when falling after Colle Crosatie.

Right from the start this race had a different atmosphere from many long distance running events, such as the UTMB. There was less manic start line hype, which always soon fizzles out leaving runners feeling flat a few minutes into the trail, and more of a feeling of a group of people who really knew what they were doing, meeting to get something done. The photo above as we crossed the start line doesn’t show overly energetic faces, desperate for the off, but a determined and focused bunch.

I think it was that realisation that we largely weren’t in a race against each other, but with ourselves surviving with quite tough conditions, as we crossed mountain range after mountain range, days blurring with nights. The length of this race allowed plenty of time for introspection, which was probably the reason so many people dropped out, rather than injury. It would be all to easy to let the scale of the event challenge get to you, and the way I dealt with it was purely to focus on reaching the next checkpoint. Even saying that, each life-base (aid station) was over a marathon distance apart, so was a ultra-distance in its own right.

Try as I might, and many will be relieved that I’m not, I can’t provide a step by step description of this race, as many sections blur into one another. I have a whole kaleidoscope of memories, that come tumbling through my mind still, whenever I think back to the race; ice plastering the mountain over Col Entrelor, a friendly hut guardian at Lago Vargno, a girl getting me soup at Rifugio Coda, stepping on a snake at Perloz, running fast on the descent into Cogne, and evening on Col Pintner. Even as I write this list, they trigger hundreds of other snapshots.

When I signed up for the race, I remember reading that an ancillary aim of the event was to promote the Val d’Aosta region. At first I was sceptical of this, massively so. We were only 800 runners, so how would it be worth or possible to promote the region to us? I was wrong on two counts; firstly it was wrong to be introverted as the event has over 2000 volunteers and marshals involved, as well as everyones friends and families who came too, so the direct reach was in its thousands. Secondly, every runner had a unique and detailed experience of the region, and everyone I have spoken to about the TDG said it affected them deeply. I suppose this blog is my promotion of a landscape that I fell in love with.

Nothing can prepare you properly for the variety of landscapes that the TDG offers, and it felt like I was running through the pages of a National Geographic magazine; huge plunging waterfalls, swaying bridges, weathered faces, Roman roads, wild flowers, and snow plastered  mountain ranges. As the days merge, you are immersed deeper and deeper into the landscape, and slowly open your eyes to what makes it so unique; a depth of history clashes with the immediacy of subsistence upland farming living, the warmth of the welcomes of the local people and the pride they have in their region is inspiring, and when you think the views can’t get any better, your jaw hits the floor once again.

What summaries this region is how genuine every aspect of the race was; the rugged mountains, cultural legacy, amazing food, and ancient trails. This interplay is continually amazing, and marks out this race as a unique experience. As the organisers write, the route follows “the high-elevation arteries that make the great heart of Val d’Aosta beat”. Flowery writing, and very passionate Italian writing? Yes. True? Yes too.

When running the Tor, there are six life-bases on the course, with roughly 50km between each one. At the life-base there is a huge choice of hot foods, as well as showers and beds. I’d never run a race before where I had slept on the route, so the life-base was an alien concept. Normally aid stations are an opportunity to grab some essentials, and push on. I’d talked to Alain Desez, a friend and multiple times TDG finisher, and his advice was to run slower than I planned to, and to minimise sleep each day to between 1.5 and 2 hours.

The advice was perfect. Every time I felt I was pushing too hard, I throttled back. Every step I focused on shortening the stride, and minimising the impact. Every pain I felt, I tried to adapt technique to use another part of my body to compensate or transition to. The TDG will break even the best runners, if they think they can beat it. What makes you finish is to achieve the fine balance between listening to your body to gain efficiency and comfort, whilst not listening to the logical devils telling you to stop or that it hurts too much.

When the race was cancelled due to vile weather, I’d reached the village of Saint-Jacques. As I was scanned at the check-point, they told me the race was on hold due to visibility of less than 1 meter on the mountain ahead. I’d been running for the past day with a guy who was a member of the French foreign legion in Guiana. As we pushed up over each mountain, he muttered ‘tout au bout’ (until the end). We supported each others though our wobbles, my low point being cramped and knees on fire beneath a hut table at Neil. After a brief sleep we sat in the check-point room at Saint-Jacques, and listened to the radio crackle with urgent voices. The race was cancelled. I stared at my feet, tears flowed, and I felt winded and hollow.

As I looked around the small wood panelled room, in an instant I knew what the Tor was about. Others were crying, some stared into the distance, and a few begged the race staff for further information. The unifying thing that the Tor provided was emotion; our emotional connection with the mountains, each other, and those who supported us both during the race and at home. Emotion was bare and raw at that moment, and it gave a brief insight into what we all had shared.

In a strange way, running the Tor did not feel like an endurance event at any time, more a way of life. Bizarre as it sounds, you are kept busy all the time; looking for the next yellow marker flag, taking a sip of water, checking the altimeter, reaching an aid station, getting the race chip scanned, eating food, remembering poles, adjusting socks, checking the race profile for the next reference point, adapting pace, and so on. There was never a moment where I had too much time to consider what I was doing, and so the succession of mountain passes, aid stations and supporters all flowed together, with nights and days not affecting the plans or flow at all. It felt normal to be running at 3am, as the only effect of the days and nights was was whether our head torches were on or not.

Running the Tor was a way of life, and that’s why it was so hard when the race was stopped, that we’d been ‘denied’ the opportunity to keep on with our life. We’d been running for 4 days at that stage, and had settled into the rhythm of run, eat, sleep, all too well.

Many describe ultra running as a very selfish sport, and the Tor personified its most addictive elements. Runners tend to snatch a few hours here and their during their busy lives to train, yet the Tor offered us ultra junkies a one week continuous fix. There’s no other event that can offer this. Now I understand why so many runners come back year after year to the Tor.

What the Tor makes you realise is how important other people are to your race. The volunteers who feed you and assist at aid stations are key to the race itself, but the TDG involved the whole mountain community, and in wild high pastures shepherds and farmers rang cow bells at their huts to cheer us on, mountain guides on the trails clapped and took photos as we passed, villagers all urged on onwards. Other runners offered help to those who slowed or stopped, and friendships sprung up whilst running. In the photo above, I’m with Kevin at Gressoney, who became a good friend during the race.

Whilst running it’s easy to forget the support of those at home who got you there in the first place. When I finished the race and returned to Courmayeur, I turned my phone on for the first time in days, and was greeted by a huge string of texts and e-mails from those who’d been tracking me online. It was humbling, and more than a little concerning, how much people had been clicking at all hours of the day and night. The reports of fresh snow, helicopter rescues, and vile weather, didn’t exactly help allay peoples concerns.

Out on the course it was all anyone could do, to focus on their race and keeping themselves safe, let alone thinking about the worries of those at home. All I can advise anyone planning on running the TDG in the future, or from spectating at home, is that there is a great support and safety network in place on the race, and the runners are some of the most experienced I have been fortunate enough to race with.

My experience of the Tor 2015 was brilliant. It wasn’t perfect, but it had a huge impact on me, and the style of events I will seek out in the future. As far as the stats for the race, only the fastest six runners managed to reach Courmayeur before it was cancelled. Video footage of the winner Patrick Bohard staggering across the Col Malatra and through town, give a fair idea of how tough this years event was. In the end I came 179th overall, out of 474 runners who reached Gressoney, and c.825 who set off from Courmayeur. I’d been moving steadily up the field, and my race strategy was working well.

For sure I’m aware that the attrition on the field was already high, and the second half is always tougher than the first, but the survivor rate on the TDG is far higher than say the UTMB, yet has far rougher ground and steeper gradients. It raises the question why the UTMB whose entry is protected by a barrier of qualifying race points, has lower finisher stats than an unrestricted entry into a race all of whose distance and height gains are more than double the UTMB. I think it all boils down to marketing again. The TDG is relatively unknown, so attracts genuine knowledgeable runners.

For anyone seeking a pure running race, this event isn’t for you. The mountain conditions always dictate that some sections have to be walked, and your speed is adjusted more by that, then any planned pace or other runners. The Tor is the purest race where the hare and tortoise complete on the same platform. I’m firmly in the second category, but to reel in the runners one by one, due to greater use of mountain skills, was really interesting and gratifying. Fitness is just one aspect of a bigger jigsaw, all of whose elements are essential to make the race happen for you.

Despite working in the mountains every day, the Tor taught me a lot about equipment, and what to adapt for future races. More than any other event, it cemented my belief that you need to run your race, and not anyone else’s. What worked for me, doesn’t necessarily work for anyone else. Before I ran the Tor, I scoured other blogs for advice and tips on kit and preparation. All were wrong, yet right at the same time. They were written by the individual about their personal experience, and so I’ve tried to avoid providing any specific information, rather the focus on the key approach to running this race which is so important.

Where do you end a blog about the Tor des Geants? The start seems as good a place as any. The photo above shows me looping out of Place Brocherel in Courmayeur, at the start of the race. If only I’d known how influential and educational the days ahead would be, I’d have had a huge smile on my race. You learn more about yourself and running on every race you do, but there’s no other race on the planet which offers it in such vast quantities.

To complete the Tor is the rough distance as running from Blackpool to London, with the equivalent of nearly 7 ascents of Everest from Base Camp between. The race profile below shows the never-ending series of climbs and descents. To the outsider that seems a super-human challenge, yet I hope that if you’ve read this blog you now understand that it is not impossible to someone who is ready to immerse themselves in the event, and to draw on the emotional nourishment of the experience. Fitness plays a part, but a relatively small part. Having a big heart, both medically and mentally, is what brings all Tor finishers together.

See you in the Val d’Aosta again soon! KJ

To visit the website of the Tor des Geants in English, click here.

Written by Stephanie Case - https://ultrarunnergirl.com

Giant piles of glistening cow shit. They were everywhere, mocking me. Obscene displays of effective bowel functions – something that I hadn’t been able to do for days. I hated those piles of shit and the cows that excreted them. Arrogant f*$kers, I muttered under my breath as I passed a group of them. They just sat there chewing, clearly unimpressed with my profanities, dismissing me with a few slow blinks. I continued waddling along the trail, my gait slightly impacted by my protruding belly, when I suddenly tripped on a relatively flat section of grass and landed spread-eagle – chalk outline murder victim styles – in the cow patty-infested field. Okay fine, I deserved that. 

Tor des Geants 2017 was unlike anything I was expecting. Having done the race twice before (2015, 2016), I went into it knowing that I could finish and aware of what challenges I would probably face over 330 km and 24000m of climbing. I felt better trained and raced than the year before when I managed 2nd female, and while I had no illusions that I could improve my place, I thought I could finish the race this year suffering less. How utterly naive that was…. As my Italian friend and local Hotel Croux legend, Corrado, told me, “If you wanted to suffer less, you should have signed up for a half marathon or a marathon”. That is the Tor. No matter how prepared you might be, it will find other ways to challenge you, and suffering is just a part of the journey.

Going into the race, my head just wasn’t in it for some reason. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Ever since my accident on 1 January this year, all I’ve been focused on is returning to Aosta Valley to conquer the Tor. But the closer it got, the more checked out I became. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew it was a problem. When you are facing a 330km race, you have to be fully committed or you won’t make it through. This was going to come back to bite me.

The ‘elite’ checkin and bib ceremony went by in a blur. Drop bag packed, crew briefed and ready, and stomach full of Italian carbs. I stood on the start line dazed, but in a way relaxed. It was like I wasn’t fully there, so that helped reduce the potential panic I might have otherwise felt at taking on this ridiculous challenge again.

Like all European races, it started off at a ridiculous 5km pace, and I just tried to settle into my rhythm. The sun was shining and the weather looked good – albeit quite cold – for the next few days, so I just tried to enjoy the wonderful feeling of moving. In Tor, you have to almost forget that you are running – forward motion must simply become your new state of being, as automatic and mindless as sitting on a park bench and staring at the clouds. Anything involving more conscious thought or effort becomes too exhausting after multiple days. Knowing this, I used those first few hours to try to relax and let my brain wander. My primary goal would not be speed, but rather finding the motivation I seemed to have lost to run the race in the first place. Once I found that, the legs would follow, surely.

I hit Rifugio Deffeyes at around 25km at expected pace, and stuffed some food in my mouth before climbing up the boulder field to “Haut Pas” at 2860m. I knew I was farther back in the field than the previous year, but I thought I was moving fairly well. Nausea started to rear its ugly head, right on schedule, but I was armed with Zofran to keep it at bay. I felt better prepared and ready for Tor than ever before. But where was my brain?

I knew I would get a boost when I hit Chalet de l’Epee that night and saw my friend Ivo and his wonderful family members. I’ve stayed for a night there during training the past

three years, and it is a little haven of awesomeness. Ivo doesn’t speak English, but we get by together in French. There was a tv camera there and I squeaked something out in French about how the competition was much stronger this year than in the past. Katia Figini was there as well and told me she wanted to drop, pointing to her head. I knew exactly how she felt, but encouraged her to come follow me out of the chalet in the hopes that the two of us could find our heads together.

I didn’t really hit any major difficulties until Eaux Rosses in the early hours of night one/day two. Kate and Fergus, my super crew extraordinaire, were there ready and waiting (and clad in orange) to attend to my every need. I ran into the tent, plonked down in a chair, and was immediately covered in a warm puffy jacket. The air temperature had dropped significantly in the night and I was about to face sub-zero temperatures over Col Loson, the highest pass on the Tor course at 3300m. “Soup. Hot soup. And lemon soda? I really need to fuel,” I blurted out to Kate, who quickly ran over to the food table to fetch me some broth. My stomach was growling and I had a huge climb ahead. At some point I looked over and Raffaele was sitting on my left, calmly eating and staring straight in front. “Tutto bene?” I asked, pointing to my stomach. She shrugged and nodded, and I did the same. I was grateful that my nausea from earlier that day had subsided.

That gratitude lasted a full 60 more seconds. Suddenly I was throwing up into my cupped hands (why, why?) and watching the vomit spill out on to my pants.  I proceeded to throw up four or five more times on to the concrete floor of the tent, gasping out apologies to the volunteers in between wretches. It. Was. Miserable. I popped another Zofran and willed it to dissolve before the next vomiting episode (it did – barely). A volunteer rushed over and suggested I lay down for an hour or two to rest. “No no, tutto bene, tutto bene,” I said, smiling and trying to look cheerful as I wiped my mouth. “This happens to me all of the time.”

“It’s true,” said Kate nodding, who remained completely unfazed by anything that was happening.

Another bystander offered me some ginger pills while the volunteer got on the phone with one of the race doctors. I was feeling much better and eager to get moving again, and I didn’t want to wait around for the doctor. I know they’ve got a tough job to do keeping the runners safe, but I have become quite adept at the puke-and-rally after my racing this year, and I knew I was good to go. I looked over at Kate, who immediately got my vibe. The two of us rushed to get me dressed and back out the door into the night, ready for the long climb up to Col Loson, before anyone else got a different idea.

Normally I’m quite strong on the climbs, but without much food in me, I was less than spritely. The cold air was affecting my breathing as well. Despite all of my training at altitude, I found myself short of breath and struggling to make it to the top.  I kept checking my watch, waiting to see the black summit outlined against a brightening sky, but night seemed to stretch on hundreds of metres too long. I threw out my negative thoughts onto the trail, hoping they would skim across the surface like a skipping stone, but instead they just boomeranged back into my head, weighing me down.

I was off. There was no denying it. I trudged on, trying to scrape the frozen vomit from my pants, but there was no point. This was just the way it was.

I reached Rifugio Sella on the other side of the Col sometime in the morning and changed into shorts. My friend Gabriel Szerda showed up just as I was leaving, grinning from ear to ear at having caught up to me (we have a ridiculously hilarious seven-year long rivalry, and after getting beaten by him in UTMB and a stage race, I knew Tor was my only chance for victory). “I’m stuffed, Gab,” I said defeated. “You win this one.”

Gab caught up to me at the bottom of the descent and we ran in towards the second life base in Cogne (100km) together. That’s when I told him I was going to drop. I really started to wrap my brain around the thought of giving up, and trying to figure out if I would be okay with it in the end… I was still doing the mental gymnastics when I caught up to my crew at the life base. They were all business, and I was checked out. I felt awful that they seemed to be more committed to the race than I was, and it made me feel incredibly guilty about even thinking of quitting. But that’s all I wanted to do. Kate handed me some ice cream bars and I shovelled two of them down. I was going through the motions as if I was going to continue, but my brain was just shouting NO. When Corrado showed up, I knew I was in trouble – there was no way he was going to let me drop. I felt even worse telling a local that I was defeated so early on in the race by his mountains – it was like a slap in the face. “The weather is good today – just go out and enjoy the sunshine,” someone from my crew told me, quite matter-of-factly. Dropping out really didn’t seem to be an option. I agreed to just go on towards the next life base 50km away and make a decision there.  But leaving the checkpoint I couldn’t help but feel like I was taking steps in the wrong direction.

Over the next 50km, I worked really hard to commit to my dropping out mentality. I told myself it was the smart choice – my body had been through so much this year already, maybe now was really the time to back off and give it a rest… I crafted my facebook post in my head to make sure I got the right tone (wistful but wise) and then patted myself on the back for being so evolved. I congratulated myself. You don’t have anything to prove! You’ve done this race before. You’ve gotten so much out of your training. There’s nothing else to get from the race. Time to step back and leave the Tor alone. Good for you, Case. Smart decision. On the long descent to Champorcher, I stopped in Rifugio Dondena for a plate of fried eggs and called my parents, rationally talking through my decision. They told me they’d support me regardless. I felt entirely settled, and resolved to enjoy the last couple of hours of my race. It was over.

Until it wasn’t.

I got a text from Corrado that told me I was in fourth, and if I dropped out he would strangle me (smiley emoji). Stick to your guns, Caser! It doesn’t matter what place you are in! I was dropping. No question. I ran into the checkpoint in Champorcher, confident in my decision but welling up with emotion at the thought of disappointing Kate and Fergus, who had taken an entire week out to support me. Jose and Corrado were both there with pizza, along with Charley, who had helped me train. “The choice is absolutely yours,” said Kate. “But you should know you are in third place.”

Damn it. This was not a part of my plan.

I made it to Donnas (150km) and tried to do as quick of a turnaround as possible so that I could make it up to Rifugio Coda at 170km before falling asleep. It would be a 2000m climb, the longest climb in the race, so it was no small task. But I was feeling surprisingly more awake than last year. I made it to the refuge eager for my first sleep, and hunkered down for a rather restless 90 minutes. When I woke up, one of the female volunteers brought me some soup. As I lifted a spoonful to my mouth, she told me that she was the nurse who cut off my clothes when I was wheeled into the emergency room in the hospital in Aosta after my accident. I was floored. “You were really upset I was ruining your clothes,” she said smiling. (I had been wearing new Salomon gear and was obviously in shock, so I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just remove my clothes myself). Wow.

It wasn’t the only time in the race when that would happen. At Champoluc at 222km, one of the medical volunteers told Fergus that he had also worked on me in the hospital in January. And at 300km at Bosses, a local came by to tell me that the people of Aosta Valley loved me, and were cheering for me after my accident. Even at the awards ceremony, the local police officers mentioned that they were the ones to take down my accident report. They were all there.

In one of my (many) low moments of the race, Kate told me that if I was going to continue to the finish, I needed to find that reason why I had lined up on the start line in the first place. I needed to find my motivation for running, for tolerating the pain, for pushing through the sleep deprivation, and for accepting days of discomfort. Without it, I wouldn’t make it. It was exactly what I had told myself on day one, and it was so true.

These few ‘trail angels’ helped me find it, and kept reminding me along the way when I faltered. Nine months ago, I was laying in a hospital bed in Aosta with a tube draining blood out of my chest, a catheter shoved between my legs draining urine, six broken ribs and a mangled liver.  At that time, having the chance to run in Tor des Geants seemed like an impossible dream, but one that I was determined – resolved – to accomplish. I could think of nothing else other than getting my body strong enough to tackle those mountains. Being reminded of how broken I was then and how far I had come was just what I needed to keep pushing forward. Everyone else on the trail was suffering and in pain like I was, and they weren’t giving up. So why did I think I had any excuse? This is what I had wanted and dreamed of nine months ago, and I had gotten my wish. I had regained enough strength to compete. There was no excuse for screwing it up now just because I couldn’t be bothered.

It wasn’t easy though, believe me. In fact, it is hands down the toughest race I have ever done. I truly thought that 2016 was unbeatable in terms of monumental challenges… I was so, so wrong. In 2016, I remember surging into second place at Niel, racing up the hill after breezing through the checkpoint in a matter of minutes. This year, I slumped on a bench inside the chalet, resting for a quick back massage, a beer, and a pep talk. The differences were like night and day.

On day three, I started experiencing massive amounts of bloating in my belly, which extended to extreme swelling in the entire lower half of my body. Parts of me that shouldn’t have ever swollen started exploding, which was as worrisome as it was uncomfortable. I thought maybe it was constipation (hence my jealously over the cow patties), but that didn’t explain the swelling in my legs. After my fall on fourth night, my entire right leg became marked with bruises, turning my skin into something of a horrifying Jackson Pollock painting.

At Oyace, the place where my 2015 race ended due to a shortened course, the wheels really fell off. I came into the checkpoint strong, intending to pass the next Col before sleeping with over a two hour lead on fourth place… but once I took off my shoes and saw my bleeding toes and blistered heels, I broke down for some reason. It all hit me. I had managed to quiet the ‘drop out’ voices for the last 170km, but they were shouting at me. It was just too much.

Kate convinced me to just sleep for an hour to see how I would feel (okay, I negotiated an hour and ten minutes). When I woke up, I was so comfortable that I just didn’t want to move. But I dragged myself back to the bench and shoved some cake down my throat, sending the carbs towards the floating orb that formerly resembled my stomach. I sat there for what felt like an hour, telling myself to put on my shoes and then almost simultaneously giving myself permission to quit. I was stuck in my own personal hell with no way out. I could not fathom 60 more kilometers, but equally I couldn’t face the disappointment of dropping out. I was paralyzed.

Finally, I put on my shoes and walked out the door. I got no more than 20 steps before I turned around and headed back to the checkpoint, determined to drop out. Ahhhhhh!!!!! I couldn’t do it. This race wouldn’t let me quit. I did a 180 again and charged up the mountain. Damn it. I managed to get my sense of humour back enough by the next little checkpoint halfway up the climb to joke about the twins I was having (bambina and bambino) with the volunteers as they laughed and pointed at my belly. Sigh.

When I rolled into Ollomont, the crew was armed with encouragement. Amy Sproston, who I had crewed at UTMB the week prior, rallied the troops online and I got some amazing messages of support. It made me feel like I had an army behind me out on the trail, and I wasn’t alone in my struggle. (If you want to understand the story behind #getintheboat, read this here!).

The rest of the night consisted of me weaving up and down trails in a haze of sleep deprivation, watching my body expand by the minute it seemed. Huge thanks to Leah, who chatted with me over the phone to keep me awake in the wee hours (including during my bathroom breaks – that’s true friendship right there). After the sun rose for the last time and I finally made it into Bosses, I took what I thought was my last nap, having maintained a comfortable lead of a couple of hours. I set out into the pouring rain for my last climb. It was almost over.

Until it wasn’t.

As I climbed up towards Rifugio Frassati at around 2500m, the pelting rain turned to sleet and then snow, making my footing tricky and increasing my sense of confusion and isolation. It was freezing and I had plenty of layers, but there was something about that weather that sent me into a bit of a panic. I remembered trying to go over Col Malatra last year in the snow and being completely terrified, and the thought of doing it again was just too much. I had only had about 4 hours of sleep over the past four days at this point, so my abilities to self-soothe were non-existent….

I burst through the doors of Rifugio Frassati and collapsed in front of the iron fireplace in the centre of the room, shaking with full-body sobs. I don’t know what I was even crying for, but it was all coming out. I had been fighting my body and my mind for so long, and I was done. Alfredo, one of the volunteers, sat next to me and comforted me, wrapping me in an emergency blanket and then a real blanket, and helping me to dry my clothes. He got me food and cupped my face with his hands, telling me things in Italian that sounded just what I needed to hear to calm down. I should have been mortified by my behaviour, but I had no ability to hold back. This was me, raw and unfiltered. Swollen and bruised. Other runners started to trickle in, each looking more wet and cold than the last, and we all hunkered down, watching the snow pile up outside. I laid down on the bench and closed my eyes, intending to sleep for just a few minutes….

After what I think was about half an hour, I got up and had a hot chocolate. One of the volunteers warned me that Marina, the fourth place female, had arrived. She came into the refuge looking strong and determined – I was so impressed. At that point, I can honestly say that it didn’t even bother me one bit that I was losing third place. I assumed I would lose fourth as well. And I didn’t care. I had flipped into survival mode and was doing the best I could, so there was no point worrying about trying to go faster – it wasn’t going to happen. One of the volunteers had taken my vitals and cleared me to go on, but a nurse got sight of my leg and put on the brakes. With the bruising, swelling and pain, she worried it could be DVT and that I would throw a clot to my lungs if I continued. With just about 20km left in the race, stopping there was unfathomable. No, it wasn’t over yet.

After much negotiations in Italian between the volunteers and the nurse, and some idiotic attempts on my part to convince her I was fine (like hopping up and down in my underwear on my leg), she allowed me to continue. I set out in a group that included the hilarious Aussie Tegyn and we headed for the Col. Thankfully, it had stopped snowing, and we were blessed with brilliant sunshine…. save for my elephant legs and growing twins in my belly, it was almost perfect.

For the last 20km, I was reduced to a painful shuffle/waddle. My thighs had expanded so much that I had to cut my waterproof pants into a skirt to release them. I could almost feel the ground shake as I trundled along, marmots screaming for their lives on the trail ahead, hiding themselves in holes from the wrath of stephzilla. Oh, this finish was going to be a pretty one.

Finally, over 107 hours after I started (and almost ten hours past my finishing time from last year), I made it to the finish. Shocked, overwhelmed, and in pain. It was a triumph of epic proportions, but experienced in a very different way from previous years. This Tor was different. It was brutal. It was unforgiving. And it wouldn’t let me quit.

One of the photographers took this shot of me at the finish and posted this quote: “She was powerful, not because she wasn’t scared, but because she went on so strongly despite the fear”. (Mahmoud Darwish, palestinian poet). I can’t say that I felt strong throughout that race, but I definitely overcame my doubts and fears. I was willing to give up on myself so easily… it was only because of the strength of my crew and the volunteers, and their belief in me, that I got to the end. Without them, I surely would have quit.

I thought I was coming into Tor more prepared than ever before. In retrospect, I think I was overtrained and overwrought – I had put so much into my preparation that I didn’t have much left for the race. I’m taking it as a clear sign that I really need to slow down and take a good, proper rest now. I’ve done what I set out to do back in January, and now I need some time to process it all.

Honestly, I think I’m still in shock from the race. Through all of those hundreds of miles of training and racing, I found answers to questions I didn’t even know I had. Last year, I talked about embracing my power and strength in the race; this year, I feel it was more about acknowledging and accepting my own vulnerability and frailty. Realizing that actually I can’t do everything alone, that I’m not invincible, and that ultimately I can still achieve my dreams even when everything goes wrong. Even when I think I’m at my weakest. Even when I want to give up. And I think there is actually a strength to be found in that.

Tor wouldn’t let me quit.

Until it was truly over.

I finished in fourth female and I couldn’t be prouder. This year gave me much more appreciation for what it means to really struggle in a race, and battle against yourself. I am in awe of all of the other competitors, who showed such grit and grace out on the trail, and I’m grateful to have shared this experience. I did it. No one is more surprised than I am.

Huge thanks to Kate and Fergus, Jose and Corrado from Hotel Croux, Amy Sproston (and Kaci Lickteig!), Leah Anathan, Mom and Dad, Charley, the volunteers, and everyone else who supported me and encouraged me along the way! And of course to ChafeX for keeping me chafe-free over 330km!

And a very, very special thanks to all those who donated to my campaign to raise funds to support the participation of women in the Marathon of Afghanistan this year! I will be travelling soon back to Afghanistan with Free to Run to take part in this amazing event and see the progress that we have made over the last couple of years. Stay tuned