Written by Eric Grant - http://www.lhtrailrunning.com
The Ultra Tour of Léman holds a special place in my heart. First of all, there’s the fact of going around a lake that I’ve called home for 37 years - but the main reason is the atmosphere of this race that I love, “far from the madding crowd”. Every year, a great group of enthusiastic but low-key runners gather to experience this unique race, led by the organizer, Jean-Luc Ridet. I contacted him in 2013 when I saw one weekend a bunch of runners with backpacks and bibs running along the lake in Geneva. I volunteered the following year to help out, and I knew then that I had to do this race. As a result, 2015 became a test year with the 100km of Millau and in 2016 I participated in the UTL for the first time – stopping in Morges after 130km and 19h of running with the feeling that my legs were giving out. I figured it was in large part due to having done only six weeks before another race that I had been focusing on for a few years, the Swiss Irontrail - 201km with 11,000m of elevation (though I timed out at 140km after 42 hours) - and I had focused my training on the mountain running, figuring that transferring to road would not be a big deal! Ah, well, lesson learned...
So 2017, I trained almost exclusively on flat roads. A pain in my right foot in June/July forced me to reduce my training,but having finished the GUCR (233km) in May, I still felt fit and ready...
Friday evening I returned to the friendly family-like atmosphere of the UTL. A few well-known faces from the previous year and the 12h/24h Villeneuve race in April - Corrinne, Juan and Paola - and new encounters, such as Scott, an Australian expat from Nyon, Dylan, another expat from Lyon whose blogI’ve been following for a while, Sylvain from Brittany, Hélène from Dax in the Landes, and Ruthann, an Irish woman who had just in Nyon on a short-term work posting and figured, "Ah, there's a race around the lake, sounds nice!". She finished 2nd in less than 20h! Well, turns out she’s Ireland's 24-hour champion (225km). We know, because Jean-Luc takes the trouble during the race briefing Friday night to present all the runners individually. There are some very impressive CVs, of course, with treadmill records, Transgaules, Transeuropes, Etoile Savoyarde, Spartathlons, UTMBs, Tor des Géants and others, but in the end it is the slightly wonky world of ultra-running that unites us all. There are quite a few of us with far more modest CVs, and some for whom this is the first attempt at a 100+ miles. Everyone is really supportive of one another, since we are only competing against ourselves.
And then there's the staff, the volunteers, incredible. As one of the competitors, René Lecacheur, wrote after the race: "THANK YOU for your presence, your dedication, your patience, your kindness, your smiles, your good humor, your availability, your little attentions to us, your pleasure to be there. Receive our gratitude for all your support in difficult conditions (night, cold, wind ... etc), but you are always there for us, always with a smile. So Thank you!".
After the briefing, communal dinner then off to bed. I slept well but woke up in a strange mental state, as if I did not quite realize that I was going to run 175km. The sole of my right foot hurt very slightly, but in the end it would turn out to be never more than a slight bother even after 29 hours of racing – so ultimately nothing to complain about (damn!).
Villeneuve – Lugrin – CP1 (22,5km)
We head off with cool weather at 7am to the sound of cow bells. Right away René charges ahead (he’s vice-world champion for longest distance on a treadmill in 24h - 247km! – didn’t even know that this kind of stuff existed!). He came to win, even break the record... He’s followed by a small group moving too fast for me - then there’s me, at about 9km/h as planned. And then behind me, a slightly slower group... So, only 10 minutes into the race, I find myself alone. And I’ll stay that way- almost without seeing anyone in front or behind - for nearly 15 hours of racing... Ah, for someone who doesn’t like crowds, I got what I came for! A new journey of inner discovery awaits…
This first section is going well. I already plug in to a little music, I set my pace, forcing myself to walk a minute or so every quarter of an hour. The first few kilometers are in a natural reserve along the lake between Villeneuve and Le Bouveret, then we cross the border into France. We’re right on the lake, the view is magnificent, with steep mountains on the left, and I feel very fortunate to be here.
I had estimated my time based the GUCR and arrived bang on schedule at the first checkpoint in 2h30. Quick coffee, a homemade wafer by the daughter of Raphaëlle, one of the loyal volunteers of the UTL, and I charge off - forgetting my water bottle! But no worries, I wanted to get rid of it anyway, and I have a pouch in the backpack. Raphaëlle says she’ll also be at the last CP7, and I tell her that this year I count on seeing her there!
Lugrin – Anthy-sur-Léman – CP2 (44km)
Things are going pretty smoothly. Things are getting rather more urban with cars zipping past, requiring to be quite focused when the sidewalk disappears. Then we turn off the main road into residential areas – very pretty! I was already quite pleasantly surprised last year to gain a new perspective of a region I thought I knew so well… I pass the marathon distance in less than 5 hours, much slower than last year when I took off too fast, and I arrive again on schedule in Anthy in 5:15. A few quick nibbles and I’m off. Can feel my legs now, but nothing out of the ordinary…
Anthy-sur-Léman – Chens-sur-Léman – CP3 (64km)
I spend a lot of time thinking about the race, about what I will write on my blog, and time just flies, it's great – I even have to force myself to slow down. Then, as can always happen in an ultra (and usually does several times), the tables flip and I find myself finding the time very looooong. Last year, too, I started to struggle mentally here. There are parts of the road without sidewalk but overall it is beautiful, as you pass through Excenevex, Yvoire, Messery. Yet I’ve got the blues... Which might explain why, when I arrive at the third checkpoint, I blab on and on to the volunteers about the fact that I will see my wife and my daughter soon since I pass within 100m of our house. The CP, which I hit again right on schedule at 3pm, moved one kilometer from Chens because there is a 10km race organized for this afternoon. That's nice.
Chens-sur-Léman – Bellevue – CP4 (87km)
After Chens we head vaguely downhill to Hermance and into Switzerland and very familiar territory. I had retrieved my lost water bottle in Chens, but realized that I had not only forgotten to fill the bottle but also my back pouch, what’s up with that? No worries, I come across a water fountain and fill up my pouch, figuring that the lack of a sign indicating that the water is (or is not) drinkable means that it is… Right? A few minutes later I'm not very sure ... Anyway, whether it's psychological or something else (running and eating randomly for more than 8 hours), I start to feel nauseous. So I pop a Motilium pill... But that doesn’t seem to work too well, so I eat some candied ginger – and that works wonders!
Around 4.15pm I pass in front of my mother-in-law’s house. Last year I stopped here more than half an hour to chat with my wife and eat some tasty stuff I’d left in my mother-in-law’s fridge. But it was a weird experience – I'm not used to having my wife follow me on my races – and I didn’t want to stop for such a long time outside an official checkpoint, so we’d agreed just to meet up briefly near our home. I’m glad I did: I feel much better than last year when I was already suffering from very tired legs and a sore knee, even though the nausea has already returned.
Just before I get to Collonge, a cyclist slows down to my level and asks me what I am up to, then he explains that he is doing the Ironman Barcelona in a few weeks and that he is on his last long bike ride, which he should follow with a run but he is really not motivated... Sorry dude, not sure what to tell you...
I pass my daughter's school and call my wife to let her know. 10mn later we meet up in front of the Migros in Vésenaz with my daughter. They buy me an ice cream (mmm ...), my daughter hands me a Monster energy drink that I’d left in our fridge, and we sit out in the sun for a quarter of an hour - my daughter on another bench ten meters away because she says I smell bad! Then she tells me I have to hurry, I’m going to get overtaken! Oh, no worries about that darling! We are few and far between, and in any case if someone does, good on them! Then she tells me that I should just stay here. What do you mean!? Have I not taught you never to give up without a damn good reason – and this isn’t one! She says it's because she’s going to miss me tonight ... Oh, break my heart... But beyond the fact that I absolutely do not see myself stopping now, the prospect of having to get up and take the train on a Sunday morning to retrieve my car and stuff in Villeneuve sounds even more tiring than running another 100km around the lake. So I just blow a big kiss, hug my wife and off I go…
And immediately run into a former colleague. I don’t want to be rude, so I ask how she’s doing, kid and all, and I do really want to know because it’s been a while since we ran into each other, but finally I tell her I’m in a race and should get going. She understands, and I head off towards the lake.
The Monster kicks in, I’ve seen my wife and daughter, and the sun is glinting off the lake as the town of Geneva appears (last year it was raining): I’m in rare form, and I start to run more and walk less, and manage to keep that up till the next checkpoint. I spend 5mn talking with a woman on a bike who asks me about the race and encourages me. I feel even more like superman… There are a lot of runners out, so I try to make sure that my bib is visible ("see, 175km, that's why I'm so slow! ") But no-one keeps me more than a perplexed nod…
I arrive at Bellevue around 18:30 still within my most optimistic time predictions, so I start to wonder if I might not actually pull a good time, less than 26h? I was over an hour later last year and night had fallen.
Bellevue – Gland – CP5 (107km)
I am the only runner again at checkpoint 3, with three volunteers all to myself. I am offered a massage, I hesitate, I accept. I start to shiver, they give me two blankets, one for the shoulders, one for the legs. Then they serve me up some broth with noodles - mmm, that goes down well, almost the only thing that I can stomach with this recurring nausea which comes in waves between bites of ginger. This is only the 2nd time in about 30 ultras that I have nausea, and now there’s something new: the feeling that I have a pill stuck in my throat…
I am surprised to see Helen at the checkpoint, because she’s running the relay, but it’s good to see her. She’s waiting for her teammate Philippe who took off slowly as he’s suffering from a knee injury. She has a while to wait still. Meanwhile, she discovering Swiss chocolate! ... I ask how Dylan is fairing, as know it’s his first 100-miler (110!), and I was told he passed through more than an hour and half ago. So it would seem it's going well.
I leave after retrieving a new baggie of food for the next leg – I’ve left one at each checkpoint from here on – but the chips, Pims and Oreo cookies that I thought would be a real delight when packing them do nothing for me now. I actually throw away the cheese-flavored chips, ugh!, and just nibble on an oreo and a pims. It goes down ok, but I have to force myself a little. So disappointed!
I keep up a good pace, still run/walk-ing, until Versoix/Mies. Night’s falling but there are enough streetlights not to have to put on my headlamp. I run past Scott's wife who tells me that Scott is napping in the car...
Then my watch starts beeping: low battery. I plug it into my portable battery and store it in my backpack. I try to use my phone to track my running/walking, but soon realize it’s totally useless and give up, and give in to the pleasure of just moving along without focusing on time or pace…
This might have been a mistake - because it seems to take forever to reach the next checkpoint, which seemed so short last year and which is, objectively, the shortest distance between checkpoints. Yet I feel good and I thought I was moving pretty quick (relatively speaking). Several times I thought I was arriving in Nyon - but no! And when I pull out my watch to check my average pace, it’s dropped! I’m actually moving slower than last year?!
Feeling somewhat lonely now, I call my friend Anthony, with whom I did the Alpe d'Huez long-distance triathlon, then the Vichy Ironman (well, we participated in the same events, he just finished far ahead!) and who crewed me at the Swiss Irontrail and the GUCR. Then I try to call another buddy, Cyril, whom I've known for almost 30 years, with whom I did the Marathon des Sables and so many other races,- and who had accompanied me by bike for the UTL last year... Turns out he’s at a friend’s 50th birthday. 50th! Time flies. I don’t feel anywhere near 50!
I pass Nyon finally, then Gland arrives not too far behind, but I’m pretty damn sure there are sections of the road that weren’t there last year, or perhaps the kilometers have turned into miles…
Gland – St. Prex – CP6 (126km)
Last year, I already had thoughts of dropping at this checkpoint. I was fine this year, tired for sure, but legs ok. Apart from my latent nausea, all systems are a go – a timid go, like a stubborn mule forced to climb the mountain, but a go nonetheless….
I ask how Dylan’s doing, and turns out he passed through two hours ago, so he’s even gained time on me (not that I’d harbored any ideas of catching up), so I’m figuring he’s doing really well. Actually, I learned later from his blog that he was having to cope with signs of dehydration. Goes to show how easy things always look from the outside...
I don’t dally, pick up another baggy of food (beurk!), retrieve a more powerful headlamp (a Petzl Nao and its f**king intertwining threads, I really have to switch to something else) and off I hop. An hour later, I pull some Parma ham of my bag – rough going, but it’s real food and salty and greasy and that’s apparently what I need because it goes down ok. And I need fuel.
Then I slow down – I mean, to the point where even I realize that I am slowing down. I continue to trot intermittently, but there’s quite a bit of power walking going on… Still, no plodding, so gotta look on the bright side. That said, space-time distortion continues: I feel much better – and that I am doing better – than last year, but I still only get to St. Prex just an hour ahead of last year's time, which means I did the whole section from Bellevue much slower?! I’m telling you, they added sections to the road…
But I'm no longer alone at this point. I arrived in Rolle with no water, and couldn’t find any fountains with drinkable water (not making that mistake again!), so I fill my pouch in the bathroom of a pub (from the tap, I might add), and as I’m leaving I see another runner. I call out to him but he doesn’t hear me, so I charge across the road (all things being relative when I say “charge”) and tap him on the shoulder: it is Scott! He’s doing pretty well, he slept a little in his wife's car. But he’s tired and his legs are beat, and we are both happy to reduce our pace to a sustained walk.
And so chat for the next hours, about work and the races we've done... Scott is attempting to do 500km in 50 days in six races. Last weekend he did Swisspeaks, about 80km/50 miles and a lot of elevation on technical trails, and next weekend he’s doing the LG Trail, 115km with 3,500m of elevation from Lausanne to Geneva. Which explains his state of fatigue…
We arrive at 1 am in St. Prex where we both agree to take a proper break. I retrieve another food baggy, but I suddenly retch at the sight of the bars and gels and even the dried beef that I end up by throwing away with a heavy heart. One of the volunteers standing near steps back but I manage to keep it all down... A few pieces of ginger later and I feel better right away. But I’ll be unable to eat for the next 4-5 hours, which might explain why I have a hard time finding renewed energy.
Scott and I both realize sleep is an impossible proposition as the night is quite cool, so we head off for the longest leg to the last checkpoint.
St. Prex – Cully – CP7 (153km)
And it definitely feels like the longest stretch!... But the kilometers slip by as we chat, and I'm happy to arrive at Morges where I stopped last year... Then shortly after exiting Morges, Scott plays tricks with my mind: he sees a bus shelter and says that would make for a nice lie-down. I hadn’t dared suggest it! But when we pass the next one, I say “hey, what about a lie down”, but he’s not up for it, like he was joking or something, but I can’t get it out of my head, so on the third one we pass I tell him I’m going to nap as my eyes are drooping. I tell him to go on, maybe catch up later…
The nap lasts all of five minutes. There’s a breeze that just fills the shelter with cold air, so I decide to move on. I try again an hour later, same result. Then I hit the outskirts of Lausanne and enter a dark forest that runs all along the lake. It's almost scary! Which of course is when my Petzl decides to blink to tell me the batteries are dying - oops, must have forgotten to charge them. I recognize with some dry, detached humor the accumulation of errors I’m making on this ultra, a sign perhaps that I was not as focused on it as I should have been. I’m just lucky that it’s a road race where the temperature changes aren’t too drastic and there is access to civilization…
Anyway, I decided to enjoy the dark for a while, before realizing that I’ve hit a deadend and there is nowhere to go except into the lake… So I turn back until I see one of the race arrows – actually indicating I was in the right place. What the…? Ok, so I head back along the boardwalk, but this time take out my spare lamp and hey presto magic, there’s the path, just to the left weaving into the forest. Thank God for Light!
Oddly enough, it's among the moments in the race that I enjoy the most. The wooded park on the left, the lake on the right, the silence of the night... Then I see a telephone booth - a few broken panes but providing better shelter from the wind than anywhere else. So I curl up on the cigarette butt-strewn floor, actually quite comfortable, wondering again and the unique experiences an ultra marathon provides… It reminds me somewhat of past years of alcohol and drug-use, sleepless nights and aimless wondering in empty public places in the dead of night… And it’s briefly unpleasant until I realize how far I have traveled, that my intense fatigue now is due to 140 kilometers of running and there's no chemical crash…
I drift off a bit but eventually leave after about 10 minutes of fitful napping, pass through a port, and emerge on the edge of wide open space now occupied by a horse show... And I realize it's dawn.
I arrive soon after at Ouchy and that’s when I see Scott staggering ahead. He really doesn’t look good. But he's on the phone - with his wife, I think - and he waves vaguely to me as I pass. I slow down to stay just a little ahead of him, given him some space, but we’re really moving slowly. Something of a dilemma - if I keep going at this pace, I could eventually just give up; and that would certainly happen if he drops out and gets picked up by his wife. So I signal to him that I'm taking off.
Still, I look behind from time to time but can’t see him. I stop for five minutes to rest and wait for him, but he still doesn’t show up... Well, he has plenty of experience (finished, among others, a 250km race in the mountains in Japan – like the Asian Barkley's), he has a phone, we are in a city and there are already joggers out this Sunday morning so I’m not too worried for him, and eventually just “charge” ahead to Cully.
And that's where space-time distortion resumes, but this time it's entirely my fault. I’ve retrieved my watch from my bag but it seems like the charger didn’t work so I’ve turned off the GPS function and I have no clue of distances or speed. So I figure that by studying the bus stops, I can guess how long it will take me to get to Cully.
What a mistake! Since when are bus route maps drawn to scale? So at the beginning I feel like I'm moving fast, calculating that at the pace I move between bus stops I’ll arrive at the last checkpoint in Cully at around 7:15am - cool! Also weird: every time I stop to check the schedule, a bus arrives, as if to taunt me. And it's Sunday morning! I would love for buses to run on a Sunday like that in Geneva.
Then I pass through a beautiful village on the lake stupidly thinking that this is Lutry and I will soon reach Cully, but realize that in fact this is the old town of Pully. But it’s after this that my morale really takes a blow. According to the bus route, the distance appears about the same between Pully, Lutry and Cully... But it turns out that between Lutry and Cully there is a small town called Villette, which comes well after a really long straight stretch from Lutry…
Fortunately, the scenery is amazing, especially at this early hour, with the lake sparkling to the right and the vineyards to the left, and the train tracks in between. I feel like I’m in a miniature train set... And then I come across a gas station open early and buy a chicken sandwich. My nausea has not completely passed, but by eating it in small pieces, it goes down pretty well! Have to say that it’s been more than 4 hours since I’ve eaten nothing...
Cully – Villeneuve (175Km)
I arrive shortly after 8h at Cully, where Raphaëlle is waiting with a big smile, her kids running around with endless energy (apparently they slept real well in the car). I manage some broth, and salami goes down well too. Then I try to catch some sleep in another volunteer’s car – he stretches out the driver’s seat and hands me a blanket. But, once again after 5-10mn I give up.
When I get out of the car, I see Scott staggering in. He collapses into a chair, exhausted – and this is probably the first time I’ve really seen someone absolutely exhausted. He doesn’t want to give up but he realizes that he may actually be putting his health at risk. When I head out, he gives me a big smile of encouragement for the last bit. Whatever he’s feeling, it may be completely understandable disappointment but definitely not self-pity.
The sun’s shining and it’s all downhill into Vevey, amazing. I remove my windbreaker and long sleeves that I wore during the night to put on a new clean t-shirt. I feel like a new man and I start jogging again.
From Vevey I can see the entire distance still to cover – but I can pretty much see Villeneuve! I know I’ll get there and if I push a bit I can make it close to the somewhat loose official cut-off time of 29h10 (which means an average pace of 6km/h for the whole race, taking stops into account). Just like at the GUCR, these last hours are really tough on the legs and feet, and mentally I just want to get it done, I will get it done, but struggling with the amount of time it will take… But I am not bored at all. The boardwalk is filled with strollers, and joggers too whipping by (as I once again try to make my bib visible!).
Then I pass the Chateau de Chillon and there it is, I am in Villeneuve. I pass the train station, I see the service station that marks the left turn towards Tronchenaz. Now I’m running along the river, with the soccer field on my left. And then they see me and I hear the incredible sound of the cowbells - and I get a hug from Jean-Luc, and Scott is there too and we give each other a long hug - I thank him for his support and helping me finish, saying how sorry I am he had to drop - and Dylan’s there too congratulating me ... Actually, almost everyone is there since I'm the second to last person to arrive. Helene will arrive a little less than an hour after me, a real warrior.
So at last the tour of great lake is complete – and I won’t have to return out of revenge but rather to enjoy the magical experience of a unique race.
