It was the best of races, it was the worst of races. I am
very pleased to have finished the 2015 UTMB, billed as the premier 100 mile
trail race in the world. With 30,000 feet of ascent and 30,000 feet of descent spread across 25 major climbs and descents, and 100+ miles of running spread across 3 countries in the Alps, I believe it. I am happy with the final result, but I feel like
I have left unfinished business.
I've never had serious stomach issues while racing. I've been very proud to say in the past that I have an iron stomach that has served me well as I have watched close friends waylaid through hours of discomfort and wave upon wave of vomiting. I can eat pretty much anything and everything provided at aid stations. As a result, I've never had to put too much thought into food and drink choices when planning my race nutrition - just calorie count. If it looked good, I ate it or drank it, and that has always worked. Looking back now, I made two very poor choices in the hours leading up to this race. One, I drank lots of Coke Zero instead of my normal cup of coffee and plenty of Gatorade. Two, I had Sandra mix my Tailwind at full strength after I had been diluting it by 50% while training all summer. I don't think my stomach was prepared for the intensity of full strength, already bloated from too much soda. The two combined to create a gut bomb that heavily influenced my race.
Next came a four mile, 2,400 ft climb up Le Delevret. I
could tell within 5 minutes something was very wrong. I was breathing too
hard, panting even, with my heart rate going through the roof on a climb that I
should have handled easily after 6 weeks of training in Utah. Sweat was pouring
off me at an alarming rate. I was more than a little concerned that my
training had been all for naught and I was ill prepared. I was
increasingly agitated as so many others charged up the hill past me.
Finally I reached the peak and I focused on the 2,500 foot plummet down
the other side, soon to be distracted by the sharp pains in my abdomen.
By mile 13 at Saint Gervais, I could tell I was dehydrated and low on
sugar. I spent the next six miles unable to eat or drink due to abdominal
discomfort. I continued to be passed left and right, and my state of mind
deteriorated rapidly. This CAN'T be happening! I worked too hard
this year to be ready. 9 weeks of miserable dieting to lose 24 lbs., 6
weeks away from home to train (not saying Utah wasn't a blast, but that length
of time away took a toll on the whole family), months of planning, all to
waste?
I saw Sandra for the first time at Les Contamines, mile 19.5.
I was washed out, bonked twice over and vacillating between tears and
panic over my poor race start. By now it was dark, the air cooling, so
Sandra helped me change into warm clothes. I spent well over 30 minutes
in the aid station trying to recover and didn't know until much later how close
my race came to ending right here. Sandra told me later, just after I
left the aid station, they called 10 minutes to cut off. Soon after les Contamines, I was roughly 2,200nd out of 2,300 runners as I gave up at least another 100 spots mostly walking, unable to
get the mass in my stomach to go away. As the trail passed through a
park, I even sat on a bench, hung my head, and decided whether to continue.
Then, finally, the ship was righted.
At mile 22.5 (I remember the spot very well), out of nowhere, I
was overcome with projectile vomiting - all fluids and no solids, with the
taste predominantly of Tailwind and Coke. I quickly tried to resume trotting,
making it all of ten feet before spraying the bushes again. There it was!
The pressure was gone, relief was instant. I felt completely normal
within seconds, and moments later, I was running. Within a half mile, the
trail turned upwards for the biggest climb of the race, 4,000+ feet to Croix du
bonhomme. I realized quickly I was climbing well again. The
bloating in my stomach must have put pressure on my lungs and heart making it
difficult to breath and causing the other issues. This for me became the
real start of MY Ultra Trail Mont Blanc.
Elated, I pushed the accelerator to the floor and went flat out,
charging up the mountain. I pounded my hiking poles into the ground with
vigor, focusing not on the trail but on the runners immediately ahead of me and
how long I was going to allow myself before passing them. All the anger
at my poor start was channeled into passing everyone in sight. Soon the
trail narrowed to something wider than single track but not enough to make
passing easy. I had to be patient through long stretches of deep, narrow
channels awaiting my next chance to pass. Frequently, my impatience got
the better of me and I took numerous chances, dancing precariously along the
edges of bluffs, anxious to pick up the pace.
I realized how hard I had been working when I reached the top of
the pass near 8,000 feet, with temperatures in the mid 30's and 20+ mile per
hour winds blowing through, yet drenched in sweat and overheated. But I
did not let up on the 2,800 foot downhill to Les Chapieux that followed.
I threw my feet out in front of me, hopping over rocks, and darting
around runners along narrow ledges with abandon. By now, I had resigned
myself to a restricted diet of what I was sure I could keep down without
discomfort. Up until about mile 80, that was water, Coke , and orange
slices. Tailwind was out of the question. The mere thought of it
made me nauseous. Gels made me gag. Energy bars got caught in my
throat. None of the food in the aid stations looked appealing besides
oranges. I focused heavily on water and salt intake knowing I had to be
down 10-15 lbs. from the start of the race. I went one stretch of over 9
hours without peeing. The lack of calories and fluids over the first 25
hours of running took its toll later in the race.
UTMB is all about climbing and descending. There are no
flats. The third major climb was 2,800 feet up to Col de la Seigne. I
hope to go back here in the light someday, because in the dark it was
spectacular. The first couple of miles on gravel road at the bottom, I
spent running everything less than 10 degrees in elevation change and
speed-walking past other runners on the steeper stuff. By now, I was in
my normal running routine other than being in major calorie deficit. I
was now able to better appreciate the scenery around me. The full moon
was up and the light shone brightly off the snow pack and glacial ice of the
surrounding heights. Near the top, I looked back and saw a chain of
hundreds of headlamps snaking their way up the trail. I almost screamed
in (premature) triumph knowing that over the prior two climbs, I had passed
nearly every runner those twinkling lights represented. I turned back
down the trail, recharged and looking to stay in the passing lane.
Soon dawn arrived and the lights rose on spectacular vistas.
For my money, the Italian side of Mont Blanc is even more amazing than
the French (and that's saying something). Thousands of feet above us,
massive glaciers hundreds of feet thick, hung near the peaks melting in the
summer sun creating waterfalls that cascaded thousands of feet down the
mountain face and thundered across the valley to us miles away. This was
a frequent scene from numerous points along the race, I am not sure I have ever
seen anything quite as majestic. Through one stretch, a helicopter was
following my little group, shooting video. I got fired up from the
attention, jumped up on the edge of the trail, and took some rather silly risks
to pass the slower runners in front of me, and run freely down the hill.
I can't say I was teetering along a cliff, but the slope was steep
enough, I think if I had slipped, it would have been quite some time before I
stopped rolling.
The final descent into Courmayeur was brutally steep and I came
trotting in at mile 49 a little washed out. This was the next crewed aid
station, and Sandra was awaiting me with everything I needed. I was
cognizant that by falling behind early and working so hard to pass so many
runners, I had expended far too much energy without even reaching the halfway
point. I took some extra time in the aid station again, getting down extra
calories, including a small bowl of penne. I changed into lighter clothes
for the heat of the day, kissed Sandra goodbye until Switzerland, and was back
on my way, focused on passing the runner immediately ahead of me.
Andrea Risi had told me I would never be alone in this race
(2,300 runners is a lot for a trail race), and there would be very little
talking; and I found both to be true. I can't blame the language barrier,
since 45% of the runners are French and they should not have an issue
conversing. But it was eerily quiet, even when running in a pack of 20,
30, or even 40 runners almost no one said a word. The only sound was that
of dozens of walking sticks scraping on rock and dirt; and the distant thunder
of glacier-fed waterfalls. I had headphones with me, but never put them
on, content to listen to the running water, birdsong, and remain lost in my own
thoughts.
The Swiss countryside was enchanting, and there was the frequent
sound of cowbells as herds of cattle moved below us. At one point, I saw
a runner 50 yards ahead of us, waylaid by a cow on the narrow trail ahead of
him. He tried to shoo it away, but the cow did not wish to run downhill,
as it was very steep. Finally, the cow moved off the trail and 15 feet
uphill and the runner passed on by. The cow immediately looked to move
back down the hill onto the trail, and I raced ahead to get by it. The
cow saw me, and stayed slightly uphill, but began running parallel to me, thinking
to get ahead and then down. I picked up the pace, and was soon laughing
aloud as I raced Bessie down the trail, my hiking poles clicking rapidly, and
her bell ringing wildly. After outlasting her in the brief sprint, I was
even more bemused to look back a minute later to see several runners standing
in place as she now blocked the trail behind me.
The final 30 miles of the race feature 4 climbs of 2,500+ feet
each that are just stupid hard that late in a race. I can't begin to
describe how hard these climbs were on jellied legs, with little energy left.
I was dizzy most of the time now, and had resorted to eating Swedish Fish
during the climbs to keep my head (mostly) clear. There were multiple,
miles long stretches of climbing that was more rock scramble than run or hike.
Step after step was up 1-2 vertical feet at a time. In places, I
resorted to holding the poles in one hand, and using the other to pull myself
up on the rocks. I saw Sandra 3 times through the end, at Champex,
Trient, and Vallorcine; each time, I was increasingly tired and cranky, but
increasingly confident, I was going to get this done. Each time, she fed
me, refilled my camelbak, made sure I was warm enough, said the right things,
and pushed me back out of the tent. It is worth noting, Sandra was
posting race updates on my Facebook account throughout the race and reading the
feedback to me each time I saw her. You cannot underestimate the positive
energy I took from hearing from good friends 5,000 miles away.
By now, I had been running for well over 30 hours, and awake for
over 40. I never felt exceptionally sleep-related tired, and never
visually hallucinated; but my mind played weird tricks on me. On the
final climb, I was convinced, I was climbing to save the valor of Utah.
Why, I have no idea. But when two guys speaking French went by me,
I got very angry at myself, I was somehow letting the USA down. Dammit, I
am an American! I am supposed to finish this hill first, and I would surge
forward again. Repeatedly, I told myself I was not thinking straight,
there was nothing here but a hill to climb. And then moments later,
"Long Live Utah!"
Finally I came into the last aid station at La Flegere. I
had a 2,700 foot descent into Chamonix to make in just under 5 miles.
Holy crap, I was here! I am going to finish! I left the aid
station elated, ready to pound down the final stretch. Only to find the
trail was cruelly rocky, the footing tricky, and for me, nearly unrunnable on
uncertain legs. I slowed to a trot, and soon a fast walk; no longer
caring how quickly I finished. I gritted my teeth in anger as an
occasional runner passed by, navigating the terrain far better than me.
My mind continued to play tricks on me, as I imagined the pattern of
rocks represented the key to the puzzle of working with one of my clients.
ENOUGH! It is time to go. I started back into a trot, and
then a run. I had not come all this way to limp to the finish line.
Now I didn't give a shit if I fell, I ran with reckless abandon, dancing
my way through the rocks. I reined back in every runner who had passed me
before flying by with everything I had. With 2 miles to go, the
switchbacks and rocks ended. The descent was still steep, but with a
comparitively smooth, mostly straight trail, I was able to completely let the
clutch out. My next mile was under 8 minutes, and I tried to press even
harder. The trail wound through back streets and finally dumped out on a
path along the river. Spectators were 2-3 deep through town and the cheering
grew louder. The sense of elation at this point was overwhelming.
My lungs burned, and I told myself to slow down before I fell.
There was no one ahead remaining to catch, and certainly, there sure as
hell no one going to overtake me from behind. But as I saw the central
square approach, I pumped my arms harder and poured everything I had left into
the final turns and through the finish.
I crossed the finish line and collapsed into a chair
immediately. Sandra was by my side in seconds. Victory! I was
hours away from my goal time, but this was a total victory. I have been
lucky enough to latch onto the greatest sport 8 years ago and have had tremendous fun along
the way. I've enjoyed some great races, some bad races, I've experienced
tremendous highs and lows. But here I had faced my worst adversity in a
race yet, extraordinarily early on the course, and pushed through 90 more miles
to post a respectable finish. I have Good/Better/Best goals for every
race. Good in any hundred miler, especially this one, is to finish.
Better is reflective of where I think my training and ability stack up against
the course. For UTMB I thought that would be 35 hours. Best is the goal
if all the stars align, everything feels great, and I run lights out. I
came to Chamonix hoping to go sub 30. 38:44 is a far cry from 30, even 35
hours. But for me, this was an overwhelming success. I will
treasure the comeback evident in the race tracker below for a long time.
I went from somewhere around 2,200nd ( out of 2,300 starters) at vomit
time to 550th by the finish, passing runners every remaining Ieg. I will
take that.
As I said, this was the best of races and the worst of races.
I made some silly pre-race choices, for which I paid dearly. I
experienced one of my lowest racing moments at the nadir. But I beat
myself up enough out on the course over this. It ended up being my best
race ever. I pushed through and finished 111 brutal miles (UTMB can call
it 105 if they like, my GPS readings added up to 111, and I measured leg after
leg longer than they represented) on the premier 100+ mile trail course in the
world in phenomenally beautiful country. This goes in the books as a W.
But also unfinished business. I think I can challenge sub 30 here,
and I want another shot. The twins graduate high school next year and summer 2016 is largely spoken for. But Sandra and I
have already started planning the qualifiers for 2017. I've got 756 days
to prepare. I will be ready.
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