The North Face Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc 2009
Individual race: Boost Adventure Team member
By Frederik Gregaard, October 2009
Ultra, is a little pride and a lot of humility, Forum d'Ultrafondus
I woke up early, still not decided what to do. I had packed and repacked my bag maybe thousand of times in my head and had a good feeling with my new race pack. This year I finally broke with many years of running with Salomon race packs testing two different packs OMM and Innov-8. Today it was my small Innov-8 pack, which needed to stand the test.
Why did the official say my pack was heavy, when he checked my gear? Are the other people really running with a lighter pack? While I was considering it, I came to the conclusion, that the only thing, which could be spared, was starting with 2 liters of water instead of my camelbacks maximum 3. But would it give me an edge, or would it frustrate me? I decided to stay with 3 liters based on last year, where I had above 1 hour with no water and dehydrated massively before finding water in a small stream.
My wonderful girlfriend, that had joined me to make sure that everything went as planned, quickly noticed my density and asked the magic question: Are you nervous? I thought about if for a moment, not finding any reasons to be nervous.
I was ready. Only 2 weeks before I ran Rady's Mountain Marathon with my fabulous adventure partner Lars - with no problems at all. I felt really ready. I was of course, aware of my training effort and knew, that I could have used more time training steep descents and night running in high altitude, but then again: you can always optimize. So I answered: NO, I am not nervous.
20 minutes later we joined my mother for an idyllic breakfast at our romantic mountain hotel on the backside of Mt Blanc. She did not use many minutes observing me, before she asked the question: Are you nervous? This time I could not deny it anymore. It felt like a chink in my armor just broke wide open, when I answered yes.
I was not feeling so good, but was it just nervousness, or was it that damned local cheese from last night that still felt like a rock in my stomach? Who the hell also invented to put cream on a "full fat" cheese, put it in the oven and use some potatoes as spices? Only French cuisine can get a way with such a dish.
On the way to Italy I went through last years race again and again. It felt surreal that what nearly ended with a total fiasco last year, falling a sleep, dehydrating, hallucinating and seeing my mothers parcel house in the forest, finally should stand its test again.
The route was simple. Start in Courmayeur (IT), move over the first two high altitudes passes cross into Switzerland, for then - in the end - seeing the Sun rising over Chamonix in France. Passing more than 98 km single trails, 5500 height meters and several unbelievable beautiful scenarios in my favorite place on earth, the mountains.
The goal was defined. It should be a mind moving journey, a fantastic event, proving that when I am ready, then I can embrace the mountains, embrace the pain and just let go of all the daily normality's and live life for every second and every meter.
The start line at the centre of Courmayeur is tinged with an atmosphere that only Italians can provide - a rare emotional moment to the music of Vangelis. I have lost all time sense. I kiss my Girlfriend farewell and hug my mother, while everything seems to move in slow motion.
Spectators and music fill the streets, smiles and cheers abound, while ultra runners silently freak out. There is a special look on the runner's faces; we are battling with anxiety, self-doubt and the release. In a few seconds there are no more concerns - only the freedom, like being a lion that finally escapes the cage and finds itself back on the open savanna.
Can we control our bodies and minds? Are we blind to the danger and risk we'll be tackling in the mountains? Will we exit the course under our own power by crossing the finish line in Chamonix or will we exit via a helicopter rescue? Will all of our intensive training lead to the self-fulfillment and joy we desire or will we fail and struggle with regret for a year until we can attempt this again?
Luckily the race theme, Conquest of Paradise, loudly fills the streets, and I know it is close. The count down begins. The emotion of it all grab my soul, and the 1865 other ultra runners disappear for a moment. I feel so happy, so alive, I am the lion, and the cage just disappeared. The crowd starts to move forward down the old town of Courmayeur with the beautiful mountain scenery in the background.
The streets are packed with cheering local Italians in traditional clothes, ringing with cowbells or playing traditional instruments and alp horns. The energy is amazing. I fight to pass people to get into a good rhythm, but quickly I realize that I have seeded myself to far back.
To many times we are forced into small narrow steep trails, where we are lining up - waiting for an opportunity to take over the front person. It is a bit like lemmings, and several times I cannot keep thinking if the front persons take a wrong turn, we will be 30 people taking the same wrong turn. I just keep focusing on running my own race, not following or slowing down due to other people's rhythm. Just keep your rhythm, and keep drinking, I mumble while climbing higher and higher up the mountain.
Towards the first top, Tete de la Tronche in 2584 meters, I really notice the different from last year. With the beautiful glaciated peaks in the background, I break free from the crowd and can really start to run my own race. It is so beautiful here, but so hot. The sun has no mercy, and I notice that I am dehydrating - even though I am drinking close to 1.5 liters of water per hour.
I get a bit nervous but decide to take a salt stick every hour, instead of every second. It starts to work, and I just cannot stop smiling - just enjoying this fabulous day in the mountain, nearly sad knowing that I - for every step - get closer to the finish line.
I reach the top, refuel with a Power Bar and fights with the vomiting sensation that still are a huge part of my system. Who invented that cheese thing, and why did I eat it yesterday? The decent from Tete de la Tronche are steep, and the rocks are rolling, while I struggle to keep pace. Several people are passing me, and I wonder how much they train descents to keep that hilarious high speed. They must be related to mountain goats, I conclude and continue in my own pace.
I stop in Refuge Bonatti to refill my camel back. Damn the water taste good. But it is so hot, and it is impossible to drink enough. I push hard on but suddenly it hits me. I can see Grand Col Ferret. It is so far, and the height difference is massive. It feels so surrealistic that I am going up there. Am I running to fast, to slow, am I strong enough and what about my stomach?
I haven't been eating enough. I decide to eat a lot, when I hit the next checkpoint. I can hear bells, shouts of joy and suddenly they are all there. People, fans, supporters and cows - all cheering the runners. I am touched by the joy and commitment all those people express for us. I run with good speed into Arnuva and grasp a lot of cheese, sausage and try to eat.
My stomach refuses it all, and I end up by only eating some bread, and a muesli bar. I accept the situation, and decide to keep eating, until I reach the Grand Col Ferret. This was the top which I feared the most in the race. I could remember every turn from last year, where the doctor tried to stop me, but this year I quickly find a good pace and just push and push with a promise to myself to break every 500 vertical meters.
Finally I reach the top, after 2 short breaks to eat a bit and drink. I can feel the height. But the top also marks the border between Italy and Switzerland, and just by seeing the Swiss signpost makes the adrenalin rush. I force myself to put a high pace even though my feed really is hurting. It has been coming gradually especially on the descents. What is wrong - is it blisters?
I must deal with the problem now, and not wait until it becomes an even bigger problem. I take off one shoe, on the foot where the pain is the greatest. It really hurts. I instantly realize what is wrong. The shoe is too stiff, and the laces are not constructed to the steep continuous descents. My big toe nail is black and bleeding and the skin under my foot, on the size of 5 Chf, is moving. I know it is going to be a big problem later. But there is nothing I can do. I try to use another lacing system, tie them hard to the foot and try to ignore the pain. It is not going to be pretty or nice in any way.
It is more or less downhill all the way to La Fouly, who is also marking the 40 kilometers in the race. It is extremely nice to be in the shadow of the mountain, and gradually I regain my strength and a much more convenient body temperature. I hit La Fouly after 6 hours and 44 minutes and notices that I am actually doing really well. Maybe I will finish on 20 hours after all.
La Fouly is really the big place to meet, and running in to the beautiful town I realize that nearly 50% of the runners friends and family are here greeting them with hugs and cheers of excitement. I think of my girlfriend and mother on the other side of the mountain following me on the map and through the automatic SMS messages, which are sent when I arrive in every checkpoint. The thought is gasoline on the fire, and even though my stomach is "shit" and feet are talking to me, I set a higher pace and nearly sprint into the checkpoint.
The food smells nice, and I decide to try the hot noodles with bread and cola mixed with water. I actually manage to eat a lot, and my thoughts go to last year, where I was in really bad shape her. I find a toilet in an old school, and decide stomach can be stomach, but I need this fixed. Luckily the combination of cola and noodles seems to have helped, and I exit the toilet like a winner.
With good speed I exit the checkpoint and starts on the next part of the route, which is very flat and goes to Praz de Fort, before the terrible wooden part starts toward Champex-Lac and Further to Bovine in 1987 meter above sea level. This part of the route is marked by endless procession of switchbacks, which is amazingly hard mentally compared to the high alpine counterparts souring high above the tree line.
I somehow reach Champex-Lac. I am really "toast" at this point and have been running in the dark only guided by my headlamp for what seem ages. I have somehow fallen into a routine counting switchbacks not really sure why, but the success I feel every time I reach 10 is a comfort, so I just keep counting them.
Champex is the breaking point for me. I have been saying to my self, countless times, when I am there, the rest is just like rolling home. But somehow I know that it is not true. The darkness and the steepness of the next sections are incomprehensible. I call my girlfriend to give an update. She says that I am running very fast, very fast and that she is incredible proud of me. My throat locks, and the tears come into my eyes. I cannot speak. When finally being able to speak, I tell her that I will stay here and rest for at least 30 minutes before running to Bovine.
My feet are really bad now but nothing I can do. The blister is too big and my nails are still fixed on my toes. I have been running for above 9 hours and know that the pain will just increase, if I don't just push on. So I take the hard decision to skip my 45 minutes break and sneak out in the cold night, after one plate of pasta Bolognese and yoghurt with cola for my stomach. It is some strange food combinations, which becomes delicate, when the mind and body are losing their communication lines.
The cool evening air is a shock, and with blood shifted to my stomach, my body reacts with shaking, and constantly forces me to taste the yoghurt again. I am running past a beautiful lake with the stars shimmering in the clear water. I consider if the water is warmer than the air, and starts laughing. It is time to put on the jacket again. I put my jacket on which instantly promised me warmth and protection from the wind. It keeps its promises, and I push out into the forest.
There are three big climbs remaining: Bovine, Catogne and La Tête aux Vents. These are the most challenging climbs (in steepness and terrain) of the entire race, and they're all stacked at the end when the fatigue is at its greatest. But due to the nature it is three climbs, which is really good to break down in pieces. So I stop counting vertical meters and running kilometers and focus on the remaining 3 big climbs instead of the 43 kilometers who are left.
The climb to Bovine is brutal. It has several sections where you need to use handholds and terrain so steep it forms a natural ladder, with giant step-ups on rocks, roots or muddy slides. It is not possible to run and it is like being on a "klettersteig" without harness in the dark. I make good speed but am dreading the way down more and more. My feet are really hurting now on the down hill parts, and it starts to be dangerous due to the constant battle "pain vs. secure footsteps".
The small check point of Catogne is just as beautiful as last year. I do not know why it is so appealing, or if it is some angels who choose to stand on this mountain for 24 hours, totally remote just to cheer us runners. But angels they are, and they smile and speak French to me while I drink a bit of hot soup. Bon Voyages, and then I am off again. The night is my friend, the stars are my protectors and the path. Well the path is way to steep and to have many giant loose rocks. It takes all my concentration not to fall on the long and lonely way to Valorcine.
The checkpoint in Valorcine is great. I know that this is the last break I have planned. 15 minutes I have promised myself, but after my standard half&half of cola and water, a full camel bag and some chocolate, I can't wait to take the last climb. I push hard out on the open flat piece while considering my strategy on the last climb. Just before reaching it, I see a girl running with an OMM bag. Damn, she has to be an adventure racer. She is British and tells me about amazing races on the islands.
We speak about shoes, races, bag packs and I actually forget I am climbing. Suddenly I realize that I am half way up. She needs to take a break, and I fall into the best climbing rhythm, I have had in the race. I take over loads of people as the rain starts again. This time it is not just a foggy rain, but real rain, and the rocks get very slippery.
At last I reach the pass in 2130 meters, and turns down towards Chamonix. It is now very foggy and the rain is heavy. I see several people trying to seek coverage from the weather. The ones who do try to continue, keeps falling on the slippery rocks. An Italian runner passes me and smiles. He is enjoying it, and so am I. We team up, and jump from rock to rock. We are all alone. We don't see any people in front of us or behind us all the way down to La Flegere.
I call my girlfriend and warn her about my progress. It feels great to hear her voice. I estimate about 1 hour to 1,5 hour on the last 7 km to Chamonix. I am happy but also sad. My time in the mountains is about to end for this weekend. I feel the urge for waiting on the sunset even though it is 5 o clock in the morning. The absent goes smooth, and I starts to be afraid about my mother and girlfriend. What if they don't make it to see me finishing, should I take a long break, should I call them?
While my brain is battling, my pace is increasing, and suddenly I break out in the streets of Chamonix. I am running faster and faster. I hear people shout my name, and shouting encouragements to me. I feel the tears in my eyes again. The pain is gone, and I am now running very fast. Even before the finish line I know it. It is not about finishing and passing the line, it will not be a huge emotional release for me. It is about the journey - the journey I am about to end. The incredible tranquility and peace of mind I have gained. The fabulous experiences these intense 20 hours have brought me.
While crossing the finish line, I know that I have been living. I have been enjoying every second even though the pain was great and the discomfort even worse. I have dared where others would not. Theodore Roosevelt, I found out later, described my exact feelings like this:
Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor souls who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.
For the stats I finished 06.02 AM on Saturday after another taste of paradise, using 20 hours and 2 minutes. Finishing as number 305 out of 1866 runners, and over 600 were not fortunate enough to finish.
To all of you who have shared my great journey by reading this, I thank you. But most importantly a huge thank-you to my wonderful girlfriend and mother, who came and supported me on my great voyage through the Alps and my own mind.