This weekend I became a TNFUTMB CCC Finisher.
I can’t quite believe it. It still seems unreal.
Years ago, my parents came back from their annual France tour and amongst the many stories they told was the one about being in Chamonix and witnessing one of the early UTMB events. They told of super human, gnarly men returning to the town looking dusty and dishevelled after days of running non stop through the mountains and trails around western Europe’s tallest peak.
It was a story of mythical proportions. As a novice runner at the time building up distance to half marathons, this tale of adventure and endurance captured my imagination. It was almost incomprehensible given that running around my local park was proving a big enough challenge for me. I believed that this was an event for athletes whose pedigree must have been determined at birth and was consolidated with decades of hard training. This was an event that was way beyond normal people like myself, but it fascinated me that people were capable of running a hundred miles non stop over rough, high terrain. Incredible stuff.
But I have learned that we are all capable of achieving incredible things.
My preparation for the CCC was not the best. This was not the event that had been my main focus this year. I had put all my energy into completing the Lakeland 100, and having achieved that at the end of July I was confident that the CCC would be a good outing, a great experience. And so with tired legs, I eased off the training, ate quite poorly, drank quite well and enjoyed the summer holidays without too much concern for the upcoming challenge. This is not the way to approach the UTMB!
Arriving in Chamonix, the atmosphere was everything I’d hoped it would be. This event is massive! Walking into town when we first arrived we laughed and joked about everyone being in running gear and how at home we felt in this environment. The town was taken over by the event and throughout the week the excitement built.
Chamonix was like a home from home, or what we call in South Wales, a ‘shwmae holiday’! Shwmae (pronounced ‘Shum Aye’) is Welsh for ‘how are you’, and refers back to the days when entire villages would decamp to the South Wales coastal towns for their annual summer holiday during the miner’s fortnight. Whilst on holiday, you’d be constantly bumping into your neighours, greeting them with ‘Shwmai!’. That’s what it was like during the first few days in Chamonix. We met our friends Sarah and Leigh, Sarah was also there to do the CCC, then we bumped into my parents who were in town to support me. Familiar faces filled the streets. UTLD folk, Carmine De Grandis who I’d run with during the LDWA 100 earlier in the year, famous faces – Jez Bragg, Lizzy Hawker, Timothy Olson. It was like the who’s who of ultra running. This is what this event is all about!
Friday came around and an early start to get the coach to Courmayeur where we would set off for our 100km trek around the Mont Blanc Massif. I had familiarised myself with the map of the route and the elevation charts, taken the climbs into consideration and estimated that I should finish in just under 20 hours. Ha!
It is impossible, I think, to arrive in the Alps and not be impressed by the scale of the mountains. I found I was unable to take my eyes off them. I was trying to rationalise the reality of running the CCC route. Yes, these mountains are huge. Yes, the route data says that the climbs a massive and frequent. But realistically, it was manageable wasn’t it, and how much pain and discomfort could 20 hours inflict? This was doable.
Two hours after the rousing music had blasted from the speakers and the start gun had fired I was still climbing the first ascent to Tete de la Tronche. Three hours later, I was still climbing the first ascent to Tete de la Tronche. Jesus Nelly! When would this end?
I was struggling. The heat and the altitude left me breathing heavy. I was working much harder than I expected for my current level of fitness. But tiny steps keep you moving forward, so I slowed down as much as was required to get me to the top.
It took me 3 hours and 3 minutes to complete that first ascent, but having heaved myself to the top, I reassured myself that I would not be facing anything like that again. The remaining climbs were more manageable; comparable with the big climbs in the Lake District. I could do this.
The next two sections to Refuge Bertone and Refuge Bonatti were indicated on the elevation profile and in the route data as being down hill sections, so once I’d hit the check point at Tete de la Tronche I prepared to do what I do best and enjoy some downhill running. And this is how it was for 2 miles…and then the course became ‘undulating’ so increasingly people were walking rather than running again. I did what I could to pass people, but the tracks were largely single track in this section which made progress slow and passing difficult. I descended to Anurva knowing the the climb to Grand Col Ferret would require another huge effort.
Climbing the Col
By this point I’d already lost over an hour off my planned schedule. I was falling behind and the mid day heat was kicking in. I began to pass runners who were in worse shape than me, vomiting at the side of the path, or sitting with head in hands waiting to cool down. Once again, I took the climb very slowly. I was travelling well within the cut offs so it was just a case of moving forward and progressing at whatever pace I was able to maintain. The battle within my head was starting to rage and I was fighting hard to stay positive. Half way up the Col, an angel appeared. A big, burley, bloke of an angel, a chap who originated from Cardiff (Shwmai!). He’d seen that I was sporting the Welsh dragon on my pack and we chatted about how he came to be living in Chamonix and he explained that he was climbing the Col to support a friend who was taking part. Although he was only supporting this year, he had completed the CCC four times previously. He offered words of encouragement and then, just when I needed a push to get me over the top, he said, ” the good news, of course, is that once you reach the top, you’ve got about 20km of downhill”! Music to my ears. I was revived. New hope emerged and I was ready to run. I got to the top, imagined I was Killian and flew the next 10km downhill to La Fouley.
I say flew. It took me 1 hour and 20 minutes to cover the 10k, but comparatively, I was speeding! I turned up my music and danced my way down the hill feeling slightly insane. I passed everyone I could see and made up 159 places in this section alone. This was more like it! It was my opportunity to make back the lost time.
The section between Praz de Fort and Champex presented another climb. Not a big one, but it slowed me down again. The light was fading by now and I reached Champex in the dark. I knew that I had 10 hours of darkness ahead and that this would slow me up again. People are less keen to run in the dark and so expected to be held up in queues. My new found optimism was beginning to wane.
My family were at Champex to support and on arrival I had to fight back tears. The journey so far had been much tougher than I had expected, so I was not able to greet them with the usual chirpy “I’m fine. It’s fine” summary. All I could say was “It’s so tough” (gulp, hold back tears). I wanted to stay with them and allow them to comfort me and warm me with their support and love. This was the first time I acknowledged that this was not going so great, but I had to finish.
I took care of my feet, ate, drank, chatted and left. I was just over half way, and it had taken me nearly 12 hours to get here. I was 2 hours behind schedule and I knew that the darkness would slow me down further. I calculated that I would be coming home in around 24 hours, accepted the new time frame and decided to get the job done. I left the check point to the sound of my daughter ringing the cow bell, one last kiss, it would be light in 10 hours.
What followed was a succession of painfully slow climbs and frustratingly slow descents. I was in a never-ending queue of participants. We marched throughout the night and even when the cheers and cow bells rang out from the valley below us indicating that another check point was within grasp, no-one seemed in a particular hurry to reach it. I was guessing our travelling speed and allowed myself to get annoyed that we were probably travelling at less than 2.5 miles per hour. My calculated splits were being turned to dust. Five downhill kilometers had become an epic journey rather than the anticipated 40 minute downhill flight and this was the real battle. Continuing when all seemed to be lost. I felt I was losing the battle.
By the time I reached Vallorcine, I had completely lost track. I didn’t know how far I’d come, how far I had to go. I thought I had two big climbs still ahead, rather than one, and was convinced that time was running out. But the sun was about to rise and I had devised a firm plan to get moving in the final 12 kilometers. The sun would be my friend and ally. With daylight I could run again, have confidence in my footing and move past people to make better progress. I felt a renewed strength and my will was strong, and besides, I wanted to get home and get the celebrations underway.
I ran out of Vallorcine at 5:13am after a 3 minute pit stop to collect some encouraging words from my parents who had stayed up through the night to offer their invaluable support (thank you so much Mam and Dad!). I got the last climb out of the way as the sun came up, knocked my head torch off and started to celebrate the rising of the sun.
I was running again, passing people. This was my terrain. I knew how to do this stuff and my legs were in good shape because of the death march I’d been caught up in, so I did what I love to do and skipped from rock to rock bounding down hill and covering ground. But I found that people were not keen to give up places at this stage. I acknowledge that I am a rubbish climber so when I slow down I always move to the side to allow faster climbers to pass. I would hate to hold people up knowing that I was preventing them from travelling at their preferred speed. But my experience was that this was not reciprocated when tackling the downhills. The people who I’d allowed to pass me earlier were now unwilling to move aside for me on the downhills, and even when the path widened slightly and offered me a chance, poles were in the way and I risked being tripped up if I tried to pass. But I had devised my plan and nothing was going to hold me back, so I started shouting ahead asking people to move aside, and with a polite warning most people did, but one guy refused to. He was at the back of a group of about 15 death marchers heading towards La Flegere. The path was very runnable and as I approached I asked politely for people to please excuse me so I could pass. ‘No!’ I was told. ‘I’m sure everyone would like to move faster, but you will just have to wait in line’. I was incensed, especially because I knew I had let this chap pass me several times. I told him so, and said that he should have the good manners to allow me to run my own race, but if everyone wanted to move move faster, then great stuff! ‘Get a ruddy move on!’. He reluctantly let me pass eventually and from that point on I ran home. I made up another 200 places in that final 12km from Vallorcine to Chamonix, so my plan worked a treat.
I ran into Chamonix after meeting a lady from Wales on the final descent who cheered me on with a strong ‘Da aiwn bach!’ and I crossed the line in 24 hours and 9 minutes. I have never, ever enjoyed the end of an event so much. Not only because it was over, but the support was overwhelming. Running through Chamonix, everyone stopped and turned to clap with shouts of ‘Bravo Sarah!’. I felt like a winner!
Of course, when I crossed the line and saw my family again I was overwhelmed and swore that I had hated the event, that I would never do it again, and I turned to my husband for a hug and wept. Thank goodness it was over.
I shared my initial reaction on Twitter and voiced my frustrations at the queues that I inevitably got caught up in. And from these conversations I’ve had chance to reflect.
This event is huge, but that’s what drew me to it. That is what holds the appeal. I’ve seen and heard about the overwhelming support you receive from the villages and the locals on route, I understood that the event is massively over subscribed, I like that the event is so big that it holds international appeal and draws in the super stars of our sport. It is the UTMB! So what was I expecting?
Well, I think I expected exactly what I got, I was just overwhelmed by enormity of it. Within 24 hours of finishing I had completely changed my mind, and now I am basking in the warm after glow of having achieved something I had once thought was beyond me.
What a feeling! Roll on next years CCC – I have a plan!
Summary of Progress:
Links to video of the 2013 event…..
UTMB…
CCC…
TDS…
Heading for the hills 