The UTMB
Apologies in advance, but this blog will be lengthy. I’ve subdivided it so if you’re interested in a particular part of my experience, skip to the relevant subheading. Happy reading!
Pre-amble. Entering the race.
Last February, 2013, I ran my first ultra with my good friend and running inspiration Rebecca Mingo. 32 miles later and I had been well and truly bitten by the Ultra vampire (that mysterious, seductive creature that bites you and transforms you into a creature of the trails with a lust for sweat and mud). For my 30th birthday I ran the JCC, 3 marathons in 3 days. The entry was a birthday present from my husband, and one of the marshals joked that I should sign him up for the UTMB as revenge. ‘UTMB, what’s that?’ I replied. When I got home I googled it and discovered that not only did you need to accumulate points to enter, but these had to be gained over 3 races. Seemed impossible. But somehow, during the year my endurance continued to improve and by September my completion of the Cotswold 100 gave me the points I needed. In December I went skiing in France and spent the week gazing longingly at the summit of Mont Blanc, whilst knowing my application was in the ballot….
4 weeks later, a year since my first ultra, and my place was confirmed.
Training in 2014.
People often ask how I train. I have no training plan. I basically run for enjoyment, and fit in what I can around work. In 2014 I was in my F2 year of medicine, and would change jobs every 4 months. My rota can be pretty hectic, and the 4 months leading up to the UTMB was a particularly busy job, with lots of 8am-10pm days and 14 hour night shifts. I worked as best I could around these, but didn’t follow any particular schedule. I work on a ‘must do’ and ‘additional’ principle. I have sessions which I feel I must do in order to train, and then additional sessions which I do for enjoyment. I estimate that I cover between 30-60 ‘must do’ miles a week depending on my shifts. These miles are made up of long slow runs (15-30 miles), middle distance runs (8-15 miles) where I try to maintain at least 8mph pace (estimated, as I don’t run with GPS) and I also tried to chuck in one speedwork/Fartlek-type session a week. In amongst this I run into work with a fully-loaded rucksack. When I’m particularly busy and don’t have time for long runs, I will run 10-15 miles a day every day for 3 days straight. I also swim regularly (mainly just for enjoyment), and I do at least 1 free-weights session a week (another ‘must do’ session), meaning that most days I will train morning and evening. When I’m on night shifts I will often go for a long run on the morning after my final shift, which I feel prepares me for the end of a long ultra, when you’ve been awake for 20+ hours and are still running.
I’d entered quite a number of events earlier in 2014, but in the 2 months leading up to the UTMB, I cut back on my racing. I switched my long training runs from Dartmoor where I live, to the north Cornish coastpath in order to give me more time on steep terrain. 2 weeks before the race, I competed in the Mudcrew Roseland August Trail 100k race which I intended to be a final gentle long run prior to 2 weeks taper. However, I got a bit carried away racing in the first 30 miles, and probably pushed myself harder than I should. I take for granted the fact that I recover quickly, but I do wonder now if I would have performed better in the UTMB if I hadn’t raced that weekend.
The build up.
I’d never been abroad for a race before, so my husband Jason and I decided to make a holiday of it. We spent 10 days camping our way through France down to Chamonix. This meant that, although I was nice and relaxed when we arrived, my diet in the 2 weeks before the race had been pretty poor. I (along with most of the population in developed countries) get a degree of IBS, and the symptoms mainly develop when my diet changes. When we got to Chamonix 4 days before the race I tried to eat as normal a diet as possible, but was still suffering from some stomach cramps, bloating, the usual irritating gastric symptoms when I was waiting on the start line.
The race.
The race started at 17:30. I’d tried to get some sleep during the day, but was too nervous. I was really starting to wonder if I was capable of completing what lay ahead.
Jason dropped me in Chamonix at 4pm, and left to find the first checkpoint. I hung around, gradually easing my way through the crowds towards the centre of town, and the start. The start line was insane. 2400 ultra runners, rammed into a smallish town square. It started to rain, and everyone around me got their waterproofs out of their packs as I stood there in my T-shirt thankful for the cooling rain! I chatted to a couple of British guys standing nearby, joking that the rain and cold gave us the edge over competitors from hot and dry countries.
17:30, there was a 10 second countdown, and we were off. The first 8km was an undulating warm up through the forest path from Chamonix to the base of the first climb. I spent most of this 8km cursing everyone with walking poles, as I had one jabbed in my knee, another into my foot, and nearly caught a smack in the face as well. It was crowded, people were shoving, I was already feeling pissed off. I think one of the nice things about ultras is once you get going you have lots of space around you, which is one reason I hate shorter road races. The start of the UTMB as more like the start of the VLM. The crowd didn’t really begin to thin until 30ish miles. This turned out to be a real problem, as at around 10 miles I started feeling the need to, erm, 'use the facilities' (runners trots!) but was too embarrased to subject my fellow runners to the inevitable noise. In the end I ducked off down a path for a 5 minute detour for some peace and quiet!
When we reached the first major climb, people around me slowed to a walk. Here I made my first mistake of the race…I carried on running. I’m used to running uphill, even fairly steep hills, and have done so on other ultras with no problems. In fact, I think it’s what gave me an advantage on the SDW100. What I had neglected to take into account was how long the climbs in the UTMB go on for. I overtook a lot of people, but when we started our first decent people came streaming past and I began to realise that my lack of skill in running downhill would be a problem. I was also suffering from an ankle injury which made running downhill quite painful and I couldn’t stride out properly. To compensate for this, I continued to power up the hills, overtaking people who would then coast past me again on the way back down. This worked fine, until I got to Cormayeur, approximately half way, and my hill legs completely gave out. No pain, just complete weakness and exhaustion at every ascent. The next climb I got to I struggled up swaying and staggering, my heart feeling like it was going to burst out of my chest.
The weakness I was experiencing was a result of 2 things; my initial tactic of powering uphill, coupled with poor nutrition planning and nausea which stared after the first 20 miles. Regarding nutrition, I usually use SIS gels which I find fairly inoffensive and easy to swallow even when nausea sets in. I had brought a batch of 8 with me, 6 in my kit and 2 in my drop bag at Champex. I'd banked on getting more in Chamonix before the race, but couldn't find anywhere that sold them, and so I decided to ration the ones that I had. The nausea I experienced set in much sooner then I'm used to, and was coupled with vomiting. I’ve never experienced this before, and now I have I have no idea how runners like my MudCrew team-mate Di Roy (who suffers badly from sickness during every race) manage to continue. Between 30-50 miles I existed on water and sugar lumps until I made the decision at one station to sit down, drink a bowl of soup and let my heart rate settle to something approaching normal before continuing. I think things improved a little after this, and I was more able to maintain a steady intake of calories, mainly in the form of sweets. I never seemed to regain my hill legs though, and every climb from 50 miles onwards was a massive struggle.
Morning broke at around 6:30am, and it was spectacular. I was suffering, but not so much that I couldn’t appreciate the absolutely incredible sight of the Alps in the sunrise, with the sound of cow bells in the background, and this perked me up a little. I also received a text from Jason saying he’d made it to the checkpoint at Champex Lac (approximately 70 miles) and was waiting for me. I didn’t realise it was another 15 miles to get there, but it definitely felt good to know he was somewhere ahead. I scrambled over the Col Du Ferret (a highlight for me, as from an early age my Dad has had the nickname ‘Ferret’ for me). As I hit the descent down into Champex a new issue developed…I got a nosebleed. I am prone to nosebleeds. This one was slow, not pouring, but could I get it to stop?? For the best part of the next 12 hours I steadily lost blood from my nose.
Just before Champex I met a British runner sitting in the woods. He was suffering, and told me he’d got to Cormayeur in 10 hours, but had to walk since then. I stopped to chat a bit. He’d done the Lakeland 100 in July but told me that the climbs involved there were nothing compared to this. It sounds a little nasty of me, but I was glad to hear him say this as it made me realise that it wasn’t just me being weak, this was an incredibly tough course.
I struggled the final mile or so to Champex where Jason was waiting for me. Never before have I had such a desire to just sit down and cry during a race. I just remember saying 'I can't go on, I can't go on' over and over again to him, while he slowly filled me up with orange juice (nectar of the gods!) and then gently pushed me out towards the course again. I've never had that desire to stop due to sheer exhaustion so close to the surface of my conciousness. However, as I staggered back out onto the trail I knew in my heart that it would take serious injury to stop me now. I have always had the thought when I race 'is this the one worth breaking myself for?' Is this the race that I will continue even if it means months off due to injury? As I left Champex, I realised that this time, the answer was yes. I also heard the voice of a friend in my head saying 'some people run because they have really dark demons to conquer. Channel your demons'. Oh yes, my demons. I would punish those demons with the coming miles!
With approximately 30 miles left to go, I plugged myself into my iPod and was soon singing along with some of my favourites. I have blurred memories of the latter half of the race, but I do remember running down hill into one checkpoint screaming 'MOSKVA!!' at the top of my voice (Check out 'Moskau' by Rammstein). I also remember trying to divert my attention away from my misery by engaging some other runners in conversation about the bells on the cows in the Alps. As they were French and I don't speak any French, it made for a confusing half-hour, but helped to pass the time!
Jason managed to make it to a couple of the later checkpoints. I think it was Vallorcine that he told me there was a girl hot on my tail, and that I really needed to keep pushing. I know he was trying to be encouraging, but all I could do was tell him I was pushing as hard as I bloody could and he wasn't helping! Poor Jase. A word about him. He has had the utmost patience with my newfound ultra-running hobby. He's not a massively keen runner, so we don't run at all together, but he is always there for me. Before races to give me a pre-race leg massage, during my races as my crew, and always at the end to drive me back home. Whenever I run, I'm running back towards him.
It was also at Vallorcine that someone said to me 'just one more climb left!'. As I left the checkpoint I noticed that it was already dusk. By this point I had completely lost track of time and distance. I had been trying to calculate how fast I had been going and how far I had left, but by this point my brain was so scrambled that I couldn't even work out how long I'd been running for. One of the things I hadn't anticipated was how difficult and unsettling it was having the distance measured in kilometers and not miles. I often subdivide my runs as I go, but was unable to do this as a result of the difference in units. It bothered me for the entire run.
'Just one more climb.....' I approached the wall of mountain ahead of me, (stopping to take a photo to send to mum!). Determined, I set off onto the trail on hands and feet. Yes, I was now crawling. But this climb was perfect for it. I was bouldering my way upwards (stopping a couple of times to throw up into a bush)! And upwards, and upwards...where the hell was the top? By now night had fallen completely, and I was feeling like I was drunk. I kept staggering and tripping, then made the decision to stop and stand still for 10 minutes. At this point I was passed by the girl Jase had told me about. It was one of the Inov-8 runners from Australia. I've started to get a bit more competitive this year, and so my first thought was 'yay, it's not a British girl!'. My second thought was 'if it was a British girl, I couldn't give a flying monkeys. I just want this to end!'
As I stood there, swaying in the Alpine breeze, I saw a light heading back towards me, and heard someone shout 'You are tired? I will push!!' in a German accent. German? I was sure I was back in France now. Before I could reply, the owner of the voice circled round behind me, grabbed my arse with both hands and gave me a hefty shove forwards. The figure then darted off into the darkness. All I could think to say was 'thanks!' and as I started forwards again, I heard the cry 'I am Claus!' drifting back up the trail. Well, thanks Claus!
There was now one more checkpoint between me and the finish. I noticed an older guy had been trailing me since Vallorcine, and when we got into the checkpoint, I said hi. He introduced himself as Jacky. He didn't speak any English, but one of the marshals translated for us, and told me that 'Jacky would like to run off into the mountains with you.' Ok, translated badly! I laughed, and said I wasn't sure what my husband would say, but ok then, and we set off on the final straight together. The language barrier made for a quiet, slightly awkward run, particularly when I could no longer resist the urge for a pee. I have no idea how I managed to communicate this to Jacky, but I ducked behind a tree, no brain cells left to register embarrassment at situation...a male French stranger was waiting for me to wee in the woods. That ultra running!
As we reached the outskirts of Chamonix, Jacky said something which I interpreted as 'do you want to cross the finish alone? For the pictures' I shrugged my indifference, and repeated the phrase back to him. He also shrugged. And so by mutual indifference we ran onwards together, nearing the finish. As we turned the corner towards the line, I could see a British flag waving. I also heard cries of 'Jacky, Jacky!'. I had no idea the chap who I was running with was first in his agegroup (Males over 60!!) and something of a local legend!
What can I say about the finish? Well, just that. I had finished. Despite my doubts, my poor planning, my desire to just quit half way. I had finished. Although in no particular style or good time, I was 11th female and first British female. I had learned a lot.
Oh hell, I've learned a lot. That means I have to put it into practice.
And so, 2015 ballot allowing, I will be back.
Lessons:
Racing, no matter how ‘gently’ 2 weeks prior to a big event will not leave you on top form.
Pre-race diet can have a big impact on your performance.
Race nutrition is something that should be meticulously planned, not left to chance (even for someone with a cast-iron stomach like myself)
For my own sanity, I will always convert the distances of races from kilometers to miles ahead of the event. Working in unfamiliar units is unsettling.
Running downhill can be as difficult as running uphill.
'Powering' anywhere in the first half of a race will only lead to failure later on.
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