Chapters in Running: September 2017

Trudging up a steep trail of mud and slick rock, head bowed against driving rain and hemmed in between male runners continually surging past towards the 2,500 metre Col du Bonhomme. I am always struggling here. And it's barely 25 miles into the race. Mental inventory: what's up with me?

Friday, 6.30pm. I had a strong start, edging into the first 150 runners after the elite pen, in a starting field of over 2,500. I'd learnt from 2015, any further back and I'd be walking out of Chamonix. We were a nervous, fidgeting crowd. Raw emotions and hopes. As Conquest of Paradise blasted out I felt calmer than I'd expected, stomach still, breath steady. Ready. We left Chamonix, eating into the 105 mile, 30,000 ft circle around Mont Blanc. Most of us wouldn't return until Sunday, and 850 of us would drop along the way.

As we headed along the flattest section of the trail to Les Houches, I kept a steady and measured pace. This year, no pushing on the short, sharp undulations, let others pass by. The spectator crowds blew me away. Despite a far from ideal forecast, people lined the streets many deep and late into the evening in Chamonix, Les Houches, St Gervais and Les Contamines to cushion our journey into the high mountains.

The first climb, a steep and rocky ski road up to Le Delevret, high above St Gervais, was smooth and I let what felt like 100 men pass by. I was fuelling early and often and felt strong until the deep mud up to Les Contamines began to steal my confidence and energy. People still passed me by the dozens and I longed for the peaceful later sections where egos and eagerness would have diminished, along with the constant scrape scrape of poles and sounds of human effort. Even 'allez, allez' began to grate, I needed some space and silence and perhaps the next climb would bring it.

Back on the climb to the Col du Bonhomme, the wind was whipping and rain began pounding, distorting the beams of headtorch light. I reminded myself - deal with every issue as it arises, and they will be temporary only. Physically I know I can do this. Up at the Col conditions were truly wild. I'm lucky to experience the UTMB in two years of opposing weather; in 2015 it was baking hot and today it was wintery and wild, much like Scotland. In 2015 by this point I'd already had 5 toilet stops with demoralising GI issues, this year I'd had none - so get on with it. It's just weather.

The technical ridgeline trail to the Refuge de la Croix du Bonhomme was especially hardcore; a few miles of suck-it-up wind chill and ankle-bending rock. Nobody stopped along these high points, it was a race of endurance to each descent. I stopped drinking and eating and felt the effects of this 5km later in the valley, Les Chapieux. I had problems to solve quickly in the aid station; my back, just 28 miles in, was badly chafed by the bottom of my pack. Perhaps my pre-race routine was not diligent enough. I didn't feel like eating and one of my gaiters kept popping off, meaning many quick stops. A few minutes of re-applying anti-chafe, forcing calories down and a toilet break and I was back on the short road section out of the tiny village, kept company by a friendly, chirpy Australian girl called Robyn, who ran an incredible debut to finish 10th.

Over the next few hours over the Col de la Seigne my mind and stomach fell apart temporarily. I can't explain why I wasn't eating properly, I know better. I began to feel nauseus and lacking. Yet more men came marching past and icy showers met us higher on the col. No hanging around here. I silently thanked the UTMB organisers for cutting the next technical climb to Pyramids Calcaires (which does seem an illogical detour off the TMB at any time). At Lac Combal I had a word with myself, I must fuel properly no matter how little I want to. So I ate well here, almond bars, soup and some Coke for the first time.

It wouldn't be long before the sun came up but the next few hours before dawn were bitterly cold on the 500m climb up to Arete de Mont Favre - one of the most breathtaking vistas on the course. Now just a 7km undulating then steep descent down into Courmayeur. The field was mercifully thinning and less men were charging by. 'Run mindful' mantras ran through my mind constantly as I passed technical sections of trail where in the past I've fallen or sprained an ankle. The descent was a joy this time around. Would Liz meet me in Courmayeur? I'd said I didn't need anyone but secretly hoped she would be there for ten minutes of human connection and a smooth transition.

And there, outside the sports centre, she was, cheering and positive. I had no idea where I was in the ladies field but reckoned nowhere near the top 30, yet Liz told me I was closing a gap to reaching it, and Sally McRae had left the aid ten minutes earlier. I ate well - pasta and rehydration salts - and re-stocked with gels and bars for the next long stage. In 2015 it was 11 hours from here until Champex Lac and my crew.

On a good day, I love the steady dry switchbacks up to Refuge Bertone, a halfway landmark from fun recce weekends, and enjoyed a laidback chat with a guy from Montana and then Amy Sproston. Amy had already passed me no fewer than four times in the last 20 miles, continually having to stop due to GI issues but running an inspirational pace with a smooth and strong gait in between. It was surreal being around world class runners and I felt detached, like I was in a different race. Towards the top of the climb I passed Sally McRae, who seemed to be battling some issues.

It was extremely cold up there on the ridge between Bertone and Bonatti, a favourite section of fairly runnable single track. Bonatti would be a milestone, where I'd said I'd text Liz and Giles an update. Now I had elites chasing me and was entering the thick of the race, just over halfway which I always feel is harder mentally than the latter sections. So far to go, hard to run the inclines, getting tough to stop and start constantly, fuel is entirely unappealing, runners starting to drop at checkpoints.

We ran out of Italy and into a storm. After Arnouvaz, thick clouds formed and a brutal wind picked up, throwing down hard showers of hail and, higher up, snow, just as I set foot on the Grand Col Ferret climb. I can't stand running in waterproofs but had no option but to stop and put on pretty much all my spare kit. It felt like a slow climb, with all of my focus taken on moving forward into the wind and not much left for eating and drinking. The col was beautiful, dusted with fresh snow and surrounded by a skyline of white peaks.

On the way down to La Peule I passed several women but still felt slow. Every time I took off my waterproof the rain would start again. At La Fouly I took care of myself properly knowing I would spiral if I didn't; salty crackers and cheese, soup and coke restored me a little. As I left I saw Sabrina Verjee, recent Lakeland 100 winner, just behind me. It was soon apparent that the route from La Fouly to Praz de Fort had also been changed, and instead of the riverside trail and narrow singletrack through the forest we were re-directed 7km along the main road. I loved it and ran well, the road was nothing short of a respite. As we finally left it to rejoin the trail at Praz de Fort I felt surprisingly upbeat, excited even. Just another few miles to the climb I'd grown to love up to Champex, and my crew. Sabrina caught me and it was refreshing to talk to her on the ascent, which was a mudbath. I felt almost deliriously positive but worried a crash may follow so forced a chocolate flapjack down. If in doubt, eat.

It was amazing to see Giles and Liz and in the warm madness of the huge marquee I attempted to change clothes, socks, deal with chafing, eat, drink and talk, a messy whirlwind. They'd brought an impressive savoury selection and quiche and rice salad tasted so good. I left in just under 20 minutes ahead of Sabrina and got into a good stride after the road climb out of the town. The miles to Plan De L'eau melted away and I knew I could take on the climb, the first of the final three. I knew it well now, its brutally steep rocky sections but the gentler switchback reprieves that came after. Up above on the ridge the brightness in the sky gave me a new confidence, reminding me that by this stage in 2015 I was running into the twilight. Next came more mud, technical rooty descent and being saved again and again by poles. From Champex to the finish last year took 12 hours, with this section to Trient taking 4. In the recce Jamie and I had taken 3 so I knew I could improve here and capitalise on how I was feeling. It felt amazing to run into Trient in 3 hours 11 minutes and this stoked the fire to finish as fast as I could. On the last mile into the aid I passed Magda Boulet and Amanda Basham although I didn't register who they were at the time.

12 minutes in the tent: potatoes, raclette, rehydration salts, painkillers - G & L had it all! Together with my iPod fired up for the first time I felt ready for the penultimate 900m climb up to Les Tseppes. Marching up the track to the start of the switchbacks, I could hear Magda, Amanda and KC Lickteig behind me, forming a team and chanting "two more climbs". They were upbeat and I let them pass, their pace was inspiring but I wanted my own space and to keep my own. I was comforted by comparing my state tonight to the state I was in here two years ago, when I'd tried unsuccessfully to snooze at the side of the trail. The descent finally came around, bringing with it deep pole and ankle-sucking mud and horizontal rain. Visibility was terrible and it was all I could do to stay on the trail with a very slow jogging pace. Grit flew everywhere and it was hard to fuel myself and keep focus so I just concentrated on small sections; the muddy mountain bike switchbacks; the rooty flatter section to the ski lifts marking the border back into France; the rocky few km's of ski road; the final technical rocky descent into Vallorcine. I arrived in 2.40, well below my 3 hour target, overjoyed but shaky and undernourished.

Giles was purveyor of the saltiest fries I've ever eaten - tasted amazing - and together with Liz worked to re-stock and refuel me for the final push, the re-routed section from Col des Montets through to Tre-le-Champs and up to Flegere. Sabrina was back and we worked together until the Col but as we started up the difficult ground I felt the first struggles of sleep deprivation and was weaving around the trail with many an involuntary thought popping into my head. I got music back on and tried to get into a steady stride. The normal race route to Flegere is a continuous climb but this new route had us climbing 300m before dropping almost to Argentiere and climbing another 500m from there. The less said about this section the better, it sapped all I had mentally and physically. Several folk became concerned on the descent that we were off route, that we'd followed OCC signage rather than UTMB. A group of us called race control and then Gavin, who'd run the CCC, and both confirmed we were on the right course. We'd wasted 20 minutes standing still and I was kicking myself for not being assertive and carrying on, as I'd never doubted the UTMB course markings before - they were nothing short of exceptional throughout.

I cracked on, burning through with a reserve energy I didn't know I had. An hour later we reached a long stony ski road and I knew we were close. Thick fog and neon course markings distorted my view and I felt like we were on another planet. Every time we saw a new light I was sure it was Flegere, and every time it was another course marking. We were now a pack of runners, talking in Spanish, English and French but working together. But here was Flegere finally, a ghostly tent on vast grey terrain. I was done stopping and starting so walking right through to start the descent.

My memory of the 8km down to Chamonix is of pure endurance section by section. After 3km of technical rooty, slippy trail comes La Floria, after which the technicality eases significantly. Then a runnable but rocky fire road and, eventually, the final 1.5km road loop through Chamonix to reach the finish line. I remember zoning back into my body with a jolt, feeling like I'd not been in my own head for minutes. How was my body still running on it's own? A strange and incredible autopilot had kicked in to seemingly save my last remaining energy.

In Chamonix I wanted to smile, laugh and cry but my internal zombie runner was now in charge. The spectator noise was deafening even at this unsociable hour of 2am, and soon I saw my lovely crowd; Giles, Liz, Lorna, Gavin, Damian, Louisa and Julie. The finish line was a confusing assault on the senses, which I crossed in 31.42, 189th overall, 20th female and 14th senior female.

I'll spare you the messy finish details but soon enough my old friend low blood pressure was back and I was dizzy, nauseus and completely out of it. I narrowly avoided sickness in the taxi home and found myself wiped down enough to crawl into bed. I'm eternally grateful to all those who were there for me: sent me words of encouragement before, during and after; were there through thick and thin in the race (Giles, Liz); pushed me around three punishing recce weekends (Jamie, Carrie); ran faster than me in the race and inspired me to follow; and peeled my sweaty clothes off in the men's toilet off a pub straight after the race, not taking no for an answer (Lorna!). Coach Ryan you have been a constant and responsive support through my training, helping me develop the tools to find another gear in this race, thank you. The reciprocal culture of the ultrarunning community is nothing short of special and forms bonds that are never forgotten.

More than once in the race I was reminded of a quote I have pinned to my office wall:

"The three great essentials for achieving something worthwhile are hard work, stick-to-it-iveness and common sense" (Thomas Edison)

Sometimes in life I feel I struggle with sticking to it but race experiences like this show me I can, in races and elsewhere. With a few days of perspective some of the things that helped me were:

Sticking to the pacing plan, and letting the hoards of men pass by early on
Letting myself be inspired not threatened by the formidable elite women around me
Knowing all discomfort will be temporary and knowing myself well enough to remember I love the feeling of pushing hard on tired legs at the end of a race; always try to get to this stage
All of the steep and ruthless sections of trail are followed at some stage by kinder sections where I can breathe and recover - the relief and reprieve will always come.

The full results are here.

The I Run Far results article is here.

A Scottish Athletics write-up is here.