There were 974 starters ahead of me for the 168km ultra-trail race in Val D’Aran in the Spanish Pyrenees and the course would climb 10,600m of vertical. I had positioned myself at the very back of the pack, I was literally the very last to start.
The field set off at what I thought was a suicidal pace and whilst I was determined to stick to my race plan I did start a little harder than I wanted to. At the first check point I was 823rd after a continuous ascent. At this stage I was chunking the race down to the “aid station” to “aid station” level and not thinking about the full 100 miles.
The next section summited the first of many peaks and I discovered that all my hard work on descending over the summer was paying dividends. In training I had really pushed myself hard but in the race I backed off a little and still overtook many people on the descent. At the 2nd checkpoint I had moved up to 616th. I was feeling strong and confident.
The next section involved another descent before a climb and again I passed many on the descent but I found that ascending I was still slower than everyone else. I had moved up to 493rd and we were 30km into the race. So far, so good and no major issues.
The 3rd highest peak of the race was next and at 2,400m it was not particularly high by the standard of the Alps but as I had just spent two weeks at sea level in the Canaries I felt the altitude a little. I was now sitting in 375th place.
The next few sections were relatively “easy”. My ranking improved to 349th, 320th, 245th and 219th. The next aid station was only after climbing 1,400m of vertical and I decided to “take it easy” as I wanted to try and recoup some energy reserves after starting a little too hard. What was gratifying was that even moving at my easier than easy pace, I was now starting to pass people on the ascents. After the climb I was sitting in 200th place.
I was aware of some potential blistering on my hands from my pole straps and my heels were also giving off a few warning signs. All the books I have read and all the advice I have been given is that when you have an issue, you should deal with it immediately and not wait. Of course I ignored the advice and pushed on, ignoring what was really only some minor discomfort.
The next section would take me past the half way mark which is an important psychological marker. I had entered the race to experience those “dark times” as it is in these moments you learn the most about yourself. I was more than 80km into the race and a wave of tiredness washed over me. My motivation collapsed, my pace slowed to a crawl and I felt miserable as a dark fog filled my mind. I was not at the stage of retiring but I was pretty miserable.
As part of my preparations I had read a number of books on sports psychology and so I had been expecting this moment and was ready for it. I deployed the techniques described in the books. I told myself this is not a threat but the challenge that I came looking for. I reminded myself that it would pass, as these moments always do and there would be highs to come. I then ran through in my mind all the things that were going well and all the positives about the race and my performance so far. Finally, I forced myself to smile. I put on a really big, cheesy grin as simply the act of smiling releases serotonin (allegedly). It worked!
I was able to relatively quickly move out of this valley of despair and was back into the game. I summited and began another descent and was back to feeling good.
Half way down I felt something twinge in my left muscle just above the knee. It want not catastrophic but it was not a good sign. I could still run downhill but it hurt and so I decided just to power walk to the next aid station. I arrived at the next aid station ranking 179th.
The next aid station was at the 100km mark – a key psychological marker. Everyone says that the race only begins at 100km and your goal is to arrive at the 100km mark feeling “fresh”. If it was not for my knee I would have been feeling pretty good at this point. At the 100km aid station you have access to your “life bag” which contains the stuff you think you might need at this point of the race.
I had managed to get away with ignoring the hot spots on my heels and fortunately I had two spare trainers in my bag and I swapped to my most comfortable and put on fresh socks. There were blisters on my hands but again I had planned for this and had gloves. I had anti-inflammatory gel but unfortunately this did not make a jot of difference. There was a physio who strapped up my leg but I could not move my leg once he had done it, so as soon as I was out of his sight I took it all off again. At this stage I could bend my left leg only about 10 degrees – I knew things were about to start getting tough, I had no idea how bad it was going to get.
I no longer looked forward to the descents and the “free speed”. The next descent was agony and I effectively had to side-step down the mountain for 10km. Each step felt like someone was stabbing me in the leg. My speed plummeted and with it my ranking. By the next station my ranking was 260th. I knew at this point this race was no longer about delivering a performance but simply surviving and getting to the finish line. Unfortunately, the second half of the race contained the most challenging terrain.
The reason I had chosen this race is that any finisher gets an automatic slot in the Ultra Trail de Mont Blanc (UTMB) which is THE iconic ultra-trail race. It’s the Ironman Kona of trail running. The race is so oversubscribed that even if you have garnered enough points in qualifying races you still have to enter a lottery to gain a place. Someone had told me that the Val D’Aran race was designed to be really tough so as to maximise the number of people who dropped out to minimise the number of free spots that would have to be given away. What this meant that after having already ran 112km, the toughest part of the race was yet to come. Everything was about to unravel!
The next few aid stations were spread over an ascent of 1,400m with a gradient of 15% to 20%. It was simply not possible to run on the terrain – it was like an approach to a mountain hut and just endless scrambling / rock climbing (and of course, in the dark at 3:00am in the morning). I could still move reasonably pain free on the ascent but I think the change from sea-level to 2,600m brought on a nose bleed, so I had to deal with that.
Finally, I summited but then I had to descend. By this point I was effectively down to only one leg and I was descending across an endless boulder field. At 2,600m at 3:00am at night with a strong wind it was cold and because I could not move fast I was not generating any internal body heat. I was freezing. For some reason I had neglected to fill completely both water bottles and so I only had about 600ml of water. This whole section took me about 6 hours and so by the time I reached the aid station I was not only dehydrated but also close to hypothermic and I felt dizzy and feint. I took some time at the aid station to warm up with hot soup and got chatting with an Irish chap called Tom who was also suffering with his feet and so we decided to set off together.
It was at this point I realised that some complete c*$t (sorry, I hate that word and seldom if ever use it, perhaps three times in my life, and is reserved for only the lowest scum on earth) had taken my light, carbon fibre poles and swapped them for their s*&t, broken, heavy and of unequal length poles. This was a race threatening despicable act.
The culprit could not have been too far ahead and so my only option was to give chase and try and catch the thieving b*&^@$%d. Fuelled by anger and the fear of seeing my race ended I tapped into the “fight or flight” adrenaline and started up the next mountain. I knew that if they reached the summit before me I would never be able to catch them on the descent and so my only chance was to climb as hard as I could. I could see racers ahead of me, up the hill and I knew one of them had my poles. This gave me added hope and I charged up. I finally reached the group ahead and one was holding my poles. Of course he said it was an honest mistake and he had thought I was ahead and so he felt he could do nothing but of course it was a complete lie. Being very British I did not make a fuss and was just grateful to have my poles back.
I waited for Tom and we then began the descent together. As the adrenaline wore off the suffering returned with a vengeance. The decent was agonising, with each step, it felt like the knife was plunging deeper into my muscle. Somehow we made it to the next aid station. There was only 15km left to race.
After eating and drinking nothing but gels, energy bars, Coca Cola, chocolate, gummy bears and all manner of other awful food I was grateful of the offer of rice with tomato sauce. I thought it was going to be hot, but it was stone cold and tasted a bit off but I ate it anyway.
We had only two more climbs left before a long descent to the finish line. It was now the middle of the day and the sun was beating down. The rice had been a terribly bad idea and I had to step off the course and find a bush – it was not pretty. Another 200 or 300m further on and I had to repeat the process. I was now feeling really rough and was chunking the race down into 20 to 30m sections just to get through it.
As we approached the first of the two summits I then started to feel nauseous and was violently sick – my body had jettisoned all my food resources. My water supply was also running low and anything I did drink literally just bounced back off my stomach. I had no energy, no water, it was swelteringly hot and I had a final decent of 7km to the finish line. I was no longer able to descend and eventually with about 3 or 4km to go I had to switch to walking backwards as this did not put any pressure on the leg muscles. Progress was so slow that I was even wondering about the final cut off of 48 hours. The track went on for ever and this was the only time that I thought about resigning but with only 2 too 3km left I knew it was just a case of putting one foot behind the other!
Eventually we crossed the line in a time of 46:26:10 with only 1.5 hours to spare. I have not really processed what all this means and I am probably suffering a degree of PTSD. I had three goals for this race 1) to run a 100 mile race, 2) to earn my entry to the UTMB and 3) to deliver a performance. I achieved 2 out of 3 which is not bad. However, simply completing represents a performance in itself. Of the 975 people that started the race more than 50% dropped out or were timed out by the cut-offs. This was the most brutal 48 hours I have ever lived – I cannot wait for the UTMB!
Finally, as always a big thank you to Stellar Equipment for the great gear that stood up well to a really tough test!
Expeditions 