On to part 2 ->

In the beginning (Km 0, 5 AM, 1035 m)

In contrast to the good-old heart thumping, “oogs-oogs” music played at the starting line of most races that I have joined in the Philippines, the UTMB races  (which by the way, there are four of during the same week-end) play a different tune.  I got to see this a few days before our race—at the start of the longest (and clearly reserved for the insane only) event, the La Petit Trotte a Leon.  Contrary to what its name implies, there is nothing petite about this 245km, 21,000m elevation gain and 114 hour cut-off, self-supported team-of-three adventure.  Husbands kissed their wives and kids good-bye, tearful hugs from partners and nervous smiles and laughter were exchanged as the emotion-filled soundtrack from the movie 1492 (“Conquest of Paradise” by Vangelis - thanks Iva!) added to the drama of the event.

Josaw, (my training partner of the last five months and  Pinoyultrarunner teammate) and I nervously shift and adjust our gear as we listen to the music and final countdown.  Our friends and support team wave and cheer us on as we start in the wet, cold and dark. Headlamps bob up and down, and a steady tap of feet echo down the main street of Chamonix.  I am surprised to see that many people have actually gotten up to see us off.  Runners of all shapes and sizes start the Sur Les Trace des Ducs de Savoie (TDS), a 106km, 6600 m elevation gain and loss, with a 31 hour cut-off.  This year is the inaugural TDS, while the UTMB race is in its seventh year.  Little do we know that this TDS race is designed to be a more technical run than UTMB, which we’re about to experience first hand.

Bon Courage and happy thoughts (Km 22, 8:29 AM, 1177m)

The French love their language, and from the cheers of bystanders, waiters, shop attendants and volunteers, I quickly began to see why.  “Bon courage,” means “good luck,” but directly translated is “good courage,” which is most definitely useful for this race.  I think of happy thoughts: of climbing, of the movement across rock, of the awe-inspiring and raw beauty of the mountains around us.  I feel small and vulnerable, but at the same time, I also feel like I am a part of the rugged wilderness around me, and trust that I belong here right now.  There is no other place I would rather be. I reflect on this and it makes me crack a deep smile, warming my heart.  A small teddy bear falls from the pack of a runner ahead and before I can pick it up for him, a fellow runner does, and reunites teddy with his owner. I later see this phenomenon with many runners later on, and learn that the little hitch hiker—a toy bear, bunny rabbit, or puppy—is usually commissioned by the runner’s daughter, son or partner.

22km into the race, Josaw and I check in to the first support station at St Nicolas de Veroce, earlier than planned.  It is 8:30AM and we wolf down oranges, bananas, chocolate and more food.  The volunteers are all so friendly and supportive, practically filling our packs for us and offering to help in whatever way they can.  We have climbed over 1100 meters so far and the running path has varied from a single track trail to a dirt road, but always with inspiring views of the mountains.  The wind and clouds play an intimate game, the latter’s white wisps curl upwards behind a deep blue sky. Visibility is limited at times, but the persistent sun tries to break the two lovers apart.

Pinoy nga (km 29, 11:17AM, 2525m)

Josaw and I run together for most of the run till now.  We routinely stop to take photos of the amazing scenery and of each other. Pinoy nga kami.  Feeling very touristy, we comment “minsan lang tayo dito eh.” Our fellow runners must think we are not quite normal, wasting time and energy by taking so many photos.  Josaw runs the last few meters up to the summit of Mt Joly to check in with a race control point. “Philippine,” comments the volunteer in his thick French accent and cheers us on.  We smile and hand our camera to him, “Can you take our photo s’il vous plait?”

Are we there yet?

We run down the knife-ridge of Mt Joly towards our next objective, Col du Joly, to re-fuel.  Steep drops on both sides place a giddy feel in my head and occasional breaks in the clouds give fleeting views of breathtaking scenery. This powers me on—the beauty of nature around me, and the deep gratitude to be blessed with the opportunity to run this trail.  We make good time, again arriving before our target time.  What we get next, we did not quite expect. 

The “Cols” that follow – a “Col” is a mountain pass—usually the lowest point at which two mountains meet. There is always a steep climb up to the Col and a corresponding steep drop after it.  After the fourth mountain pass, I begin to worry about my time.  Josaw and I had separated, as I headed downhill a bit faster and she was being extra careful about her knees.  I have one more Col to pass before heading towards the midpoint of the race at, Cormet de Roseland, where we hoped to see our support team—Marie, Iva and Yvette.  I pick up the pace and run down hill, with the support station in sight, but its size worryingly small. 

Alleluia (Km51, 5:43 PM, 1967 m)

I finally arrive at the station Cormet de Roseland at 5:43PM, almost 13 hours since the start of the race, and 51km into the race.  Marie, my girlfriend, gives me a tight embrace and kiss as she helps me re-pack my pack, dispose of trash and prepare a change of socks.  I also take the time to connect a small battery to my GPS watch, which after 12 hours, has begun to complain of low battery—something I can relate to. I carefully remove my shoes, clean my feet with wet wipes (the dust and dirt from the trail has mixed with the Vaseline and has formed a dirty gunk). I then apply a fresh film of Bodyglide and Vaseline and top off this foot spa with a fresh pair of socks.  I immediately feel much better with fresh feet.

Peter, the third in our team from the Philippines and a Pinoyultrarunner teammate, is also at the station. He had arrived some time before me, but has decided to stop running due to his old knee injury acting up.  As he is a doctor, I don’t try to convince him otherwise; he knows best.  I know it’s a very difficult choice to make and admire his wise decision.  I expect to have to continue alone, as it had been quite some time since I last saw Josaw.  To my utter amazement, she arrives at the aid station only a few minutes after me. I have no idea how she managed to fly between Cols and down the slope to make it to the station shortly after me.

We gather our things and get ready to troop off after our good byes to our support and to Peter.  I expect to see Marie and Iva at the finish line next, as the next aid stations are in very remote areas, with poor bus connections (we did not rent a car) and very late night anticipated times at the stations.  The sky has cleared and paragliders fly above us. The temperatures begin to drop, so we put on our jackets, bonnets and gloves, and head off.

Did someone say technical? (Km 56, 6:56 PM, 2567m)

The surprises just keep coming.  After the last steep climb up Mt Joly and all the Cols, I thought I was ready for steep.  Little did I realize that the steepest section is the next check point, Passeur de Pralognan at 2567m. The climb up is so steep at sections that one has to use their hands to climb upwards.  Volunteers carefully watch and suggest which way to go, but a fall from here would almost certainly result in serious injury.  I stop to catch my breath every 20 meters or so and focus from one trail marker to the next, thinking only of getting to the next trail marker at a time.  I finally make it to the top and take some time to take in the view. My soul is touched and I feel warm inside, despite the cold wind picking up. The lighting is amazing as the sun begins to dip low into the sky, giving the mountains and rock around me a slightly yellowish hue.

Dig deep

I pick up the pace again, as I am running late—very late. I begin to get seriously worried as I am more than an hour behind my target, and about an hour from cut-off to the next Col.  I speed up the pace and begin to speak to myself: “Come on, you can do this. Push…” I later resort to talking to myself in my head, as it saves energy compared to speaking aloud. I feel vulnerable about  being cut-off, so I push as hard as I can on the uphill sections and run the flats and downhill parts. I overtake quite a few people who seem to be battling the same demons, but with less success than I.  Hope smiles on me when I see a hut (where I guess the control point is) in the distance, but that hope quickly fades as I see the trail markers taking a very indirect and circuitous way. I push myself again, recall advice that I have dished out so many times—dig deep, and reflect on what this really means.  To look deep into oneself and get energy and meaning to keep going despite the state of one’s body.  It is truly amazing what the body can do if the mind wills it and believes it is possible.