I check into the control point at 58.8km, 29 minutes to the  9PM cut-off time.  I take a breather, adjust my pack, put on a long-sleeved wool layer under my rain shell to warm me, then check my next objective: Bourg St Maurice. It seems a mere 9km away, but a large drop in altitude from my current 2369m to 830m.  I do the math: two and a half hours for this 9km, should be easy. Ha-ha,  I get yet another surprise. This downhill section seems to go on forever. And I mean forever. I end up behind a team of four Italians, running a steady clip downhill.  It is a welcome change to run with other people after three or four hours of running alone.

One and a half hours later, I begin to worry again about the time. My GPS tells me I have more than 1000m of altitude still to lose and the small town glowing in the distance seems to be just as far away as it was half an hour ago.  I pick up the pace, overtake the team in front of me and run as fast as I can downhill— down the seemingly never-ending switchbacks. Running with trekking poles reduces the chances of tripping, allowing one to support oneself when one’s footing is lost.  I consider the risk I am taking; a fall now could seriously injure me, and with this running style under these conditions, it is quite likely to happen.  On the other hand, to run conservatively now will simply mean being cut-off and going home with out completing this course. Again, I dig deep.

Finally the trail drops into a street and I follow signs and can begin to hear music in the distance.  I keep running and soon I see people and they cheer me on.  Cow bells ring (locals use them to cheer racers on) and when I turn a corner, I suddenly see Marie and Iva.  What a welcome sight!  They run the next few hundred meters with me to the support tent.  I weakly respond “merci” to the cheering locals and raise my poles in thanks.  I clock in 38 minutes before the cut-off time at 11PM. 

I feel very tired after that mad dash.  It is good to get some hot soup into me, coke, and some coffee and fruit. Again, Marie and Iva help me with my stuff, and we do my foot regimen again. Before I know it, I am told that I need to start moving as the station is closing. The tent is in the middle of town, a village band is playing live music, and the restaurants along the street are filled with people.  They all cheer me on as I head out into the night.

I pass a café with a number of runners looking very gloomy and down. I know that look. They have had enough and have decided to stop. There is always that voice at the back of ones head, asking if one is really done and if one has really beaten.

I smile. Not because I feel fine or feel more fit than they.  I know that voice; I have heard it before and know when to listen to it, smile and say “’di. Kaya pa yan.” Dig deep.  I have had my share of quitting, but I know it will not be tonight, not at this race.  If I get cut off, so be it, but it will have been with me kicking and screaming to get to the next cut-off.

I get an odd feeling of worry to be alone in this small town. I think about being mugged, and laugh at the thought, because I know I would not be able to defend myself well in this state, nor be able to run very fast. I hold on to my trekking poles and hope for the best. This anxiety turns out to be unnecessary; there are ample volunteers and police in town to guide us runners in the right direction and they check to see that everyone makes it from one point to the next.

Midnight, 70 something km. 

Heading uphill again towards the Italian border, I begin to slow down. I consciously try to force down yet another gel, but am really sick of the taste of this stuff. I nibble on some jelly beans, which helps.  The course now follows an old Roman road – which means that it is very uneven and rocky.  Despite the absence of a real view due to the darkness, the clear sky is beautiful. The stars are out, and so is the moon. I can make out the outlines of the mountains around me. On the other side of the valley I can see a road that roughly leads to the same direction I am headed. The occasional headlights of cars driving up that road give an indication of where the next Col is, and it seems very far. 

I begin to enter a walking trance, not quite being able to walk in a straight line. I am quite tired, it is very cold, and I really feel like lying down. Drinking from my hydration pack only cools me more, as the water in the pack has adjusted to the temperature around me. Cold water in cold temperatures is the last thing I need. I listen to some more tunes on my music player and push on. It seems like I am in a dream, where the road seems unending.  After a few false alarms that make me call out “You’ve got to be kidding,” where the trail gets close to the road and then moves again away from it, I finally check in at the French-Italian border, km 81.4 at 3AM, 2188m at Col du Petit Saint Bernard. I never want to do that again, whatever that section was. Oh, and welcome to Italy.

A bonfire is going where the volunteers are keeping themselves warm. It feels like 4 deg Celsius or so.  I have some hot broth and coffee as well as coke and some oranges. I am so glad to have made it here. The next stop seems a mere 9km away, but the last 9 really tested me. Thankfully the trail heads downhill and I am able to start running again and manage to find yet another wind to keep moving. I have been running alone all night now. I feel a bit lonely and start to talk to myself and also send SMSes to family and friends, though texting while running in the cold requires taking off one’s gloves—which is not fun.  To be honest, it is also quite spooky running on my own, though I can see some head torches in front and behind me, which offer me some comfort.

Wasted (Km 90, 5:30 AM, 1466m)

After another two and a half hours, I run into La Thuille, an Italian town at 1466m and 90.2km into the run.  It is 5:30 in the morning and bitterly cold. The support tent seems to be far into town and as I am about to enter the tent, blam—a flash goes off—I cannot believe it: Iva is behind the camera and Marie waiting by the station! They spent all night in the cold waiting for the bus, and endured some torturous mountain roads to meet me here.  It is so great to see them.

I am filled with hope and relief. I know now I can finish. Cut-off for this point is at 7AM, so for the first time in a while,  I have a comfortable grip on time.  I fuel-up, give my feet more TLC and get ready for the home stretch—a mere 16 km left and a good 5 hours to make it to the finish line.  Surely a finish is now in the bag.  I ditch all the non-essentials with Marie. I focus on carrying as little as allowed by the rules. There is one more mountain left to climb before heading down into the valley.

Hallucination

This race just never stops to surprise. I head off towards my next objective in good spirits, but soon the cold gets to me. My legs are all wobbly and I struggle to run; I can only jog for a few minutes at a time . I enter a forest and this is where weird stuff begins to happen. It is now about 26 hours into my run and I have not slept at all. To put it simply, I begin to see things. At one point, I see something strange: a group of chairs and sofa around a big boulder. I think, “gee, they really made this furniture blend with the environment.” I look down and look again in the direction of the boulder, and suddenly there is nothing but logs and trees around a boulder.  These mind tricks continue to plague me for the next hour or two.

Finally the trail begins to head downhill. I begin to run properly again, fixated on making it to the finish line. The next town seems to be so far away, I can see it in the distance and so I pick up the pace. The road seems to go on for a very long time, and then I am directed to a single-track trail that takes a really steep way down.  This continues on for what seems to me again, far too long. I wonder who in their right mind would use this trail in the first place. I smile when I think of the answer.  I bust out of the mountain slope into the town of Pre Saint- Didier, at 9:08AM, km 101.6 and after a cup of soda, quickly move on towards the finish.

A few kilometers later, I get posed a new challenge.  I had told Marie and Iva I will make it to the finish at 10 or 10:30AM and now I am a bit early. I slow down, text Marie and learn that they are still in Chamonix, a good 45 mins away. I tell them I am close, and I recall that they suggest I wait, though Marie remembers differently.  It would not surprise me if my mind played tricks on me on this too. In any case, I feel it is the least I could do—they supported me all night through and I would like to see them at the finish too.  I sit down and try not to fall asleep.  Many runners pass me, asking if I am ok. 

Courmayeur (Km 106, 10:58 AM, 1190 m)

After 45 minutes or so, a runner appears with a group of four organizers. He is the last runner.  I explain my situation and respectfully ask if I can be last.  The organizers find this a bit funny but good naturedly agree to wait with me.  A few minutes later, I get an SMS from Marie that they are at the finish line so I, along with my escort of four, begin to run again.  We soon catch up with the last runner-to-be, who now is the last runner (again).  It is much further than I expect and soon I am reduced to a walk on the uphill, but pick up the pace soon there after.

One of the organizers stays with me and runs to the finish, cheering me on and getting more people to cheer. I am awash with a mix of relief, gratitude, joy and pride. I am finishing. I can see the chute! Some Italians in their traditional clothes cheer me on and I can hear the announcer in an animated, uniquely Italian way cheer me on and call my name and country. I see Josaw, waving the flag and cheering and Marie and Iva at the finish. I run home, raise my poles in thanks and give Marie and my team hugs.  It is over.

Long road to TDS

It has been a long way to get here.  I could not have made it without standing on the shoulders of all those before me who made it possible.  I am thankful to my running friends—Jerwin, Ligaya, Al, Dess, Paolo, Pen, Jon, Peter, Don, Willy, Hector, Nev, Andrew, Beth, Jose, Gilbert, Thumbie, Jeremy, PUR and Skyrunners.  You have all taught me so much and inspired me to explore my limits. Each of the runs with you has been a wonderful experience—Manila-Tagaytay, Sierra Madre, TNF Tagaytay and Subic, Maarat, Mts Makiling and Pulag, Banaue-Sagada, La Mesa and countless others.

Many thanks to Recreational Outdoors Exchange (ROX) and The North Face for the support with equipment. 

I learned much and enjoyed training for months with Josaw—thank you! 

The support team – my parents and sisters, Iva, Yvette, Gay, Tobias, Bendi, Nicolai and Caroline – you were great!  And of course Marie  - thank you is not enough – it is through your support and understanding that I made it.

Reference Links -

UTMB Site http://www.ultratrailmb.com/

GPS Track of TDS http://connect.garmin.com/activity/10484036

Videos UTMB 2009 http://chamonix-meteo.com/

Video of female 7th placer with running commentary :)

Video of a runner who stoped at 81k also with commentary

Video of rescue chopper at TDS