UTMR part 1: Into the night

Being called up to the podium was both surreal and oddly anticlimactic.

"In a time of 17 hours, 25 minutes..." stated the announcer. How could the content of all of those hours be boiled down to a single number? How could numbers come close to representing the experience? Can it even be described in words?

Let's find out.

Some 30 hours earlier, the start of the Ultra Tour Monte Rosa Three Passes 100k was delayed due to a broken down bus. I sat near the Gressoney town square and the start line, head in hands. Months of training, two weeks of tapering, and all the pent up energy in the world. I simply didn't know what to do with myself.

A bundle of nerves waiting for the race to start. Photo: Zoe

When the race finally did start, on the third chime of the church bells, I boldly led the field out of Gressoney. My calves seared as we ran along the dirt path upriver, a firm reminder that I might have been a little rash.

The field headed out of Alagna. Photo: Zoe

 

The filed soon hit single track and the first, 1200 meter climb up Colle Salza. Between light rain showers, a window-like gap opened in the clouds and revealed the tumbling glaciers above. I reigned in my effort, reminding myself that this was a long race.

A gap in the clouds reveals the glacier.

Two men broke away from the front of the field, charging hard. Myself and a group of about 10 men led the chase, with no women in sight.

I grew dizzy as we approached the final rocky ascent of Colle Salza, a token of the nearly 3000 meters of altitude. It had been a long climb, and the downhill was welcome. The descent was longer than I expected, losing 600 of my hard earned vertical on enjoyable trails. Soon the trail hooked up with a dirt road that was familiar to me from the stage race last year.

I'm really here! I thought. I'm running 100k around Monte Rosa, and I'm leading the race.

The field was more scattered now as I ground up the dirt road to Passo Salati. Enthusiastic volunteers greeted me at the checkpoint. "You're first lady, and 7th overall!" I smiled back, and was fast in and out of the checkpoint.

I left Salati with Jimmy, a Brit who had had his headphones confiscated and was eager to chat to pass the time. He had spent quite a bit of time in the region, and was eager to point out cool ski lines as we set an efficient pace downhill towards Alagna.

"We're about to pass through the most beautiful village in the region!" Jimmy enthused. Wooden Walser houses materialized, with beautiful stone roofs and distinctive latticework on the outside. Some locals stood outside the houses, watching us pass by. Jimmy began whooping as we flew down through the village and I couldn't help but join in.

As we descended below treeline, I felt my quads slowly turn to jelly. This was unsurprising given we were descending over 1700 vertical meters in one go.

I checked my watch as I ran into the checkpoint at Alagna, and realized I was about 45 minutes ahead of my predicted time. Either I had started too hard, or my predicted times were way too conservative. I hoped for the latter.

Coming into the aid station at Alagna. Photo: Zoe

Mom and Zoe, who were driving around the checkpoints to support me, were all in a tizzy. Crunching on potato chips, I realized I felt great. No reason to hang around for too long, I charged out of the aid station and up through the village to take on the next big climb.

I remember the climb up Colle di Turlo from the stage race last year, and it was possibly my lowest moment. I was eager for redemption this time around. The twilight closed in as I powerhiked up the rocky trail through the forest, and finally it was time to turn on my headlamp for the long night.

I was super thirsty, and began to worry that my water might not hold all the way to Macugnaga. When I found a fountain near a hut on the trail, I stopped to refill my bottles, glancing over my shoulder to see if anyone would catch me.

A few switchbacks later, I saw a headlamp coming towards me, going the wrong direction on the course.

"Hello?!" I exclaimed, "Are you OK?"

The headlamp crystallized into a runner, walking dejectedly downhill.

"I'm not feeling well, I am going back," the runner explained in uncertain English. This turned out to be Simone, one of the runners who had started so hard up the first climb. Clearly the start had been too hard for him as well.

As I climbed above treeline, headlamp beams eventually appeared far below me. The adrenaline rush I experienced on the way out of Alagna had pulled me ahead of the men I came into the checkpoint with.

The night deepened and stars began to spangle the sky as the clouds of the afternoon miraculously evaporated. Some volunteers in sleeping bags were waiting high up on the climb and offered me water. Fortuitous, as I was slurping down my reserves quickly.

I caught another man as I crested the top of Colle di Turlo. "You are strong," he said in a serious, deep voice. I actually am, I thought. Delighted with my ascent, I switched my headlamp on high beam and darted down the gloriously technical descent.

I spent a lot of time before the race fretting about running for 10 hour sin the dark. But in the days leading up, I decided I needed a mental shift. My mantra was embrace the night. It felt amazing to be flying downhill, a little glove of light moving through the enormous landscape.

The trail grew steeper and wetter in below treeline, and my pace slowed - I didn't want to crash and burn with more than half of the race to go. Once again I could see headlamps behind me, but they were far away. This was my terrain and no one would catch me.

The trail led me out of the valley and I began to look forward to arriving at Quarazza, the small checkpoint the meant there would only be a few kilometers of dirt road between me and my crew at Macugnaga. Once person manned the checkpoint at Quarazza, and I broke my stride just long enough to fill a water bottle.

The dirt road to Macugnaga was monotonous and the course markers few and far between. A couple of times I began to wonder how long it really had been since I last saw the reflective markers. What if my attention had wandered and I had strayed off the trail?

After a brief, mostly runable climb, the course finally turned and headed into Macugnaga village. Channeling my inner Jim Walmsley, I charged into the checkpoint with a stride I had no intent of holding for long.

Coming into Macugnaga. Photo: Zoe

A runner (Shane, I later learned) was headed out of the aid station as I cruised in. I spent 15 minutes at Macugnaga, changing my shirt, socks and shoes, stretching and eating a freeze-dried meal, once again enthusiastically helped by Zoe and Mom.

"I wonder how far ahead the lead runners are?" I idly asked.

"One of them is right there," whispered Mom, pointing to a man in a down jacket with his head in his hands. "He's pulling the plug." I guess the start had been too hard for him as well.

Now in 3rd place overall, I headed into the deepest part of the night to tackle the last monster climb: Monte Moro.