Circa December 2015 was when I first saw this:
August 31 2018: I finally made it. Those four letters - UTMB - had encapsulated why I run. With an all-encompassing passion that permeated everything I did.
Saravanan and I sat outside the Intersport store at about 5pm. I'm getting nervous. We are barely 100 meters from the start/finish line. A strange aura, a mystical power that line has. That blue UTMB arch with the church in the background. Place Triangle de l'Amitie, Chamonix, France. The stage is set, the weather is gloomy. It had rained in the afternoon and it continues to drizzle. Earlier at McDonalds, we had met Kieren - the 2016 CCC finisher from India. He warned me by showing the soggy weather forecast at different parts of the race. Bear in mind - The third last climb - after Plan de l'au to la Giete - its steep. "Much like a VK (vertical kilometer)" he claimed, showing videos on his i-phone.
Now, there are thick clouds around. Both above and in my head. In the distance, Mt. Blanc is covered and so is the famous Aguille du midi. Vangelis - Conquest of paradise is playing in the background. Supporters are banging the advertising boards. The race briefing takes place over the PA system. I'm not interested, so I decide to go for a shake-up run. I run across town, up and down, through runners swarming towards the start line. Now, my body has warmed up. Before the start, the waiting seems endless. I regret the jog. Over 2000 runners have already gathered and only a handful are behind me. So, I am a back-of-the-pack runner to start. Minutes to go. "You make your own destiny" is blaring through one earphone. I can hear the countdown start. "This is it" I resign, deeply exhaling, and set off.
Spectators are spilling onto the narrow course. I keep passing runners by sticking to the extreme left or extreme right, dodging and weaving. I wave to David as I pass by Le Vagabond. David from England - a lovely host at the hostel. I am cruising. Pace: 8 minutes per mile even though it doesn't feel so in the melee. I make a conscious effort to keep my shoes/socks (New Balance Vazee Summit V2/ Injinji trail 2.0) dry by jumping over slush and water. Regardless, I'm already wet. Saravanan began before me and is somewhere much ahead. Still I feel he is just ahead around the corner and we'll meet soon. The first 8K or so towards Les Houches (bridge) is pure jostling. Hiking poles are flying (almost everyone had them, except me - thats a story for later) and I barely miss getting poked on several occasions. From there, the climb to the next village starts.
Supporters chant "allez allez" and "bravo" all through the night. Something I will hear for the entirety of the race. Cowbells of different sizes are shaken. That sound amalgamates with the huge cows ringing their own bells. Merrily grazing away on the lush green pastures. Before St. Gervais, the landscape is beautiful. Is this a painting? I wonder. Its twilight. Reminds me of Solang Valley. A green, clean Solang. Tall, snow-capped mountains all around. Humongous lush valley sparsely dotted with a few wooden houses. Picture perfect.
A climb starts. I'm going up gingerly albeit swiftly on my toes while others are digging their poles in and pushing with effort. My training earlier in Himachal seems to have helped. Then its downhill. Through some thick forest. I keep following the headlight of whoever's ahead of me. I'm too lazy to stop and remove my own. I can spot St. Gervais in the distance. Lights, music, bonfire etc. A carnival atmosphere. Pretty waitresses are offering chilled beer outside pubs! Seriously! As I approach the aid station, I am pleasantly surprised. Look at whats on offer - soup, rice, snickers, peanuts, bread, biscuits, pasta, coca-cola, bananas, oranges.. the list goes on. The sponsors, Overstim, had their range of products. I had never tried them so did not intend to this time. I almost had to drag myself out of there after nibbling around. I passed familiar streets near Gite Mont Joly (where I stayed the previous night, courtesy Saravanan). Reached Notre Dame de la Gorge. A climb beckons. A long one - close to 1600 m over 22 km upto Col du Bonhomme via Les Contamines and La Balme. Its all a blur. Fire places were common. Some lingered around them for respite from the cold and drizzle. Though most of the crowd were in a wild frenzy, cheering and whooping as stream after stream of runners passed them by. These are big parties with blaring music. That didn't deter me though. I climbed with purpose. No stopping at any cost. La Balme - was halfway up - a quick stop and go. Then the climbing got steep. Up ahead, I could see hundreds of headlights snaking its way up the mountain into the clouds. Intimidating. Then reached Les Chapieux - at the bottom - the last aid station before crossing over to Italy. Although I had tried to memorize these names the order was awry and soon forgot the next. Didn't dwell too much. Onto Italy. A feeling of solitude welcomed me as I settled into a steady pace in the cold, misty night. A feeling I'm slowly getting accustomed to in 100 milers. Game on! Col des Pyramides Calcaires - A boulder strewn mountain. Very Spiti-like as seen in Chota Dara. I had climbed similar in Balu ka ghera, so I applied that technique. As I climbed, some shiny white patches were visible. Yikes! That's Ice! I kept away and navigated that section carefully. As darkness turns to light, Courmayeur beckons. My drop bag! Its the only thing on my mind. I blast down some particularly unpleasant steep, rooty zig-zag descents onto cobblestone streets. Just as I glance at my watch - its shows 49 miles, sub 12 hours - and poof! it dies.
Courmayeur - I had heard so much about this place. What a picturesque town in Italy. Symbolizes my mental picture of Europe. Clean cobblestone streets. Colorful flowers blooming all round. Not a speck of dirt/dust/litter. This seemed like the "foreign" as I imagined all my life. Jolly locals cheer runners as they arrive. I'm much quicker than expected so I decided to take a power nap.
This is when things started frustrating me. Firstly, I walk up to the Garmin charging area and give my watch to charge. The two girls tried various cables but the damn thing wouldn't charge. Totally dead. So I let it lie there for a while. Strange, it had never happened before. I took my drop bag and lingered around searching for some food before finally settling on some pasta. There were hundreds of runners with their support crews milling around and I'm like a deer in the spotlights. Saravanan enters and lies on the floor with his feet raised up (helps blood flow, he claimed). I went into the sleeping area and mimicked the same. Without a watch, I forget that the clock's ticking. Finally, I drag myself out and eat some more. This time I down a bowl of Lean protein powder (a la the great Ferenc Szonyi). This, I had never done before. Changed clothes, shoes (now onto Salomon XA Elevate), took a dump. All without any urgency. Total time spent: 1 hour 23 mins. Compare that with Kilian Jornet: 3 mins. *Mouth agape in disbelief*
I decide to continue sans watch and hobble out. Oh, and on my way, I glance at the big screen to see the Breaking news ticker: Kilian and Jim Walmsley drop out. Sad for them. Xavier Thevenard and Zach Miller were battling for pole position.
I had battles of my own. On my way up, it hit me. Hiccup trouble. Nonstop - till the end of the race. I haven't yet figured out why. I'm speculating here:
a) It could be the protein power which I hadn't tried before
b) It could be the soup I had at every stop. It was a warm and salty broth. At one place it had a strange odour to it and someone told me its poulet (chicken in french) and I spat it out instantly.
c) A combination of the foods and extreme cold, altitude etc.
I can't quite put my finger on it. But it was a terrible irritant and refused to go away. Not a good feeling with that burning bile rising up your throat with each hic-hic. I'll spare the details as it was a general mood-downer. The next phase of the race was cat-and-mouse with Saravanan. He was having some tummy issues too and was stopping while going up. Climbed up into refuge Bertonni and Bonnati - little shelter huts.
Then after Arnouvaz, the massive climb to Grand Col Ferret - The highest point in the race. Probably my lowest because I was really low on energy. Tried some peanut butter for calories. It was freaking cold and windy (-5 degrees Celsius) snow/ice/hail - felt like needles were hitting and visibility was near zero.
Nobody likes a whiner's story, so I'll fast forward till I reached Champex-Lac. I believe, we all have dark places that we visit but they ultimately end. There is always light at the end of the tunnel. That light was Switzerland or Suisse as they say.
Saravanan had caught up and we were egging each other on. I was drowsy as it was almost dusk. I had zero sleep so far - a danger sign. We planned a brief shut-eye for at Champex-Lac: A micro-nap for 20 mins, we agreed and got into the oh-so-cozy sleeping tent. The mattress, blankets etc. turned out to be a bane, not a boon. I told him to set an alarm for 20 mins but we got out after 1 hour! (150 runners overtook me in that period. Very bad.) Heck, that was so refreshing! Drowsiness gone, I'm into the second night of proper running. The notorious climb to La Geite, I dealt with a sense of false confidence. "I have done more technical climbs than this, its not scrambling. I'm not using my arms to haul myself. I've seen worse in Indonesia, Malaysia", I reminded myself and carried on solo. Some had stopped and were sleeping by the trail while some had wrapped themselves in their emergency blankets and lying immobile at La Giete. Humans covered in foil-like blankets - looked scary from a distance - like body bags. Shucks, my mind was playing tricks on me. After descending into Trient, was another gnarly climb. Saravanan was struggling and told me to carry on ahead. I didn't want to leave him behind but I had to decide right then. I had slowed down a lot just to keep him company, stopped at several places waiting for him to catch up, but now I told him just one more climb (actually 2) and you have this covered. I left him with mixed emotions.
I could have stuck with him. We could have chatted away till the finish. Very senior to me in thoughts, ideologies and running, of course. He eats mostly unprocessed foods and listens to the likes of Ram Dass. A US citizen of Indian origin, he brings a fascinating perspective on things. The old-school types. Great company on long runs. We would meet soon, I presumed and went ahead.
My headlights were dimming by the moment. So I swapped my headlights to my spare one (SmartLite Ultra) and its brightness was reassuring. Jumping over rocks (where there was water flowing) was so much easier. Reached this wooden cabin called Les Tseppes, I think. I exited quickly as it smelt of cow dung. I even stepped on a massive pile on my way out - Sqiush! Stomped away frantically to get it off. Meanwhile, the hiccups continued, so for the entire night, my only intake was gel, salt tablets, water and coke. “Mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.” - Ed Viestusrs
Before the race, with star-struck eyes, I asked Jim Walmsley for his autograph. "Run with passion" he wrote. Its high time I did, I thought.
Reached Vallorcine (France) and took off post a short break. After col des Montets they had modified the course a bit due to recent landslides. This route seemed quite technical and less tread-on. As the skies turned from black to grey, my running had a sense of urgency to it. The effect of dawn. The long climb to La Flerge was now visible - it was all along the ski lift. This IS the last one, I told myself and kept overtaking others. Not a single runner went past me. (from there, till the finish, I overtook 52 runners). Kieren lived nearby and I half expected him to show up. But it was the wee hours of the morning and his absence was understood. The countdown began. Now, just about 8K to go, all downhill.
Initially my quads were rusty, and I lacked bounce and speed. I closed my eyes and thought, its now, Only now. I have to gave it my all. The burning quads and thud-thud faltering foot strikes downhill are a recipe for injury. The least I cared. Down to the road leading to Chamonix. Across the river Arve. As I ran through the park, I glance across my left shoulder. The bench where I slept - my first night in town. That cold, wet night. Bought a chill down my spine. With renewed gusto, I climbed up and down the sky-walk near the expo. Nilendu da was there recording on his i-phone. The audience cheers built up and so did my speed. Reaching a crescendo towards the finish. Just before I cross the timing mat, I turn around for one final glance at the mighty Mont Blanc. I feel gratitude. Thank you, Merci. What a journey!
Result: https://utmbmontblanc.com/en/live/runner/2175
August 31 2018: I finally made it. Those four letters - UTMB - had encapsulated why I run. With an all-encompassing passion that permeated everything I did.
Saravanan and I sat outside the Intersport store at about 5pm. I'm getting nervous. We are barely 100 meters from the start/finish line. A strange aura, a mystical power that line has. That blue UTMB arch with the church in the background. Place Triangle de l'Amitie, Chamonix, France. The stage is set, the weather is gloomy. It had rained in the afternoon and it continues to drizzle. Earlier at McDonalds, we had met Kieren - the 2016 CCC finisher from India. He warned me by showing the soggy weather forecast at different parts of the race. Bear in mind - The third last climb - after Plan de l'au to la Giete - its steep. "Much like a VK (vertical kilometer)" he claimed, showing videos on his i-phone.
Now, there are thick clouds around. Both above and in my head. In the distance, Mt. Blanc is covered and so is the famous Aguille du midi. Vangelis - Conquest of paradise is playing in the background. Supporters are banging the advertising boards. The race briefing takes place over the PA system. I'm not interested, so I decide to go for a shake-up run. I run across town, up and down, through runners swarming towards the start line. Now, my body has warmed up. Before the start, the waiting seems endless. I regret the jog. Over 2000 runners have already gathered and only a handful are behind me. So, I am a back-of-the-pack runner to start. Minutes to go. "You make your own destiny" is blaring through one earphone. I can hear the countdown start. "This is it" I resign, deeply exhaling, and set off.
 |
| On your mark, get set, go! |
Spectators are spilling onto the narrow course. I keep passing runners by sticking to the extreme left or extreme right, dodging and weaving. I wave to David as I pass by Le Vagabond. David from England - a lovely host at the hostel. I am cruising. Pace: 8 minutes per mile even though it doesn't feel so in the melee. I make a conscious effort to keep my shoes/socks (New Balance Vazee Summit V2/ Injinji trail 2.0) dry by jumping over slush and water. Regardless, I'm already wet. Saravanan began before me and is somewhere much ahead. Still I feel he is just ahead around the corner and we'll meet soon. The first 8K or so towards Les Houches (bridge) is pure jostling. Hiking poles are flying (almost everyone had them, except me - thats a story for later) and I barely miss getting poked on several occasions. From there, the climb to the next village starts.
Supporters chant "allez allez" and "bravo" all through the night. Something I will hear for the entirety of the race. Cowbells of different sizes are shaken. That sound amalgamates with the huge cows ringing their own bells. Merrily grazing away on the lush green pastures. Before St. Gervais, the landscape is beautiful. Is this a painting? I wonder. Its twilight. Reminds me of Solang Valley. A green, clean Solang. Tall, snow-capped mountains all around. Humongous lush valley sparsely dotted with a few wooden houses. Picture perfect.
A climb starts. I'm going up gingerly albeit swiftly on my toes while others are digging their poles in and pushing with effort. My training earlier in Himachal seems to have helped. Then its downhill. Through some thick forest. I keep following the headlight of whoever's ahead of me. I'm too lazy to stop and remove my own. I can spot St. Gervais in the distance. Lights, music, bonfire etc. A carnival atmosphere. Pretty waitresses are offering chilled beer outside pubs! Seriously! As I approach the aid station, I am pleasantly surprised. Look at whats on offer - soup, rice, snickers, peanuts, bread, biscuits, pasta, coca-cola, bananas, oranges.. the list goes on. The sponsors, Overstim, had their range of products. I had never tried them so did not intend to this time. I almost had to drag myself out of there after nibbling around. I passed familiar streets near Gite Mont Joly (where I stayed the previous night, courtesy Saravanan). Reached Notre Dame de la Gorge. A climb beckons. A long one - close to 1600 m over 22 km upto Col du Bonhomme via Les Contamines and La Balme. Its all a blur. Fire places were common. Some lingered around them for respite from the cold and drizzle. Though most of the crowd were in a wild frenzy, cheering and whooping as stream after stream of runners passed them by. These are big parties with blaring music. That didn't deter me though. I climbed with purpose. No stopping at any cost. La Balme - was halfway up - a quick stop and go. Then the climbing got steep. Up ahead, I could see hundreds of headlights snaking its way up the mountain into the clouds. Intimidating. Then reached Les Chapieux - at the bottom - the last aid station before crossing over to Italy. Although I had tried to memorize these names the order was awry and soon forgot the next. Didn't dwell too much. Onto Italy. A feeling of solitude welcomed me as I settled into a steady pace in the cold, misty night. A feeling I'm slowly getting accustomed to in 100 milers. Game on! Col des Pyramides Calcaires - A boulder strewn mountain. Very Spiti-like as seen in Chota Dara. I had climbed similar in Balu ka ghera, so I applied that technique. As I climbed, some shiny white patches were visible. Yikes! That's Ice! I kept away and navigated that section carefully. As darkness turns to light, Courmayeur beckons. My drop bag! Its the only thing on my mind. I blast down some particularly unpleasant steep, rooty zig-zag descents onto cobblestone streets. Just as I glance at my watch - its shows 49 miles, sub 12 hours - and poof! it dies.
Courmayeur - I had heard so much about this place. What a picturesque town in Italy. Symbolizes my mental picture of Europe. Clean cobblestone streets. Colorful flowers blooming all round. Not a speck of dirt/dust/litter. This seemed like the "foreign" as I imagined all my life. Jolly locals cheer runners as they arrive. I'm much quicker than expected so I decided to take a power nap.
This is when things started frustrating me. Firstly, I walk up to the Garmin charging area and give my watch to charge. The two girls tried various cables but the damn thing wouldn't charge. Totally dead. So I let it lie there for a while. Strange, it had never happened before. I took my drop bag and lingered around searching for some food before finally settling on some pasta. There were hundreds of runners with their support crews milling around and I'm like a deer in the spotlights. Saravanan enters and lies on the floor with his feet raised up (helps blood flow, he claimed). I went into the sleeping area and mimicked the same. Without a watch, I forget that the clock's ticking. Finally, I drag myself out and eat some more. This time I down a bowl of Lean protein powder (a la the great Ferenc Szonyi). This, I had never done before. Changed clothes, shoes (now onto Salomon XA Elevate), took a dump. All without any urgency. Total time spent: 1 hour 23 mins. Compare that with Kilian Jornet: 3 mins. *Mouth agape in disbelief*
I decide to continue sans watch and hobble out. Oh, and on my way, I glance at the big screen to see the Breaking news ticker: Kilian and Jim Walmsley drop out. Sad for them. Xavier Thevenard and Zach Miller were battling for pole position.
I had battles of my own. On my way up, it hit me. Hiccup trouble. Nonstop - till the end of the race. I haven't yet figured out why. I'm speculating here:
a) It could be the protein power which I hadn't tried before
b) It could be the soup I had at every stop. It was a warm and salty broth. At one place it had a strange odour to it and someone told me its poulet (chicken in french) and I spat it out instantly.
c) A combination of the foods and extreme cold, altitude etc.
I can't quite put my finger on it. But it was a terrible irritant and refused to go away. Not a good feeling with that burning bile rising up your throat with each hic-hic. I'll spare the details as it was a general mood-downer. The next phase of the race was cat-and-mouse with Saravanan. He was having some tummy issues too and was stopping while going up. Climbed up into refuge Bertonni and Bonnati - little shelter huts.
Then after Arnouvaz, the massive climb to Grand Col Ferret - The highest point in the race. Probably my lowest because I was really low on energy. Tried some peanut butter for calories. It was freaking cold and windy (-5 degrees Celsius) snow/ice/hail - felt like needles were hitting and visibility was near zero.
Nobody likes a whiner's story, so I'll fast forward till I reached Champex-Lac. I believe, we all have dark places that we visit but they ultimately end. There is always light at the end of the tunnel. That light was Switzerland or Suisse as they say.
I could have stuck with him. We could have chatted away till the finish. Very senior to me in thoughts, ideologies and running, of course. He eats mostly unprocessed foods and listens to the likes of Ram Dass. A US citizen of Indian origin, he brings a fascinating perspective on things. The old-school types. Great company on long runs. We would meet soon, I presumed and went ahead.
My headlights were dimming by the moment. So I swapped my headlights to my spare one (SmartLite Ultra) and its brightness was reassuring. Jumping over rocks (where there was water flowing) was so much easier. Reached this wooden cabin called Les Tseppes, I think. I exited quickly as it smelt of cow dung. I even stepped on a massive pile on my way out - Sqiush! Stomped away frantically to get it off. Meanwhile, the hiccups continued, so for the entire night, my only intake was gel, salt tablets, water and coke. “Mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.” - Ed Viestusrs
Before the race, with star-struck eyes, I asked Jim Walmsley for his autograph. "Run with passion" he wrote. Its high time I did, I thought.
Reached Vallorcine (France) and took off post a short break. After col des Montets they had modified the course a bit due to recent landslides. This route seemed quite technical and less tread-on. As the skies turned from black to grey, my running had a sense of urgency to it. The effect of dawn. The long climb to La Flerge was now visible - it was all along the ski lift. This IS the last one, I told myself and kept overtaking others. Not a single runner went past me. (from there, till the finish, I overtook 52 runners). Kieren lived nearby and I half expected him to show up. But it was the wee hours of the morning and his absence was understood. The countdown began. Now, just about 8K to go, all downhill.
Initially my quads were rusty, and I lacked bounce and speed. I closed my eyes and thought, its now, Only now. I have to gave it my all. The burning quads and thud-thud faltering foot strikes downhill are a recipe for injury. The least I cared. Down to the road leading to Chamonix. Across the river Arve. As I ran through the park, I glance across my left shoulder. The bench where I slept - my first night in town. That cold, wet night. Bought a chill down my spine. With renewed gusto, I climbed up and down the sky-walk near the expo. Nilendu da was there recording on his i-phone. The audience cheers built up and so did my speed. Reaching a crescendo towards the finish. Just before I cross the timing mat, I turn around for one final glance at the mighty Mont Blanc. I feel gratitude. Thank you, Merci. What a journey!
Result: https://utmbmontblanc.com/en/live/runner/2175
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