venerdì 11 dicembre 2009

From Arolla to Zermatt Part 1

This is the first part of a trilogy. It tells the story of a six day odyssey in the Swiss Alps with two close friends, one of whom is a professional photographer. Marco had been comissioned to take a series of photos for a touring book, and other photos for the Swiss Tourism Board which comprised part of the famous Chamonix – Zermatt trail. Since he needed to take numerous cameras and uncountable quantities of photographic film (these cameras which take 180° shots don’t use digital equipment), plus he needed some models to add some human interest he asked Robi and myself to join him. For us it was a no boner, 6 days in the mountains, on skis, in some of the most beautiful mountains in the world, all paid for by the Swiss tourist board.
We all met up in Milano Central Station, at the agreed time, early one late spring morning. I must say we attracted some pretty strange looks – dressed up for the mountains, skis and boots strapped onto our large rucsacks while the Milanese commuters rushed to work, already displaying the best of the Spring/Summer fashion collection. Jut enough time to purchase rail tickets for Brig in Switzerland, a walk down the platform and we were bound for Switzerland. As we arrived in Brig we already looked more like part of the scenery and we quickly found the local “post” bus which would take us to Arolla.
The early afternoon found us in the small ski resort of Arolla. Boots and skis on our feet, climbing skins under the skis and rucsacks on our backs. The walk up to the mountain hut (Cabanne de Dix – 2928m) through the Pas des Chevres (Goat Pass), which would serve us our first resting point would only take us a few hours. The rest of the evening was spent in small chat, anticipating the great days in front of us, while we listened to the babble of German voices around us, an occassional French voice was heard but we wouldn’t hear anymore Italian except for our own voices for the rest of the trip.
The next morning found us in front of the hut, applying the thawed out skins to the bottom of our frozen skis, while the sun struggled to make it’s appearance behind the scudding clouds. It didn’t look like it was going to be a good day for ski-touring, or for photography, but we had a schedule to stick to so we headed out across the glacier towards our first objective of the day, the Pigne D’Arolla. Leaving the towering Mont Blanc de Cheilon (3870m) on our right we quickly gained the slopes of the Pigne. A beautiful pyramid with perfect skiing slopes. Sweating under the heavy rucsacks we climbed rapidly, leaving the majority of other skiiers behind us and by 10 o’clock we were already on the top of the peak – 3790m. Despite the clouds and grey skies we had a beautiful 360° view, mountains and glaciers in every direction. Unfortunately the light was not good for photography, so after a brief rest we removed the skins, tightened our boots and ski-bindings and set off down the other side. The surface of the snow was a little icy at first but we soon reached some better slopes where we could enjoy the sensation of curving and speeding down the immaculate white slopes. A couple of hours later we had already reached the Cabanne des Vignettes (3160m) our second resting point.
The next day found us traversing the Glacier du Mont Collon under blue but windy skies. Our rucasacs were heavier than the previous day since we had picked up supplies which would see us through the next two days, and one night to be spent in a bivouac hut. Here you can see Roberto and myself as we walk across this large glaciated area. Our path took us through a wide gap between Mont Collon 3637m and Petit Mont Collon 3556m and then upwards towards the Becca d’Oren where we briefly passed back into Italy. The slopes of this mountain are ideal for skiing so we spent a few hours going up and down the slopes while Marco snapped photos of us. The mountain which can be seen in the background is L’Eveque (The Bishop) 3716m. As the afternoon drew on we traversed back into Switzerland through the Col Collon and descended down across the Haut Glacier d’Arolla towards the bivouac hut which would serve as our base for the night. Inside we found the hut already occupied by quite a number of other skiers but we quickly found a space and three bunks for ourselves. A frugal meal, some conversation with the other occupants who are all heading the same way as us tomorrow, but they will be in Zermatt by the evening, whereas we won’t arrive there for another two days due to our various photographic appointments.
We are the last to leave the hut the next morning. Todays photographs will all be in the late afternoon and early evening on top of the Tete Blanche so there is no need to hurry. We pay for this laziness in the heat and blinding reflection of sun on white snow during the early afternoon, as we slog our way across the Haut Glacier de Tsa de Tsan bound for the Col des Bouquetins and from there to the top of Tete Blanche 3710m. When we finally reach the top we lose ourselves in an orgy of photographs. The view is amazing. All around us we can see mountain peaks and there in the distance the king of all of them – the Matterhorn. His pointed crown points to the sky. Close up the mountain is a disintegrating heap of limestone but it is exactly this which has given it the classical pyramidal shape and why countless thousands of mountaineers have found glory or defeat upon its flanks. From a distance it is magnificent, and alone on top of our mountain we contemplate its beauty and majesty.
After shooting the final photos in the setting sun light we ski down the other side and direct our skis towards the Cabanne de Bertol 3311m where we arrive in the dark. Tomorrow we shall ski under the Matterhorn and then onwards to Zermatt.

lunedì 30 novembre 2009

CCC - A Voyage of 98 kilometers - Part 3

Champex Lac to Vallorcine
As I walk along the paved side of the lake there are a number of runners walking in front of me. Suddenly one of them stops dead in his tracks and bends over to adjust something on one of his shoes. I go almost directly over him. “Scusami, mi dispiace” we both say, before we recognize each other. It’s Marco one of the guys with whom I had chatted much earlier in the day while we ascended from the Bertone hut towards the Testa de Tronchey. Without even discussing it we both decide that we have found a partner for the night part of the race. Before the race I had been a bit worried about the idea of going all through the night by myself. I have been in the mountains many times at night while ascending Alpine and Andean peaks but had never been in a position where I had to keep going all night by myself. In the end Marco and I will stay together until daybreak. This part of the race has been the most enjoyable for me. We have chatted and kept each other company for nearly 8 hours and if we managed to keep going it has been due in great part to this mutual support.
After descending briefly to the village of Champex we attack the ascent of La Boivine. It is unforgivingly steep, and the path is full of rocks and tree roots. I am feeling good though and stride upwards confidently. Marco follows on my heels and we continue chatting, exchanging views, finding out about each other. As the path becomes a single track we come up behind a line of people and have to slow down a bit, which is probably a good thing. The path continues to rise and we follow our new found companions. At a certain point we find ourselves surrounded by fog. It is a little spooky and I am quite pleased that I am in company. After another twenty minutes of this we suddenly emerge from the fog into a cloudless and starry night. Way down to our right we can see the light of a town which I realise must be Martigny. Four hundred meters in front of us we can see a tent and lights. I can hardly believe that we are already at La Boivine, the ascent has gone so fast. We hurry on to the tent and ask the volunteers who confirm that we are indeed at La Boivine. They give us some hot broth and we quickly drink some coke to follow. There is still a hundred meters of ascent but in no time we are on the other side and heading down to Col de Forclaz. The path is not steep but the numerous tree roots and rocks make it treacherous. Nevertheless we make good time and soon we can hear the traffic of the Col. I tell Marco about the time I cycled from Chamonix to here over the Col du Montet, through Vallorcine and Trient and then up the steep ascent to Forclaz. On the way back I nearly froze to death. It was mid August and the sun had warmed me as I ascended and sweated my way up. On the way back as I descended at 40k/h + the sun had disappeared and I had forgotten to bring any windproof gear. I only finally warmed up when I had to climb again back from Vallorcine up to the Col du Montet. As we arrive at the col I can feel a blister forming on my right foot. I propose that we stop a moment while I put a plaster on the blister and change my socks. While we are sitting there a number of people pass us which is a little frustrating but I figure that most of them are people who we have overtaken going over and coming down from La Boivine. As soon as I am ready we set off again and since we are a little rested we actually start running and jumping down the path towards Trient. Just before we arrive in the village I notice a person sitting on a fence at the apex of a curve. Marco speaks to him in Italian, asking how close we are to the village and the reply come also in Italian saying that it is very close and that he’ll run down with us. I am momentarily confused and then Marco introduces me to Silvano, who is a friend and has finished the CCC last year in 22 hours – a great time. We run down into and through the village together, chatting and exchanging impressions. As we arrive in the rest station Silvano has to enter the other side of the tent which is reserved for friends and family. Yet again I repeat my, by now, usual actions. Grab a plate of broth with pasta, get a cup of coke, take some bread and cheese. Except this time there are two of us going through these same motions. I throw in a variant. A young volunteer is handing out mashed apple and pear in a cup. It is absolutely delicious and breaks the monotony of the other food. Marco goes to read the computer screen and tells me that we are in about 870th place. Ok that means we are within the first 50% of the starting number. As we emerge from the tent Silvano snaps some photos and tells us that according to his calculations we should arrive between 9 (23 hours)and 10 o’clock(24 hours) in Chamonix. At that point I think we were both thinking that we would be happy to arrive in Chamonix – time is not a priority.
We quickly pass through the village of Trient and follow the signs up a footpath which indicates the way to Catogne. We fall back into our usual rhythm, occasionally talking but mostly just enjoying the company and our steady upward progress. At a certain point we come up behind a French couple, they are going slightly slower than us but since we are on a single track and they seem to have no interest in letting us pass, we just fall in behind them. Finally as we reach the tree line they move aside for a rest and we move forward on what seems to be easier and flatter ground. I comment to Marco that we must be almost at the top and we shall soon be descending. As we arrive at a completely flat area we find ourselves enveloped in fog while a cold wind cuts through our skimpy protection. It is really unpleasant but I imagine that the path will soon descend so we decide not to stop to get out our jackets. Unfortunately the top of this mountain is really quite flat and really quite wide. In the end we have to keep going for almost quarter of an hour in these prohibitive conditions before we finally found ourselves descending. Within a few minutes we are passing through the control station of Les Tseppes where the volunteers have built a huge bonfire. They are all dressed as if it was the winter and I can’t blame them. Nevertheless we are now on the descent so without adding any clothes we throw ourselves down the path. The path is quite regular and not too steep so we are able to run most parts. We can now see down into the valley where we know we will find the village of Vallorcine and the border between France and Switzerland. The path continues down rapidly before entering into a small forest where the path becomes even less steep. We continue to overtake people, saying hello, chatting with everyone. Finally we hear the sound of clapping and encouragement in the wood just below us. We must be really close to Vallorcine. A woman is standing by the path, wildly clapping “Allez, allez, vai, bravi”. I realise she is Italian so I ask her how far we are from Vallorcine since I cannot see any signs of the village. “Circa quarta d’ora” (“about quarter of an hour”). Oh no you’ve got to be kidding me. This woman has walked up a huge part of the path, in the woods, by herself in the dark at 4 o’clock in the morning just to make us think that we are close to the village when we are actually still quite a long way above it. Actually she has probably done this to be able to meet and encourage her husband or friend or someone, but it’s a real downer for us. I comment to Marco that people like that should be locked up. We laugh it off and continue downwards. Finally we are really above the village and the bright lights and bonfires are a welcome sight. We stumble into the tent, fully aware that this will be the last official stop before Chamonix.
Vallorcine to Chamonix
A hand written sign by the entrance to the tent informs us that there are 18 more kilometers to Chamonix, nearly 900 meters of uphill and 1100 of downhill. I make a quick calculation that it will take another 4 hours (and that, as we shall see, is almost exactly what it did take me – less five minutes). We decide that time is abundantly on our side and that we can take our time to eat, change and rest a little before facing this last test of our physical and psychological strength. Again we eat pasta in broth, bread, cheese, salami, various types of biscuits. I change the plasters on my feet, as they have moved during the last descent leaving the blisters free to rub against my socks. We both change t-shirts and I tuck a lightweight jacket under the belt of my pack, while Marco decides to put his on. We fear that the temperature may be a little colder in the next few hours and neither of us wants to have to stop and pull out the jacket, nor do we wish to suffer in the cold as we did coming over the last pass. We chat with a couple of Italian girls who have just arrived, commenting on the fact that they are both wearing the same shoes as me – Salomon Speedcross, and agree that they are light, comfortable and perfect for this kind of race. Weird conversations to be having at 5 o’clock in the morning. We say goodbye to them and emerge out into the night again. The bonfires here and there around the tent, a few people crouched round them to absorb their warmth, makes the whole area look like something from a medieval battle scene. We pass them by and attack the footpath running parallel to the main road and which will lead us up to the Col Montet. The hour of rest in the tent has invigorated us and we walk rapidly, overtaking numerous others. There are no significant points along the path on which to comment so we just keep walking, each of us absorbed in his own thoughts. After almost an hour we arrive close to the Col. The track of the race winds around a secondary road and then doubles back to the highest point of the Col where volunteers stand guard and shepherd us across the road and into a large car-park. I remember this place from a few years ago when Dani and I parked here and walked up to the Aiguilles Rouge to go climbing. I gulp down half a sachet of energy gel, which I fear I may need and take off up the path. Marco is following just behind. After a few minutes we come up behind the same French couple whom we had followed up from Trient. They must have overtaken us while we were resting in Vallorcine. This time I have no desire to follow their pace and so I jump past them, accelerating a little so as to give Marco enough space to follow me. I keep up this faster pace for a minute and then turn round to check on Marco. I am quite some way in front of the French couple but there is no sign of Marco.
“Marco, dai, vieni anche tu”.
He shouts back “No, I can’t keep up that pace. You go on ahead”.
“Ok, I’ll slow down and wait for you. You just need to get in front of them.”
“No, I can’t go any faster than them. You go. We’ll see each in Chamonix”.
I stop for a moment. All the memories of the last eight hours spent together through the night go through my head. I can’t abandon him now.
“Go on, I’m ok I just can’t keep your pace. You can make the 23 hours. I’ll see you in Chamonix.”
I turn upwards feeling guilty. I know he’s right. He’s not suffering or in trouble. He just doesn’t have the same speed on the ascents. Maybe he’ll catch up on the descent to Chamonix. We’ll have a drink together in Chamonix anyway.
I’m surrounded by a thin grey fog as I follow the path upwards. The dawn is coming but has brought a chilling humidity with it. We probably won’t be getting a great view of Mont Blanc at dawn today. I reach another couple and quickly pass them, then another solitary figure, a small group of four or five. I feel galvanized by this relentless upward movement. I pass another guy who tries to keep my pace but drops back after a few minutes. Daylight is almost upon us and I turn off my headlamp so as to enjoy the arrival of this new day in natural light. There is another walker in front of me but before I can reach him he sits down on a rock beside the path. We say hello to each other as I quickly pass by. The path begins to flatten out as I come up behind a group of Spanish girls. Quick hellos also with them and again I move forward. As I come to the end of the climb I pass another French guy and mention to him that the ascent is virtually finished. He doesn’t seem to be convinced nor does he look particularly relieved. Off I go again, leaving him behind. Other runners are passed as I traverse across the mountain side. The Aiguille Rouge towering above me on my right, the flanks of Mont Blanc on the other side of the wide valley to the left, it’s peaks hidden in the clouds. The path is now a continuous up and down, a rolling ride high up above the Chamonix valley. Occasional large stones strewn across the way are circled or jumped over, in some points where the path crosses a small valley I have to jump from boulder to boulder. I pass several more people and finally see the small tent which acts as a temporary shelter for the volunteers of the last check point, Tete aux Vents. The controller who points his laser pistol at my chest so that it can read my chip number is enveloped in a large down jacket. I feel sorry for him - he’s probably been here all night, sheltering in the tent and occasionally emerging when the bouncing lights announce the arrival of another runner and another chip to be read. I thank him and move off as I hear other footsteps arriving behind me. It’s downhill now and I’m heading for the very last refreshment area at La Flegere. The path is fairly easy though I have to jump in some points using my poles as support for my tired legs. One guy passes me running like crazy. I try to stay with him for a while but soon realize that the risk of falling and getting hurt is just not worth it. Nevertheless I manage to pass another ten or so people before I make out the large buildings of the La Flegere cable car station. A tent has been erected to one side of the ski pistes. I pass inside where I find a number of volunteers as well as a number of runners. I decide not to stop or drink anything but ask how many kilometers are left before Chamonix. They assure me that there are now only 7 kilometers and it is all downhill . I exit the other side of the tent and begin running down the large ski piste which opens up in front of me. There are a number of people in front of me and a few behind me. We all seem galvanized by the fact of being so close to the end. At a certain point, the signs which we are following, point to our left down into the woods and away from the ski area. We are now on a small single track forest path. I follow the others down, occasionally passing someone who is a little slower, occasionally being passed by someone who is a little faster. The path continues downwards and I start to see the roofs and tower blocks of Chamonix. It twists to the left, to the right, but always downwards. I see a sign for the Floria mountain hut, a delightful little bar and café nestled on the side of the mountain with a spectacular view of both Chamonix and Mont Blanc – a favourite with tourists and day walkers. Five minutes later, almost without realizing it, I find myself running through the courtyard of this delightful little place. A barmaid who is setting up tables smiles and claps – “Allez, allez”. I am almost tempted to stop but I am already passing out the other side of the garden. I know that it is only ten or fifteen minutes to Chamonix now and I am already savoring the arrival. The path continues down but now it is larger and I pass a number of people walking upwards. They all clap and cheer. Suddenly the path ends and I find myself on an asphalted road. I pass another competitor who is walking. He smiles and waves me onwards. The road curves to the left, I follow it and can see a bridge which straddles the river. Reaching the bridge I turn to my right. The center of Chamonix is now in front of me, the ENSA building to my left. How many times have I walked or biked along this river path with Dani and Elia during our Chamonix holidays. There are now lots of people who are clapping and cheering as I reach the road which leads to the centre. A volunteer indicates me to cross the road and turn right while a policeman blocks the traffic. The road is slightly uphill but I hardly notice. I turn left again and now follow the road downwards. I can hardly believe how many people are lining the street. I look at my watch and see that I still have over five minutes before the twenty three hour time that I had predicted in Vallorcine. The spectators indicate the way forwards into a final arrival chute. A number of other runners in front of me gather up children or are joined by their companions so that they can run the final meters together. I slow down so that I won’t ruin their triumphal arrival and maybe photos. As I enter the final hundred meters the noise is deafening – cheering, clapping, music, the announcers. I almost come to a complete stop just before the finish arch in order to allow a mother with her two children sufficient time to cross the line together. Then I calmly walk across the finish line myself.
Marco arrives twenty five minutes later and we have a photo taken together. The expressions of happiness on our faces seem quite obvious to me. The true essence of a trail race – self fulfillment, companionship, realization.

CCC - A Voyage of 98 kilometers - Part 2

Col de Ferret to Champex Lac.

This is all new terrain for me. I’ve never walked or climbed in this part of the mountains. The path is quite wide and although it is clearly in descent it should be quite easy to run. I run for the first ten minutes but quickly realise that if I continue I’m going to tire myself and trash my legs so I start to take short walk breaks and feel immediately better. The path just keeps going down. Twenty minutes go by, half an hour then finally the path flattens out a bit to traverse left around the mountain. But this quickly terminates and the path starts to descend again, this time in a particularly decisive manner. It isn’t possible to walk, it’s only barely possible to run slowly. At times I have to jump down as the path dives over rocks and enormous tree roots. The ski poles are useful here, allowing me to balance and brake, with my arms as well as my legs. A number of people pass me running as if this was the end of the race. I am definitely not tempted to follow them. This is bad. My legs hurt, I feel tired, I can’t wait to see the end of the descent. The dust which is being raised by each runner in front of me, settles on my ankles, covering my legs, some of it seeps into my shoes and I know I should change my socks sometime in the next kilometers. Finally the descent does end, and, as we cross a bridge over a pretty stream, we emerge onto an asphalted road. A number of people along the road encourage us - “just one kilometer to La Fouly, the rest station is at the end of the village”. I smile and thank them . Although a number of people are trotting or even running here, I am reduced to a walk. There is a young French guy walking next to me who pulls out a small map of the race. I ask him how many kilometers we’ve covered as I can’t remember where exactly La Fouly is, but I’m reckoning that we’re somewhere near half way (45 or 46 kilometers). 40 kilometers comes the answer. What, only 40 kilometers. That means there’s another 58 to go. I am feeling really bad as we slowly walk into the village. Everybody is out on the streets, waving, cheering, clapping. They call out our names, encouraging and complimenting us. Finally I reach the rest station. There is a small queue for water bottle filling but I stand there patiently for my turn before passing through into the food area. Another plate of pasta in broth, a mug of coke, a plate of bread with salami and cheese. I work my way outside and sit at one of the tables. It’s seven o’clock in the evening and the air is chilling but I can’t be bothered to open my pack and get something to cover myself with. I slowly eat the pasta and drink the broth. I try to force down some bread and cheese but without any enthusiasm, sipping on the coke to help the bread down. This is the breaking point. I have to decide whether I can go on or not. Finally I decide – I’ll try to reach Champex Lac. At least if I reach there I’ll have covered 56 kilometres and that will be a new distance record for me. I get up slowly, throw the plates into one of the trash bags and shoulder my pack. Walking out of the courtyard back onto the road I notice how many people are still sitting there, eating, drinking, talking. Ok, there’s still a lot of people behind me and I can see others still arriving through the village. I’m not going to be alone for the next few hours. After a few minutes I realise how cold I am, so I stop to pull out a wind vest and roll my arm warmers up all the way. I walk onwards trying to stimulate blood flow in my arms and legs. That was really stupid, how can I let myself get cold like that. I should have enough experience in the mountains to know better than that. The path which continues to descend, but pleasantly so, wends its way through a pretty forest alongside a stream. It would make for a charming evening stroll or romantic walk in sweet company, but here I’m by myself though surrounded by fellow runners. As I continue, walking a bit, trotting a bit, I begin to feel a little better. I’m no longer cold and though I don’t feel great at least I feel like I can continue. The next half an hour continues pleasantly as I vary my pace, according to the terrain and finally we emerge again on the outskirts of Praz de la Fort. Some local children have improvised a water station with large jugs of water that they fill from the fountain. They only have about twenty plastic cups so everyone who passes through here has to share. They are so sweet that I can’t resist their offer. I grab a cup and rapidly drink. “Merci mes enfants, merci”. As I leave them, a young French runner, falls in beside me. I learn his name is Fabien and he has done the race before. I don’t realize it at the time but he will probably be the reason why I will be able to go on to finish the race. He says that he is ok on the descents but has trouble with the climbing parts. I tell him that generally I’m the opposite, but right now I’m not doing too good on either. We keep chatting as we pass through Praz, waving and saying hello to everybody. At a certain point as we emerge on the other side of Praz he indicates to me the buildings of Champex high up in a side valley “That’s where we’re going”. A little afterwards we have to pass through some fields where water sprinklers are irrigating. The huge jets are pushed ten meters into the air and alternately fall now in the field and then on the path where we have to pass. Fabien looks at me and says “We have to run really fast”. “What, you’re kidding, I can’t run really fast right now”. “Really fast or we will get wet” he shouts back as he accelerates away from me. I can’t believe it but then I also sprint forward behind him. We pass by safely and start laughing. We didn’t even catch a drop of water. That sprint has really invigorated me. I now feel much more lively, any pain in my legs has disappeared and my morale has reached a new high. We pass quickly through the few remaining houses of Praz and are soon at the start of the next climb. I attack it with a completely new spirit and turn round to encourage Fabien but he smiles wryly while he waves. “Go on, I won’t be able to keep your pace” I hesitate for a moment but I can already see that he is right, in just one minute he is already way behind. I wave back and tell him that we will see each other later. But I didn’t see him again and I have no idea if he finished the race. I certainly hope so. I doubt if he will ever read this but a big thank you goes out to him for making me sprint and getting me out of my lethargy.
As I climb in the failing light, I realize that I am ascending well. I start passing people one after another, I chat with a French guy who has a Scottish mother but he also fades after a while, and I am left to my solitary ascent. At a certain point of the climb I can no longer see so I have to stop to get my headlamp out. I grab the tiny Black Diamond lamp which I have never used in real conditions before. I am pleased to see that it work absolutely perfectly. I would recommend it to anyone as a reserve light – super small, incredibly light and definitely useable in good conditions, though it may be a bit more difficult in poor weather. I recognize an Italian girl with whom I chatted earlier at La Fouly and say hello but I am going so much faster that I leave her behind rapidly. I saw from the race results later that she finished quite well so congratulations Raffaella. Before long I can see the light of Champex and as we pass through the now customary crowd of cheering adults and children I stumble into the tented rest station. There are literally hundreds of people in the tent. I grab a plate of broth and pasta and then encourage one of the volunteers to put some other larger pasta on top of it. A large spoonful of cheese on that and I find a spare bench where I can sit and eat. Now I am really hungry. Obviously my metabolism is now working full time and is crying out to be fed. As soon as I finish the pasta I decide to change some of my clothes. Off come the running shorts as I replace them with the tights, another t-shirt goes under the one I have on and the wind vest goes back on top. It’s 10 o’clock at night and the temperature is falling fast. I think about changing my socks as well but there is so much dust on the floor that I am discouraged from doing so. I fill my water bottles, grab some bread and cheese to eat on the way and emerge again into the night.

CCC - A Voyage of 98 kilometers - Part 1

I was going to publish this as one big story but with the photos and everything it looks like I'll have to divide it into three parts. So when you read it you'll have to start further down and work upwards through the sections.

Where do you start the tell the story of a voyage? Is it the moment in which you actually take the first physical step along the way or is it rather the moment in which the idea of the voyage comes to your mind? In my case the idea of this incredible journey began to circle in my mine almost two years before I actually took the first step. Having competed in a number of trail races between 40 to 50 kilometers where, despite suffering, I had come through with flying colours, I began to feel the need to push the boundary a little further. For years I had been watching and listening to friends stories of competing in the UTMB but there were two obstacles in my path. First of all I was honestly not ready to compete in a race of 166 kilometers with 9,000 meters of height difference and secondly it is necessary to have gained 4 points from other races in order to enroll in the race. But there was the CCC, only 98 kilometers and 5,600 meters of height gain. For this race I only needed to have gained one point and I had that from having completed the Gran Trail Valdigne of 45 kilometers.
The night in which the inscription for the 2008 race opened I was flying from Italy to Hong Kong, but I was sure that since I was arriving in Hong Kong early in the morning with six hours of time difference with respect to Europe I wouldn’t have any problem to be among the first to enroll. Little did I know as I flew over central Asia that night that the maximum number of inscriptions would be reached in just ten minutes from the opening of the enrolments. My attempt to enroll the following morning was met with a polite but firm reaction from the computer – Thank you for trying but there are no places left.
A month later I received a communication from the organization confirming that there were no places for 2008 but that I would be given precedence for 2009 as long as I still had the necessary point. So alright I have one more year to prepare. In hindsight it probably worked out better this way. With what I know now I suspect that I would not have been ready and prepared to undertake the CCC in 2008.
In December 2008 I was invited to re-submit my enrolment for the CCC and in January 2009 I received the confirmation. The race was on, except just two weeks later I was laid up with sciatic pain as I have written in a previous blog. The last seven months from January through to August were a continuous up and down – one week my back and leg were ok, the next I was again in pain. When I was feeling good I trained, when I was bad I laid off. In July I competed again in the Gran Trail Valdigne 45k. I was feeling good, my last training sessions had been excellent and I finished the race in 35’ less than in 2008 despite the course being slightly longer. Two weeks later at the beginning of August I was in pain again and the whole of the month was spent in a delicate balancing act between training and resting. Since I was in the Austrian Alps for most of this month the training material was easily available and whenever it was possible I was running and walking in the mountains or as an alternative, on my mountain bike.
Before the start
28th August 2009. The mountain air at 1000m above sea level is fresh at 07.30 in the morning. I look round the car park as I dress in my running clothes and prepare my backpack. Virtually everyone else is going through the same motions as I am, each one of them closed in his own thoughts – will I make it to the end ? – will it be cold at night? – will it rain? I had spent the night sleeping in the car – not so uncomfortable since there is plenty of room up back, but I had forgotten to bring a cushion, so some rolled up t-shirts and a bike jacket had poorly substituted as a support for my head.
At 09.00 I am already lined up in the grid, about 20 meters back from the front line. The race won’t start till 10.00 but I don’t want to risk being at the back with 1800 people in front of me. I don’t want to be at the front either.
Looking round I can see that the majority of the other competitors are French, some Italians, some Spanish, a few Brits and the rest a mix of nations from all over the world. I slowly sip at the bottle of water that I have brought with me into the grid, the pack on my back is a comforting presence with its contents of a spare t-shirt, rain jacket and energy bars together with obligatory material such as a whistle, an emergency blanket and two head lamps. Music is being piped through the loudspeakers while a couple of speakers comment on the upcoming race in Italian, French and English. With less than 15 minutes to go before the start they announce the Swiss anthem. To be honest I wouldn’t have recognized it and looking around me it seems that most other people feel the same way, even the Swiss don’t seem to be bothered. Shortly afterwards the martial tones of the French anthem blast through the speakers. Ah, now that I recognize . I’m expecting the majority French crowd of runners to sing along but they follow the example of their Swiss counterparts and look bored or continue with whatever else they were doing. The last one up is the Italian anthem. We’re only five minutes from the gun and the nervous tension in the air is palpable. As the notes of the “Inno di Mameli” build in crescendo I glance around me to see if there are any Italians close by. If they sing I will too. The first words of the Italian anthem float into the air drowning out the small talk of the other runners. Incredible, it seems that every Italian in the crowd whether participant or spectator is proudly singing their anthem. I join in and reflect on how we always put ourselves down for our tepid patriotism yet the only anthem which has evoked any response has been our own Italian. As the last notes fade into the morning sunshine the speakers start the countdown. Two minutes to go. All around me runners are making small, last minute adjustments, checking the straps of their packs, straightening their sunglasses, ensuring a tight grip on their poles. One minute to go. No one is talking anymore. Muscles are tensing, ready for the start. Ten seconds, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, the blast of a pistol breaks the accumulated silence and the front line starts to move. Maybe five seconds passes before the area of runners, in which I am sandwiched, also starts to move. First we shuffle forward and then slowly build up to a trot. As I cross the official start line more space opens up and we can start to run. I tell myself not to get carried away, take it slowly, running like a maniac in the first kilometers just to be at the front is counterproductive. Many people pass me, running as if it was the start of a marathon. I watch them pass and console myself with the thought that if they are really that fast they are doing the right thing, if they aren’t then I may well be seeing them again later in the day or during the night.
Courmayeur to Col du Ferret
The first kilometer or so is a showcase tour of the centre of Courmayeur. We pass along the main street to the accompaniment of huge cow bells. It seems that every resident of the town, including shop owners have come out to wish us luck along the way. The noise is deafening as we run along the narrow cobbled street. As we pass in front of the Bureau de Guides (Mountain Guide Office) we are directed upwards along a higher road and after a few hundred meters we are already out of the centre of the town. We wend our way through charming residential areas before finally leaving the road and finally finding our first dirt track. Along the way I see Mark (a fellow expatriate English man) who I had got to know at Valdigne a month and a half earlier. I stop a moment to say hello and wish him luck for the UTMB tomorrow.
After a while the track gives way again to an asphalted road which will be our companion for the next few kilometers as we climb through the outlying village of Entroubles, before entering into the Val Ferret. Also here in Entroubles everyone is on the street, cheering, clapping, ringing cowbells. Children are lined up along the road offering up their hands for a “high five”. I must have given at least twenty. I hope that seeing us is giving them a positive example for their future. The problems of obesity and an increasingly sedentary lifestyle are making their effects felt amongst our school children and it is an uphill battle which needs to be fought. As we reach the tiny village of Planpincieux I think back to nineteen years earlier when I first came through here, on my way to climb the Grandes Jorasses on the Mont Blanc massif. The route had been so long and we had been so slow that we didn’t get back down to the village until almost sunset, and we still had to drive all the way home so as to be presentable at work the next morning. Finally we turn sharp right as we abandon the road. From here onwards (except for very few exceptions in Fouly, Praz de la Fort and Champex Lac ) we will be almost always on tracks. As the trail bends upwards I fall into step behind others whose pace seems fitting and try to find a suitable rhythm and regular breathing pattern. Every now and then someone comes jumping by but mostly people seem to be happy to accept a brisk but regular walking pace.
After a while the ascent eases off and we start traversing around the mountain. A little bit up, a little bit down but mainly running on the flat, until suddenly we arrive in an area where the group I am following all turn downwards while on the other side of a small hummock just in front of us there is a continuous line of people going upwards. Just below us I can see the Rifugio(mountain hut) Bertone (2350 metres). In no time we are in front of the hut and being swallowed up by a football game sized crowd. I’m getting out of here. I throw down a glass of coke, thank the volunteer who gave it to me and join the line of upwards bound people. The ascent is brutal and each one of us stays behind the person proceeding him. Each one pacing himself, pushing arms downwards against the poles to gain some upwards movement and traction. We’re heading towards the highest part of the whole race (Tete de la Tronche 2750 metres). As the slope becomes gentler I find myself in the company of a couple of Italian guys. We chat amicably as we follow the long crest heading towards the mountain top. Behind us the snow flanks of the Mont Blanc massif sparkle in the sunshine, a few fluffy clouds drift aimlessly above the highest peaks. I remember the numerous times that I’ve been on those slopes myself, once climbing to the very top of the mountain before traversing down the other side into France, another time ascending the difficult Brenva face with Roberto but then deciding not to reach the top but rather traverse across into the Mer de Glace so that we can descend to Chamonix before night fall. Adventures lived with the enthusiasm of youth, another lifetime, memories to cherish and maybe one day to explain to my son so that he can also find his own adventures. The other Italian guys are going too fast for me. I let them go and continue at my own pace. The final climb to the top is rocky and exposed but I’m feeling good when I arrive. I don’t even stop to look round but immediately dive down the other side. A long, steep and dusty path leads down to the alpine pastures on the other side and a more runnable footpath. Nearly everyone is running, trotting, walking rapidly. I trot along with them, not pushing but just letting my legs go with the force of gravity. As the path flattens out we start traversing across the slopes, now suspended high above the Val Ferret, the whole Mt. Blanc Massif again in front of us. In ten or fifteen minutes we’ll be at the Rifugio Bonatti. Again memories – this time of when Dani and I slept in this hut in the middle of the ski-mountaineering season, utilising the winter quarters. No-one else in the hut, maybe no-one else on the whole mountain. Ascending, the next morning, on our skis, to the Tete entre deux Sauts with its perfect view of Mont Blanc, then skiing down, yelling and smiling in the winter sunshine, the whole mountain just for us. Today the scene is very different. Not a trace of snow anywhere, crowds of runners mill around in the front of the hut, grabbing something to drink, a plate of pasta, some biscuits, a piece of banana. I join them and drink rapidly. I fill my water bottles and add a packet of energy and salt powder. Grabbing a piece of cheese I leave the hut and follow the many others along the footpath which now traverses further along the valley. After ten minutes I’m feeling the afternoon heat so I decide to stop and change my ¾ tights for a pair of running shorts. A number of people ask me if I’m ok, I smile and indicate the shorts – “just changing into something more comfortable”. I follow after them and soon we’ve reached the path which leads down to Arnuva. The path is steep and dusty with numerous switchbacks which we all just charge down. As we arrive just above the large tent which has been set up as a temporary canteen, we are cheered and clapped by dozens of spectators. I charge straight into the tent and grab a plate of pasta in broth, but since it is crowded I retire outside to eat it. It’s hot and quite a bit too salty but I gulp it down anyway. If it encourages me to drink later that will be a benefit rather than a problem. As soon as it is finished I dive back into the tent, fill my water bottles and grab some bread and salami and exit on the other side. I can eat the sandwich as I walk. We cross a dried up stream where I notice a small group of people. There is one girl sitting in a wheelchair and behind her is a large banner “Allez Papa’ – running for Emilie”. I smile and wave to them as what I presume is the mother, who has read my race number and name, claps and shouts “Allez Martin John”. Immediately after the river crossing the path starts to climb again – a little too early for me as I am still finishing my sandwich. I can see the pass which we are heading for, the Col Ferret, a yellow tent which from here looks tiny but is probably enormous, stands out against the ridge by the pass. I’m feeling good, though a little hot, and fall into a steady rhythm – quick strides, pushing backwards with the poles to gain a little more strength in my upward movement. I pass a number of people who are clearly not feeling so good, a number of them sitting to rest alongside the path. I was honestly expecting this climb to be harder – 1000 metres of climbing in the hot afternoon sun. Almost without realizing it I have reached the last part of the climb. The huge yellow North Face tent which I had seen earlier is just above me. The last few hundred meters are almost flat and I hurry along to the pass. As I reach the pass I look backwards, that’s the Italian part of the race done. I take a step downwards on the other side and think to myself – “Switzerland, here I come”.


domenica 29 novembre 2009

I'm back

After a period of eight months in which I haven't written anything I've decided that I need to keep up this blog. The pause has been due to an intense period of work that forced me into giving up a number of activities, though not the atheletic ones. In the meantime I've managed to compete in 4 trail races including my declared 'A' race of the year, the CCC around Mont Blanc. The report on this will be posted shortly and will probably be followed by posts on the other three races, the Valdigne 45km, the Tartufo Trail 50km and the Maddalena Trail 23km which I did last Sunday.
I'll also be posting some more travel updates and other miscellaneous thoughts and activities.

giovedì 12 marzo 2009

Back to the drawing board

Why, oh why, did I write that last post so full of expectations and hopes. On Tuesday I went back to the athletic track for the weekly training session with the team. After warming up and having performed a whole lot of plyometric exercises on the steps of the stands (admittedly quite a bit more than a week ago) I had planned to put in a series of 8 x 800m at a speed of about 3'20" (remember last week I had done 6 x 800m at 3' 30" and one at 3' flat) which would have shown me that I was improving my base speed and endurance and actually getting back into form. Two of my friends were also doing the same workout so I decided to tag along with them, especially since I knew that one of them is generally quite a bit slower than me (when I'm in form anyway). The first 800m came in at 3' 14" and I knew I was in trouble - I could hardly keep up the pace. So I decided to let them go and do my own thing. Depression rules OK. Feeling very down with myself I did the rest of the workouts starting with a 3' 35" and trying to make each one a little faster than the one before. To be honest the last one came in at 3' 18" and all of the last three came in under 3' 30" so it wasn't that bad.
In any case I am not feeling as confident as I was a week ago.
Let' see what the rest of the week brings.

lunedì 9 marzo 2009

Getting back to running form

If you had asked me a month ago how long it would have taken me to get back into running form I would have said at least two to three months. The results of the last week of training have made me review that to a much shorter one to two months - big grin. Last tuesday I went for the usual team track workout but with the idea of doing my training by myself - I certainly didn't want to get involved in any crazy latic acid workouts with my friends. So I warmed up nicely, did some plyometric workouts on the tribune steps and then started with a series of 8 x 800m at the quite leisurely pace of 3' 30" and a recovery of 1' 30". I did the first 6 quite easily and very contendedly but I was getting more and more frustrated to see my friends racing past me as they also did a 8 x 800m workout but in 3' flat. I couldn't stand it any more so I tagged on to the second lap of their seventh 800m just to see if I could keep the pace. To my surprise I stayed with them from the beginning to the end. One more to go. I couldn't resist. As they set off on their last 800m repeat I tucked in behind Marco to see how long I could hold on. The first lap was OK but I could feel myself tiring. As we entered the back straight I allowed the two of them to open up a gap of a couple of metres but tried to hang with it as long as I could. I could see that the gap was still the same as we entered the last curve and responding to my agonistic instinct I slightly lengthened my stride. To my surprise the gap diminished and as we exited the curve I was back on their shoulders. There was no way I could go outside and take them round the curve and I wasn't even thinking of doing so. I was just hanging on for my life. Then it happened. Massimo who was running on the outside moved to his right, Marco running on the inside moved to his left and a huge gap opened up between them. I swear I had no idea what I was doing - some ancient God of athletic tracks whispered in my ear and pushed me through the hole. My stride lengthened and I was flying down the last straight with andrenaline burning in my chest. I heard some probably not complementary comments as I maintained the pace and just let my legs go. The finish point came not too soon and I hit the stop watch button as I crossed it. 2 minutes 59". Thank God that was the last repeat of the evening. Needless to say I was walking on cloud nine when I got home.
The rest of the week went well with swimming sessions on Wednesday (1,8km) and Friday (2km) with a 5 x 100m session on two minute intervals where we were timing 1' 30" for the swim portions, and one hour of weight work on Thursday.
Saturday was a great 75km bike ride (Spring is really on its way back) in the hills for an average speed of 25km/h.
On Sunday I went for a 15km off road run, which was originally planned for 12km but just kept going since I was feeling so good. It was a beautiful morning with great visibility. To the north I could just make out part of the Alps (80 kilometres away), while to the south I could see all of the Apennine mountains (just 20km) crowned in glorious white snow.
I'm still taking it easy and I'm a little cautious but things really sem to be going in the right direction. Let's see what this week brings - last week of training before I have to go to the States and training will be wound down for ten days.

martedì 3 marzo 2009

Back to Training

Yes!!!!!!!! I am officially back in training. After having followed my doctors and physiotherapists instructions for a month and a half, and I swear to God I have never followed anyones instructions so closely in my life, I am officially back to training. The pain in my leg has disappeared, my back is loosening up and life is sweet. I had my last check-up on Friday 20th February and the good doctor gave me the all clear, mind you he did insist on me taking it easy for the next month or so.
So on Saturday I very cautiously went for a spin on the road bike. Just 40 kilometres, taking it easy and not worrying about the speed or power. An hour and forty minutes of just gently turning over the pedals, listening to the i-pod and enjoying being back on the road for an average speed of 23 km/h. I was still a little worried so I laid back for Sunday and Monday, just doing a short ride with my son on Sunday. By Tuesday I was fired up to go and each day the back was feeling better so I put in the following week of training.

Tuesday – 6k of running including 7 x 400m at 1’ 35”.
Wednesday – 2k of swimming.
Thursday – Forty minutes of weights and twenty minutes of spinning.
Friday – 2k of swimming.
Saturday – 70k of road bike with gentle hills. 2h 45’ for an average speed of 25km/h.
Sunday – 9k of running off road in one hour. Slow but that was intentional.

The incredible thing is that every time I finished a training session I would feel some tightness and a moderate amount of pain in my back but my the next morning it was gone and I actually felt better than the day before. Almost as if the training was working as a medicine.
I’ve taken Monday as a rest day and this evening (Tuesday) it’s back to the track for a session of 8 x 800m. I won’t be keeping the speed of my friends who are in training for the Rome Marathon next month but just the fact of being out there and running is going to be great.

giovedì 26 febbraio 2009

Manaus

When I tell people that I’m going to visit Manaus (something I do about once a year) I get two kinds of reaction. One is the completely blank “what the hell is Manaus” look and the other is the “Omg isn’t that in the middle of the Amazon Jungle, what the hell are you going there for” look. Mostly people think that I’m going to be moving around in dug-out canoes and sleeping in hammocks suspended between two trees while billions of insects try to eat me alive. So off I go again to explain that yes ,Manaus is in the middle of the Amazon Jungle, but it is also a thriving city of nearly two million people. Not nearly as adventurous as it seems. Once upon a time I guess people still had to arive in Manaus by boat, up the river from the Amazon delta, but today you can comfortably fly into the modern airport and within half an hour of landing you can already be in one of the modern air-conditioned hotels that grace this bustling, industrial city. Now, why did I mention the air-conditioning? Well it is in the middle of the Amazon Jungle but it has four seasons like the rest of the world as explained to me by a friend who lives there. They have the hot season, the hotter season, the ridiculously hot season and the OMG what am I doing here it’s so hot season. Needless to say I always visit during the hot season.
The city is not actually situated on the Amazon river but on the banks of the Rio Negro, which flows down from the Colombian Andes, crossing a large part of the Amazon jungle till it meets with the Rio Solimoes, which comes from Peru, just a few kilometres down river from Manaus. The interesting thing about these two rivers is that they have different colours, different temperatures and different speeds. The Rio Negro is dark black looking (hence its name) has a temperature of 28°c and flows at a lesiurely 2 kilometres an hour, the Solimoes is yellowish brown, has a temperature of 22°c and flows at approximately 5 kilometres an hour. This difference in the two rivers creates a spectacular phenomenon, known as “Encontro dos Aguas”, where the two rivers meeting together don’t actually mix but continue flowing downstream side by side for nearly 10 kilometres. Then, and only then these waters become the Amazon. It is possible to take a ferry ride to view this yourself but it is even more spectacular when, if you are lucky, you see it from the airplane as you land in Manaus. My photo is from the ferry.
Although Manaus is today a modern, industrial city many inhabitants still live along the banks of the river, involved in traditional occupations such as boat building, where the distinction between housing and boatyard would seem to be a little hazy.
Others live away from the city itself, though still along the banks of the river in house boats due to the impossibility of building any permanent constructions which would be swept away during periods of high water.

martedì 27 gennaio 2009

Fernando de Noronha


Does that look like a beautiful beach with just one pair of footprints? Well yes it does and guess who those footprints belong to. Of course, they’re mine. I was enjoying one of the most transcendental experiences of my life. A whole, incredibly beautiful beach and it’s all mine. Actually no, my friend and commercial agent for Latin America, Paul, is lying like a bloated whale on another part of the beach and if I look right up to the other end I can just about make out two or three other people.
This is Praia do Americano on the Brazilian island of Fernando de Noronha. We had just spent three days working in the Brazilian city of Recife and had decided to spend the weekend on this beautiful island about 350 kilometres from the coast. Actually you can’t just decide – you have to book some time in advance as there are only two flights a day. Just as well considering that the island itself is only 10 kilometres long and 3,5 kilometres at its maximum width (total area 18km2). The total population, excluding tourists is 2,000 people. The island is a protectorate of UNESCO due to its unique flora, fauna and geology.
The island was first discovered in 1501 by a Portuguese explorere Fernao de Noronha but has changed hands numerous times in it’s history. From 1534 to 1556 it was under English control, 1556 to 1612 French. There was a Dutch invasion in 1628, followed by a Spanish – Portuguese one just two years later. The Dutch again in 1635 and twenty years later in 1655 back came the Portuguese. It was later left disinhabited until re-discovered by the French East Indies Company in 1736. In 1737 the portuguese decided that they had had enough- kicked out the French and built ten forts around the island – ten forts in no more than 25 kilometres of coastline!! – they certainly weren’t taking any chances. Since then the island has remained as part of the Brazilian territories, first under Portuguese rule and later as part of the Republic. During world war 2 it was transformed into a penal settlement for both political and normal prisoners. Since 1988 it is no longer a settlement and has become part of the Brazilian state of Pernambuco.
Arriving on an island is always a mystical experience for me and this was no exception. An hours flight over the Atlantic and then suddenly this miniscule island is below you. The plane banks steeply to the left, straightens up and points directly towards the only flat part of the island in between two hilly areas. Engines roaring and echoing against the slopes of the hills and without any fuss the plane is rolling along the runway. After having paid our $22 a day tourist tax (quite right – UNESCO has to get its money from somewhere) we grab our bags and take the first pick-up truck directed towards our Pousada. Half an hour later we are sitting on a veranda enjoying the sunset and a well deserved caipirinha.
The next morning we went down to the port of Santo Antonio nice and early as we had been recommended to do and arranged for a morning boat trip. The view of the island from the sea was amazing and we took it all in as we chatted with the the captain who defined himself as the pirate – look at the picture and who can fault him.
The highlight of this boat trip was to see the dolphins. I was expecting to see them but as the captain slowed down the boat and they suddenly surfaced all around the boat I couldn’t believe it. Adults, pups, playful youngsters – whole families of dolphins surrounded us. We must have observed them for about five minutes but the best was to come. As the captain brought the speed of the boat back up to full power the largest of the dolphins raced under the bows of the boat, speeding from one side to the other as they strove to stay ahead of the vessel in a watery version of tag. What incredible creatures!
The afternoon was spent lounging on the beach of Praia do Americano, bathing and snorkelling in the warm sea, observing fish and even one sea tortoise.
To end a perfect day here is the sun as it descends into the Atlantic Ocean. Priceless!

venerdì 23 gennaio 2009

Injury - Sciatica

So, you may be asking yourselves, why haven’t I talked about any recent races or, at least, some interesting training sesions. The reason is that I am suffering from that most feared of all situations for an endurance athlete – Injury!
Not just an injury that is going to keep me out of training for a week or two, but something that could keep me away from serious training for over a month, or even two. Considering that my plans for this year were to compete in at least two Olympic length triathlons between May and June, a 45k trail race in July and a 100K trail race at the end of August (this is also my ‘A’ race for 2009) it looks like my training is not getting off to a great start.
So what is the problem. This is the same problem that I have already had five years ago. The initial problem is a slipped disc in my back (actually two years ago they were two but it sems that this time round it is only one). If you don’t know what a slipped disc is here is a diagram which shows how part of the liquid contained between each of the vertebral discs squeezes out of it’s lodging. This is actually not such a large problem, but you see that wiggly bit that comes out of the spinal cord. That’s the sciatic nerve. This nerve extends all of the way down through the hip, continues through the thigh, knee, calf and eventually comes to rest in the foot, depending on which part of the spinal cord it started from. Now here’s the thing with the sciatic nerve – it really doesn’t like getting all mixed up and pushed around by this liquid from the disc and starts to get really annoyed. This general annoyance is communicated to the rest of the body by sending nerve pain signals straight down the leg. So depending which of the discs has this leakage problem the pain can arrive in the hip, as far as the thigh, down into the calf or even all the way to the foot. This can be seen more clearly in this diagram. Now, how did I get into this situation. Five years ago I managed to do it by running five marathons in the space of 12 months, the last of which was also extremely hilly (and I’m talking mountain hilly not gently rolling hilly). On that occasion I had liquid seeping out between my L4 and L5 and between my L5 and S1 and (if you refer to the diagram) this was causing me pain from my thigh to my foot. This time round I aggravated it by doing too much off-piste skiing with lot’s of far too athletic movements and jumps and god knows what else! This is not a recent photo but it gives you an idea of the kind of things I was doing.
Luckily (it seems) the slipped disc is only between L4 and L5 so I only have pain from my thigh through to my calf – let’s look on the bright side. The worst thing about this is that there is no actual cure. Rest – as in sitting around and lying down are no good because these positions actually aggravate the pain. Walking slowly is actually the least painful thing to do. But, of course, I cannot train as in running and cycling though the doctor says I can do some bland swimming – yeah like that is going to get me somewhere on race day. So I “rest”, take anti-inflammatory drugs and wait for the liquid to dry up and the nerve to calm down. After which it will be lots of physiotherapy work in a swimming pool, bland swimming and a slow return to serious training. Stay with me and see if I actually manage to compete in my ‘A’ race.

mercoledì 21 gennaio 2009

Yes, he's a skier!

I’ve done it. Finally this year I’ve managed to teach my six year old son to ski. First of all you have to know that my wife and I are avid skiers – I’d better clarify that – we don’t actually like skiing in ski areas with lifts and pistes etc. but we are crazy abour ski mountaineering(I’ll be doing some posts about this later on with some amazing photos). That’s the kind of skiing where you pick a mountain, walk up it with skis and climbing skins, enjoy the invariably incredible view on the way up and on the top, and then ski back down. All of this without seeing more than maybe ten people (though sometimes none at all) in the whole day. Now we use to able to do this every weekend for the whole winter season and through most of Spring – until of course when Elia arrived which kind of put paid to that kind of activity. So we’ve got big plans to get him doing the same thing in the future but first of all he has to learn to ski and to do that we need to use the ski areas with lifts and pistes and people etc.
So a couple of years ago when he was four and a half we decided to make the first attempt. We booked a week in a Family Hotel (specially organised hotels ideal for families) in Santa Cristina, Val Gardena which is in Northern Italy. The idea was for him to have lessons with a ski instrutor every morning and then, if he was still up to it, to do some skiing in the afternoon with us. The first morning we got him dressed, ski suit, helmet, goggles, boots. I know……………. doesn’t he look cute!
He’s looking less cute in this one because he’s realising that he’s about to be abandoned to the mercies of the ski instructors. I’m still trying to look confident.
When the bus arrived the crisis exploded. He definitely didn’t want to get on the bus, he didn’t want to ski, and he didn’t want to get separated from his parents. I ended up putting him into the bus in what probably looked like an All Blacks scrumming practice. We could still hear him shouting and crying as the bus drew away. We also drove up to the same ski area in the car but since the ski instructor had asked all of the parents to keep away from the school area we went to ski on the other side of the mountain but where we could still see the piste where they were having their lesson (we could also hear him (yes him, not them). He was not enjoying it. We went and picked him up at midday, as we had been instructed. “How was it?” – No answer , very non commital. We had some lunch and actually convinced him to do some more descents on the school piste during the afternoon. OK, maybe he is actually getting the hang of it. The next morning we experienced the exact same reaction – crisis, tears, howls – me bundling him into the bus like a Maori tight end. Not good. The rest of the day went like the first. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. The third day was an absolute refusal and we couldn’t face having to force him into the bus a third time. OK, we’ll go skiing together – who cares about the € 200 of ski lessons I had aleady paid for. So for the next three days we skiied in the morning – skiied!! We descended various easy pistes with Elia in tow – sometimes enjoying, sometimes complaining but invariably refusing to go beyond the morning. The afternoon was dedicated to other activities – the hotel’s organised play area for him, running and sauna for us. Though he did enjoy the tobogganing afternoon we organised. And so the week ended with very little progress having been made.
Last year passed by without any possibility to go skiing. As this year came round and it started snowing in early december we thought that it was the time to make it or break it. For a first try out we went to a local ski station (just over an hour away in the Appenine mountains) and spent most of the day together on the school piste, though we did convince him to do a couple of descents on a blue piste (any progress is to be taken with open arms). Then at the beginning of the year we decided to take four days holiday in the western Alps (Bardonecchia, Val di Susa) where we would be together with some other friends who have similarly aged kids. Well, let me tell you – it was a huge success! Four days of perfect skiing – let’s say about 5 hours a day and by the end of it all of the kids were flying down the red pistes and whistling while they did it. So much so that we never even got the chance to take any pictures. We followed that up with another day session at the local ski area and I can safely say that my son is now a skier. Now I’m not saying that he’s a champion, or he’s going to win any medals but we are definitely on our way and for the time being I’ll take anything I can get.
Now where can I find a small pair of mountaineering skis and boots???

lunedì 19 gennaio 2009

One Year Ago (Part Two) (Dubai Marathon)

After leaving Hong Kong I spent some days in Beijing and Shanghai, and I have a photograph of Tienamen Square to prove it. By the way the square is absolutely huge so I couldn't exactly get a lot of it in the photo, but at least at one end you can see a picture of Mao in front of the entrance to the Eternal City.

From China I crossed back across south-east asia, over the Indian sub-continent to finally arrive in the Persian Gulf and more precisely in the bustling, business 24 hours a day city of Dubai. This photo shows the Burj Al Dubai construction, soon to be the tallest tower in the world.My reason for going to Dubai, apart from visiting a couple of clients was to compete in the Dubai marathon. For years I had been noticing that the marathon in Dubai was run every year somewhere betwen the 10th to the 20th January and had thought about competing but I had never had the chance to arrange one of my business trips around those dates. Finally the opportunity had presented itself and I had jumped at it.

The marathon itself is a small event with no more than 700 competitors, but there is a 10k race and a 3k funrace attached which bring in thousands of participants. Despite the size of the race it is a big payer. This year there was a 250,000 purse for the winner and an additional $ 1,000,000 (yes those are six zeroes) for anyone who could set a new marathon world record. Since Hailie Gebrelassie had just set a new world record in Berlin and was probably the only person who could beat that record they had invited him to participate and imported 4 Kenyan pacers to assist him.

Expecting long queues to pick up the race bag I arrived at the Marathon centre really early on the morning before the race. Number of people in my queue - one - me! Efficient? Of course, this is Dubai where everything moves at lightening pace - except the traffic. The race was due to start at 8 0'clock the next morning - even in January the midday temperatures can get over 20°c and so I guess they were doing us a favour. I was already at the marathon start area at 06.30. I know I like to get to races early but this was ridiculous. It was still dark which is great for taking a sureptitious pee in the bushes but lousy for finding the start line and above all for finding the bag drop off area. I latched on to a South African guy who seemed to know where he was going - he didn't and we got lost somewhere behind the grandstand area (how about that, they even had a grandstand for a marathon with less than 700 people).

Finally as the sun began to come up and the darkness faded away we found a group of volunteers who even had an urn of hot tea - a hot cuppa and the right directions - thanks guys!
While getting ready and leaving my bag in the drop off zone I chatted with a couple of Dutch guys who were aiming at 3 hours 15 minutes. Now if I could just follow them I might be in line for a new PB (presently standing at 3h 20' and a bit). So I lined up with them in the corral. A few minutes before the start Hailie and the other pro runners were brought up in front of us. I was surprised how friendly they all were - waving, smiling, acknowledging our applause and cheers. Bang - we were off. By the way that was almost the last I saw of Hailie and Co., except for a brief few seconds as they flashed past us on the way back while we were at about the 17 kilometre mark and they were already at 24k - wow I can't even sprint 100 metres at that pace and above all I can't do it while my feet don't touch the ground - well that's what it looked like. I hung with my Dutch friends for a while but after a few kilometres I had to let them go - I would die at their pace. I latched on to another runner who was nearby and we started turning over kilometres in 4' 30" / 4' 35". I found that that he was Polish but lived in Dubai. He was also aiming at 3h 15' but was going about it in a more sensible way.

After a few more kilometres my Dutch friends came up behind us - "how did you do that?". They had stopped for a pee and were now catching up. Off they went into the distance. The course is just one long road out and back with a few kilometres at the beginning and the end between that road and the park which is the start and finish area. On the way out it is quite nice with the Burj Al Arab hotel in the distance getting closer and closer telling you how close you are to the half way point. There were a number of people along the road who had come out to cheer us on but mostly it was pretty lonely except for the other runners. As I said before at about the 17k point we saw the first runners retuning and from then on it was a constant stream of runners going the other way. Then my Dutch friends caught us up again - another pee stop - they had drunk too much beer the night before. They disappeared again as we reached the turnaround just under the hotel. It was then I realised that we had been running with a light wind behind us - now we had it coming at us. I started to struggle and suggested to my Polish friend to leave me. Now it was everyman for himself. I don't remember much about the next fifteen kilometres except it seemed to go on forever - on the way out there had been the silhouette of the hotel to encourage us - on the way back there was nothing, just the long straight road in the distance. At about the thirtysixth kilometre one of my Dutch friends appeared again, shooting out of a side street where he had been answering another of nature's calls. His friend was still there but apparently suffering too much to keep us with us. We continued together till the road started to twist and turn it's way back towards the park. We were still on schedule for a 3h 20' so I started to push the pace and encourage my Dutch companion to do likewise. Unfortunately he couldn't accelerate and I had to leave him. In the last two kilometres I managed to overtake quite a few runners who were hurting even more than me - I didn't think that was possible. Finally I could see the finish arch and with a desperate last 200 metres crossed the line in 3h 22".

My Dutch friends arrived some minutes behind and we had our photo taken with our medals.

I was disappointed with my time since I had hoped to do a little better but arriving 97° out of over 650 and 12° in my age category was not too bad.

venerdì 16 gennaio 2009

One year ago

A year ago almost exactly I made a work trip which became also a trail run . For reasons, far too complicated to mention, I had to visit Beijing and Shangahai. Unfortunately the Chinese Embasy in Italy, perhaps because it is in Italy and they've taken to laid back Italian ways, but maybe just because they don't like to make it easy to go to China takes like forever to get you a visa. Therefore I decided to pass through Hong Kong where it is possible to pick up a Chinese visa in 36 hours (easily arranged by the hotel)and where I could also visit one of my clients and therefore kill two birds with one stone so to speak. When I am in Hong Kong I always love to call up some friends, get together, have a meal, a glass, or two, or three of good wine. So I did call and Friday evening we did everything mentioned above. At the end of the evening Monica and her husband James asked me if I would like to go for a trek on saturday afternoon. Knowing that they are not really that sporty and rather doubting that there is any good trekking in Hong Kong I was kind of susprised but since I had nothing better to do I said yes. They picked me up at my hotel on Saturday afternoon and we drove off the island of Hong Kong and on to the mainland of Kowloon and then down the coast a bit to a place called Clearwater Bay and a small carpark. On one side was the sea and on the other what looked like a hill. The path lead upwards and so up we went till we reached the crest of the hill and this is the view.


I was pretty amazed to see such a view just twenty minutes from the centre of Hong Kong in one of the most densely populated areas of the world. Monica and James showed me the path we would be taking and seeing the lust in my eyes they suggested I take off and run around a bit, which I did and I ran till I reached the top of the hill which they had told me would be our turnaround point, and then ran back so that I could accompany them. On the top of the hill I got this other great view.





Later we went to a local fishing port where we had a great laidback chinese fish meal and I took this photo of some wierd looking crabs - no really - I know they look like trilobites of prehistoric times but they really are crabs - delicious too.

Short post to get us started

So, after having read so many blogs I've decided to try and start one of my own. The title of the blog is probably self explanatory to people who run trails or do triathlons - probably not so much to those who don't. I will try to keep a record of my training and competing in various trail running events and triathlons. I travel a lot for work and will probably try to post some articles about these travels and so I added also the word Travel in the title. I am also a mountaineer and skier so I guess some posts on this subject will also appear from time to time.

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