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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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”. 
