Le Grand Trail des Templiers Ultra-Marathon 2014

 

'Marginal gains' is what Angus cited as he carried my rucksack for me up the three steep flights of stairs that led to our hotel bedroom. I remember expressing concern at being out of breath as I climbed them, bearing in mind I was supposed to be fit enough to tackle 3,500 metres of elevation over 73 kilometres the following day. Angus also insisted on sharing a double bed with the children, leaving me with the luxury of the other one in our family room all to myself. Despite his altruism, I barely managed 3 hours' sleep and was in my race kit, having eaten my granola with chia seeds and maca root by the time my alarm went off.

It was harder to wake the rest of my crew, but we were shivering away in a huge marquee at the athletes' village well in advance of the 5.15am start. The other runners lined up on the start-line quite early but because I wanted to hang onto my jacket for as long as possible, I couldn't find a way into holding pen 1, where I had earned a place due to my proven trail race results. I had to shin over a metal barrier and squeeze my way into position. Everyone else seemed to be chattering away but I just took and few breaths and appreciated just being in the moment. I no longer felt cold or nervous -I felt almost impassive, like I was just going out for a solo trail run.

I could barely hear the countdown or the gun going off, but the ethereal magenta flares and monastic music that also signalled the start were thrilling, as was the sight of 2899 other headtorches bobbing in the blackness.

From my start position a good way behind the Elites we didn't so much surge forward as trickle -I was surprised at how slowly we set off en masse. I reassured myself that this was a good lesson in patience and that I would reap the energy-saving benefits later on. We shortly reached the first climb and any thoughts of patience went out the window. Climbing is my strength and I was held up in a slow-moving pack, up a narrow path, with no way of overtaking. I was overcome with frustration and wished I had set off quicker and tried to overtake a chunk of the field before we got to the first hill.  Occasionally I would spot a short-cut by dodging under bushes and across uneven sections of trail, but mostly I had to stand in line in the procession that was snaking up the cliff.

The darkness was absolute and the way was lit purely by headtorches in motion, which cast shape-shifting shadows. At the top of the climb I sensed that I was in a pine forest by the Christmas tree-scent and the rutted, needly path underfoot. The soundtrack was the rhythmic footfall of a pack of runners moving forwards together and my own breath marking time.  The stars faded as dawn approached across the plateau and the first long descent was just in daylight.

The reward for having run the first 21k (a half-marathon) was hearing my children shout my name at the first aid station and accepting their offerings of food and drink supplies. Tali had my running poles ready, but I decided not to take them until the next stop. I forced down a CLIF bar and pressed on to the next ascent, where I was once again impeded by much slower climbers. This pattern would contiune until the fourth significant hill, by which time I'd managed to pass perhaps as many as 100 runners either by expending a huge amount of energy scurrying past them 'off piste' or by being more efficient at the aid stations.

It wasn't until after the third pit stop that I felt I could run at my own pace, finally away from the procession. Unfortunately I missed my crew of Angus and the children at that point because they had to follow a convoluted detour on the roads, so I had to forage for nutrition. The regional speciality is Roquefort and the entire room reeked of sweaty blue cheese- enough to turn any vegan's stomach. I ate a few chunks of ready-peeled banana, but the ready-peeled status meant that the banana wasn't portable. I grabbed a few dried apricots to take with me, downed 3 cups of sports drink and prepared myself for the next 21k section that I was now facing without my own nutrition. I had also been hoping to take a few painkillers, because somewhere around the 30k mark I had strained my right adductors and the ache was getting more acute.

The next section was the hardest of the race for me because my adductors grew gradually more painful, I ran out of food and also water. The dried apricots went down well, but made my stomach feel bloated. I was craving one of my missed Marmite sandwiches or a chunk of apple cake. I was also desperate for a drink and the heat was escalating into the mid-20s.

 Seemingly in the middle of nowhere was the surprising sight of a deckchair housing an ancient-looking man with a straggly grey beard. He was propping up a cardboard sign scrawled in black marker pen with the distances to the next aid stations; apparently it was only 8k until the next water stop. I was initially extremely bouyed up by this information, but then I realised that the pace that I was sustaining over this techinical, moutainous terrain was half the speed I could manage on the flat and that I was still in fact well over an hour away from having a drink.

When I arrived at the much-awaited water station, it turned out to be two outdoor taps slightly off the race route and clogged up by a queue of thirsty runners. I was reluctant to lose too much time, but I was desperate, so I waited my turn. My hands felt useless as I unscrewed the lid from one of my empty bottles and in my haste I threw most of the water on the floor. I think I ingested less than 250ml. The coursee was relentless and as soon as we left the water point we were tackling yet another enormous climb.

Passing that water stop was motivating though, because it meant that I was one step closer to the final aid station where Angus and the children would be waiting. I would be able to choose from my own selection of food and take a couple of painkillers. My discomfort levels in general were so high that my thirst was detracting from the pain in my adductors, general aches, pains and fatigue and vice versa. What I couldn't ignore was that my adductors had become so painful I couldn't properly bear weight on my right leg and I had to use my poles as crutches. Uphills were the best scenario, although when it got really steep I had to pick my useless right leg up with my hands and place it higher up onto the next huge rock. Despite this, I was still climbing more strongly than the runners around me. There were several bodies lying down or sitting next to the trail and I was once again stuck in queues of slow-moving traffic on the ups. Downs, however, were excruciating and I bore most of my weight on the tripod of my left leg and carbon fibre 'Zimmer frame'.

Although I was having issues, I felt exhilarated and alive from the pure privilege to be experiencing one of the most fulfilling and spiritual adventures of my life. The scenery was spectacular and the course-designers had sprinkled in many surprises for us -a glimpse of the Millau viaduct, a twist in the path that took us through a ruined building, a rock formation or, at one point, into the obscurity of a cave.

My favourite and most welcome sight of the day was a more familiar one -it was spotting Felix by the side of a forest path on the approach to the final aid station. He had run out to meet me and I couldn't keep up with him as he rushed ahead to get my nutrition ready. I refuelled on coconut water, dioralyte and apple cake and I accepted team hugs and an isotonic gel to take on the final leg. 'See you at the finish,' Angus shouted after me, 'Go, go, go!'. I set off at more of a power-walk than a run.

As had been the case for most of the length of the course, the support was fantastic during the last stint. There were people balanced on rocks halfway up the cliffs, cheering and shouting encouragement. One boy was collecting high-fives from passing runners and I asked him how far there was left to go. 3.5k was the reply and normally a 3.5k run wouldn't even touch the sides, but my adductors were so sore that he might have been telling me that I still had a marathon to run. I was being overtaken by this point, including by two women who I had passed a long way back. Both were hugely supportive and offered to run with me to the finish because they could see I was injured. Of course I refused, but I was hugely touched by the sporting gesture.

I limped down the final descent, having taken nearly an hour to run that 3.5k. It was a strange feeling coming to the end of a race with energy to spare; the chassis was broken but the engine was still firing on all cylinders. I felt like I'd really missed out on my chance to finish strongly and to push myself to the best of my ability. It was humbling having to limp and move to one side to let faster runners pass by, but I did find a zen-like acceptance and gratitude because I knew I was going to complete the course.


There were crowds lining the last stretch and I forced myself to run -there was no way I was crossing that finish line at a walk.

There was a short set of steps leading downwards, where I passed a man who was walking backwards, laughing that his quads were shot to pieces.

 I heard my name being called out over the loudspeaker and I reached the wooden arch that signalled the end of the adventure.



Salty hair and a bloated dried-fruit stomach

The giant screen in front of me confirmed that I'd finished in 11h09, 26th female, 6th in my age group and 462nd overall out of a field of 2,900 starters, which I was surprised and delighted with considering my injury. 1,000 runners dropped out and the last finishers came in after over 15 hours, by which time I had drunk 2 bottles of fizz (one water, one wine) and  persuaded a restaurant that I really did want a meal without meat, fish, eggs or dairy.

It was the first time I've run with poles and I wouldn't have made it to the finish without them.

The organisation and atmosphere at the festival were the best I've experienced. I have to take part again. Maybe next year I could have a crack at the 100k Endurance Trail which would give me 3 UTMB points.......

The Official Results 

Women's podium -Nuria Picas was first female

Men's Podium -Benoit Cori won the race.

 

 

Garmin has Broken

It's been on the cards for a while after having to do an increasing number of master resets, but I think after several thousand kilometres together my Forerunner 110 has finally given up on me. The display went all wobbly and then....blank. It owes me nothing and if it can't be fixed then I will be replacing it with the same or similar model, but for now I am running naked. It feels very odd just to set off from the front door without having to wait for a satellite signal and I do miss the reassuring beep marking every kilometre that passes by.

I am treating it as an interesting experiment to run without continuous statistics and data. In triathlon and trail runs I run by feel, so I'm not always an absolute slave to the Garmin, but for training and road races I admit I do get transfixed by the numbers that appear on my display. In races I rely on it to stop me from going out too fast and in training it gives me a nudge if I start to get lazy. I have often been surprised by the discrepancy between my perceived effort and my actual effort.

This weekend I used a good old stopwatch to time my runs and I plotted the distances on Google maps when I arrived home. As I wasn't able to run at a specific pace my aim was just to run steady and concentrate on form and breathing. It was actually quite liberating and I fell into a cadence that felt comfortable and stayed there.

I've entered my first half marathon next week and my target time is a sub-1h40, which means running at 4.44 mins/k pace or better. What is really interesting is that when I calculated the time and distance for yesterday's run it came in at an average of 4.45 min/k. Today's was 4.50 min/k; running some of the way on a grassy track probably accounting for the difference. I'm surprised by the consistency and also by the speed -I knew I wasn't slacking but I didn't think I was almost at race pace. It has given me a lot of confidence for the big day and it has shown me that there is life without GPS. But I will be begging borrowing or stealing one in time for the race.

My Inaugural Run

And so it was that on 1st May 2012, in the half-light of dawn, instead of rummaging in the cupboard for a box of cereal for breakfast I found myself rummaging through the detritus that lurks at the bottom of my wardrobe looking for something suitable to put on my feet. It seems completely improbable now considering my growing sports kit fetish, but I didn't even actually own a pair of trainers. I settled on what could perhaps best be described as a 'deck shoe' that had the cushioning of a Jesus sandal, not to mention a three-centimetre gap between my big toe and the end of the shoe that caused a slight folding action when I walked.

Working upwards, I teamed them with regular cotton ankle socks (white for sportiness), the pyjama bottoms that I had slept in because they vaguely resembled tracksuit material, a long-sleeved T shirt (again, white for sportiness), a regular bra and a woolly cardigan because it looked a bit chilly outside. I downed 2 pints of water because I didn't want to get dehydrated and went flying out of the door -I'm going for a run! Yes, a run! I sprinted to the end of the drive, where completely asphyxiated, I had to stop and get my breath back. It was at this point that I realised I might have to slow down a little if I wanted my endurance to last more than 100 metres. I jogged when I could, walked when I couldn't and invented a little circuit of what I would later find out was all of 2 kilometres long.

Halfway round, magenta in the face and incredibly itchy, I removed the knitted cardigan and tied the arms really tightly around my chest in an attempt to reinforce my bra. The lower legs of my pyjama bottoms had got a bit soggy from dew and the extra weight of the water was creating an awful lot of drag on the flimsy drawstring at my waist so I had to use one hand to hold my trousers up. My socks had slid down my feet and were pooling in the gap between my toes and the end of the shoes. My bladder was rapidly filling up after the 2 pints of water and I was in danger of adding to the sogginess of my pyjama bottoms. However, despite the minor setbacks I arrived back at home feeling elated and I basked in the glory of my incredible sporting achievement as I rewarded myself with a post-run veggie sausage sandwich.

If this was going to become a habit though I would seriously have to invest in some proper kit.

Good For Age

I would have been blissfully unaware of it, but a friend happened to point out to me that my marathon time of 3h32 earlier this year qualified me for an almost guaranteed 'Good for Age' place at both the 2014 London and Boston Marathons, if I wished to apply for one. Now, I am aware of how incredibly difficult it can be to get a ballot place at these events so in light of that this is probably going to sound extremely ungracious, but instead of feeling pretty chuffed I just felt pretty old. I think I might actually find it mildly depressing to be considered 'Good for Age', like a wine that should be over the hill but is still somehow tasting all right. The 'for Age' addendum is the equivalent of an enormous 'but' and it really drags the 'Good' down with it. I would so much rather be 'Good' full stop.

Looking exceptionally 'Good' after 26.2 miles

And why stop at age? Surely everyone has their own 'but', so maybe organisers should offer a certain number of places for 'Good for Weight' perhaps or 'Good for a Mother of Six'. I almost feel bad that my only limiting factor is lack of youth.

I made the very easy decision not to apply for a place at either marathon, not out of chagrin, but out of concern for what I imagine to be a very low Portaloo to runner ratio at the start of these mass participation events. We aged runners, no matter how Good, have to worry about such things.