Tor des Géants 2022

I started this blog post on my futon in Washington, DC coughing uncontrollably with a bad cold. (Remember colds?) That night was the first night of non-disgusting, non-bedsheet-soaking levels of sweatiness. Why was this happening to me? The prior Thursday night just before midnight I finished the Tor des Géants Tor 330 race: a 356 Kilometer (220 mile) race through the Italian Alps starting and ending in Courmayeur circumnavigating the Aosta Valley, with 80,000 feet of vertical gain. Why is it called Tor 330 when it's clearly 350+ Kilometers, even on the race's own maps? That is just one of dozens of quirks of the Italian-run race, some of which come off as truly obnoxious, some of which instead come off as magical. I finished in 109:49:19, in 102nd place overall (of over 1,000 starters) , and 4th American (of not very many). It's the hardest race I've ever run, and one of my best performances.

What does "hard" mean? I only finished one loop at Barkley, and I've never made it past the 6-hills (of 8) cutoff at the Euchre Bar Massacre. I suppose those races might be harder, seeing as I can't finish them, but it's hard to compare a race with tight cutoffs where I'm not allowed to keep going after fewer than ~24 hours to a race that took me 4.5 days, and despite being in the same ballpark of steepness insanity, it's hard not to get a little rest when you're lost or navigating or searching for a decent way through dense brush, which isn't something you have to do at Tor.

Pre-Race

I flew to DC and spent ~36 hours at my house there, basically just to drop off my work computer, since I'm not allowed to take it out of the country. I flew to Geneva and immediately took trains to Saint-Gervais-les-Bains, France, where my cousin's family has a small chalet. Me being me, I hiked up the mountain from the train station with my full luggage rather than taking a taxi, which took a few hours and a lot of sweat, but the views were incredible. I spent two nights there, then hiked over the mountain (Le Prarion) to Les Houches and caught a bus to Chamonix. I walked around Chamonix for the day, and the pedestrian-friendly plaza filled me with despair over the United States' abysmal and dangerous auto-centric public spaces. Also, how in the hell did Kilian Jornet run to the top of Mt Blanc and back in under 5 hours?! (Mt Blanc looms immensely over Les Houches and Cham.) 

Chalet

 

Chamonix

 

I took another bus through the tunnel from Chamonix to Courmayeur, Italy. I briefly looked into taking the gondolas over the mountain, but I'm not sure the full set of lifts was running, and even if they were, it apparently costs hundreds of dollars. I believe the bus was $7. (Also worth noting: the Dollar/Euro exchange rate is fantastic right now, basically 1:1, which made looking at condo listings in real estate office windows an enjoyable distraction.)

Tor is based in Courmayeur, the first village outside the tunnel on the Italian side of Mt. Blanc. I arrived there Friday afternoon. The new, longest, unmarked course version of Tor, the 450Km Tor des Glaciers began that evening. I almost immediately ran into another American I know from the Bay Area, Suzanna; her non-runner husband Sam and I had a great time talking about wine (economist's predictions for Bordeaux wine vintages: Quality of Wine = 0.240 * Age of Vintage + 0.608 * Average Temperatures during the April to September Growing Season -0.00380 * Total August Precipitation + 0.00115 * Total Precipitation during the preceding winter (October to March) + 0.00765 * September Average Temperatures, "natural" wine is often bad and tastes like kombucha, and Robert Parker is silly). 

Lots of cheese

Courmayeur

 

Saturday was check-in day at the local sports center. I asked some random question of one of the few other mask-wearing runners; he turned out to be Jack from the East Bay (Kensington). I also ran into several other Americans I knew: Tod from Montana and Nick from DC. I momentarily got worried because I was told yet another thing about race management solely through word of mouth instead of by e-mail from race management: I'd need a €50 note, and not just 20-20-10 or some other combination, as deposit for the GPS tracking unit. This was apparently written somewhere in the race documentation that I hadn't read (and hadn't been told I'd need to read.) However, it turned out not to be true: there was no GPS tracking at this year's race, just RFID chip tracking at aid stations.

This raises the largest pre-race issue with Tor: the website is bad and pre-race communication is nearly non-existent. I honestly would not have been shocked had I been told race morning that I wasn't even registered. I believe I received two one-sentence e-mails from them: one saying I had been selected in the lottery (but this was before paying for the slot, so after paying, when I received no confirmation other than nothing that  €990 had left my bank account, I still felt some uncertainty whether registration had gone according to plan) and the second (that I think might have gone to spam) saying that I would be starting in wave 1. The website gave false indication of accepting my credit card but ultimately rejected multiple cards only to finally accept my bank card, which added to the confusion. Only by chatting with friends with experience did I learn that I needed to have a doctor sign off on participation and upload it by August 1. These things were described in a regulations document, but I swear it changed without notice, and it didn't include standard things a US race would include: crew instructions, lodging suggestions, or a useful PDF map. They did have an elevation profile (the shittiness of which made me progressively angrier during the race--it's clearly made from a spreadsheet of high and low points, not from a GPX track, so it deludes you into thinking sections with repeated up and down would be much easier than they actually were) and a GPX track (which was excellent). The longer Tor des Glaciers, which has far fewer participants, did have a roadbook on the website, the likes of which would have been much appreciated.

Other things I wouldn't have known if it weren't for friends: instead of drop bags, you get one follow-bag. Everyone gets the same size bag at registration, and it follows you around the course and meets you at every life base (a bigger aid station roughly every 50K where you can sleep on cots, get a massage or your blisters worked on, and eat). 

Gear

Running pack and follow bag

 

Friends said things about specific locations in the race, but I completely ignored this. I don't speak any of the romance languages; Italian village names go in one ear and out the other, and the Aosta Valley is right next to France, so I feel like there's a lot of French influence, and the whole not pronouncing a random half of letters at the end of the word throws me off. (Fine, maybe I'm a dumb American, or maybe it's just bad luck that my weird combination of speaking English, Korean, and a little German isn't very helpful at Tor.) I was also just really busy and stressed before the race, so it was all I could do to train for the race, with no extra time to read about it and plan for it. Senior management at work is threatening my ability to work remotely AKA my ability to live with my family, which in my opinion is a brazen violation of a plain English reading of our collective bargaining agreement and the "Home-based option." We moved to Reno for Amy's new job, I stayed behind in Yucca Valley for the movers to pack up and then to re-furnish the house as a short-term rental. I had to make trips back and forth to turn in my permit application in person, and all that time spent there wasn't great for training because it's too damn hot in the summer. So I've been stressed!

Whatever. I ran a 100-miler in June and another in July, I had a GPX track of the course on my phone, and I remembered to get my continental European plug adapter from my place in DC, so I was ready. It's a loop. How hard can it be? OK, it can probably be very hard, but how complicated could it be? I packed my follow-bag, talked to more Bay Area people (Mat, Mo, Mike) and went to the pre-race briefing. I don't think I've ever been to a pre-race briefing that conveyed any useful information, and Tor was no exception, especially because it was in Italian and only kinda-sorta-not-really translated into English. I went because there was free dinner. After two friends were downed in their main summer race (Hardrock and PTL) by COVID, I was nervous. I may have been the only person in an auditorium of nearly 1,000 people wearing a mask, so I kept hanging out in the back by the only open door. The food was decent and I met a cool Norwegian who introduced herself as "the only Heidi in the race" and we had a nice chat. The meal was only served at the end of the meeting, so I got back to my hotel later than I would have liked, but it wasn't a super early start so it wasn't that big a deal.

Why?

My friend Lucas Horan ran Tor in 2018 and 2019. I'd already moved away from the Bay Area by the time he ran it, but I remember him telling me I should sign up with him both times. In typical Lucas fashion I'm not sure I got a lot of advance notice, but afterwards he was full of tales about how gorgeous the mountains were and how friendly the people were. It was clear he loved the race. Lucas died unexpectedly at the end of 2020, and since then his parents and friends have raised money for a "Tor de Lucas" scholarship for one person each year to go run in his honor. I didn't apply, but I did want to run the race in his honor. I met Lucas' mom Jan for the first time just before the pre-race briefing.

Race Start: Sunday Morning

I took my bag over to the sports center, ate breakfast, checked out of my hotel, and walked to the start line. I saw Jack and Mike, but I wanted to be closer to the start line to avoid more of the inevitable conga line on the first climb. I was in the first wave of starters at 10AM, a fairly civilized race start time. I ran an 8:19 mile out of the gate on city streets, but I knew that I'd be in a line no matter what, so I didn't really push it that hard. I fell into line and just tried to keep a strong hiking pace without stopping. I made it to the top without a pause, but I was definitely already sucking wind and sweating like a hog. Apparently switchbacks aren't a thing in the Alps. Did you know that? Apparently humidity is a thing in the Alps. Did you know that? I only learned these facts when I was carrying luggage up to my cousin's chalet a couple day prior, but facts they remain. It's not eastern US-level humidity, but it's noticeable. The near total absence of switchbacks is also immediately noticeable. 

the Start

East Bay Hardcore

On the way down from the first climb I was passed by another American I'd met from Washington state. I asked if there was anything noteworthy in the next few climbs. He mentioned that the third one was "a little sketch, a little puckery" so I had that to look forward to. Other than, you just had to keep going. 

The long climb was followed by a run through a village to an aid station. I saw the spread and was impressed; I dipped bread into soup broth and calmed my stomach. Little did I know that what I saw in the first aid station was almost without fail the same food I'd see at every other aid station. "That's weird, they only have Coke and water. They'll have something else at the next one though, right?"

 Nope! The second climb was in a national park (I think), and aside from getting passed a fair amount and a massive amount of sheep shitting in the lake near the top, I don't remember much. It may have been at this point that, right near the summit, I saw Jack, Mike, and Suzanna. My stomach was bothering me, but I didn't feel like I took a lot of time at the aid station--I met another person from the US but they introduced themself with something stereotypically macho, so I quickly moved on. There was a more substantive aid station on the descent where I deliberately sat and ate three or four bowls of soup with crushed up saltines, calming my stomach immensely. By the next time I could check, Jack, Mike, and Suzanna were up to an hour ahead of me, and I assumed I'd never see them again.

Second climb, Ugh. Suz, Jack, Mike behind

First Climb, whoof.

 

I did the third climb (the puckery one) as the end of the day. It was cold enough at the top that I had to stop and put on a long-sleeved shirt, but otherwise it wasn't all that bad. Just a few fixed ropes bolted into the rocks that seemed helpful but not absolutely necessary. (Nothing on the Tor course requires clipping in with an actual via ferrata climbing harness, but there are maybe a half dozen fixed rope sections. I assume they're all permanent for the pre-established hiking trails, not set up just for the race.)

Climb 3, a little puckery

A long descent ensued, and eventually I got to the aid station at the bottom (Planaval at 48Km?). I think when my stomach problems kicked in I'd texted Jan at some point and asked for regular old potato chips. She was there with a large bag of the closest rural Italy had to offer. She also got me a Sprite from the bar nearby. It tastes remarkably different in Europe (real lemon and lime?) but it helped to settle my stomach. Then came the first life base, Volgrisenche at 54Km. I'd always planned to skip this first life base, so I tried not to spend much time there. I just grabbed my more substantive light belt (I'd been working with ultralight headlamps up till now), packed myself a small to-go bag of the potato chips Jan gave me, and headed out. 

I don't remember anything about the climb out of Volgrisenche, because the descent down to Rhemes-Notre-Dame after the climb was so memorable. The crowd of runners was still quite thick, and the string of headlamps laid out in front of me descending the mountain was and absurd and beautiful. The switchbacks were so tight and numerous, and from the very top of the pass you could see an equal and opposite display of runners across the valley re-gaining the thousands of feet I still needed to lose. It felt very much like you could reach out and touch them across a 3,000 foot deep but couple feet-wide chasm.

Switchbacks down to Rhemes-Notre-Dame

I'm pretty sure I struck up a conversation with James, an Irishman living in England, on the the final stretch of the descent into Rhemes-Notre-Dame. When we got to the aid station at 69Km, I looked at my phone and saw that I was less than 20 minutes ahead of Tod, the friend from Montana. Then I looked up, and he was standing right next to me at the aid station, pounding fruit and whatever other offerings at the aid station were vegan (slim pickings). The 15 or 20 minutes was maybe how much earlier I'd gotten to the aid station? I can't quite remember. 

Side note for programmers/algorithm people

This raises the point that I was frequently looking at live tracking on my phone during the race--it did not always load very well (even for friends following along at home) but more often than not I managed to bookmark other Americans and check my position in relation to them and my rank in the entire field on the fly. Additionally, there were two waves of starters, one at 10AM and one at Noon. Tod was in wave 2; I was in wave 1; he caught me after roughly 14 hours, so early on he was crushing it (or I wasn't). We would enter aid stations essentially at the same time, and Tod would of course be given a higher placement than I was, but what's the algorithm that is used to calculate the live placement of runners in a multi-wave start? We discussed starting from the wave 1 starters and ranking them based on their times at prior aid stations that wave 2 people had also been to, and starting with wave 2 starters ... anyway, our sleep-deprived brains couldn't come up with a best way to do it. I concluded there's no perfect way to do it, since the answer is actually not determined until two hours after each wave 1 starter crosses the finish line, but I'm curious how tracking websites estimate places in practice.

Tod and I started off together. He got a little ahead of me, but then I caught up. He barfed, so I got a little ahead of him. He caught up, then passed me. The night climb was long. 

Day 2-Monday

Somehow I caught up to Tod again. I walked into the aid station at Eaux Rosses at Km 85, a hot cramped tent with dozens of runners at picnic tables trying to rest their heads on their arms and sleep. I immediately walked out, put on all my spare clothes, and laid down in a small grassy area beside the tent and took a dirt nap. I slept for 30 minutes and woke up when I got cold. Exactly what I'd hoped for. I left the aid station and found myself on the climb up to the high point of the race. Col Luson is the only point over 3,000 meters. (~3,200 meters or 10,500 feet). To me that doesn't feel that high compared to Sierra or Colorado summits, but I was definitely struggling on the climbs. I told myself that peaks at northern latitudes have thinner air at a given elevation and my positively equatorial California climbs were full of think and juicy air compared to these rarified polar European peaks. (Apparently this is true to some degree but temperature is what really makes the difference rather than latitude? At the time it made me feel like less of a weakling, so mission accomplished.) 

An Asian woman in the race passed me looking annoyingly spry. An Italian couple just out for the day passed everyone looking annoyingly spry. A platinum blonde woman in pink "No Pain No Gain" socks passed me looking annoyingly spry, but then she would angrily plop down by the side of the trail and rest until I passed her. A Spanish man passed me, and he didn't say anything when he wanted to pass, he would just grunt. I wasn't in a good mood. I got out my earbuds for the first (and only) time and tried to listen to a podcast. Immediately the normally innocuous sound of NPR's Planet Money podcast felt like a physical assault, and I turned it off after less than two minutes. 

I finally climbed over the pass and had a little bit of tea at the tiny helicoptered-in emergency aid station just over the summit. The descent was not awesome, and I barfed multiple times on the descent. Normal Italians just getting after it out in the mountains were concerned, but we couldn't communicate and there was nothing to do but keep going.  

 

The high point

The views are spectacular

 

The course passes Rifugio Vittorio Sella on the descent at Km 102. My stomach was not happy with the pasta they had (no soup broth this time, just a very bland tomato sauce). I don't recall ever having beer or alcohol in an ultra before, but I happily bought one from the rifugio bar. "Calories! I know how to drink this!" I wasn't trying to be snobby about it, but I didn't really like the taste. It stayed down, but I don't think my stomach appreciated the carbonation. The long descent continued, with big granite steps giving way to a long hot paved stretch, and I finally reached the second life base at Cogne, 110Km around 2 or 3 PM. 

And there was Tod! I thought he was long gone, but he'd tried to sleep there, unsuccessfully. I didn't need sleep, I just wanted to sort through my gear, charge my watch, switch out lights, eat, rinse off in the sink, and brush my teeth. We headed out together, and to my surprise, I saw Jack and another American who'd passed me earlier, sitting in the parking lot, about to quit. What?! We're fine! It's day two, you could sleep for eight hours right now and still finish fine. But they just weren't feeling it. Jack had just taken a new job and said he wasn't sure he could afford the devastation that the race brings to your body for weeks after. And neither of them felt like they had anything to prove. "You need to finish just so you never have to come back," I said, which is how I feel about Massanutten, Plain, Grindstone, and probably others. "That's how we felt last year, when we both finished." 

Oh, sorry guys. I got nothing for you then. They did both quit there. I saw Jack later and he seemed happy with his decision.

Tod and I took off. As soon as we left Cogne the race field thinned out considerably. We only saw five or so other runners on the next climb compared to seeing dozens on every other stretch thus far. This climb started out hot, so I was stopping to lube up repeatedly, but it cooled off eventually and the climb was much mellower than previous ones. Power transmission lines even went over this pass, which didn't seem feasible previously. Sunset on the way to the pass was beautiful. We descended in the dark and were momentarily confused when we stopped at the next rifugio and no one greeted us. Turns out, that rifugio was only an aid station for Tor des Glaciers, and our rifugio was another three K down the mountain. Aside from the owner smoking a cigar inside in a cramped space, I was happy to reach it and down several more bowls of pasta in vegetable broth with crushed up saltines. I might have killed for something other than water or Coke to drink though. There was occasionally an unfamiliar sports drink, but it was usually mixed very weakly, so if it was flavored, it didn't seem like more than "essence of glucose."

A slightly more chill climb

The rest of Monday was spent descending. It was not high quality trail, and it was interminable. It followed a creek that we crossed on bridges numerous time, but we rarely ever saw the creek and were going behind houses through villages back and forth, back and forth. Finally we got out to a highway, walked a short stretch of Roman-built road and reached the third life base, Donnas, at 156Km. 

"No blisters so far, and my feet feel good. What do you think, Tod, should I change my shoes?" I asked.

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

"Eh, I'm gonna change my shoes. Speedgoats will be nice and cushy." 

I'm an idiot sometimes.

The life base was hot and stuffy. I thought it was too hot to sleep in there, and I was having trouble focusing even just sitting there sorting through my gear, so after foolishly changing my shoes, we moved on. I regretted it almost immediately. The Speedgoats were indeed cushy, but the way the cushion bunches up in the back gives me a weird tic-tac size blister on the flank of my heel, and I could feel it coming soon after leaving the life base. Thankfully, Tod and I had a new companion to keep us company, Luca, an Italian living in Norway. He was an avid fan of our sport of trail running, so we talked about Kilian and Courtney and Jim and Laz, the history of Tor itself, and other races we needed to do in Europe. 

Day 3-Tuesday 

We finished off the night with Luca, climbing through villages. To get local officials on board for the race it seemed like there were some deliberately circuitous sections through towns and villages so that runners would pass through and possibly bring tourism dollars. We lost the route a few times in all the semi-urban travel. The race was almost exclusively marked with stake flags, which are nice and visible but don't tell you what direction to go when they're placed at an intersection. 

One aid station in the middle of the night had some fruit juice (nectarine? peach?) that was amazing. I was so elated to have something not Coke and not water I drank the whole bottle. Leaving the aid station there was a race poster that the aid station volunteer wanted us to sign. Tod picked up the marker, and struggled to find room to sign his name for a second. The volunteer said (in Italian) "You should have gotten here sooner, there was plenty of room earlier." He and Luca had a good laugh and so did we when Luca translated it for us later. I knew Luca was a strong runner and would maintain a good pace through to the end, but Tod and I needed to sleep, and the next aid station (Sassa, Km 170) had a perfect setup for us: a small tent off to the back with just two cots. I set an alarm for an hour and we were out cold.

After the nap we continued climbing up to Rifugio Coda (175 Km). The view here was amazing--the Alps just end. No foothills, no rolling hills, just straight down and then flat as far as the eye can see. This was basically halfway, and we got there in 48 hours. Could we finish in under 4 days? Probably not, since just because you can do something for two straight days doesn't mean you can do it for four. Still, it felt really good to do that consistently for two days, and maybe maybe, miracle of miracles, we could pull of 100 hours, if not 96. Just something to shoot for.

110 in 48, or close to it

The end of the Alps

So we had a deliberate discussion of how to keep this up. What mistakes should we not make again? We both agreed that we should spend less time in life bases, and not try and sleep there. More on that later.

Rifugio Coda had adorable older folks in matching crocs serving food, and there was a little bit of Sprite and pineapple juice that I appreciated. The volunteers were so adorable I wished I had an Italian grandma to make me pasta and give me a hug. 

Unfortunately the pace slowed from Rifugio Coda to Rifguio della Barma (Km 183). There seemed to be a lot more up and down than is reflected on the elevation profile, and the trail was slick, twisty, and rocky. Rifugio della Barma was nice, I think it was the only aid station on the entire course with tortilla chips. They maybe even had salsa, or who knows it might have just been ketchup, I was pretty out of it, I just appreciated variety of any sort; I was still downing multiple bowls of pasta with veggie broth at nearly every station. Rifugio della Barma also didn't let you bring your trekking poles inside; they had a volunteer at the door who took them and put them behind a railing. As he took mine, I had the distinct thought "This is a terrible idea." 

Two models of trekking poles (BD folding carbon and the red Leki ones with the skinny handles) make up 80% of the poles in use. Luckily for me, my BD poles are shorter than most and thus identifiable, but as predicted, there was a mixup, and someone left with someone else's poles. The unlucky person may have caught up with the unsuspecting person and swapped back, but they seemed to disagree about whose were whose. Moral of the story: put some clear identifying markers on your poles, and if you set them down, put them out of the way, not in a pile with a bunch of nearly identical poles. (You absolutely need poles for this race. I can't imagine doing a single solitary hour of the non-road sections of this race without them.)  

Tod at Rifugio della Barma

The unexpected climbing continued to Lago Chiaro (Km 189), which was just a small metal box helicoptered into the backcountry just for the race, and placed near a small cow-fouled lake. I didn't expect much under the circumstances, but there was cold beer and a volunteer playing the accordion that was delightful, even if there wasn't much to eat there. 

Live entertainment at Lago Chiaro

Colle delle Vecchia was next at Km 193. On the way there we saw a mother and child chamois, which was the first wildlife we'd seen. (Not even a rodent or lizard and not many birds; we'd remarked on really not having seen nearly any animals at all thus far.) The aid station had polenta. The final climb from the aid station to the col wasn't that long, but the descent to the next aid station at Niel (Km 200) took forever. To your left you could see the highway and a town far below, and that's where I thought we were descending to, but we weren't really descending that fast, more like a long difficult contour with constant ups and downs. Finally I started seeing day hikers. One day hiker had an air horn he was using a couple miles before the aid station, and I could hear the aid station well, well, before I got there, so it was discouraging how long it took me to finally get there. 

Once there, however, this was a great aid station. I saw a drop bag and got my hopes up thinking it might be the life base, but someone who had dropped out was just hanging out with their bag at a regular aid station. The aid station in Niel was in a really nice restaurant/inn at the edge of town. (Really, it's gorgeous.) I didn't quite realize how many options it had (some people apparently got ice cream?!), but they kept shoving fresh polenta at me, so I was happy. They also had beer and were making espresso drinks, and there was a British couple and a local Italian teenager who was fluent in English, so communication was far easier than at most aid station. As usual when I'm in Europe, I downgrade from vegan to vegetarian, so I wasn't really avoiding milk, but I thought Tod (who is truly vegan) might want one too, so I ordered an Americano, and everyone within earshot laughed and laughed at me, which I honestly enjoyed.

Niel wasn't the life base, but after one more climb and descent we reached it at Gressoney (213 Km). It was a large gymnasium. I was pleasantly surprised to see Mike and Suzanna there, as I thought they'd always be way ahead of me. The descent into Gressoney was pretty miserable with my side-heel blisters aggravated by every heelstrike or rocky landing, so I switched back into my La Sportiva Karacal. Did Tod and I immediately take off after taking care of our feet and switching out our lights? Nope! I got my blisters lanced and taped (this was good) then tried to sleep in one of the three rooms they had full of cots. One was dark, and two had the lights on since they couldn't figure out how to turn them off. I figured I'd be better off in the light rooms with a blanket over my face since they were nearly empty, but people outside kept making noise. This just made me grumpy as hell. I spent at least an hour trying to sleep there, and I'm not sure if I actually slept at all. Jan showed up and said hi, but like I said, I was grumpy as hell. She saw the look on my face and said "Oh! You don't need to talk! I just wanted to check in on you." I think we were in Gressoney for three hours, at least two of which felt completely unnecessary. Tod and I had just said to each other that morning we needed to not waste time in life bases, and then we immediately proceeded to amble around in a non-restful brain fog for three hours at the very next one. Charging and swapping lights, foot care, and switching shoes could have been done in an hour. There were showers, but I didn't take a real one, I just kind of rinsed off in a mop sink I found in a utility closet, because it was quiet and I am a weirdo and I was on very little sleep.

We eventually left, and Jan walked with us on the paved mile or so through town.  Only 5Km and 450m ascent later came Rifugio Alpenzu which was a perfect place to sleep. Two small bunk rooms, quiet, and cool. If we'd been more lucid, we would have breezed right through the life base and slept for an hour at Alpenzu, instead we slept for 20 minutes. The climb over the next pass was not the hardest, but a little bit of rain and a lot of clouds and fog came in, so Tod and I stayed close together since finding the trail markers was difficult in the fog and my waist light was slightly better at locating them than headlamps. The descent to Champoluc (Km 231) was uneventful, I just remember running a long way through town and, despite the early hour around sunrise, hoping a market was open so I could buy something to drink other than water or Coke. Or maybe I only thought of that idea after getting to the aid station on the far edge of the decent-sized town and seeing only Coke and water to drink, and them really only having plain pasta to eat. I also managed to set the bathroom alarm off, because apparently some Italian bathrooms have safety alarms but not ceiling fans, and I am an idiot. 

Day 4 - Wednesday

We had a little more paved walking to do, and before we reached the trail, Tod said he needed more sleep, so we slept fitfully on benches in a bus shelter next to fairly loud traffic for about a half hour. I got a little ahead of Tod on the climb after that and was feeling pretty good, so I thought the partnership might have ended, but as usual, we met back back up fairly quickly. The weather was still drizzly, there were cows and slaughterhouses everywhere, and we kept moving. When we charged into Rifugio Grand Tourmalin we both felt good, and left after only a few minutes. 

Outside Tourmalin

Right about this time we were close to 72 hours, and my watch told me we weren't that far off of 165 miles. Tod said his watch was showing less, and if I'd done the Km-miles conversion I could have known we were really only 150 miles into the course, and day 3 had been significantly slower than days 1 and 2. But the climb to Tourmalin had been gentle terrain, and there were two passes in a row that actually seemed connected--you contoured in between them rather than dropping steeply down for half a day and then climbing right back up thousands of meters. I seemed to have recalled someone saying the second half of the race was easier, and I really latched on to that idea. We're gonna finish in under 100 hours! Let's goooo! After this nicely connected next pass, we caught up to Mike, who was a little bewildered by my insane push for four days, and didn't think his feet were up for it since he'd ripped off some tape that tore blisters open and now had raw toes that drastically hindered descents. Anyway, he was nice enough to not tell me I was stupid.

The descent to the next life base at Valtourmench (248 Km) felt easy. It was relatively rock free on a dirt road across open ski slopes. I got ahead of Tod for a bit and chatted with a Greek name Lazaros. Suzanna's husband and her crew friend were there, and Suzanna was sleeping for a bit, so they gladly helped me with my gear. I didn't stay long, and felt I had to keep up a 3mph pace to have a shot at 100 hours, so I charged ahead, partly fueling myself on dislike of a runner ahead of me whose girlfriend was clearly pacing him, which is against the rules (pacers are an American thing, essentially no European races allow pacing.) I kept up the pace to the aid station below the dam at Rifugio Barmasse (Km 252), where the owner/race volunteer seemed really grumpy and I'd bet money he cussed me out in Italian for not speaking Italian, and asking for "soup" twice instead of "zuppa."

I kept charging hard through the next aid station at Vareton-Torgnon (258 Km) but I was spent after that. Someone I'd caught passed me and I could barely think or walk straight. The section up and over the pass felt very circuitous and had the disadvantage of, like some of the very first climbs, not having any natural line to it such that you had no idea where the actual pass would be. I was a bit worried I'd lose the trail, even though it was still light out. I did see ibex though!

The decent from the pass to Rifugio Magia (267 Km) was nuts. Trails in the Alps have never seen a single maintenance crew. Thousands of years ago, a goat walked there and made a rut, then erosion took over, and now we have a "trail" full of cow manure and rocks going straight down the mountain. Rifugio Magia had a full service restaurant that was full of non-racers, so I tried to buy something other than Coke and water, but it was an expensive small bottle so I didn't bother. They did have two bunk rooms for sleeping though, so I slept for 20 or 40 minutes there, and felt like that cleared my head a little. I was slow on the climb and tried desperately to hang on to a couple of people passing me on the way from there to Rifugio Cuney (270 Km) where a medical volunteer started quizzing me on my cough. It was very cold and windy and it felt pretty clear to me that it was "Tor lung" just like I had at Hardrock and plenty of other people get. I wasn't sure whether she was thinking I had COVID or HAPE or something, but I tried to shrug it off and drank some hot tea which quickly stopped the coughing. On the plus side, another one of the volunteers was super cute and spoke decent English.

This section was very circuitous and the in and out directions from the aid station were so close together I felt lucky I didn't head the wrong direction. After interminably long contouring, I reached the bivy cabin with a giant green spotlight, Bivacco R. Clermont (Km 274). I sat down and in walked Tod and Suzanna. Thank god! We weren't going to finish in under 100 hours, but maybe we could finish before dark on day 5? We crammed in at the one picnic table for, you guessed it, Coke, water, and plain pasta. We had a tiny bit of climbing left, and then a long, long, long descent on bad trail to Oyace at Km 285. It was too hot with my rain jacket on and too cold and wet with it off, so I was constantly switching back and forth, the rocks were slick as snot, and as soon as we finally got to the bottom there was an annoying set of switchbacks climbing back up. I hoped we'd just get right in and out of Oyace, all three of us together, but Suzanna needed to sleep, so after an hour or so Tod and I took off together. As soon as we walked out in the rain, we both thought, but thankfully didn't voice outloud: "We could just go back inside and wait until it stops raining." 

I knew this section was going to be dumb but not that hard. The trail to the top of the mountain was cut off due to a landslide so we were rerouted lower. Still, the trail they put us on climbed with no views and in my opinion for absolutely no reason, instead of following the river. At least it was relatively rock-free, but there was no point to any of the climbing. A very poorly designed creek crossing was flooded, leading to some of the only wet feet of the entire race. There was a pretty worthless helicoptered-in aid station box in the middle of this section, and a steep descent. Finally, after some pavement through the village, I arrived at the last life base, Ollomont (Km 299).

It was a little cramped, but I got my blisters drained and re-taped, slept a little, and drank a lot of mixed fruit juice. (More on the effects of that in a minute.) Tod and Suzanna came in, but I left a half hour to hour before them. Last 50K and only two big climbs left, let's go!

Day 5- Thursday

I had a slow start. Despite a considerable nap, I didn't have much energy for the climb, and I had explosive diarrhea almost immediately after leaving Ollomont. It was morning and the sun was up but I was not feeling it. I read the news on my phone to pass the time (Yvon Chounard gave Patagonia to his environmental non-profit, pretty neat. Probably some other depressing news I chose not to read about just then.) I got to Rifugio Champillon (Km 303) just as Suzanna was catching up to me. I tried to order some polenta from the rifugio but it was too early for lunch so I just had a weird vegetable soup from the aid station that definitely didn't help with the runs. Suzanna, James and I climbed to the summit together, and as I reached it I alerted everyone that my ass was going to explode. And explode it did, with one of the best views I've ever had. Note: Italy does not do Leave No Trace. It's disgusting. There is poop and toilet paper right next to the trail, not buried at all. Not even a lazy turn-over-a-half-buried-rock, just pop a squat right next to the trail. I was carrying a Deuce of Spades and tried to bury mine. 

Site of the incident

 

Luckily I made some comment to Suzanna to remind me at the next aid station to see if they had anything like Immodium, and James overheard me and said he was carrying some! So I scored a few tablets from him. I had a nice conversation with James as we descended to the aid station in the valley below. As soon as I got there I was ready to explode again, but the aid station was a converted slaughterhouse with no toilet so the volunteers told me just to go outside. I did, but also managed to fall over while squatting into some stinging nettle. Did I mention it was my birthday!

What a day. The next section of trail was an easy road that I wish I'd been able to run, but I was so tired I was weaving back and forth. So I laid down for a dirt nap and didn't set an alarm. I slept for almost an hour, which was far more than I'd wanted to. I ran to make up some time and caught up with Tod, who hadn't recognized me as he passed me sleeping by the side of the trail. I passed a guy who clearly had thru-hiking gear and asked him "What's up Mister Thru-Hiker man? Where're you going?" He said he was hiking a pilgrimage route from Canterbury to Rome. I explained the race, and he said "Ahh! So I see our philosophies are quite different! But I wish you well!" When Tod caught up to me at the next aid station at Bosses (~Km 322) I had to ask if he'd seen the thru-hiker too or if it was all in my imagination. He was real.

Jan was at Bosses with some of her leftovers. I'd texted her to see if I could score some substantive food, since the aid station monotony and diarrhea had been wreaking havoc. Real meals are hard to get at certain times of day in small Italian villages, but she did give me her leftover vegetables (carrots, cauliflower, green beans) from the night before which really hit the spot. James, Tod, Suzanna, and I started the last climb together. James got a big kick out of "tod" being slang for poop in some part of the UK so we all laughed at a line from a podcast he'd heard: "the tod-strewn streets of Brighton" or something like that. Potty humor goes a long way after 96 hours with 4 hours of sleep.

We reached Rifugio Frassati together. The owners seemed pissed that I wanted to pay them for food that was on their menu, but it worked out and the polenta with vegetables was delicious, and was the real food I needed to get me through to the end. James spoke with his girlfriend on the phone and said  he was going to throw his shoes in the bin and never run again after the race, just sit at the coffee shop. That sounded dreamy to me. Suzanna shared her race mantra with us: "Joy and Ease."

Suzanna's mantra: "Joy and Ease"

Another American, Tyler, caught us at the aid station and was adamant about leaving quickly to try and get over the last pass before dark. This made a lot of sense and was the kick in the pants I needed to get going. I had also been hoping to finish in the top 100 finishers and was just outside the top 100 at that point, so even though I was happy to have another American/English-speaker join the crew, I didn't want him passing me. I left the aid station first, with all my clothing on, though it wasn't much--no pants, a t-shirt, a lightweight long-sleeve race shirt, my Patagonia Houdini 3-oz. windbreaker, the buff the race gave us in our starting swag, and fingerless bike gloves. My legs were completely dead by this point. Never have they felt more like lead. But there was nothing to do but keep climbing. I counted to 30 steps, breathed a few times, and started over. There was a short via ferrata section at the very top, and then we were there, the top of the last high pass, Col Molatra (332 Km), just in time to pull out my waist light before descending in the fog. 

The last high pass, Molatra

A descent and a short climb took me to a small aid station at a high point, Pas Entre deux Sauts (336 KM). They were grilling meat kebabs on a flat stone. At least three of us were vegetarian/vegan so we didn't have any, but Tyler ate and it was joyous just watching him eat. I was so glad that finally an aid station was providing variety I relished the smell and look of it. Tod and I took off and separated from the group. My brain was barely working at this point, and I would have needed to stop if we were any further from the finish, but I knew I was still outside the top 100 so I wanted to push and see if I could pass anyone. One person passed us blazingly fast, and we passed one other person on the final descent, but with the live tracking I pretty much knew there were zero other people to pass in the final few miles. Still, we didn't even stop at the final aid station, bombed the last descent, and thankfully didn't get lost on all the turns in the final stretch through the city parks and pavement. 

I finished in 109:49:19. at 11:49PM, under 11 minutes to spare on my 43rd birthday. Tod finished under a minute later, but two hours faster. I finished in 101st place (out of a lot), and 4th American (out of not a lot). For me, I pretty much crushed it.

After, Recovery - Friday 

We hung around at the finish line, and I immediately became freezing and started shivering. James, Tyler, Suzanna, and a few others I'd been trading places with came in shortly after. After a few hours of hanging out, eating pizza, and drinking beer, Jan drove Tod and I to the sports center where we crashed on cots. She kindly offered to pay for a hotel room for us, but in my sleep-deprived idiot state I was focused on getting my gear bag and getting warm clothing so I declined. That meant I slept poorly for yet another night and was still a blubbering idiot all day Friday.

Luckily the hotel where my luggage was had rooms (I hadn't made any post-race reservations). I alternated between sleeping for a few hours and then stumbling around trying to buy cough drops and food. It's a good thing the race is in a nice Italian village, if it were America I definitely would've been hit by a car. 

Friday night I went to bed but woke up at least 8 times in a full sweat, the sheets soaking, with a full bladder. The same thing happened the next two nights, as my body was sloughing off liters and liters of water. Urine was all clear though, so no rhabdo and everything was fine, except that I had a terrible cold.

Saturday I walked around Courmayeur buying gifts for Amy, coughing, and pontificating about the difference between Italian and American customer service. Sunday I attended the post-race ceremony, got a ride with Mat back to France, and took the train to Geneva. Monday I flew home. Tuesday I called in sick to work and coughed all day. Thursday I felt like my cold was on the mend.  

A finisher reward on Saturday

Would I run it again? If you're talking about turning back the clock and running it the first time knowing what I know now, definitely yes. If you're talking about running it a second time, likely not, and definitely not for four or more years. Would I run another 200+ mile race in Europe? Yes, Swiss Peaks 360Km in 2024 or 2025. Definitely.

Gear

La Sportiva Karacal worked amazingly well. Maximal cushioning with a rockplate, I felt fewer rocks and had better grip than in Speedgoats.

Put identifying markings on your BD or Leki poles.

30 hours after I finished, high winds and snow hit the last high pass. Runners were stopped at Rifugio Frassati overnight and then turned around and sent back to Bosses the next day. This has happened multiple times in the race's short history, so I was very lucky to make it over with such skimpy gear. I carried more on Wednesday when the forecast said bad weather was coming in, but I should have kept it with me after that as well. Summer's over by this time of year in the Alps.

Make sure your GPS watch can track while charging--you're definitely going to have to charge it during the race (my Coros can).

In fog, lights around your waist are better than headlamps, and you're definitely going to need your hands for your poles so carrying a light in one hand isn't an option. 

What's Next?

I texted friends after the race to ask whether I should retire, or whether I should recover, hire a coach, and train harder than I ever have for a specific race next spring that I am in the very unusual circumstance of being nearly guaranteed entry. They said take my time to think about it. 

I basically didn't run for four weeks after the race and I loved it. Finally, on Columbus Day, I had the day off from work and got grumpy. I realized as I was going to bed that I was grumpy from not running. In other words, I'm back to normal. My October race was cancelled due to fire and I can't say I was that upset given that I would have just walked the whole thing. I've got a 50-miler in Virginia the first weekend in November. As to whether I'm going to finally hire a coach, I still haven't decided.

 

Tor: It was awesome, you should do it. Thank you to Jan, Sam, Mat and others who offered support during the race. You're right, Lucas, it's a great race.