Derailment

More Lessons in the Ultra is Life Category

“How low can you go?” I ask myself at the start-line with an eye on the watch, my heart rate flashing 99bpm and drifting down, settling around 82bpm as I regain my grip on reality: a long jog ahead.

All photos by Albin Durand

We poured like a river over a broken dam down the streets in a sound boom. For a while there are no thoughts, just the chunking sound of rubber hooves beating trail—155bpm.

I filled water at Les Houches (8km) as the rules of the game require taking care of hydration and nutrition early and often. Up the first climb the legs felt strong, uphill movement easy. I chatted with Jim and Jeff, enjoying the company and sensations—168bpm.

Coming through St Gervais (22km), it is pure madness. The volume of the crowds threatening to burst my eardrums. I filled two bottles and ate a gel. This stretch runs fast and I was sweating—160bpm.

Headlamps come on. I jog the final ramp to Les Contamines (31km) and meet my crew, taking a bunch of nutrition for the next stage.

We collected in a group of 6 up the climb to Col du Bonhomme (45km): Tom Evans, Germain Grangier, Tim Tollefson, Christain Manole, Vincent Bouillard, and myself. Hiking steady, effort measured. I focused on the feet in front of me, a sense of ease and detachment, saying, “Go to sleep.”

I slowed down at the top of the climb and let the others ahead. I wanted to descend progressively and not shock the legs. I heard a thump like a rock kicked loose and happened to look back, finding an empty bottle. I stopped and re-stuffed it in my bag and accelerated to catch the group.

We rolled into the Chapieux (51km) as a unit and were requested to present mandatory equipment. When they asked to see my 2L water capacity, I was relieved to show them I had all my bottles.

The guys were ridiculously fast through the equipment check and put nearly a minute on me. I took a gel and drank fluids on the flats, trying to match the pace of the orb ahead.

When we hit the big climb up Col de la Seine (62km), the group broke. Up front Germain and Tom were running nearly every step. I was slowly gaining on them and would push over the top alongside. The staff tells us Jim is 9 mins ahead, which gets a chuckle. The dude is on fire, either out for a record day or soon burnt toast.

The abrupt descent to a steep climb up Pyramide Calcaire was the first moment I felt bad. I was dry and hunting water. I stopped to fill my bottle at what looked to be a good source but the flow was insufficient. I soon found one better, hastily fumbling with my poles and filling a bottle, losing time.

“Do you and let them go,” I told myself. It’s not worth the effort right now. On the descent I was feeling a bit sleepy. I kicked a rock and fell. Got up and arrived at the Lac Combal aid station (70km) as the group was leaving.

I filled two bottles and set out, not trying to force anything. I was feeling the effects of night running, somewhat clumsy and dull, surely missing caffeine, but I hadn’t planned on taking any until Courmayeur (83km).

I was patient on the next climb and tried to be smooth over the rolling terrain, but was admittedly not super lucid.

This may sound like a bad situation, but I was not worried. These are sensations I am well acquainted with, I slowed down to accommodate them.

My mind was fixed on making repairs in Courmayeur. I rolled into town at a chill 11.5km/h, after passing Jim who reported being “a bit fucked.”

In the aftermath of my eventual DNF, my crew asked me how I was feeling coming into Courmayeur, if I had stomach issues.

I told them I was feeling a touch sleepy and dehydrated, not sharp, somewhat empty, but in a normal mid-ultra state of affairs. A temporary low which, in my experience, happens before dawn and can normally be remedied.

So I come into the aid station and sit. I drink miso soup. It has a funkiness I was not ready for so I chase it with a lot of water, shortly after some coke, then I ask for coffee. The taste is very good, so I ask for another. I stand up and immediately vomit through my hands trying to block the eruption.

I vomit four more times in a trash bag. I tell my assistance, I need to get going and light into the night, shaky, cold, beard smelling of miso.

Jogging up the road I tell myself that it’s ok. I purged the demons, and soon will be feeling my good old self.

I ate a gel, sipped water, hiked slow but steady up the Refuge Bertone (88km). Just before arriving, the nausea spikes and I feel like death. The nurse at the aid station invites me inside, I tell him I have to keep going otherwise its over.

I push on and start running the smooth trails. Sip water. Everything gonna be alright. But the nausea spikes and I cough and puke and find myself on hands and knees retching the bile of my very being into the grass.

This is not good. Body goes cold. Put on jacket. Survive. I walk/jog, swimming in an ocean of nausea and discomfort—109bpm.

In what seems like huge gaps of time runners emerge from the night and pass by. I am not even frustrated. Just sapped of strength and seeking shelter.

Into Arnouvaz (101km), I make an X with my arms and tell the medical staff, I’m done.

The stomach in a state of rebellion is a tyrant. No deliberation necessary.

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Frankly walking back through these moments still feels confusing. This has never happened to me before.

Although I was intentional about taking care of myself coming into Courmayeur, I could have done a little better. But we are always in flux. I recognized the deficit and anticipated solving the problem in town. After vomiting the stomach became volatile and anti-everything and if you cannot fuel, you cannot run. End of story.

The solution here is fairly straight forward, eat a little more before (some slower sugar), so I don’t over-compensate during the aid station break. And Jesus Christ, don’t mix beverages like that.

More Pertinent Questions:

Was the pace too fast? Yes and no. The only guy from the group who finished, won the race. So yes the pace is good if you want to win. No if you do not belong there.

I had the legs, I had the head to be there. It’s easy to say ok, go 5% slower and take better care of myself, therefore mitigating risk. But you have to consider the positive energy of running in a good group. This is UTMB, if you’re feeling alright, you don’t want to dance with the best?

How will I prepare differently? Nutrition is the most important piece of the puzzle. The only novelty was this asinine cocktail I mixed in my stomach in Courmayeur. But still it’s important to go back to the drawing board and improve my plan.

How am I dealing with the disappointment? It comes in waves. Last night it was hard to sleep and this morning I woke in a state of panic. I am happy to have my family around who continually keeps my grounded.

The Asics team was understanding and supportive. They were there to pick me up from Arnouvaz and are doing their best to help me trouble-shoot the problem.

Although hypothetical worlds are horse-shit, I believe I could have had a break-out day. The legs were ready for the challenge. Today, a little sore, but considering I ran 100km with 6000m of climbing, I am shocked how good they feel.

Sport like life is not fair. I messed up and my mistakes, however small, manifested in a way that shut me down. But at least we are down to the details and are confident in the shape and potential to smash this race. I won’t be stopped here.