Full Moon Rising

Grand Raid 2024

We go through changes. Begin our migration hydrated and impatient. Herded like cattle to the start line and made to wait another 15 interminable minutes. Then Poof, we’re off.

The slow drip of damage begins, but we built our bodies to stand this. First flat then uphill road. The field separates, those undeterred running uphill succeeded by those with some trepidation followed by the lifeblood of the race, the main pack, 2500 runners deep, an iridescent serpent rolling in the night.

Image by Olivier Heimana

Start to Cilaos

On my part, good feelings. Strong legs, relaxed heart rate, inner-calm. When considering how to pace 100 miles it’s not an easy task: Go with good feelings or govern them to save energy. For me, both channels must remain open, use energy when you have it, but keep the stride as plain and tight and economical as possible.

After the long road climb to Domaine Vidot (15km) we hit trail and embark on the newly added section of the race. A long climb on a forest track, 10-20% grade, smooth underfoot.

The lead group 8 runners deep included many familiar faces—Grangier, Dunand-Pallaz, Kern—broke on this climb and suddenly it was just Blanchard, Tschumi and myself.

As it gained altitude, the track resembled Madeira with its dense foliage and earthen steps wet with cloud immersion. Our effort was enough to thin the pack. When we hit the road just Blanchard and I were left. I followed him into Notre Dame de la Paix (34km) feeling confident.

Ahead lay an ‘easy’ couple hours before the real business kicks off. We wasted no time plowing through the free kilometres, reaching Mare a Boue (52km 2600m d +) in 5h10.

Crew pitstop: Eat banana/oats pouch, drink water, change headlamp battery, leave with 3 bottles (1.5L) 2 sweet, 1 water, and gels, then make toilet stop.

I jog the switchbacks to bridge to Matthieu and soon and we are working up the increasingly gnarly terrain together. The trails become trenches of mud and cold water. Then rocky. We make short, boulder-problem descents, my big feet and long legs far from graceful.

Despite divots in our progress, we are continuously gaining altitude. It’s long and the end of a long night. I hang on to Matthieu.

Dawn seeps into everything. Coloring the world around. And man this point on planet Earth is beautiful. Around me a dwarf alpine forest growing on the slopes of a dead volcano. To my left a 1000m cliff, my right the forest sliding off the edge of the world into a milk of clouds where the sea is suppose to be. Minutes later they run bloodred in the sunrise.

Just a little 1000m descent off the escarpment. I let the speed come naturally and near the bottom flow over rocks and roots with ease. As Matthieu and I leave le Bloc (68km), Tschumi arrives. No surprise. He is a world class descender and the terrain up high suitable to his low center-of-gravity and tenacity.

We arrive in Cilaos (73km / 3800m d+) under 9h, separated by 30s. I find Julien and tell him I am good, but ideally a little fresher. The plan was to arrive in the best possible condition, but I failed to eat all my calories up high and can sense the deficit.

I eat a pot of riz au lait, another banana/oats pouch and half a nutella sandwich. Julien cleans my legs and encourages me. As we formulate a plan, Matthieu goes by and soon Jean-Philippe. I caught a glimpse of them on the descent out of town, but unfortunately that was it. I would be doomed to 100km solo.

I made a conscious decision not to hurry-up and catch the others. Taking into account my energy level and the difficulty of what lay ahead, I predicted that we would regroup later. I did not expect them to push as they did and neither wound up cracking.

Cilaos to Maïdo

When all that food hit, I felt a surge of energy. I tried to distribute it over the climb up Taïbit expecting to see the others around the corner. They still were not there when I reached Marla (89km). I drank soup and left with some ice in my pockets to stay cool in the morning heat.

I remembered how hard this section felt in 2022 but had no problem running with a good stride when the terrain permitted. I continued to pound fluid and slurp gels. I hit the Col de Fourches with no problems, and got the descent underway.

From Cilaos to the Sentier Scout aid station we gain 2000m d+ in 23km and from the segment high point to the following low point we do 2000m d- in 17km, where we ricochet yet another 2000m up. So much elevation gain and loss packed into a short distance in the oppressive climate of Mafate is what makes this edition of the Diagonale such a beast.

I clock a personal best on the Sentier Scout descent, but unknowingly the boys upfront are doing more damage. This is the frustrating part of being disconnected. Whether you feel good or bad, you have no one pushing you that extra 1% and you lose on both fronts if the others are feeding off each other’s energy.

From the low-point in Mafate we begin the longest climb of the race to Maïdo. It’s a mix of stairs and steep rocky trails. Although the clouds have obscured the sun, it’s hot and humid. My clothes are soaked with sweat with no where to evaporate.

Image by Olivier Heimana

A third of the way up the climb I reach Ilet des Orangers (116km) and take a pause with my crew. The stomach is not great and energy flagging. I make an effort to eat and drink but I know its going to be brutal to the top.

Snap back to the present. The body is not a discrete point on a line but the line itself, its vector. I want to check the watch for signs of progress, but I deny myself that disappointment. Check in 10 minutes. Hold the effort, push with the arms, high-step, left-right.

A little voice murmurs, this is the hardest climb of your life. But how is that possible, there are too many to count. The superlative is a brain dead trick and every climb eventually ends.

I arrive at the Ti col du Maïdo (121km) to bells and cheers and cameras. Plop down in the chair and gesture to a bottle of Arizona tea. Julien informs me that I climbed the same speed as Blanchard. But it means nothing.

I eat a mango puree and rip a shot of caffeine. Julien, I say, “I’m completely fucked.” He laughs and helps me change into a dry shirt. He fills my pockets with gels and says alright, get going, eat those.

Maïdo to la Possession

Through Maïdo I was on my splits to run sub-24 hours. But things came undone after. On the map it looks like a 2000m non-stop downhill but in reality the first 5km are a roller coaster. The legs and head roaring with fatigue, I wound up doing some walking.

When the path finally commits to a downhill gradient, I let the legs swing, but a change has taken place. Surrender. I accept where I am and try to keep moving. I see Julien again at Ilet de Savannah (141km), eat riz au lait, rip a shot of caffeine.

The higher valence states of fatigue are gone. I’m just normal tired. Along the track crowds of people cheer me on, I try to extract their energy from the air. I feel frustrated at how suddenly uninspiring the track is. From Mafate to these inane and dirty trails in residential zones and cane fields.

It’s raining, the sky grey, the dirt goes tacky and binds to the sole of my shoes and I jog uphill with the extra weight. Then the mud begins. The first steep jungle section is a mudslide. I walk it with cation, slipping once and going down hard.

Rolling through the Chemin Ratinaud aid station (148km) I tell the volunteers that it’s going to be an adventure getting to the finish. It was impossible to negotiate Sentier Kalla with haste. Night falls. I let go of my time objective and survive.

Ah la Possession (156km), we can say that the finish is in sight. I see Julien and my people. I leave with a ham and cheese sandwich and a smile. Let’s get it done!

La Possession to la Redoute

Mud is omnipresent like some weird snow has fallen, it coats everything. The paving stones on Chemin des Anglais are greasy and their awkwardness compounded.

High above the sea, a white glow enters my periphery. I assume it’s a runner coming the opposite direction and look to see the full moon rising from the ocean. Huge with its pocked face, yellow and forlorn like some chemical agent showering us with radiation.

Momentarily I forget the mud and time-on-feet and most of my discomfort just feels blah. But I have to keep my eyes on the mud-greased stones and let go of the moon though its image is burned in my head.

Grand Chalupe (156km) Julien gives me a red bull and a slice of pizza. What a guy. A camera runner follows me up the next climb and we chat all the way to Colorado. This is the section I lit on fire in 2022 to take 3rd. This time I have no reason to crack the whip and hike/jog wherever applicable.

The mud has become an absurdity. 2 steps up, 1 down. But with the company of the camera guy and the moon at my back, I am capable of levity. Another slice of pizza at Colorado (172km) and one for the cameraman.

The last descent is muck but I ski and slide without falling. With the stadium in sight I pick up the pace and soon find the flats along the road to the track. What a relief. What a day. I feel in my bones a gratitude for the adversity, for the muscles which carried me, for the team, my family. We go through changes. No longer whole, but broken and better for it.