Sharky Waters

Andorra 2024

I knew it was going to be tough to defend my 2023 victory, but I came to the race with plenty of confidence and the belief that I could make a special result.

So at 5am we lit into the night. Ten minutes flat then bang, the first climb. I led, setting an honest pace. On my heels, the great François D’Haene making a return to competitive ultra-trail since an injury two years ago.

We worked our way up the ridge as grey skies flushed with color. On the descent I felt my intestines wriggle. I told them it could wait, they wriggled back.

Photos by Iñaki Artuñedo

Instead of summiting Coma Pedrosa we made a detour to avoid ‘dangerous’ snow conditions. It almost felt more fatiguing to rapidly lose and regain elevation than to take the direct line over the peak and we saved a mere 4 minutes with this change.

I topped the second climb with Zach Garner from Salt Lake City, UT. We were running well together and chatted a bit but eventually I encouraged him to push ahead while I dipped into the trees at the behest of my bowels.

Finding a groove on the long descent into Andorra la Vella, I caught Zach and we left the aid station (km 40) simultaneously for the climb up the Madriu Valley.

We ran this section (11km 1250m d+) 2 minutes slower than I did in 2023, but last year I was on the chase and this year playing a more patient game. Before the col, I opened a small gap and hit the hellacious descent solo.

Rallying through this granite obstacle course, my stomach hurt and I made another pitstop. Everything going in was triggering nausea and discomfort, so I sipped water and focused on the task at hand.

At the second and last aid station where assistance is permitted, I drank electrolyte water and ate a financier. I left with an earbud hoping music would drown out my woes.

Zach caught me on the next steep climb. He looked bouncy and fresh and in harsh opposition to how I was feeling.

I tagged along over the high plateau, one ear Deadmau5, one punched by gusts of wind. We moved well and despite my inability to eat, shaved time off last year's split to the Incles aid station (km 75).

Zach tore down the road and engaged the next climb with fervor. I followed under a fog of hypoglycemia, clunky feet, vigorless.

He remained in sight for several hours as we climbed and traversed the mountain balconies but I was working a dry well, wracked by unpleasant sensations, their echoes coloring my general mood: Stranded at sea in sharky waters.

Arriving at the base of the last climb, Zach was still in sight. By referencing his position to my progress, I clocked him 5 mins ahead. Over my shoulder I saw third place emerge from the valley and launch his attack and I determined to climb hard.

By the time I topped the col, I widened the gap to third, but lost a couple seconds to first. I did this climb 4 minutes faster than last year, though I think this speaks more the the effects of extreme heat (2023) than to better fitness.

Back to town, I labored to suppress competitive thoughts and my stomach’s retching, polishing off the 108km with 7000m d+ in 13h25m.

What smells of pity here, is just me describing reality. But that’s ultra man, it’s rough out there. No one is safe. Last year I was the hunter, this year the hunted.

Two days after the race, the legs feel surprisingly good. The least beat-up they have been after a 100km and I believe that despite the minor disappointment, I am well-positioned in my build to UTMB.