Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc – An odyssey between Mercury and Pluto, an inner journey – Part I

“All this has already happened and will happen again” 

- Battlestar Galactica

 

Three years! Three years thinking about this moment. Daydreaming, fixing myself on a horizon that moved away each time I tried to get closer. 

Fixed at the moment of the starting gun. In the magic instant of the starting gun. 

The years have taught me that we shouldn't focus on the moment of arrival but on the moment of departure, and live every second between them as if it were the most precious. Only in this way are we able to open the door that gives us the possibility to live life to the fullest. We don't win heaven, but we conquer earth. 

The torrid heat of an unusual afternoon. 

2563 souls lined up behind the starting line. At the front stand 200 elite runners (reminiscent of another phalanx with 300 braves who heroically defended their position 2500 years ago). Behind them the 2363 warriors. As in the Battle of Thermopylae, an amalgamation of nationalities huddled behind the narrow portico, ready to launch itself into the battle ahead. French, Spanish, Italian, British, Japanese, American, German, Chinese, Portuguese and many others. The coalition of city-nations of ancient Greece that rose in arms against the Persian giant which threatened the cradle of democracy, so we rose to conquer this other giant of granite and ice that stood between us and our dreams.

Ten seconds before 6 pm the countdown begins. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… c'est parti!!! … or not, depending on the placement in the initial alignment. 

The crowd that lines up the street is the trunk of an immense boa constrictor that begins to tighten its rings on a prey whose head is projected forward, thrown on the impatient mob that flanks the streets of the Vila and quickly drains the athletes towards the outside. A few more minutes will pass until the full bulk of the human mass sets in motion. But they too will have their hour in the sun.

We leave Chamonix swiftly towards Les Houches. It's only 8 very fast quilometers. Once there, we start to climb to Le Délevret. We will have to overcome 896 m uphill in another 6 km. 

I meet Lucinda Sousa who is trying to keep a conservative pace for her (great) abilities. I follow her almost to the top. I feel good. The crowd utters a deafening roar. They shake bells, offer gummies, shout our names, pat us in the back, in short, a huge party.

The descent to Saint-Gervais offers me 828 m in 7 km. “Kind of steep”, I think, especially when we enter the ski slopes and the soil unevenness increases. There I try to release the brakes to avoid forcing my quadriceps. Strangely, I begin to feel my heels progressively heating up to the limit of unbearable pain and the distinct sensation of a bubble slowly forming under both feet… growing insidiously… nausea! Bad! It is rare for me to form blisters and never in this region of the foot. What's wrong with me?!! (new socks, rookie mistake...) Every time I put my foot down, it's as if a Roman centurion was driving a nail into my heel. I feel it exploding inside the bone. I'm defending myself the best I can. I step mainly on the forefoot, which is not easy when going down.

Saint Gervais

I arrive in Saint Gervais at dusk. It is now 20:24. I remove my sneakers. In fact I have two blisters that are huge and already burst. The skin starts to pull back. What to do? I haven't come prepared for this. I repeat: it never happens to me. I wonder how will I survive the 150 km that still need to be covered?

The best think to do is to bear the pain. There is no alternative. I remove the leg warmers that are not helping my feet to cool down and I proceed. Now begins the long climb to the Col du Bonhomme (Col means passage). It is a long climb of 1438 m and 19 km to get there.

From Saint-Gervais to Les Contamines the path is easy, without incidents (except for the bubbles!). You can maintain a good rhythm if you ignore the pain. Going up is more bearable than going down as the body weight naturally rests more on the forefoot

Along the way, I turn on the front light as night is falling. What would be the keynote of the next few hours begins: after the initial chaos and uproar, an orderly and endless row of magical fireflies is now forming in both directions, back and forth from my reference point. It is a beautiful undulating snake that glides up the mountain.

Until Les Contamines I drink large amounts of water. It's a warm early evening.

As soon as I leave the station I notice that I need to wear the raincoat for a little while because it has cooled down. It takes just a few minutes of running with the coat on until you start sweating again. After Les Contamines, and as the slope increases, it finally starts to cool down. Until the Notre-Dame de La Gorge campsite the terrain is smooth and the miles go by fast.

Afterwards we go up on a sloping path to La Balme. There I came across a very curious scenario. Another station in an exposed tent but flanked by several tents from brands such as Overstims and others, which offer us bars and gels and a fire on the street that warms us up as we pass by (it's already much cooler here, but I just keep SportHG's first thermal layer).

So far I've been taking advantage of all the stations with solid supplies in order to ingest a savory soup with a thin dough, which is the one thing that tastes best in these ultra visceral resistance tests. 

Normally, the first organ that gives up is precisely the intestinal tract, causing severe drop in performance and likelihood of not finishing. These are races for people with strong stomachs. The food intake must be very well managed because without fuel the furnace does not burn. 

Despite the bubbles, I continue at an excellent pace. I decided that the only way to carry this ordeal through to the end is by assimilating, living, ingesting the pain. Regularly I stamp my foot with the full force of rage to stun the spirit until it is just a diffuse stain in the fog of thought. 

 It's now time to reveal my (not so) secret goal. 

This would be my 4th 100 mile race in the last 4 years. 

In all the previous races, I hadn't had any specific objective other than the fundamental one, which is to have fun in the trail, create unforgettable images in my mind and go on an inner journey that enriches me as a person. And if possible, finish the race.

This time I had a slightly more prosaic ambition: I was determined to run under 32-hours. I fully acknowledge this goal. 

In 2012 I had completed the 168 km of the Ehunmilak in 39:42 and in 2013 I had completed the 160 km of the GRP in 36:42. Both races had been completed after overcoming great difficulties, and in both of them I had felt that my performance could have been better. 

Twice I had already applied for a spot at UTMB only to have my expectations dashed in 2 unliky draws. 

It took 3 years to feed a dream, to watch it grow, to see it start walking, from the first hesitant steps, through a gentle trot, to a strong gait, to the furious gallop of the last months of preparation for the challenge of a lifetime. 

The UTMB is certainly not the most difficult race on the world stage, not even the one with the greatest degree of difficulty I've ever done. I've done them more technical (GRP), in worse weather conditions (Ehunmilak) and longer (VCUF). 

However, this race is unique. There is no other with the involvement it generates. Chamonix is ​​a week of partying. You live, breathe Trail Running. It is the most emblematic. It's the Olympics of Trail Running. A kind of Tribal encounter at the planetary level. It is the river through which the salmon climb to reach the source. It is the cemetery where elephants come to die. 

To fulfill my objective, I drew up a plan, built my excel sheet with the expected times at each point (basically I took the information from the organization about the estimated times for the first one and added 55% more).

Col du Bonhomme, in June, by day and with snow

Now it's 3.4 km to Col du Bonhomme and 622 m uphill. The first truly technical trail of the race begins. I have to lift my leg to climb boulders that seem to me to be the size of Serra da Estrela. The moon casts a surreal mantle over the valley. I go up fast. I'm overtaking athletes. I'm possessed. I arrive at the Col at 2325 meters, pass the volunteers and the path bends to the left. Let's go up a little further to the Refuge de La Croix du Bonhomme. It's just another 2 kms that are quickly overcome.

Next to the refuge, half a dozen volunteers are waiting for us in order to control our passage. It is now 00:49 on Sunday. I've been running for 06:49 and I just completed 45 km with 2,876 D+. I am 34 minutes ahead of my plan. If I could continue at this rate, it would be over in less than 28 hours! But of course the plan foresees a progressive decrease in pace as fatigue sets in.

Refuge de La Croix du Bonhomme, em Junho, de dia e com neve

There is no aid station here. You need to go down the mountain to Les Chapieux to find it. The descent would not present great difficulties were it not for the pitiful state of my poor little feet. There are 885 m descent in 5 km that you can do running if you ignore the pain. The legs are still fine, so functionally it's OK and there's no reason not to go down fast. So I do and at 01:33 I'm down there, still 32 minutes ahead of the plan.

At the entrance of the station there is a control of mandatory equipment. They check the cell phone, the survival blanket and the raincoat. Everything is OK. It takes me 14 minutes to organize some things in my backpack that are bothering me, and then I head out into the clear night. Now it will be half a dozen kilometers with a slight slope on the tarmac to the ghost village of Ville des Glaciers (half a dozen shacks). I run whenever I can. The moonlight on the tar is so strong that the headlight isn't even needed. The queue progresses in the dark like zombies. It looks like Mao's long march.

Arriving at the Ghost Village, the road turns right and enters a road that crosses the river over a bridge and runs parallel to the river (Torrent des Glaciers).

By day I woukd see this.

Here the paradigm is different. The uninterrupted line that had followed me from Les Contamines begins to break. The links separate as we begin the ascent to Italy, which lurks in the Col de La Seigne at an altitude of 2502 m. There are almost 1000 meters climbing to get there. I'm going strong like a bull. I resolutely advance. If Hannibal got 27 combat elephants across the Alps, damn it, I'll do it too with these little legs that Darwin gave me.

It's amazing the sweat that one produces going up this mountain. It's 03:47 when I reach the top and I don't feel the slightest bit cold, even in short sleeves. What I feel is thirsty as hell! The water has already run out, I'll have to fill it up in one of the many streams that fall from the top of the mountain. 

In front of us lies the Veni Valley in Italy.

I maintain 28 minutes of advance in relation to the projected route. My astrolabe has guided me well. Just follow my own pole star. I'm euphoric! I feel like a giant! There's nothing I can't do!

Editar

By day Vale Veni offers this view... pyramids to the left

Now we descend 200 meters to turn left again towards an originality of this year's route: the Col des Pyramides Calcaires. We will be presented with another 269 m of ascent and 2.2 km to cover. But what 2 kms! The rockiest terrain on the entire course, with a bunch of loose and large stones piled on top of each other! However, the view that presents itself more than makes up for the extra time I spend on this section. In the fantastic moonlight, two twin pyramids, incredibly similar to those at Giza, shine before us. The giants Cheopsis Chephren before us in all their splendor!

No, it's not an hallucination, they're real. At every turn I hope to find Pharaoh and his army. And also the gods Isis and Osiris and their son Horus. 

Little do I know that farther on, much farther on, I too will need Horus' intervention to resurrect from extreme physical despondency.

For now I say goodbye to the pyramids and go down as best I can to Refuge Elisabetta and then Lac Combal where I find supplies at 05:18, still at night. Despite being exposed to the elements, it is an authentic Oasis in the middle of the desert, where I eat and drink greedily. The clock is exactly on schedule. I've been behaving well.

This glacial valley has something magical, something ethereal, something inhospitable. It reminds me of images of the moon. 

As I stopped, I cooled down and therefore had to put on my raincoat and gloves for a moment. Just until it gets back to cruising speed. 

I cross the valley. It is immersed in fog. I am reminded of the Knights of the Round Table and their quest for the Holy Grail. Excalibur, Sir Lancelot and King Arthur.

Now I'll have to cross the mountain in order to access the Ferret Valley. 457 meters and about 2 km separate me from the pass at Arrête du Mont Favre. I conquer it at dawn. It is now 06:25 and the light of a new day is dawning. I realize something is wrong with my left eye. I try not to be alarmed. A permanent mist has fallen over this eye. Fortunately the right is fine otherwise it would be very difficult to progress on the ground. What will happen? I remember Seb Chaigneau's video, where you can see him standing at a UTMB station, at night, desperate and with his eyes glazed over, unable to discern anything at all. Has the retina shifted? Is it an inflammation of the cornea? Should I stop lest something definitive and irremediable happens? 

I decide to take the most optimistic position. If it eventually happened to Seb, it will happen to me too. Just be patient and meanwhile use the other eye. And so I do, patiently for several hours (it took about 6 hours to get back to normal). Trail Ultra Endurance is an undertaking only accessible to the strong or the very patient. I consider myself a member of the second group. 

It already smells like Courmayeur. Just go down 5 km and 500 m to Col Checrouit and then another 4 km and 700 m to the City. During the day everything is easier. I still don't feel the slightest bit sleepy. Just keep going and I'll get there.

At 07:04 I arrive at Col. The station is at the top of the Cable Car. I pack the front light, the sleeves and the gloves in the backpack. I ingest some gels and head for the steep descent that awaits me naughtily. 

I already know her from the little trip I took here in June with some friends. Nothing good is expected from her. 

For better or worse, I can still beat her at a fast trot. I come across very few athletes. I surpass some and I am surpassed by others. I must not be that bad yet. 

The old carcass holds up.

Courmayeur

Courmayeur climbs towards me slowly but surely. The view is magnificent. I can almost reach the houses. I leave the track and enter the tarmac. A quick run to the sports forum pavilion and I'm at its side. They hand me the bag with my belongings, and I go inside the pavilion.

Courmayeur

At the entrance I am greeted by a group of Portuguese very enthusiastic and effusive with a huge national flag. I recognize Tuxa. I will meet them several times along the way. Their enthusiasm is contagious and gives me strength. Blessed be! 

It's now 7:45, I'm only 13 minutes behind schedule, so everything is under control! 

I've covered 78 km with 4,500 D+. I'm almost halfway through the course and only 13:45 have passed.

Inside the pavilion the first thing I do is sit at a table and organize my belongings. I exchange the thermal for a cooler technical t-shirt. The cap buff and nothing else. I keep all the other equipment. 

Then I take my cell phone out of flight mode (if I have it turned on the battery will go away in an instant in areas with no network) and check the many sms that my wife has been sending me throughout the night. It's the best there is for the morale. 

Sometimes it's not clear if I carry family and friends with me along the way or if they carry me. I think I take them with me when in reality they take me with them. 

Fundamental mechanics asserts that there is no action at a distance, and the theory of relativity teaches us that nothing can travel faster than light. There must therefore be a quantum field in addition to the 4 known ones. The field of love, which permeates the depths of space-time and in which two or more souls can exist in an intertwined state across distance and time. 

I send a comforting sms to say that I'm great in which I charitably omit the sorry state of my crucified little feet. 

I go out into another day, another adventure. I am strong of spirit. A dynamo of joy. 

Next stop: Refuge Bertone!!!

I walk up the village at a trot until I enter the road and then the trail. I'll have to climb 816 m, but I'm not worried. I feel capable of conquering Everest! 

I start to overtake athlete after athlete at a crazy, insane, unsustainable pace. I'm possessed. I pass 50 athletes until I reach the Refúgio at 09:23. Now I'm actually almost halfway across, covered in 15:23.

It's hellishly hot! About ninety-five degrees Celsius down in the valley, or something, and twenty-odd degrees up here. 

After eating the usual soup and a few more quarters of orange, a few squares of banana and some ham and chorizo, I set off for the 7 km between the two most famous refuges, at an altitude of about 2000 m.

 

This section between Refúgio Bertone and Refúgio Bonatti is the most beautiful of the entire race. The view over the Ferret Valley and the Mont Blanc massif is magnificent. It's a shame I'm walking along it with my back to the valley, but every now and then I take a look back. 

At 10:41 I arrive at Bonatti. It takes me 16:41 hours on top of my legs. I'm still 17 minutes behind schedule. Not bad!

In the refuge I swallow some gel and little more as my stomach asks for a truce. Above all, I take salts to replace all that is now on top of my epidermis, forming a second layer of skin. 10 minutes to recover and I move on.

Now it will be 5 km to Arnuva, down there at 1786 m of altitude. We only have to descend 334 m but they cost me. Almost reaching the supply tent, I am caught by a column of athletes that I had passed before. This does not bode well for the future. I confess that I have been pushing myself mercilessly to try to secure my goal. 

How much longer will my martyred feet and my butchered legs hold out? 

It's one thing to put up with the pain of bloody skin, it's another to keep your muscles working after 17:39, after 96 km and 5,721 D+ / 4,970 m D-, of a crazy ride through the mountains. 

The pain is tolerated, but the legs must perforce continue to move. How far can the mind take us?

...Continues in Part II