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

“How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man?”

-          Bob Dylan

We stay for a short 7 minutes at the refueling station, during which I take the opportunity to drink another salty soup, ingest several slices of orange and lots of banana cubes. From the start I must have consumed an entire banana tree! I drink a big pot full of soup, the kind they use in the barracks to cook for the soldiers. Not to mention gels, fast recovery, isotonic drinks, water, cheese, ham. Fuck all this shit! What I really wanted was a cold beer.

I fill up the flasks while Nelson waits for me. 

I go out into the street behind him and we walk slowly so it doesn't causes a tremendous indigestion right there. We flank the lake, which appears magnificent, under a radiant sun. Lots of people on the shore, some taking a bath. How jealous I feel! Both Nelson and I would like to take a big dip into the cool waters to cleanse ourselves of the dust, salt, sweat and blood collected along the way.

Instead, we keep going. Can't stop. To stop is to die. 

We are greeted by Maria Martins. I ask her about Paulo. She tells me he has been having a lot of problems with keeping the food inside his stomach . But he still keeps going. Later I learned that he had to give up in Vallorcine, almost at the end of the road, and that he had to be on IV drip. Tried until the end. Brave warrior! 

Nelson starts a smooth trot and I try to keep up with him as best I can. He is feeling better than I am. I ask him to move forward, but he refuses. We go in tandem. We have left Champex and prepared ourselves mentally for the 3 violent clashes that we will have to face and know are further ahead. 

Three devastating climbs and three even worse descents. 

Three windmills to beat in single fight. 

In the words of the UTMB and CCC organization: «The second part leads to 3 heavy ascensions: Bovine, Tseppes and La Tête au vents. The long downhill parts that follow every ascension are as difficult for joints and muscles.” 

But for now the path is flat. We will travel a good 5 or 6 kms by road before entering the vertical trail. Only after 130 km does the real ordeal begin. 

I am now 40 km from the end. Less than 3,000 m of positive slope separate me from the finish line. 

What will happen to me in the next few hours? Will I conquer the mountain? 

Only by attempting it will I know.

We start the ascent to Bovine and La Giete. It's still day. We climb slowly. It's still Nelson on the lead. Now even when going up I'm starting to lose gas. We are being overtaken by several athletes. I recognize several of those that I had surpassed previously. One of them happily says to me: “Hey, we have seen each other all day long!” 

And I think to myself: yes it's true, it's just that before I overtook you on the climbs and you overtook me on the descents. Now I'm all fucked up and you're going all flashy! 

Should have practiced longer descents. But where the hell would I do that? In Sintra, near Lisbon, there is nothing that compares with this… I could also have dedicated more time to muscle strengthening, but what time could that be? And the time to work, be with the family and still maintain voluntary associative work? Not to mention the time to fulfill other interests, like reading, music and movies? 

It doesn't stretch. 

Besides all that, this year was the year of Half-Ironman. I still needed to swim and train road bike. Bicycles give power, but they take a lot more hours in the saddle than I could afford to spare to make a difference. 

Well, enough excuses. It must be from tiredness, as a famous character on our reality shows said. I'm not even one for excuses so I tell myself: Luis stop the mental racket right now and keep going on without stopping. 

The ascent is slow. At a certain point we cross paths with João Cruz. He has a complicated leg/foot problem. Has difficulty putting foot on the floor. We follow in a trio for several kilometers, always giving way to others who pass us. 

Even so, until La Giete I do not fall in the general classification. A lot of athletes must have given up in Champex (I later learned that there were 59). I cannot resist introducing a prolepsis (flash-forward) here: The dropout table was as follows:

From Champex onwards, there were few drop-outs. 

I suspect that the heat, intestinal disorders and mental exhaustion were the main causes for abandonment. 

From La Giete most Trail Runners must have thought: if I've come this far, I'll also reach the end. 

Now that's exactly what I thought when I arrived at La Giete's liquid supply (a tiny tent with half a dozen volunteers) at 20:26 in a twilight that promised more than human strength could sublimate.

I had managed to climb 819 meters at a slow pace at about 3.2 km/h. 

Nelson was ahead by a few minutes and João was a little behind.

From here on it would be a lonely path the one I would take, through which I would have to cross the second night alone, and I would find myself confronted with my most terrifying ghosts. 

Moses parted the Red Sea with the rod and the word of God. 

I'm going to have to open the night with lashes of anger and despair. But I lack the prophet's beard. 

I've been on trial for exactly 26:26:26. 

The Number of the Beast hidden among the 3 Swans... 

I have already covered 136 km, with 8,000 m D+ / 7,150 m D-. There's little left!!! ...I delude myself... 

Let's go down this mountain. I can move in a really slow trot, but it's a trot. 

I go trotting, trotting, trotting, down the path. One kilometer… two kilometers… three kilometers… I need to descend 657 m in 5 km until I reach Trient, still on the Swiss side. 

You must take one step at a time. That's what you do when you tackle a complex problem. It is analysed, divided into its constituent parts, dissected and then put together again, in a synthesis that allows the system to be modeled in order to achieve a greater understanding. 

The stage I go through is the descent to Trient. I have to be patient and stay in slow mode while I'm overtaken by 19 athletes. Anyway, my fight wasn't for the final classification but a war against the clock, which at this point is completely lost. It became an irreducible battle to reach the end. 

I go into survival mode.

At 21:35 I arrive at the Trient aid station. I am exhausted to the limit of human strength. I need 20 minutes of static rest, in catalepsy, to compose myself. I can't eat any food. Even the water makes me nauseous and vomiting. 

The gut must be lined with asbestos. Nothing goes in! I'm still 30 very hard kilometers away from the finish and I can't eat! 

From here on it will have to be by consuming muscle. When I started the race I weighed 72 kg for 178 cm. Right now I should be about 4 kg under that. I no longer have glycogen stores in my liver and muscles, I have no abdominal fat, nothing to go to for energy other than lean mass. I'm going to consume myself up the mountain. 

I force myself to get up. Fortunately, no cramps ensue. I put on my raincoat and step out of the tent into the cool of the night. I walk a few meters and I come across Paulo Pires, my old coach. It's a joy to meet him there!

Generous as always, he immediately asks me how I'm doing and if I'm having trouble going down. Nelson must have warned him. I confirm that yes, the descents are not easy at all. He helps me stretch and recommends a massage on the quadriceps, calves and hamstrings, in a house right in front of us, which has the medical support of the organization. 

I enter the room and ask for the massage. I am attended by two very competent professionals who give me a VIP treatment. 

Another 20 minutes have passed in these arrangements, but they are worth the delay. I thank them and I'm going to chat with João Cruz who is stretched out on a stretcher, badly treated. He's pale, transparent like a ghost, and he's got an index finger stuck in one of those blood oxygen measuring devices. For him this is necessarily the end of the line. He has no chance of taking even one more step. I recommend that he does not continue. It's always a hard decision to make, especially having come this far, and I can feel he's hesitating. There are situations in which it is appropriate to encourage the athlete to continue. This is clearly not the case. The most important thing is to preserve the physical integrity of the person. 

These things happen to anyone. Next year will be back for his revenge. I wish him well and go out into the street. After walking a hundred meters I am forced to remove my raincoat. There is still a hot weather and in progress we generate more than enough heat to counteract the (little) freshness of the night.

This climb to Catogne (Tseppes) is less technical than the previous one, from Bovine, but it is a long climb! Or so it seems, because in reality it has the same difference, 816 m D+ in 5 km. In fact, what happens is that I move more and more slowly. I'm drinking a few sips of water between nausea and vomiting, but I force myself to walk. A fixed idea hammers in my brain: I have to get to France! I have to get to France! I have to get to France!

I arrive in Catogne, at an altitude of 2,034 m, almost two hours after leaving Trient. Almost two hours to cover 5 kilometers at 2.8 km/h! In my plan this should be done in an hour and a half. It seems excessive to me. I was overtaken by 31 athletes! I'm getting slower and slower. Where will this stop? When will my motor explode?

The descent will be much worse. 

I pass companions seated on the side of the road, their gaze lost in the void. I ask them if they are all right, to have them nod their heads slightly. 

Are these the sentries that flank the Styx as Charon's barge drags me down? 

“From the descent into Hades, no one returns, or at least the one who was does not return.”

Is Tiresias waiting for me to reveal the prophecy? I will achieve the tranquility of my kingdom, but will the journey be particularly hard? Will I only be able to return if I curb my greed? 

Speak to me Tiresias! Reveal to me my destiny! 

My destiny is to go down, down, down… I have a rendez-vous with a French town called Vallorcine, at 1,270 m altitude. 

It takes me almost two hours to get down. More precisely, one hour and forty-seven minutes. The same one that had taken a while to climb and at exactly the same speed: 2.8 km/h! 

In other words, I am slower and slower, shakier and shakier, more and more hopelessly bent!

Vallorcine

I enter Vallorcine's tent at 01:55 pm. I arrive dizzy. I need to sit down quickly. I do it at the first table I find. I spend a few minutes looking at the floor until I regain my cool. 

I'm dead. Or so I feel. I must resurrect, I must resurrect!

«Mache dich, mein Herze, rein,
Ich will Jesum selbst begraben.
Denn er soll nunmehr in mir
Für und für
Seine süße Ruhe haben.
Welt, geh aus, lass Jesum ein!»

I once more can't eat anything. 

Between me and Chamonix there are 20 km and 1,000 m D+ / 1,200 D-. It seems of little importance. However, it will be the worst 20 km and 1,000 m D+ / 1,200 D- of my entire life.

«We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France,
we shall fight on the seas and oceans,
we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be,
we shall fight on the beaches,
we shall fight on the landing grounds,
we shall fight in the fields and in the streets,
we shall fight in the hills;
we shall never surrender»

02:23. I leave the tent. Fortunately, I have an easy 3.7 km ahead of me until Col Des Montets, on a dirt road and with only 196 m D+. These have no history. I quickly arrive at the foot of the mountain, at an altitude of 1,466 m. 

Now it will really hurt! I can make out perfectly the column of fireflies that climb along the steep slope.

«To be, or not to be, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them»

 

To be or not to be. It is a question of conquering the Massif Des Aiguilles Rouges, forcing it to grant us the right of passage to the Chamonix Valley, bending its will to our will. Either we tame him or he subdues us. 

In the remote autumn of 218 B.C. Hannibal performed the incredible feat of passing an entire army, made up of 40,000 soldiers, horsemen, beasts of burden, carts and equipment, as well as 27 combat elephants, winding through stony tracks, perched dangerously on slippery slopes, from Gaul to to the Po Valley, on the Italian Peninsula. This enormous feat will echo through the annals of history until the end of time. 

I wish to emulate this ancient hero, but on my small, humble scale. 

There can be no hesitations. I have to finish what I started! 

I start the ascension. It starts off easy but soon it slopes unmeasurably. There are 661 m D+ in 4 kms, but even this measurement is misleading, as the unevenness is mainly concentrated in the first 2 kms. And what a gap! The terrain is the most technical I've hit so far in this race. To overcome the uneven rock steps, each the size of an Everest, it is necessary to lift the leg high, while driving the poles hard into the ground. It's an all-wheel drive, off-road climb made of raw effort, pack horse rather than mountain goat. Beast stupefied by the shattering of the soul.

De dia seria assim. De noite é pior.

De dia seria assim. De noite é pior.

UTMB 2014

Ascension performed at the threshold of rhabdomyolysis. I have nothing left to give to the Krebs Cycle but my soul.

Each step seems to require a reserve of energy that I don't know where it comes from.

ATP?! ADP?! Where are you know that I need you so much?

“Eli, Eli, lema sabachtáni?” - Matthew 27:46 

I want to go down into the valley on the way to Chamonix and not go up into the sky. Heaven and hell begin to merge. Go up… down… down… up… the colors are the same: the blackness of the night. The destruction of the soul. 

The horror! The horror! The heart of darkness. 

Mephistopheles, Beelzebub. Fallen Angel. Wings ripped off. Fire from hell. 

I recall Bob Dylan's words: “How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man” I'll go up even if all my teeth fall out, all my nails pop out, all my skin flays! After 3 hours of uninterrupted ascent I finally arrive at Tête aux Vents.

It is now 05:33 in the morning. In an hour, dawn will begin. 

What I feared most has materialized. I'm going to cross a second night and arise on the morning of the second day.

The penultimate stage begins: the descent of 274 m in 3 km to La Flégere. When you say it that way, it sounds easy. A walk. But it just isn't. The terrain remains extremely technical. Stone and more stone and more stone! And for my pulverized legs, going down the boulders is even harder than going up. On several occasions I find myself forced to go through the humiliating experience of descending backwards, sliding down the rock as I cling with my hands wherever I can. There is no way to bend my knees more than 5 or 6 degrees. I would need to achieve at least 45 degrees of amplitude. I am progressing with enormous slowness, expending a titanic effort. I grind my teeth. I'm overtaken by another 55 Trail runners in these scarce 3 km. I am one of Hannibal's elephants, slow, heavy, dormant.

UTMB 2014: Iker e Tofol

La Flégere

After an eternity, I finally arrive at La Flégere (at the top of the cable car). Inside are just two other companions. I rest for about ten minutes to gain courage for the 8 km left. And above all for the 928 m of descent that I cannot avoid. 

It's 07:10 on a radiant morning. I'm 35:33 into the race. Under normal conditions it would be possible to complete this descent in an hour and twelve minutes. That's what's in my plan. I scrutinize the sheet of paper with an astonished face. 

For a long time now I have only been aspiring to reach the finish line. 

I'm on my way. I go down walking. I dare no more than this. My muscles simply don't respond to the central nervous system anymore. 

I continue to be overtaken by people in droves. Many Japanese. All small, all focused on what they're doing. 

Other comrades pass me by, as fast as arrows, at the vertiginous pace of someone who would have heard the starting gun only half a dozen kilometers ago. In this short stretch I am overtaken by 114 athletes. I recognize and greet some Portuguese comrades. I'm genuinely happy that they're going to finish the race. I hope the Armada Lusa arrives unharmed to a safe harbor. We will lose some brave sailors along the way, along the route to Calicut, but the end goal will be reached. We will open new worlds for the Portuguese crown. 

I pass by Chalet de La Floria. Pedestrian signs indicate about an hour to Chamonix. I text my wife to let her know I'm almost there. 

I keep going down. I go down and down and down. Chamonix climbs towards me, lazy and languorous. I am a drop of water that slowly slips into the river mouth.

Foto Strava

Finally I leave the woods and enter the road at the entrance to Chamonix. Another short walk around the city and I arrive at the straight road on Rua Joseph Vallot, where my family awaits me. I feel immense joy and relief to see them. They accompany me across the last few hundred meters. The street is flanked by a crowd that watches and claps. It's the advantage of arriving during the day: we have a lot of people watching and encouraging us in these final meters.

I try to summon a trot. Gotta get there running what the hell! 

I get around the Cape of Good Hope and start the final meters at 09:24. It's finally in sight! It remains to overcome it with the last shred of dignity that I have left.

It's done!!!

Chamonix

Pedro Portugal welcomes me at the finish line. 

I'm a finisher of the greatest sporting epic I've lived to date! At least the one that cost me the most to complete. 

Kisses, hugs, photography for posterity. Collect the Finisher Vest.

I go collect the bag of clothes at Courmayeur. 

We return home to finally eat a good meal and take a refreshing bath. 

That lunch tasted the best of all my life. The famous nectar of the gods. 

Then bath. 

I undress and stand under the shower with balsamic water running over my shattered body. 

Suddenly I'm overwhelmed by all the nausea, all the tiredness, all the emotion I've been heartily holding back until now. 

It's like a dam that bursts and releases an uncontrolled waterfall to the bottom of the valley. 

I cry uncontrollably. 

Waves of pain sweep through my body. 

I am going to fall helpless, I feel it. I scream for the name of my wife who comes to my rescue. 

She helps me sit up and wraps me in a towel and a tight protective hug. 

Cry, cry, cry for an eternity. 

Until finally the emotional discharge wears off, draining the pain and nausea with it, away from me. 

I survived.

Is there a secret to Ultra Endurance Trail Running? A magic formula? 

Yes there is. It is the same key that opens the door to life. 

It is the following recipe: 

Walk the path with a smile on your lips.