It’s taken me a long time to write this, what for one reason
or another, and as I sit here on a flight (and what turned out to be several flights over a couple of weeks to get to the end), after a long week away with work,
with brain drain and a full belly, this may not be the best time to start telling
my tale.
Many will already know that my CCC quest didn’t go according
to plan. And while this is immensely
disappointing, it’s not without explanation, of which most, if not all is
justified and avoidable. I’m not sure in
starting this tale if I’m going to let everything out but we’ll see how it
goes.
Step back to the time between completing the WHW and heading
out to Chamonix, and the Garmin stats tell the story. Training was minimal as I focussed on
recovery, and not wanting a repeat of last year’s fatigued challenges. I rested pretty much through to the Devil,
and while I was somewhat emotional that day about not running in Johnny
Devil-Fling’s first directorship of this event (which a few years ago was my
first ultra), I remained part of the day through my role as one of the sports
massage therapists working at the finish.
That in itself was tiring enough for me to know that not running was the
better plan.
As the CCC drew closer, the fear increased, but it was too
late to make many material changes. I
started to increase my activity levels, and (probably half-heartedly) tried to
improve my diet…but the knowledge that the ‘holiday’ and the beer, baguette and
cheese fest was coming didn’t really aid my motivation.
 |
| The worst of the fall carnage (pre bruising) |
A couple of weeks before race day, I took up the opportunity
of a "free" place in the Sheriffmuir Road Race – literally the closest race to my
house, and a challenging 11 mile route on tarmac. I had a plan to run steady and slow on the
out leg (mostly downhill) and then challenge myself (a little) on the uphill
return. Fast forward to the half way
turning cone….all going to plan, no stress or worries, good tunes, nice
weather….grab a bottle of water, smile at Caroline who was marshalling…..and fall
flat on my face….on a flat stretch of road.
F***********CK that hurt!!!
After being scrapped off the road by Caroline and a passing
runner, and trying not to cry, I dusted myself down (doused bloody knees and
elbow with water), swallowed a large dose of MTFU and assured everyone I really
was fine to continue (‘I can’t not finish the race!!??’).
BOOOOM what an adrenaline rush as I tried to catch up some
of the places I’d lost and claw my way back up the hill to the pub for my
finish beer…….. In reality, what happened was I ran straight through the finish
line, almost flattened a small child, and launched myself at the first aider
who scrubbed my gravelly wounds with saline and a wire brush (actually a wipe,
but it felt like the former)!
So, that was that.
Ice, rest, arnica, painkillers and the best part of a week without being
able to put weight through my right leg…. Not the ideal tapering situation.
 |
| Gairloch sunset |
I could’ve, maybe should’ve seen this as appropriate timing
to seek medical deferral from the CCC….but was still hoping for a miracle.
There was no question I wasn’t going to go to Chamonix, and
after a weekend ‘up North’ with Clark, followed by a re-carpeting of most of
the house, I flew over to Geneva on the Wednesday before my race (which was on
the Friday). Several of the Scottish
contingent were already out there and the TDS guys were already running (with
mixed success).
 |
| Just vanning |
Messages were starting to come through from race HQ
regarding the forecast, which was unseasonably hot. The messages mostly concerned carrying an
advisable 2 litres of fluids. Not good
for pasty blue Scots, who’ve not seen the sunshine, never mind heat for a
while. And I was still struggling with
prolonged time on my feet, which my knee was objecting to.
 |
| The big beer (before we drank the pub dry) |
Helen and John met me at the lovely apartment I was sharing
with them and the wonderful Hetherington’s, and took me to the Expo to spend
some cash on race goodies and new running shoes (as you do (but not for the
race)). We probably went for food, and
maybe a beer at our adopted home for the week “The Green Welly” (a practiced
haunt from those who’d been previously).
Chamonix was awash with great people we knew (and too many to mention!),
and it seemed like every corner you turned there was a friendly Fling t-shirt
wearer or a saltire waver for the whole time I was out there.
 |
| Double ding ding up the mountain |
Thursday I was instructed to go with David up the mountain,
and breathe the air. So, some further
application of MTFU and my first cable car experience with a trip up to Aguile
du Midi.
WOW. That is all.
Air duly breathed. A
million pictures taken. Cable car back
down (scarier than the ascent). Some
more news of heat and challenges from those in the OCC event. My fear levels were increasing.
 |
| Registration |
The compulsory kit list is pretty spectacular. Even when the forecast is for 30 degrees and
clear blue skies. I guess the organisers
‘know best’ and for a race of up to 26.5 hours and 60 miles of over 6,000m ascent you can’t take risks. David and I packed, repacked and double
checked our bags. Several times in fact, living in fear of being rejected at
registration. And off we trotted to
stand and queue, for what seemed like an eternity, outside the sports centre,
until final we successfully emerged with our new wrist bands, race bags, and
permission to board the start busses!
GULP.
Race day.
Start bus successfully boarded at 0630. Temperatures already c16-18 degrees.
Another first for me with a drive through the Mont Blanc
tunnel – that’s a pretty spectacular engineering achievement – and dropped us
out in Italy (to the tune of 80 mobile phone texts pinging with the “Welcome to
Italy” text). Courmayer is a pretty town
with wonderful mountain views. David
helpfully pointed out the ‘reasonably sized’ one that would form our first
climb (NB – reasonable in comparison to some ginormous exhibits circling the town).
We walked up to the start area (a good 15 mins from where
the buses drop you) and it was still relatively quiet…No queue for the
portaloo!! We met Donald and Tommy, and
some others, and generally milled around, drank coffee and soaked up the
atmosphere as more and more runners arrived (the race accommodates 1,900
entrants).
The start time was getting closer and I’d been ‘advised’ to
try to avoid ending up too far back in the start pens, so as my fear levels
accelerated I abandoned Donald (who stayed minding some bags of others who by
this point were clearly in a VERY long queue for the loos)…
The crowds gathered, there was a helicopter and a drone
flying overhead and the countdowns were beginning. Dum dum de dum, dum de dum de dum….and the
first wave of elite and speedies were off.
I shed a wee tear of fear.
Ten minutes later…dum dum de dum, dum de dum de dum….and my
wave were released. A clatter of
footsteps and poles on the streets, to the cheers ‘Allez Allez’ and the ringing
of cow bells.. We were off on our
adventure.
I didn’t find the volume of people too much of an issue, and
kept myself amused checking out the kit choices (seriously, some people should
check their rear view in a mirror before leaving the house!), and trying to
guess nationalities. There was only
really one bottle neck on ‘the climb’ and it was a welcome wee breather. I don’t think I have EVER (aside from maybe
my time running in Peru) experienced such a challenging ascent…heat, altitude
and 7 miles of near constant uphill. I
think David H had said I would be at the first check point after 3hrs 45m….I’m
not sure to this day if he meant the top of the hill dib point or the refuge at
Bertone. Regardless, it took me 4 hours
to get to the ‘summit’ of this first climb.
It was pretty, I definitely wasn’t.
I’m not going to download all the thoughts, conversations and struggles,
aside to say, I had decided it was not my day by the summit. I sent a couple of texts and got some
encouraging replies to ‘try’ the next few miles which were downhill. And that was where the knee issue kicked back
into play and confirmed my decision that my CCC was over, before I even got to
the second C.
 |
| Nice view to end my race |
I walked, shuffled and enjoyed the views on the descent to
Refuge Bertone. I even overtook a couple
of people. The checkpoint was very quiet
when I arrived…a few broken souls and some decimated refreshment tables. I found one of the ‘organisation’ who spoke some
English and advised I was withdrawing.
She checked I wasn’t in need of medical assistance and then checked and
double checked I didn’t want to continue.
I didn’t. My barcodes were then
removed from my bag and race number. No
going on now. She advised what would
happen next (myself and the other withdrawals would need to wait on the
checkpoint closing, and be walked off the hill (it was about an hour downhill
to a track road) where we would be collected in a jeep and taken back to Courmayeur
and bussed back to Chamonix) and a small band of us slowly gathered over the
next hour or so. I was surprised how
many people there were still coming in, and while a couple tried to convince me
to go on, I didn’t want to further injure my knee, and knew deep down it was
the ‘right’ decision and that I would never have made it to the finish.
Eventually, after what seemed like hours sitting in the sun
(no point not topping up my tan while I had the chance) we were walked off the
hill and eventually back on the bus.
Rush hour back through the tunnel and it took FOREVER to get back to
Chamonix…unfortunately so slow we didn’t get back for the start of the
UTMB. The bus dropped us in town and to
add to my misery the walk back to the apartment was pretty much along the final
mile of the race route. That hurt.
My memory is a bit faded what happened next that night. I’m sure there was beer, food and cheering at
the finish line, while news filtered through about progress of others. 
Saturday John, Helen and I went a hike up to Flegere along
the final stretch of the race route.
Weather was roasting and the climb was steep. We had the pleasure of seeing Caroline Moles
at Floria on her final descent and could see how hard she had worked to achieve
her CCC success, and after some lunch at the café and admiring the views (along
with Elaine, Andy, Karen, Vicky etc who also came up) we had the privilege of
seeing Xavier Thevenard come through the final checkpoint to ultimate go on to
win UTMB. Epic!
We went back down and one of the best memories of the trip
was seeing Nathalie Mauclair achieve first female winner in UTMB. Words cannot describe the atmosphere. It was phenomenal! If you’ve not seen the video I recommend a
look on the UTMB website or YouTube.
More cheering, beer, food, chat…the whole place was
buzzing! After seeing Matt Williamson
storm home I was exhausted and had to call it a night. Same again on the Sunday really….coffees,
pottering, cheering, flag waving. Sunday
I found really hard emotionally. Far worse
than seeing CCC finishers.
I spent some time in the afternoon (after trying a wee walk
shuffle that lasted about 10 minutes) sitting at the end of the town (with a
wee French cheer squad and super-enthusiastic wee woman (she was my French Wee
Chief Fi from Skye) shouting ‘Bravo Bravo Finishaaaaah’ (you’ll have to imagine
the accent)), at the foot of the final descent watching runners who had been on
the go since dinner time on Friday enter the final 15 minutes of achieving
their dream.
There were tears (mostly
me, not them). And when I got myself in
check, I headed back to the finish and watched the final runners come through
in 46+ hours…including a wee guy of 73!
Wow, just incredible.
I was on the late flight home Monday night, and after all
the packing faff first thing, Helen and John let me chum them on the train up
to Mer de Glace, where the views were tremendous. We took a wee gondola car, and many many
steps down to see the ice cave carved into the glacier. Helen and John took the train back down as
they were on an earlier flight, and I had a wee slow shuffle back down the trail
admiring the views and savouring these last few hours of my holiday.  |
| The waiters race |
After a final indulgence of some cheese, baguette and wine
(be rude not to)..…and a potter around the town to watch the Waiters Race, it
was back to the airport and back to my boys.
Full of hopes for 2016 and a boot up the arse with some clear ideas of
what steps I need to take to make it.
Emotional in many ways, and an experience to remember and
learn from.
