Weebles Wobble...or the tale of the CDNF

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.

More food, and a lovely evening along at the chalet where Matt, Caroline, Carol, Keziah etc were all staying, made a perfect final night before we all headed home on various flights the next day.

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.