Gran Trail Valdigne 2008 (45 km with 2,400 m positive altitude change):  Training, Part I

Would you believe that not a single yodel did I hear?  And not even a glimpse of a girl in a dirndl skirt!  Hmmph!!  Aside from that, however, it was a successful (if not completely smooth-sailing) trip. 

 I arrived at the bus station red-faced and panting, as all my fussing around to make sure I had everything resulted in me leaving the house 10 minutes later than I had intended, and so I found myself pedalling like a mad woman to get there on time (I made it with 4 minutes to spare!).  Once settled, however, I managed to scoop the last row of seats and so spread out to snooze for the journey.

When I woke up towards the end of the journey, I got to enjoy the view out the windows.  Very Jasper-like, and I saw one amazing waterfall in particular - really spectacular! 

Courmayeur is quite a pretty little town, and I managed to find the piazza from which the race will start.  I called the girl who had told me she would be in Courmayeur and expressed an interest in running, but she had to do some non-running running around with her 3 kids so couldn't make it.  The other 2 people I didn't hear from, so, yes, I was on my own.  In a way, however, I felt that was best as (i) I needed to do a long, long run, and (ii) I didn't really know where I was to go.  But, with map/directions in hand I set out. 

Ok, from the piazza I must take a certain uphill street out of town (found it), leading to the next town, La Saxe (found it).  10 minutes in and so far, so good.  Next, an underpass that will lead to a walking path to another town.  But where is the underpass?  Here is an overpass - could they mean that?  Why didn't I bring the Italian directions instead of these rubbishy-translated English directions that contain errors?  No, let's give them the benefit of the doubt and keep running/walking up this secondary highway.  20 minutes in and slightly frustrated.  Still no underpass.  Doubt enters the mind.  Should I have entered the town to find it, rather than by-passing the town as I had done?  Perhaps I should just trudge up (so far it’s all up) the road a bit further and maybe it's there...  30 minutes in and things going sideways... 

All right, this seems too far.  Stop and ask directions that send me back from whence I came.  Running all the while (downhill, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!).  More directions, equally helpful.  By now I am back at Courmayeur and decide that I will just give up on finding the underpass and the little path and just go directly to the next town (Dolonne) using the main road, and try to pick up the directions from there.

All right, at Dolonne now and looking for some old fountain from which there is supposed to be a path that leads to the next town.  No fountain, old or new, in sight, but the name of the road contains the name of the fountain, so lets keep going.  Town completely deserted, like in some weird movie.  Ah, not completely deserted, two suspicious characters hanging out at what appears to be a bus stop.  Begin running with confident air, holding my walking sticks in an aggressive, "stay-away-I-mean-business" manner.  See what may be the fountain, but not sure so keep going.  Run to the end of the road, which curves left only to finish in the parking lot of the "closed for the season" hotel.  Sigh.  Turn back and, close to the suspicious characters, see a man loading a dog into a truck.  Ask for assistance and am assured that, yes, that was the fountain, and instead of turning left with the road I needed to jag right and cross the little bridge over the river, then take the path to the left, then stay right.  Easy.  His brother is also doing the race but has hurt himself in training.  Do I know that the race is hard?

Cross the bridge and turn left onto what would be very generously called a path.  Perhaps it was a path last year.  Perhaps it will once again be a path this year if they cut the grass for the event...  50 minutes in, and slightly behind my estimated schedule, but perhaps making progress now.  At a fork in the so-called path, take the right limb.  Running into the deserted forest with eerie music playing in my head.  Here is a little shack used for wood-cutting or holding kidnapping-victims or something, it appears.  The path sort of ends at this point.  Hmm.  Not liking this so go back.  Take the left limb.  Ends up in a Sound of Music-worthy field with thigh-high grasses.  Drat.  60 minutes in and getting tired of this.  Okay, let’s try running neither left nor right but along the river.  All downhill on a sort-of trodden down path.  Ignore the little scratches and scrapes from the grasses and wild-flowers, and try to jump over the thistles as best I can with my fully-loaded pack and walking sticks.  Getting the hang of it and picking up speed, loving the scenery, wheeeeeee!!!  

Path not getting clearer, in fact, quite the contrary.  I have been running down this slope for less than 10 minutes, but my spider sense tells me to go back.  Pity that going back is all uphill.  Sigh.  Given up looking at my watch, and trying to tell myself that, good or bad, it all counts as ‘training in the mountains’, which is why I’ve come.

Decide to go back to Courmayeur (really just across the highway) and see if I can’t go and find this underpass again.

Repeat the first bit of the journey but this time ask for directions from a Scout group.  The leader, a woman with a most unwelcoming face, is completely unimpressed that I do not have a comprehensive map of the paths and only my poor directions and general map.  Po-faced or not, however, she coughs up an extra map and gives it to me.  After running/walking around for another 40 minutes peering at my directions and the specific path-map and searching for the evidently unmarked start of the path, I decide to go back to La Saxe and enter it to see if I can’t find the underpass that way, rather like searching for the door to Narnia hidden among the coats at the back of the wardrobe…

I did in fact find the underpass but never did find the path on the other side.  However, I took a little road that took me to the next town from which I saw a sign indicating walking trails.  Having by now given up on following the route for the race, I decided to change tactics and try the walking trails.

Trail well marked, and indicating to go left.  Go left past two houses.  Each has a large, barking and salivating dog that runs straight for me to the limit of its chain.  Taking deep and calming breaths I continue, ending up in a field.  No, not a field exactly, a farmer’s field.  And look, there is his house off to the left.  And to the right the field runs up the mountain.  Oh lord…

Try walking across the field, with less success than the herd of cattle that has obviously been there before me.  Manage to get half-way across without twisting my ankle on the broken up clods of dirt, then decide to go back.  They can’t mean for us to be traipsing across people’s land, can they?  Try the path to the left.  Yes, it definitely leads to his house, but I’ll just cut through the yard and come out into the street in front.  Here we are.  All roads lead to Dolonne, I’ve discovered.

But Dolonne has its “fun park” which is obviously a ski hill in the winter.  Well, mountain running/walking I wanted, and mountain running/walking I shall have!  Head up the mountain using the maintenance road.  Gaining altitude at an astonishing rate, breathing hard and using my walking sticks like a local - an 87-year old local, but a local nonetheless.  After about 15 minutes of going almost straight up I stop for much needed breath and see another little sign pointing into the woods and indicating a trail.  Ah ha!  Perhaps this is something!  I begin to descend through the woods along this trail.   

I am not running down this series of switch-backs in the forest as much as I am prancing and skipping along like a deranged faun trying not to get carried away by the forces of gravity, using my walking sticks to dig into the ground ahead of me in a not-quite futile attempt to give my knees and quads a bit of a break.  It is extraordinarily beautiful in the woods, I realise, benefitting from a moment of clarity as I kapurtle down the path.  The path finally comes out at basically where I began on the maintenance road, but my descent lasted something like 47 seconds rather than the 22 minutes of my ascent.  So this is mountain running!  What fun.

I set my alarm so as to know when I should head back to Courmayeur and catch my bus, then head up this little trail, then kapurtle back down again

I have been running, walking (mostly), peering at my various maps, asking directions, and going in circles for something like 4 hours, so decide to head back.  Running again (all downhill here!) I pass through the now-famous Dolonne, running on a deserted street and past an undoubtedly “closed for the season” hotel.  Another large, barking and salivating dog.  And, oh look, this one isn’t chained!  Marvellous!  Slow abruptly to a walk and begin talking sweetly to the dog and trying to calm my beating heart.  Cursing the owners of the hotel – what kind of people leave a dog to run loose?!?  Make it to the end of the hotel property and round the corner and finally leave the dog behind…

Gran Trail Valdigne 2008 (45 km with 2,400 m positive altitude change):  Training, Part II

Back at Courmayeur this weekend.  Alone again BUT what a difference a week makes!  Aside from the ever-more-abundant wildflowers (much appreciated) and the temperature being 10° hotter than a week ago (not appreciated), there were people in the little villages and walking the trails on which I was training!  Bumped into an English fellow, various Italians and bumperloads of French! 
 
Knowing my way around a bit as a result of last week's venture made all the difference in the world.  Found the underpass right away and got back to Dolonne (center of the universe, as it has seemingly become) without difficulty.  Didn't even try to find the promised trails leading hither-and-yon but instead followed through on my action plan to go up.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay up.  During the race there are 2 ascents to 2,300 m (at Courmayeur we start at about 1,240 m), so thought I would try to get to that altitude.  Thus I found myself back at the ski hill I found last week. 
 
Hot.  Africa hot.  Walking up the road, huffing and puffing, leaning heavily on my walking sticks but doing a little better than the guy in front of me (until I pass him) who is dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and long pants and heaving a pack at least twice the size of mine.  Leave him in my dust (okay, okay, a bit of an exaggeration as I am doing approximately 4 km per hour) until I get to an open area where there is the ski rental shop, the chalet, etc.  Decide to go cross country, following the line of the ski lift, when I realise that off to the left in front of me are 2 donkeys lying in the shade.  One gets up, either to greet me or attack me, I'm not sure.  Decide to retreat and change directions to the right under the other ski lift.  Walking cross-country I see appearing from around a corner up ahead of me a cow... or a bull.  Not being expert, nor wanting to get too personal, I can't easily determine the gender.  I can easily determine, however, that it has horns.  Decide to retreat once again and this time get back to the road. 
 
Exchange a few words with the guy I passed earlier who is taking a break under the shade of a tree (turns out he is English, of all things), and carry on.  Pass over a ridge and come across a "rifugio" - a little lodge in the mountains with people sitting outside under umbrellas, stretched out enjoying the sun, eating and drinking.  Very odd.  Sort of an oasis-in-the-desert kind of thing.  At this point decide to follow the path I see leading off to the left.  The scenery is stunning.  Cross paths with an organised group of hikers, about a dozen or so French.  Exchange greetings and carry on.  And on.  And on.  About 2,100 m come across the first patch of snow, which is quite refreshing to my calves as my shoes sink into it.  Scattered snow patches, but mostly clear.  The occasional other hiker, but basically solitary.  Arrive at 2,300 m (yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayy!) where I stop (for the 1,273th time, give or take) and sit down (for the 1st time) and eat and drink something, admiring the scenery.
 
I have been walking for ages, at a snail's pace, and fear that I will have to walk this entire race, risking not finishing under the 13-hour cut-off. 
 
Now time to get back down.  Good heavens, now I appreciate why it was so hard to climb up.  It's ruddy steep!!!  Well, I will not be walking the entire race, I am assured.  The descent is borderline madness.  My quads and calves are putting in a full-day's work, as are my walking sticks (don't fail me now!!).  As I round the corner and fly into the courtyard of the rifugio I receive a round of applause and a few "brava", which is quite funny.  Jauntily waving my walking sticks to acknowledge the applause I thunder down the path and then force myself to carry on running up and over the ridge until I drop down out of sight on the other side, where I stop to catch my breath.  Downhill is much faster than uphill. 
 
Round the curve I see ahead that the herd of cows/bulls has moved closer to the road where I am to pass.  Drat.  See also that the 2 donkeys have joined the herd.  And now there are 2 dogs, also.  No, 3 dogs.  Hmmm.  Decide to abandon the road and head up across the wildflower/thistle-laden field, skirting all immediate animal-related dangers, as I perceive them, and then continue down without incident.  Mid-way down I head into the woods along the shady but steep path I found last time, arrive at the bottom, then climb back up that path to its finish (1,500m), then return to the bottom and go back to Courmayeur. 
 
Total time, about 4.5 hours, total distance, 22 km.  With my 2 ascents and descents and the distance, I think the day was a good approximation of half the race, and so perhaps I should anticipate doing the race in 9 or so hours...? 
 
The bus ride back lasted forever as there was traffic on the highway and so our 3.5 hour journey became a 5 hour journey.  Uggh.  But finally I got home, took a badly-needed shower, and fell into bed.  Today all is quite well except I am sunburned and walking a little stiffly.
 
This upcoming week and next will be easy, and I will not be going back to Courmayeur.  Then on the 10th (Thursday) I will go up there for the race on the 12th!

Gran Trail Valdigne 2008 (45 km with 2,400 m positive altitude change):  The Race!

Hard to put everything into words but, in short, I made it! 
 
And did quite well!  I had estimated finishing in around 9 hours and came in at 8:01:48.  Statistically speaking, I came in 10th in my class (women of my age), 22nd woman, and 121 overall out of 218.  It is true that the 1st in my class came in around 2 hours ahead of me (definitely room for improvement, Angela!), but number 218 of 218 came in at just over 13 hours (poor thing), so I can't complain.  I also can't complain because at a certain point, trying to climb up the second mountain as throngs of people (including loads of women) were passing me, I was convinced I was going to (i) come in absolute dead last, and (ii) exceed the 13 hour time limit.
 
I can't think of anything I have ever done that was as physically hard as this race.  I really had no idea.  You just have to keep going because there is no alternative - the only way home, to a hot shower and a warm bed, is forward.
 
We started at 10 a.m. Saturday morning under a rain that had started the evening before, continued all night and lasted about 20 minutes after the start (waterproof jacket on) and then tapered off and turned into blistering sunshine (jacket off).  After maybe 3.5 hours we found ourselves on a peak at the top of the world, with an absolutely howling wind.  Towards about 3:30 it started to rain again, quite hard (jacket on), which then stopped to allow the sun to re-emerge (jacket off), only to return with a vengeance at about 5 p.m. (jacket on).  Each time I did the jacket on-jacket off game I had to stop to take off my backpack, and so lost time, which was a pity.  However, towards the end of the race it really didn't matter because I was stopped so often anyway, leaning on my walking sticks and just trying to breathe.
 
From what I can ascertain the race was basically running up and down two mountains, one in the first half of the race (on which I did quite well) and the other in the second half of the race (on which I died a painful and slow death), which basically means, dividing the race into 4:  (i) run/walk/crawl uphill for approximately 11 kilometres; (ii) scream pell-mell downhill for approximately 11 kilometres; (iii) repeat. 
 
My feet started to hurt after about 30 minutes because during a great part of the race we were running on mountain trails, rocks, river beds (some with, some without the accompanying river), or deceptively open fields of wildflowers that nonetheless contained hidden rocks and holes, and between the rain and puddles, we ended up with wet feet almost from the get-go.  The last part of the race (all downhill) was complete folly because the rain (and the runners ahead of me) had turned the path into a total mud-bog.  My walking sticks were a blessing, both on the climbs up and on the descents, where they saved me several times from taking a header, either because I caught my toe on a protruding rock (which my legs were too tired to lift high enough to miss) or because I was doing a slalom-ski routine down that which had been a path prior to turning into a mud-bowl.  The course was designed by a sadist and participated by masochists.
 
On the plus side, the course was very well marked and at no time was I worried about being lost.  And it was absolutely breathtaking scenery.  We had snow-covered mountains, we had wild-flower-filled meadows, we had waterfalls and dense pine-tree forests (the latter being a dream for running, all soft and squishy but stable underfoot).  I overcame my cow-fear, having no choice as the road up which I had to trudge ran right past a group of them, and managed to tame my dog-fear also, as there were several (all large, barking and salivating), along the route. 
 
The spectators were quite numerous and very enthusiastic, and the few food/water stops were well organised.  I did several things that in retrospect I would have done differently, including packing far too much stuff into my backpack that, after all the rain, must have weighed almost 10 pounds. 
 
Normally after a race one mills around to see the results, which they print on an on-going basis, but this time after crossing the finish line I just picked up my "finisher" shirt (very nice), let them cut off my wrist-band (apologies to the volunteer who I bonked in the head with my walking sticks), and headed back to the hotel, which required another 5 km or so walk, all uphill, in the rain.  Someone's idea of a little joke.
 
Yesterday I went for a 30 minute walk, hoping to work out a bit of soreness, and this evening I will do the same.  I am walking stiffly, and stairs (particularly going down) are avoided where possible and greeted with great suspicion where not, but am generally okay.
 
And as I am thinking of how I might have done better, of where I could improve, and of the unmitigated gall of those impudent women who dared to pass me in my moments of misery on the second mountain climb, it seems almost inevitable that I will try this type of race again :-D