It has been very different this time, but considering it was 5 years ago since we were last here, in exactly the same place,it is all strangely familiar.
Last time we came as a group, Greg, Tim, John and myself and this time I am on my own with my family. Last time Savannah was not even three years old and now she is as old as Joshua was then. Last time it was my first 100 mile race I was preparing for, and now I have 6 under my belt, despite having a bit of a hiccup with number four (the fateful Leadville 2010!) and which delayed my participation in subsequent races.
Chamonix is exactly as we all remember it, even the children, were hugely excited to be going back to the Chalet with the outside hot tub, and the streets and location of the race start and bib distribution has also not changed.
A few things have changed though. At registration today, we had to present a great deal more compulsory equipment than previously, including waterproof leggings and gloves, as well as two working torches (which I had taken to doing anyway) and other compulsory layers which are clearly designed for the potential bad weather in the mountains.
Registration was a fairly straightforward, albeit lengthy, affair and I emerged from the exit of the Sports Centre with a bright yellow tee-shirt and all my kit ready to go.
The weather in the area over the last few days has been changeable to say the least. It really bucketed down on Tuesday from all reports, and I felt sorry for the guys running the long distance self-sufficiency PTL. The rain has held off since we arrived though, and the forecast temperatures have been creeping up and the probability of precipitation shrinking down. Hopefully we haven’t swapped thunderstorms and arctic conditions for sweltering desert heat, although given a choice I think I’d prefer the latter, but either extreme can have a significant impact on ability over the 100 mile distance.
The week in Chamonix comprises a number of different North Face organised races nowadays, 5 in total, covering different distances and different courses and catering for different levels of technical preference, and they have been spaced out from the start of the PTL (300km, 28,000m ascent – Chamonix start) on Monday 25th, through the TDS (119km, 7,250m ascent – Cormayeur start) and then the new OCC race (53km, 3,300m ascent – Orsières start). These three races with their varying distances were clearly designed to be finishing today when the town was full of racers signing up for the remaining two races, and we responded accordingly with support for the runners arriving as we scoured the town for waterproof gloves!
The final two races the CCC (101km, 6,100m ascent – Courmayeur start) and the UTMB (168km, 9,600m ascent – Chamonix start) commence tomorrow at 9:00am and 5:30pm respectively.
At this stage I am subject to the usual preface nerves and so was hugely envious of the guys coming in who had already completed their races and who could sit back, relax and enjoy a beer.
That, hopefully, will be me on Sunday afternoon / evening.
Sitting in our hotel at Twin Lakes, in my semi-exhausted state, looking back out at Hope Pass, the frenetic activity of less than 24 hours ago seemed very surreal.
The dichotomy between the two days was stark; the crews, auto-homes, gazeboes covering tables of gels, wraps, sandwiches, crisps, pretzels and other runner nutrition or hastily laid out on the car trunks, lining the gravel drive from the exit of the trail to the main road were all gone. The village of Twin Lakes had once again returned to a sleepy hamlet on the Independence Pass road to Aspen.
24 hours beforehand, the historic village had been host to one of the main aid stations of the Leadville 100 Trail Run. Now in its 31st year, the race is an out and back jaunt through Lake County, Colorado, from the old mining town of Leadville, west around Turquoise Lake and up Sugarloaf Pass, before continuing back down the other side of the pass and turning south through the Leadville Fish Hatchery to pick up the forest trails through to the lowest point of the course at Twin Lakes and then immediately ascending 3,400ft over the highest point of the course in the form of the imposing Hope Pass before turning briefly west again to the ‘ghost’ town of Winfield and the halfway 50 mile point, and then turning round and going back through the whole thing in reverse.
24 hours beforehand my life had also been very different. Much less relaxing and my passage through the aid station at twin lakes had been much less sedate than today’s calm outlook might suggest.
I had reached the 40 mile point in a shade under 7½ hours, just before midday on Saturday morning having started the race at 4:00am.
The start was exactly as I remember from 3 years ago; dark and emotional, with almost 1000 excited runners toeing the line, the occasional waft of deep-heat and the inevitable huge queues for the ‘restrooms’. I tried not to shine my head-torch in Liz’s face after we moved away from the illuminated area to the side of the exit pen, in front of the start line. We said goodbye to each other and I promised to see her in a couple of hours at the first aid point, 13 miles away.
The figures of the clock counted down ominously towards their zero point, although strangely I was not as nervous as I have been on some previous races. Perhaps experience was starting to tell, or perhaps it was the 2:30am wake up call or the altitude numbing my senses.
Carl Cleveland, who we had met in the hotel the previous day, seemed more anxious than me; he needn’t have worried, having paced a colleague for 90 miles at Badwater recently, my perception was that he certainly had the right credentials, but then this was his fourth attempt at the race. As he said, he was giving it a lot of respect. We spoke briefly as we watched the countdown and listened to the announcer motivating the assembled crowd and then, to the sound of a real gunshot in the air, we were off down the first of the dusty roads.
I seem to remember heading off marginally faster last time, but with 100 miles to go, I didn’t have an issue with settling into a rhythm. Even so, I pushed on as much as I could on the initially wide downhill roads until I found myself maintaining a fairly consistent pace with my fellow runners; a good strategy, I felt, given the narrow track I knew we were shortly to encounter. The first easy 3-4 miles of the course was over far too quickly though and I was surprised at how soon nearly 1000 starters had thinned out, although I had to wait a couple of times for my opportunity to enter the trail at a couple of bottlenecks and when we hit a short but tricky ascent up a boulder trail, I noted that this wouldn’t be much fun on the way back.
We were soon finding our way round the tree-line of Turquoise Lake, skirting the shore of the beauty spot in single file, the water sometimes appearing perilously close from the dark to our left. There were many campers and other temporary residents of the area to keep us company though, wrapped up in thermals, sleeping bags and puffa jackets as protection against the single figure temperatures at the high altitude, but enthusiastically cheering the runners on even though it can only have been 5am; one small group were even helpfully holding out reams of toilet tissue, reassuring the competitors they would be grateful for the impromptu supplies later on.
The trail around the lake was relatively tricky, with the roots of the trees providing a challenge in the dark, although with so many head torches up ahead and behind it was relatively easy to maintain a moderate pace. Indeed, I felt I could’ve gone marginally faster through the tunnels of trees, but also had vivid memories of stumbling on my previous occasion around this point. One runner just ahead of me took a heavy fall and two other concerned runners and myself stopped briefly too assist. As we got back underway and started to emerge from the first forest, I thanked God I had survived this far without my usual tumbles.
There was a brief section of tarmac, lined again with eager spectators and crews watching intently for their runners in the pre-dawn light, before the main checkpoint which was chaotic as the crews jostled to set up their stalls to service their runner’s needs.
I ran through the cheering crowds after the chip on my wrist had obligingly beeped, indicating my official arrival at the first aid station / check point and then I heard Liz shouting for me, seconds before I saw her and I ran on for my first break.
Time In: 06:08:24 (13.5 miles – 2hrs 8mins)
MayQueen to Fish Hatchery / Outward Bound – 10 miles Leadville – Stage 2
This early in the race I did not need much in the way of food or drink – I had hardly touched my water bottle (with Lucozade in it) so after a brief chat and relinquishing possession of my headlamp, I was on my way again.
This was the first real ‘hill’ but there was a twisting, turning switch back of a forest trail before the main route up to near the top of Sugarloaf mountain. I don’t remember thinking this would be particularly difficult in the dark but this section, amongst others, was to prove my undoing later on in the race.
Nevertheless, although we were still in shadow, the sun was definitely on its way into the world, and after a final steep rise, we hit the Hagerman trail to take us to the top of the pass. The road was relatively good, by which I mean not too steep or uneven, but covered with dust, gravel and the occasional rutting requiring most runners to oscillate from side to side to stick with the ‘easy’ route.
There were quite a few photographers on the race as a whole, their presence generally heralded several metres beforehand by a flag or sign flapping some way down the trail, indicating a smile would shortly be required!
I did not take that long to negotiate to the top of the pass and with the sun now fully up, although hidden behind some ominous looking clouds, I took advantage of the long downhill through the ‘power line’ area; a straight down stretch to the road following the electricity distribution for the area downhill.
The gradient and rutting on the section was variable and although I managed well with the majority of it, I caught a protrusion at one point and slammed down awkwardly onto my right knee and rolled onto my left hip, to produce my now familiar bloody mess of gravel rash. After a moment to catch my breath, dust myself off and recompose the little self-dignity I had remaining before being caught by the runners approaching from behind, I then started moving stiffly again but was again thankful the mess seemed superficial in nature.
After a slightly more steady descent than I had anticipated, I reached the road for the start of the main Tarmac section. The Leadville Fish Hatchery was not used this year as the aid station had been positioned marginally further on in order, presumably, to improve access for crews, but on turning the corner the traffic was horrendous and as I turned into the checkpoint, I wondered if Liz had made it through.
Luckily she had and, after some more frantic shouting, I spotted her in the crowd.
Time In: 08:07:52 (23.5 miles – 4hrs 8mins)
Fish Hatchery / Outward Bound to Half Pipe – 5.6 miles Leadville – Stage 3
I was glad of a couple of cups of coke at this stage as the heat had begun to rise and I changed from my long sleeve top to a short-sleeve ‘tee’. The race hadn’t really started yet though, so after another brief stop, we said goodbye and made our arrangements to meet at Pipeline; the impromptu stop just before the no-crew access Half-Pipe aid station.
This section, only about 4 miles, was predominantly on road as I travelled due east past the queues of cars waiting to get into the aid station I had just left, before turning south along a road parallel to the main county road Liz and I had used so many times over the last few days, to get from Twin Lakes to Leadville. The southbound road was mostly clear of traffic and I took the opportunity to run at a steady pace, passing a few others, before turning off-road and up a trail before emerging at the Pipeline row of cars. The heat on the tarmac was starting to rise, so I was glad to reach the shade of the woods as I once again entered the treeline at the base of the mountains, although knew this also indicated I would be going gradually uphill for the next few miles prior to the last 3-4 mile descent into Twin Lakes.
I smiled as I reached Pipeline as this was practically the last point I had seen on my return journey 3 years ago, where we had stopped and I had laid in the back of our car distraught but then tried in vain to carry on in the dark, with 26 miles ahead of me.
Unlike previously, on my present journey I had managed to stay in text contact with Liz most of the time, which at this point was essential to see if she had managed to extract herself from the traffic madness of the Outward Bound Aid Station; She apparently had been a bit cheeky about getting out and was now waiting for me. Nevertheless, there was some confusion as neither of us actually realised this wasn’t the official checkpoint, but I eventually found her and we chatted for a couple of moments while she thoughtfully offered me loads of stuff, none of which I really fancied. I was on my way in a flash and promised to see her again in a couple of hours.
The route was now a pleasant meander through the trees on the dusty trails and although the heat was still increasing, the spruce, pine and birch woodland afforded some protection and since we were off the roads and far from any transport induced haze, the route was most enjoyable. Several times there were fantastic vistas as I came into a clearing and the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains once again came into view. I was starting to remember one of the reasons why I spend early mornings training and invest so many of my lunchtimes during the week in preparation – this is, after all, what it’s all about and I was cognisant of this throughout the entire race.
It was not long before I came across the Half Pipe Aid Station and even though barely a third of the race was behind me, I was already slipping into a routine of quaffing as much coke as I could and trying to force down a few crisps for salt, sandwiches for carbs and protein and grabbing a banana for the road. I had made the first 29 miles in 5½ hours which I was more than happy with, but was under no illusions that the real race had yet to begin with Hope Pass, which was starting to loom ever larger in my vision, an imposing barrier ahead of me before I even reached the halfway point to turn back and do the whole thing again – the majority of which would be in the dark. It is easy to become overwhelmed with the task at hand, but repeated steps, no matter how small, will always get you to your destination.
Time In: 09:32:56 (29.1 miles – 5hrs 33mins)
Half Pipe to Twin Lakes – 10.4 miles Leadville – Stage 4
This final section before Twin Lakes is basically a brief foray up into the edge of the Half-Moon trail, which is an eponymously shaped valley between the bases of Mount Massive to the north-west and Mount Elbert slightly to the south which, at 14,433ft is the highest peak in the area. The ‘up’ section is around 6.5 miles and the down section, a steep but fast descent for around 3 miles. I was not too concerned about the disparity of the effort at this stage, and was looking forward to the longer ‘down’ section on the return match in a few hours time.
The route continued to be a dusty trail, but it mattered little since, by this stage, there were only a handful of runners around me and there was little dust being kicked up.
Suddenly, I happened upon Nick Greene, a fellow Brit who I had spotted at the briefing in Leadville the previous day wearing a 2013 SDW100 finishers t-shirt! Small world 😉 He had managed around 18 hours on that occasion, but was clearly pacing himself at this stage as we parted company during the next running section, briefly making me wonder if I was overcooking things a touch – only time would tell.
I enjoyed the beautiful route as we were creeping up on midday, as it seemingly passed by all too quickly with the memories of each section coming flooding back at every turn; I rounded a corner to a vista section, where the trail followed round the contour of the bowl of a significant crease in the landscape, the blue sky and the green trees continuing with the trail on the opposite side providing a counterpoint to the void in-between. There were also several tributary streams flowing down the side of the mountains perpendicular to the trail which we had to navigate, some of which had simple stepping stones as assistance, but others with large purpose-built structures to allow their crossing – The sound of the water as I approached from a distance was always tempting and a couple of times, I took a few seconds and dunked my hat in the cool mountain water to cool off.
It was not long before I came across another photographer and I could’ve hugged him when he confirmed the downhill section was just ahead. The Mount Elbert ‘mini’ aid station (mini, merely because it was supplying only water) was shortly before this, and the huge tanks of water, impressively brought up into the wilderness, were fittingly plastered with ‘Camelbak’ marketing.
The ‘downhill’ section was a little further than I had been led to believe (photographers will do anything to get people to smile, it seems) but it was fun to get into a rhythm with a bit of speed again and I was soon back at Twin Lakes, and down a final technical section with a steep and loose dirt slope delivering me to the front entrance of the fire station, which the food and checkpoint staff had taken over for the day.
Liz was waiting for me as usual as we had been in text contact recently as I updated her on my progress, and her me. The phone network was infinitely better than it had been 3 years ago, when we had had to buy cheap temporary phones on another network in order to stay in contact. I always have difficulty doing other things while I’m running (cue the jokes about males and multitasking) – I find eating and running difficult enough and texting on a phone and running even more so, especially when it is an alien, unfamiliar handset, so at least this time life was marginally easier. We were also lucky that we were staying in Twin Lakes, for the simple fact that we were effectively ‘residents’ and consequently had a reserved parking space at the front of the Inn, otherwise a long walk, jog, or wait for a shuttle bus (promised, but not actually arranged, apparently) would have been in order.
Time In: 11:26:39 (39.5 miles – 7hrs 26mins)
Twin Lakes to Hope Pass Aid – 5 miles Leadville – Stage 5
I sat down for the first time, drank coke and tried again to force down sandwiches, with little success though. We chatted for a bit and I kept taking more liquid on but perhaps the thought of the now imminent ascent of Hope Pass was causing me more of an issue than I would care to mention; looming large, both physically and mentally ahead of me, I had stopped for 15-20 minutes before I realised it. We walked our way to the road, and I stopped once more to empty my shoes of stones, seemingly procrastinating to the last, but eventually I was on my way.
The support of the crowds through Twin Lakes, as with the entire course, was stupendous – the crews expectant for their own runners, but still providing a most welcome boost to all of the others they saw.
There is a flat section from the village to the river crossing, all of this at the lowest point of the course at 9,200ft, prior to moving onto the hard ascent to reach the highest point of the course, at 12,600ft, over a mere 3-4 miles.
I had considered taking my shoes off to keep them dry but on reflection had decided against it. My previous strategy was blister management based, and since I’d not had any problems with this for some time, I decided the time saving was of higher priority. There was significantly less water in the pools and ponds obstructing the route this time anyway, and even the river seemed a lot lower and calmer, barely reaching up to the top of my ankles. Even so, the chill in the water had a marvellously reviving effect, and I wished I could have stayed there for longer, but noted this as something to look forward to on the return trip!
The route up Hope Pass began in earnest now, marked by the entry to the tree line, but unlike a couple of hours ago we weren’t following a contour, we were crossing the tightly packed lines at a far more acute angle and nearly going straight up.
There is no respite on the way up Hope Pass; no minor flats, very little in the way of zig-zagging switchback and certainly no undulations except for up and more up, until you reach the top. No; there are only the sound of the streams coming down in the opposite direction which the trail occasionally gets close to, and the promise of a final corner where you realise the trees are thinning, the worst is behind you and the aid station is imminent.
It was just prior to my arrival at the aid station (well, about 40-50 minutes as it happens) that the front-runners started coming through – one of those peculiarities of out and back races, albeit initially a welcome relief from the uphill slog and a moment to reflect and marvel on the capabilities of those in the ‘elite’ bracket – Michael Aish (#107) was first down the hill, at just after 1:00pm (9hrs in) followed by Ian Sharman (#1010) hot on his heels, then another 5 minutes later Nick Clark (#268) bounded past. These three were in a class of their own though as Scott Jurek (#594) was at least 35 minutes behind Clark.
The ‘Hopeless Crew’ (as they are very affectionately known) provided the most enthusiastic support of the day, running (downhill) to greet the oncoming competitors, to grab their water bottles and save them precious moments in the (highly unlikely) event that they chose not to stop! The Llamas who have hauled the fare for the runners uphill, on the previous day, were spread out resting, having earned a well deserved break, prior to their journey back down after the return cut-off later in the day.
Time In: 14:00:39 (44.5 miles – 10hrs)
Hope Pass Aid to Winfield – 5.5 miles Leadville – Stage 6
On the way out, there is still another ½ mile to the top of Hope Pass. Even so, the feeling of reaching that aid-station was as good as reaching the top, but I still chose not to stop for any length of time here, conscious of the longer ‘rest’ I had had at Twin Lakes some hours ago.
The extra ½ mile consists of a series of rough switch-back channels, hewn out of the side of the mountains by successive footsteps, the man-made erosion uneven and irregular in the gravelly surface. The front-running competitors were starting to come thick and fast by this point and out of courtesy my fellow compatriots and I, on our slow, uphill, outward journey, all stepped to the side when the faster, returning, downhill runners went by.
Upon finally reaching the top of the pass, which is a ‘saddle’ in nature, going down to the north (Twin Lakes) and south (Winfield) but ascending further to the peaks of Quail Mountain and Hope Mountain to the east and west respectively, I felt had to stop briefly to enjoy the view and took a couple of pictures, before then starting my way back down to Winfield.
Just after this point, early in my descent I was following another runner, gaining on him rapidly, and had to slow at the same time as one of the front-runners was coming uphill, and a photographer was sitting at the side of the trail. The sudden eccentric contraction of my calf muscles as I tried to slow after so long extending it on the uphill portion, was clearly too much and my left calf instantly cramped and I stopped at the side of the trail and tried to stretch it out. The photographer, fearing a worse scenario, came over and helped me, kindly massaging the back of my left calf as I stretched it – over an above the call of duty for him, but typical of the generosity of spirit which is engendered in these races.
The contrast between the slow effort of the uphill and the almost frenetic bounding and caution required for my foot placements was a joy, Suddenly, I was no longer struggling to breath, but more in danger of suffering from exposure due to an inability to raise my core temperature, such was the lack of effort required to progress downhill. There were still people coming uphill, and I was surprised that their progress seemed to be as slow as mine had been some moments earlier. The ‘traffic’ down this side of the mountain was nevertheless frustrating and the courtesy given by the uphill runners on the north side of the mountain, didn’t seem to be equally as forthcoming on the narrow trail down the south side.
In relative terms, I quickly made it down to the trailhead, but turned west onto the new Colorado Trail prior to reaching the Winfield road, another departure from the route I was ‘familiar’ with from before. The advantage of this was purportedly to allow runners to take in more trail, reduce issues with dust and fume inhalation from the vehicles sharing the same road on the route to Winfield. The trail was rough and narrow though, and far more undulating than I would’ve liked at this stage – the Winfield road had been dusty before, but wide and after the narrow trail up and down Mount Hope, had afforded the opportunity to pass others and get up a little speed and rhythm even if only for a couple of miles. So, with the promise of the halfway point at Winfield so tantalisingly close, it was frustrating to have to negotiate such a narrow trail stopping and moving aside for more of the front runners who were already heading back.
Despite my frustrations of course, I eventually reached the point where the trail turned sharply south and downhill towards the noise of the assembled masses in Winfield; the normally quiet area in the wilderness of the Rockies, serving a few hikers and bikers as a launch point for their adventures, was today a bustling metropolis, with expectant crews and, for the first time in the race, pacers ready to pounce on their runners and service their every need on the way back to Leadville.
After the steep downhill trail, I found myself at the road, with the turning in sight within a few hundred metres. There were few cars and I had noticed that the cell reception had been non-existent since the top of Hope Pass; not entirely unexpected, but the sudden drop-off had taken me by surprise and I had thus been unable to contact Liz to keep her informed of my progress.
As I turned down the service road to the site, there were cars, competitors, crew, supporters, pacers and organisers, all jostling for position on the narrow path. The dust was the least of it for that short 100 metres to the checkpoint area. Liz was dutifully waiting and immediately smiled – I was looking much better than at the same point 3 years ago.
Winfield was like the triage area of a M.A.S.H. camp. Total chaos with crew and pacers looking for their runners, runners looking for their crew, organisers shepherding everyone through the right areas and funnelling them into the weigh-in and half-way medical check area.
My weight had reduced about 15lbs which was a touch worrying, but the medical staff just suggested I drink and eat a little more, especially after I confirmed I had had my previous weight taken with heavy shorts and jacket. After the revaluations in Tim Noakes book ‘Waterlogged’ everyone is a lot more relaxed about hydration than even a couple of years ago.
I passed through the marquee and met up with Liz again and as all the chairs were occupied, I grabbed a coke, downed it, grabbed another along with some noodle soup, and went to sit down in the shade of a van outside.
My plans for a quick turn-around at Winfield were rapidly vanishing into thin air as I sat, semi-catatonic, on the floor, staring at my soup and sipping. I might have looked better than last time, but I certainly wasn’t feeling a great deal better – other than a significant lack of pain in my left hip, of course, for which I was thankful. Liz chatted away, asking me various questions about feelings and needs, and timings for the return journey, as I explained about the narrow trail and passing other competitors. Her journey had been even more fraught than mine, due to her perception she was losing time in the queues into Winfield, and the complete disarray in the organisation of the cars (given the road was not being used by competitors now), she had actually parked up and run the final 5km or so to the aid station.
Having finished my soup, and several more cokes, I laid down; just for a second, but was immediately reprimanded and sufficiently chastised to force me to raise myself to a vertical inclination again and start to walk through the crowds to the exit, and back to the trailhead road (after negotiating some ridiculous traffic). Liz was obviously going the same way back to the car, so we continued to chat for a bit, for the few hundred metres to the entrance to the rise which would take me back up to the Colorado Trail. We said our goodbyes and I was gone again up into the wilderness.
The route back up was steep but short, and I had the promise of a marginally downhill section back along the trail to look forward to. There were still people coming down the trail towards me, but I don’t remember seeing any of the other competitors I had made contact with before the race during this section even though I was looking out for them.
The turn southwards to take me up Hope Pass for the second part of our prearranged ‘away’ fixture seemed to come all too soon and I started my way back up in earnest, remembering that this had seemed the harder part of the journey before as well for any number of reasons I could name; the way up this side is slightly shorter, but correspondingly steeper, albeit with more switchbacks. The tree-line is also lower and as a consequence competitors can see exactly how much further it is to reach the top, long before they actually reach it.
I remember stopping to ‘rest’ through pure fatigue several times on the way back up last time and this time was similar, although I think I stopped less and passed more others. It’s difficult to tell exactly. Either way, the feeling of reaching the top for the second time that day was priceless. The Sun was not yet set, but certainly wiping its feet on the doormat of night-time ready to leave our presence but as a result the top was not quite in shadow and I took that as another good sign that I was on schedule for my target of sub-25:00 hours; my optimistic 21:00 hours had long since disappeared into oblivion. I marvelled at the view once again from the top, but largely carried straight on.
The cut-off for the Hope aid station on the way out is particularly strict; the organisers want to minimise the chances of people getting stuck coming back over Hope Pass, and realistically, if you haven’t made it out by 4:15pm (i.e. 12:15 elapsed time) to the 45 mile point, you would struggle to make it back over before darkness. The steady trail of people coming down the hill had slowed to a trickle by the time I was within sight of the top – indeed, some coming down had already had their chips / tags removed and were somewhat happily (knowing their race was over) making their way to meet their crew at Winfield.
After crossing the tipping point of effort, life was, for a few miles at least, going to be considerably easier than it had been for the last couple of hours. The jog down to the aid station was fast, and I stopped for no more than a minute to grab a very flat coke, in a ‘used’ cup – such was the state of their supplies when I transited.
Time In: 17:58:37 (55.5 miles – 13hrs 59mins)
Hope Pass Aid to Twin Lakes – 5 miles (60.5 miles) Leadville – Stage 8
The way down from here was a pleasant run down the hill, although I was conscious I was unable to reach the same speed and rhythm as I had previously – I’ve had plenty of opportunity over the last 3 years to analyse the minutiae of my original exploits in Leadville and have come to the conclusion that pounding fast downhill for the best part of an hour played a significant part in my injury; it was at Twin Lakes it really started to ‘smart’!
This time though all was fine, and although slightly conservative in my approach I made it down without breaking anything, without stumbling, and managing still to pass a few people. Admittedly, a few others sped past me as well, but I was not concerned at this stage, still believing 40 miles in 10 hours was eminently doable.
The slightly more gradual descent was most enjoyable; although there were still sections where I had to remain conscious of the tree routes, the rutting from repeated erosion of downhill streams and weathering on the side of the hill, along with gravel, pebbles, exposed stone and rocks leading to a somewhat uneven terrain on occasions, but on the whole it was only marginal and I was down quite quickly.
I reached the flat section before the river which, after travelling downhill for such a long period was suddenly a flat come uphill struggle, but I made it to the river crossing while there was still plenty of light, even though the Sun was now setting behind the Rockies. The crossing was again like an oasis in the desert; cool and welcoming and I waded through as much as I could, taking in the additional ponds and puddles in the trail, filled with the most clear, refreshing water you would ever see, even on a muddy trail after the passage of a few hundred sweaty runners.
The photographers were still out in force, having changed the orientation of their shots and taking as much advantage of the remaining daylight as possible – many of the earlier and later camera bearers were aided with significant flash equipment on the side of the trail but others, presumably, preferred to be more mobile and take advantage of the more natural light during the day.
The route back into Twin Lakes was lined with hundreds of people cheering for all the competitors and I made my way proudly through the cheers of “Good job!” and “Looking good runner!” – it is amazing how much motivation such simple words from complete strangers can impart when you have been running for over 15 hours.
Liz was waiting for me again, outside our hotel and we walked together back up to the Fire Station, and I once more sat, while being plied with coke and this time also a steak sandwich and fries! – she had picked it up on the recommendation of our chef from the Twin Lakes Inn, Matt. I always struggle to eat solid food while on the run; it always seems to get stuck in my gullet, not to put to fine a point on it – lack of saliva lubrication, or something, but I’m sure that’s enough detail for the moment. Whatever the cause, today was no different and although this was exactly what I felt that I fancied, I still struggled to force it down without several gallons of coke and tea.
Since I had been through the river crossing only recently, I needed to change my socks for the final part of my journey. This was something we had planned, so not a problem, although my trainers were wetter than I had anticipated and it is amazing how much difficulty this imposed. This was only compounded by the fact that I was starting to stiffen up and bending down to even reach my feet, let alone remove my shoes and injinji socks was a struggle to say the least; I began to understand the advantage of some crews having multiple helpers and loungers with tables around to temporarily hold food and drink in the frenetic activity of the aid station stop. I simply didn’t have enough hands to eat, drink, change socks, shoes, and reapply foot cream at the same time.
In the end Liz did a fantastic job, but I had stopped again for longer than I had hoped – probably 15-20 minutes and I was conscious that my ‘contingency’ was starting to run out.
I started back out of Twin Lakes with my head torch at the ready. It was not yet dark, but it was certainly well into twilight and I would not be making the next checkpoint without needing it.
From the low point of the course, the exit from Twin Lakes is about 2-3 miles of uphill, not massive in ultra terms, only about 1000ft of ascent, but slow through the trees and actually greater similarity to Sugarloaf than most people would imagine. I had been anticipating this but now with the dark appearing as well I found myself unable to go as fast as I wanted. Note to self, practice uphills with gnarly tree routes and uneven trails in the dark before trying this again! 😉
The promise of a steady downhill spurred me on though and I made my way slowly back up the course, power walking most of this and running where I could to pass a few people and keep my average up.
I didn’t stop at all at the Mt Elbert mini-stop, having filled up at twin lakes and since night had fallen upon me and my fellow runners, the air was already cooling and I was consequently in need of far less liquid.
The terrain always looks different in the night compared to daylight and I may as well have been on a totally different course, rather than retracing my steps – the night-time has its own attractions though. The stillness of the evening, combined with the thinning out of the runners, led to a very memorable time. Except for the fact I was not here to remember, I was here to race. I was feeling good during this stage and caught and passed many others – although given that the majority had pacers, I only gained half the equivalent number of places!
The moon was in its second quarter, not quite full and also quite low down so was not providing much assistance to me, but was still like an old friend, turning up occasionally, casting a beam of surprisingly bright light and a silvery shadow through the tall pines.
I soon made it through to the Half Pipe aid station, looking along my journey for the display of fireflies over the pond I had stumbled on previously, and smiling at the section where I had looked in vain for an impromptu ‘crutch’ from the forest branches to help me along; this time I was feeling so much stronger and finishing was never in doubt. My time was slipping away though.
Time In: 21:56:59 (70.9 miles – 17hrs 57mins)
Half Pipe to Fish Hatchery / Outward Bound – 5.6 miles Leadville – Stage 10
I did my usual coke grabbing exercise as I entered the aid station tent, but immediately realised I was actually starting to feel rather cooler than I had for most of the day. Standing in the vicinity of the heater in the aid station brought home just how cold it was becoming outside. I tried again to force down some crisps and pretzels, but as usual they got stuck in my mouth like quick drying cement and I gave up on this as a bad idea. I thought a cup of sweet coffee would be rather more palatable, and even though the Nescafé blend was not a barista latte, I drank it anyway and moved off at my earlier pace to meet Liz at Pipeline.
Whether it was the cold or simply the previous 70 odd miles I had already covered, my legs were starting to slow down at this point, in so much as I was struggling to maintain a pace of better than 7min/km so although the Pipeline Aid point was only 3-4 km, it still took me a further 25-30 minutes to reach it with my slow, baby steps.
The noise and lights of the crews were evident long before the lines of cars parked along the narrow strip of land which, being the last point the cars can reach before Twin Lakes, has traditionally turned into an impromptu aid station.
The next problem I had was to find Liz! She had sent a message saying she was at the far end where she had been earlier, but in the dark, with so many cars, crew members, lights and torches shining in my face, I could easily have missed her, and did not relish the thought of running back up the other end of the parking lot to try to find her. I was therefore relieved when I heard her voice and saw her exactly where she had promised and I had expected her.
Time was moving on but she had brought me some hot sweet tea in a flask which I drank with relish! She had also got some sort of cold cappuccino, frappé, latte milkshake thing and that didn’t last long either. We briefly studied our timings and realised I was going to have to push things harder now, but after so much caffeine, I was on my way in a flash 🙂
The exit from Pipeline was a sharp right turn before a straight trail following a barbed wire fence on the left. I know it was there because I remember it from earlier when the bright sunlight was shining down on me. Now though, it was suddenly difficult to see but for my head-torch occasionally picking out the posts and rusting wire with the sparkling dust I was kicking up along the dry trail, in suspension in the black air.
I had already planned a strategy for this section, trialling it first off-road before moving onto several kilometres of Tarmac – my aim on this ‘easy’ stretch was to do a run-walk strategy to maintain a sub-7 minute pace (unimpressive, but all that my stiff legs could manage by this stage). The reasons behind this were many; firstly, I needed to maintain a good pace to get to the next aid station to give me a chance of meeting my goal for the race. Secondly, the next few kilometres were as flat and fast as you can get in a trail race and finally it was dark and along such a mundane stretch of road on my own, I needed some means to break the monotony.
I allowed myself the opportunity to walk to recover, but only after I had ensured my pace for the kilometre I was running was within my target on my Garmin; up it shot as I walked and down it crept as I ran. I played the game to get the best time I could during those few brief kilometres and, during the late, dark hours of Saturday night along the still and lonely roads on the outskirts of Leadville, with only the occasional passing SUV or truck for company, I soon found I turned the corner and saw the lights of the Outward Bound aid station. I continued my distraction for a while longer but eagerly entered the aid station, again passing the warmth of a fire, but a bonfire this time. I had made it in good time and Liz was happy.
Time In: 23:23:04 (76.5 miles – 19hrs 23mins)
Fish Hatchery / Outward Bound to MayQueen – 10 miles Leadville – Stage 11
I sat down after grabbing a coke and a sandwich, fairly pleased with myself, but the euphoria of reaching the second to last aid station (excluding the finish, of course!) quickly drifted away into the cool mountain air, helped in no small way by Liz’s valid insistence that I had to get moving, the realisation I still had 23.5 miles, or the best part of a marathon to do with Sugarloaf Mountain in the way.
23.5 miles. 5.5 hours? Doable, I thought.
Perhaps this is where the confusion and thought diminishing effect of fatigue and exhaustion were starting to play a part, nevertheless I was off and out relatively quickly and ready to tackle the mountain, leaving Liz and the heat of the bonfire behind.
I smiled again as I passed the entrance to the Leadville Fish Hatchery; this was where the aid station used to be located, and was the point at which I had had my runners wristband unceremoniously cut off and my chip removed three years ago with my next stop to be Leadville by car. From here on in, I was in new territory.
The road down to the start of the climb was longer than I imagined and I tramped my way as quickly as I could back along the Tarmac passing a group of people along the way. They were discussing meeting with their crew later on from their big pickup and the lights of the vehicle were brightly illuminating the dark road ahead. Their crew vehicle passed me a couple of times waiting for their runners, on the way to the trailhead, from which point we were all on our own.
The climb up Sugarloaf Mountain started out hard, the soft sandy soil giving way to hard compacted chalk and dry mud, with evidence of past rivulets eroding deep channels in the straight slope up, following the power lines down into the valley. It started out hard and remained hard for the next couple of hours.
I occasionally looked back across the valley, with the lights of the cars appearing to move at an incongruously sedate pace from my vantage point halfway up the hill, but actually scurrying from checkpoint to checkpoint and above, the clear night sky was emerging as my eyes became more accustomed to the dark in the light-pollution free, high-altitude area. Generally my focus was in the opposite direction though, uphill, uphill and more uphill.
On the way out I had covered the route up Sugarloaf predominantly in the early dawn light, and the way down when fresh, in the early morning as the Sun was making its presence known. Hope Pass I had covered in both directions in the light later in the day, so now I was essentially covering my first (and only) major hill in the dark.
I knew I could cover it, but it just didn’t stop going up.
“Well this sucks”, I thought to myself and I lost my sense of humour about halfway up the second ‘rise’.
I analysed the contour of this ascent afterwards and although difficult to see on the map, or even the race profile, I realised there were four distinct sections signified by repeated ascents and plateaus. Not knowing this part of the course had broken my spirit. Each time I reached what I thought could be the top I found there was more slow, slogging and because of the trees and the darkness it was impossible to tell otherwise. How different this section had been on the way out on fresh feet, coming downhill, in the early morning light. That now seemed like an eternity ago.
With each step I realised that I was using up the precious time I would need to get round the final half marathon section from May Queen into Leadville, but I still had the hope that I could find my way down the hill in a good time to allow me to meet my goal for the last stage.
The infrequent sightings of headlamps threading their way through the forest up ahead eventually stopped as they disappeared over the rise and to the left around the contour of the hill before finally starting a slow descent, initially through the trees with the now familiar gnarly roots, but then eventually onto a section of service road where so many hours, and miles, beforehand I had had my picture taken.
I ran (shuffle-jogged) as much as I could on this section, knowing it might be my last opportunity to make up some time for quite a while, but before I knew it I was heading off back down the narrow twisting trail, with the sound of the May Queen aid station still distant down the hill.
It was taking me far longer than I had hoped, although given the terrain and my state of fatigue, I should’ve allowed a little more slack in my estimates.
The final couple of miles down into the last checkpoint was very frustrating for me, counterpointed by the last few hundred metres after popping back out onto the trail road again. I ran as fast as I could into the aid station to Liz waiting there.
The look on her face was one of ‘concern’.
Time In: 02:29:45 (86.5 miles – 22hrs 30mins)
Mayqueen to Leadville Finish – 13.5 miles Leadville – Stage 12
The aid station was a lot quieter than it had been earlier in the previous day – I had seamlessly transitioned from Saturday to Sunday on my way up Powerline a couple of hours ago – but there were still the odd pockets of frenetic activity.
Not that I noticed them.
After 86.5 miles, I had 2.5 hours to do the best part of a half marathon; ordinarily not an issue at all, but in the dark, with tired legs, fatigued mind and the majority of it through some pretty tricky terrain. All these factors were conspiring against me but I needed to give it a shot anyway.
Liz wanted to get me out as fast as possible, but the aid station crew asked several times if I needed anything. I grabbed my usual fare and some banana to keep me going, said my final farewells and was off running again into the night.
On my own.
I ran down the Tarmac to the edge of the forest where it heads towards the western end of Turquoise Lake once more. I knew this would be the last smooth surface I would encounter for at least the next 5 miles, so I made the most of it.
I ran into the trees and disappeared for what seemed like an eternity.
The soft dusty route was not too bad to start with and I was ever hopeful that there would be a slight downhill gradient, at least to the shoreline, but it was undulating at best and the narrow uneven surface with jagged rocks and my new best friends the gnarly tree roots were doing their best to slow me down; and succeeding.
I reached the shoreline of the lake without too much ceremony, but I was struggling to reconcile the effort required to constantly recover and save myself from stumbling with my current levels of fatigue and the minimal gain in speed I was making, so I started a fast walk along an essentially flat course.
This did not sit well with my desire to push as hard as I could to reach my goal, but each time I started running, I tripped, stumbled or fell. The majority of the time I managed to catch myself, but my levels of frustration with my seeming incompetence were increasing with every jitter.
The beauty of the moment, while moving slowly around the edge of the lake, watching glimpses of lights from both crew and runners on the opposite shoreline, with the clear, star speckled skies above the mountain I had come down only a few hours previously was not lost on me though. There are some magical times in races, as in life, and, despite my frustration, this was one of them.
I passed through the open areas where there had been local supporters so many hours previously, but now there was nobody.
I made my way across a car park, which I struggled to remember from nearly a day before, but without the crew, vehicles, supporters and in the dark, it was an alien world; halfway across I questioned the route I was taking, but eventually spotted a familiar glow stick, so continued my lonely trek towards Leadville.
The eastern edge of the lake was a long time coming, but eventually I left the shoreline again for a short section, continuing in the same forest theme, before being ejected onto the road, and crossing it, away from the lake and now diving down the worst possible technical trail you could imagine. The straight drop along a boulder track could not have been more than a half mile down; in the distance and turning onto the road junction, I could see a couple of head torches bobbing away, but it was purgatory nonetheless. The combination of soft earth, large boulders and deep rutting proving impossible to negotiate at times; I was imagining that the front runners would have bounded down this point with a spring in their step, doing their best mountain goat impressions.
Reaching the roadway which was a short section east to the railway line, was a relief and strolling along the wide expanse of dirt track was suddenly like walking in slippers. There were few others around at this point; the competitor and his pacer I had glimpsed earlier were up ahead, but no one behind.
I concentrated on catching the two ahead which I managed by the time we reached the southerly turn down the final trail section parallel with the railway; in fact, I caught them primarily because they were going straight on at that point and ‘helped’ their navigation by shouting after them before they disappeared into a world of pain after 25 hours on the road.
It was here, that there was a sudden increase in the number of competitors around me. I noticed another couple of people up ahead and there was also another runner and pacer pair coming up ‘fast’ behind me – they jogged past me a few moments later, looking as fresh as daisies, chatting away, leaving me standing in relative terms. I resolved not to let anyone else pass me and to make my way as fast as possible to the finish, which by my reckoning was still at least 3 miles distant.
The significance of the passing of the 25 hour threshold at this point was not unexpected, but still a depressing thought after everything I had accomplished up to now.
My legs had long since given up the ability to run and from now I had also lost the will to run. The realisation I was unlikely to make the 25-hour cut-off was a low point, but I would struggle to say exactly when it occurred – perhaps going up Powerline, maybe coming down from Sugarloaf through the forests into May Queen, probably going around Turquoise Lake when I continued stumbling in my vain attempts to increase my speed and believe I could cover a mere half-marathon in 2½ hours. There was always hope, however small, but this time it was not to be and the inexorable march of time once again won the day.
The final trail of the race was about a mile in a southerly direction before turning onto a dusty easterly road. that so many hours before had kicked up mounds of sparkling dirt into the head-torches of 800 runners. The way was easy and smooth now but gradually uphill; a last couple of miles of torment that Ken Chlouber had devised for the route back into Leadville – with little choice, I suspect, for most routes into the highest incorporated city in the continental USA are going to be uphill.
The sky was slowly changing once again, with the veil of the stars being imperceptibly withdrawn; only the brightest in the dawn sky to the east in the direction I was heading, soon remained visible, the constellations of Pegasus, Andromeda, Perseus and Cassiopeia disappearing from view and no longer guiding me home.
The long slow drag uphill eventually came to an end and the tarmac took over at the outskirts of the City. It was strange to be on a road again after so long and I had to remember that the trucks, pick-ups and SUVs, on their lookout for their runners, technically had right of way. At that time in the morning there were few about though.
I passed Lake County School and turned my final corner onto West 6th Street at the aquatic centre where the briefing had been a couple of days before and I could now, in the distance, see the finish.
There was much evidence of partying through the night in the form of discarded bottles, cans, spent barbecues and unoccupied deck-chairs, presumably to welcome in the early finishers, and I suspect this recommenced later in the day up to the 30 hour mark, but at present there seemed to be an early morning lull in proceedings. Nevertheless the dozen or so people I did see were all still full of congratulation and joy on my behalf at the approaching conclusion of my challenge.
I seem to remember the final few hundred metres were uphill, but in reality it did not really matter; after everything I had been through over the previous 26 hours it was nothing. The sky was getting light now, even if the sun was still behind the mountains to the east of Leadville and I was ready to get that medal.
I ran the final stretch, suddenly finding a previously hidden battery of energy in my legs to propel me along the red carpet and across the finish line, with the announcer suddenly excitedly realising I was another ‘out-of-state’ competitor finishing.
Liz was waiting for me and we could do nothing but embrace without words.
Time In: 06:06:55 (100 miles – 26hrs 6mins)
Liz had had her own marathon throughout the last 30 hours as well. Supporting me on her own to the 11 checkpoints had not afforded her the opportunity to rest at all; the traffic (about which many people subsequently complained), had been awful and her journey each time had left her little time to prepare, let alone rest. At Twin Lakes she had managed to get through and park outside our Hotel on both occasions but only by virtue of the fact we were staying there, and many others had not been so lucky; the stories of runners actually getting to checkpoints faster than their crews, or missing pacers, had been prolific – even so, she had not had the opportunity to grab sleep, fearing she would not be around to meet and help me.
By the end then, both of us were exhausted; both physically and mentally, after the ups and downs of the day.
As a result, I found it difficult to describe how I felt at that point, in the moments after crossing the finishing line. I had completed the Leadville ‘Race Across The Sky’, the race I had dreamed of and visualised finishing for over three years, my 5th 100 mile ultra-marathon, in my 3rd fastest time, 156th Place overall (out of 944 starters and 497 finishers), 40th in my age group (of which I am approaching the ‘upper end’!), but I had set such high expectations for my finish, I was convinced I could get that sub-25 hour buckle – indeed, I still believe I can – and perhaps it was just the fatigue, but I was disappointed and only after several hours, if not days, could I look at the buckle I got and feel proud of what I had achieved.
There is always that nagging feeling I could have done better though – what is that? A psychological flaw, or just an inherent desire to always improve? Is that an ultra-running thing or just me? (Answers on a postcard please…) Either way, I have a strong feeling I will be venturing back to Leadville at some point in the (near) future 🙂
In the days afterwards, we mulled over the race and enjoyed the rest of our stay in Twin Lakes, very appreciative of the staff in the Twin Lakes Inn, Mary, Andy and Sue, who had made us feel such a part of their family, and Matt the chef, who cooked us some magnificent ‘recovery’ food after the event. The owners Liz and James also went out of their way to assist in any way they could and we would definitely stay there again if (when) we go back to Leadville in the future.
On our final night in Twin Lakes we had dinner at the Inn, and were lucky enough to be introduced by the staff there to Ken Chlouber and Merilee Mauqin, who co-founded the Leadville 100 trail race some 31 years ago. It was great to meet them – two people who in the simplest terms, co-founded and promoted a world class race to put their community ‘on the map’ when it was in the throes of an economic downturn.
Their vision of the race as a tough ultra-marathon and a perfect metaphor for life has been encapsulated in their phrase “You’re better than you think you are; You can do more than you think you can.” and embodies the spirit of the residents of Leadville and their desire to rebuild their lives. In many ways the story has come full circle with the reopening of the Climax molybdenum mine in 2012. Perhaps the end of the race is in sight for the Leadville community as well, but if life for the City on a hill starts to return to ‘normal’ they have given the world a fantastic event and experience which will become both their, and the town’s, legacy to the world.
Typically, we were beginning to enjoy our stay, come to terms with the altitude, the jet-lag of the initial outward journey and the exhaustion of the challenge just in time to make our move back to Blighty, and my challenge for 2013 was over.
By now we were quite used to the routine of getting to school in time and today, the last day, actually made it quite comfortably 😉 The children had their ‘tests’ today to grade their progress for the next time they went skiing, but other than that it was to be a fairly relaxed morning.
The blizzard overnight had calmed significantly and the blue skies were showing again above the bowl of the valley, so we anticipated the sun would be showing its face again shortly.
Unfortunately, many of the lifts were still not open so of course the whole population of the resort descended initially on those lifts that were so the wait at the bottom of the runs was extended.
I stayed with Liz for the first lift and then zoomed off on my first run back down, which was considerably quicker than the waiting at the bottom.
That was where I made my mistake.
Thinking I would get a longer run in, I carried on down to one of the lower lifts but when I arrived, found many others had obviously had the same idea and the size of the crowd was ‘disappointing’, to say the least. I had to wait for at least 45 minutes, inching my way forward as the skiers and snowboarders funnelled into the slow three person chairlift.
I eventually got back up after a very frustrating time and by the time I arrived at mid-station they had opened some of the upper lifts, having been furiously blasting away the snow on the higher risk slopes all morning. I continued round for another couple of runs then made my way back down to the children, who were already waiting together.
They had obviously had a hard morning with the weather, the exam and perhaps even the realisation that their holiday was nearly over. Food needed – if in doubt carbs, protein and fat in the perfect form of a ham and cheese baguette had been our saviour throughout the week. It worked a treat and with Liz with us as well, we all decided to go back up to the top mountain on the Arcabulle lift together for a couple of last runs together.
We got onto the six seater chairlift all together which was fantastic but at the top Joshua and Savannah wanted to got with Liz, while Morgan and Luke decided to come down a slightly steeper run with their Dad! Morgan still wanted to go down a red run 😯 so we split at the top of the hill and arranged to meet at the lift in the middle for the final run.
All well and good, Luke and Morgan made their way down the steep blue with moguls and we met at the middle run and waited for a bit, but then realised the run they were on may not have access to the middle lift, Plagnettes. We made our way down slowly keeping an eye out for them from across the piste, but no sign. After a couple of texts and nearly 20 minutes waiting, we heard that they were on their way back up to the top, so we quickly got back on the Arcabulle lift, seconds before it shut for the day.
We were back at the top of the mountain for the last time and met the others. This time, for our final run of the day Morgan was insistent on going down a Red run and of course, Luke wanted to follow him, anything Morgan could do, Joshua was going to attempt and Savannah wasn’t going to be left on her own. Liz was not keen, but in the interests of keeping the family together decided to also come with us.
I’m not sure if this was a red run or not – I think it probably was 😯 and it probably wasn’t the best decision, but Morgan had been keen all week to cut his teeth on a red!
Having started down the run, we were committed and there was no turning back. Morgan and Luke sped off without too much difficulty, and Savannah and Joshua eventually found their rhythm and steadily made their way down the first part of the slope, which was the steepest and most difficult part – I passed them about half way down making steady progress. Liz came down steadily as well, but lost her confidence on the mogully part of the upper slope and was helped down by the slope ‘sweepers’ who had appeared by this stage and were making their way down ensuring everyone was off the slopes! I waited with Luke and Morgan at the bottom and started to make my way back up as Savannah wiped out. Luckily, the sweepers reached her quickly and helped her, and the disasterous final run went from bad to worse when, having left Luke and Morgan they proceeded to take their skis off and venture off-piste and had disappeared up to their waists in the soft snow at the side of the run, which I only noticed as the sweepers were gesticulating wildly in my direction.
Soon, we were all together again, and despite some ‘flat’ work (after not having enough speed to make it UP to the crest of the next downhill part of the run, we all made it down relatively unscathed, but tired. it had taken us nearly an hour to get down this run and it was getting quite dark by this stage.
All we now wanted was hot waffles to revive us but then we had to struggle with the return of the rental equipment! The queue to give back the equipment was almost as long as the queue to be fitted up in the first place, which I could not understand 😉 but after Liz offered to wait with the final pieces of equipement I took the children to sledge down the hill one last time.
We went back to the Mexican restaurant, Los Chicanos, our favourite, in the evening and had one last fine meal to end our stay 🙂
I suppose we had been quite lucky with the weather up until this point. It had only really snowed on our journey into the resort.
Up until now.
We woke up this morning and it was snowing lightly, but the wind was quite fierce and whipping the drifts and any remaining loose snow from the previous day’s up in a bit of a blizzard. At this point we could still see though, and looking out of the window of our apartment, the scene actually looked quite idyllic.
Then we went downstairs and outside with our equipment to start school.
I managed to persuade Liz to get off to her school on time as I dropped off the little ones, but it immediately became apparent that they were not going to be able to manage without goggles, which up to this point had not been a problem. The instructor confirmed this a few moments later that if we thought it was bad now, on the chairlifts and the exposed slopes it would be infinitely worse! We rushed off to the local store and hastily chose some eyewear to make the day bearable; the choice in the second shop we found was good even for the little ones and they managed to get the colours they wanted 😉 I even got a pink pair for Savannah, which she was delighted with a few moments later when I gave them to her. Liz, ironically, was feeling guilty that she was the only one with goggles as she had borrowed some earlier from another member of the group, until I updated her on our recent purchases.
The conditions were the worst I’ve ever tried to ski in. I’ve been in white-outs before but not with this kind of wind; a biting horizontal wind that seemed to blow the sharp sand-like snow into your face irrespective of whatever direction you were facing and I only managed to get 4 or 5 runs in before it was time to fetch the children.
After some warming food we went back out to brave another couple of attempts at runs with the little ones, who to their credit were not complaining at all, but I suspect this was probably because they couldn’t get their faces out of their coat hoods for long enough to talk, let alone complain. We therefore decided that it was getting ridiculous since we couldn’t even see a few metres in front of us at times and the upper lifts were being closed down, so at about 3:30, we called it a day.
We made our way back to the village and after dropping off our equipment yet again, warmed up with more waffles, Nutella and pastries (what a great excuse to eat yummy food – a bit like ultra-running really!) before returning again to the apartment.
The wind and snow had got steadily worst throughout the day, and conditions continued to deteriorate throughout the evening to the extent that we were often unable to see the lights of the buildings 50m opposite and the clear skies and brilliant full moon of the previous evenings was a distance memory as the snow careened around the village.
Thankfully though, we were snug in our warm apartment and could do nothing but hope the electricity supplies to the area did not fail and that by morning the worst would be over!
Today started with the normal routine of breakfast and the visit to the equipment room, but it was to be a longer day of skiing.
Right from the start, the day looked good; although there was some low cloud down in the valley, the sun was out and the sky was as blue and clear as it could be. The sun was behind the mountains to the south east of our village, but its presence was already being felt.
The children were ready to go today, having had a bit of a break yesterday afternoon. Not that THEY needed it of course. After an injection of carbohydrates at regular intervals they have been fine and I think we were beginning to realise it was a fairly hard activity especially for the little ones. Just walking in ski boots is hard enough for them. Walking in snow, carrying skis up a hill, was exhausting.
The children and Liz were ready to start practising their turns, and were to be taken up on to some of the higher slopes to give them more of a chance to come down a longer run and to get into a rhythm.
I had plans to make the most of my area pass.
Les Arcs is part of a series of valleys and mountains which include the area of La Plagne, with the villages of Vallandry, Plan Peisey, Montchavin and Les Coches, with the two main areas joined by a massive double-decker cable car called the Vanoise Express. This was where is planned to get to first.
The lifts were busy, but efficient as I followed the route up to the top of the Arc 2000 area, and dipped over the other side of the mountain. at this point I was careful to try to stick to the ‘left’ to take me to my preferred destination, rather than follow the route to the 1800 area I had visited a couple of days before. This took me down a nice fresh black run.
I managed to find my way down fairly well, although the transition from piste to soft powder caught me a little bit and I found myself taking a very deep off-piste excursion at one point, which required a little more extraction than I would have preferred! 🙂 Still, I was soon down at Vallandry and on the top level of the cable car, waiting to disappear into the misty valley opposite.
The journey over was swift, but the views were not as spectacular as they might have been, as we were suspended high above the valley with cloud seemingly below us and around us. It was a strange feeling to be suddenly submerged in the cloud when so adjacent to the mountain faces, but the trundling cable car eventually started climbing the slope in the cables to the other side and we arrived at Montchavin and disembarked.
So, now where? To this point I’d been so focussed on getting the lift to the valley opposite that I’d not really looked at the piste map to work out where to go next, so a brief stop was in order. There was actually little choice to get to the main ski area and that was a gentle blue run down to the actual village of Montchavin and then a series of at least three chairlifts taking me up over 1100m (3600ft) in 25 minutes to the top of the mountain where I had more choice of where to go.
I then spent the next couple of hours getting in some great runs around Plagne-Bellcôte, eating my packed lunch on the chairlift for my 7th ascent of the day.
I eventually started my way back, not wanting to miss the last lift back to our area and risk having to get an expensive taxi, so I made my way back to the cable car, partially retracing the steps I had taken the lifts over earlier.
The cloud had lifted from the valley and the view was now clear, and travelling in the Vanoise Express, a few hundred feet above the snow covered roofs below was a spectacular sight.
All I had to do now was find my way back to the lifts to take me ‘home’. The problem was the route was not obvious since I had come a fair way to the west and I would now have to zig-zag my way back across before getting the main telecabin back to 2000, the skiing equivalent of ‘tacking’.
I picked up the only lift I could see and then found my way down a series of narrow blue ‘roads’, not ideal on a snowboard, with even a bit of walking up to the Arc 1800 village – unexpected, and I suspect unnecessary, but at least I was in the right area! Great workout, too 😉
Eventually, after another couple of runs back over to the other side of our home valley, I found my way back to Arc 2000 where I met my family who were still practising their turns after a long day. I sat at the bottom of one of the runs, while they went round a few more times and then we went down the final run to the hotel and plumped into our room.
The previous nights, we had seen lights up on the slopes for floodlit skiing. After I mentioned it, Morgan was keen to try this out and go back up on the slopes again to give it a try. I had to oblige 🙂
We left the others resting but quickly made our way through the now well trodden route from the room to lockers to chairlift. I have done night skiing a few times, but I think it was exceptionally brave for Morgan to even contemplate it on only his fourth day of skiing. The floodlights tend to bring out the relief of the bumpy surface, but this is understandably patchy at the edges and sometimes bright at the focus of the lights, so at the end of the day, it is another thing to contend with (if you’ll excuse the pun!)
We were up on the lift in no time, but there was yet another thing to worry about when we got to the top – there was a trial going on, with red and blue gates set up in the snow all the way down.
So that is how, Morgan, in his first week of skiing ended up doing a night slalom course 🙂 He did very well but with others coming down the course as well it was hard work so we called it a night.
This was clearly going to be a very different Christmas Day from the start, but the children still had stockings left at the ends of their beds! They were super impressed, not only that Santa had managed to find them in France, in the mountains, but also that he had managed to bring their own decorated stockings (from our friend Colleen Bond) 🙂 Santa is very clever!
We had a variety pack for breakfast as a treat, so they were already hyper after all the chocolate coated rice and flakes they had consumed by the time we went to leave as they still had ski school in the morning. We were getting better at organising and shepherding everyone to school on time though, but it always takes longer than you think to sort out 4 children 😉
We had some great skiing in the morning, just around the local area, with the others getting themselves up on the chairlifts for the first time, which was a milestone and something to remember for Christmas 2012!
We had a steak lunch in a restaurant called Hemingway’s which we had pre-booked for lunch. As you can imagine, it had pictures of Ernest Hemingway all over the place, but other than that the connection was rather tenuous. The French do not go in for Turkey much – for Christmas that seems to be a British thing – in the US Turkey is more of a Thanksgiving treat. Either way, turkey was not on the menu, so I had duck, chicken, steak and ribs all on one plate – I guess I was feeling in need of some protein! So much for the vegetarian diet.
We all had a good meal, although there was an underlying feeling that this was not quite the ‘turkey and all the trimmings’ which is what we are all more familiar with for Christmas Day and after a couple of beers, it was quite late, but we headed back for the slopes briefly.
By this time there was a fierce southerly wind blowing into our faces as we headed back up on the St. Jacques chairlift. Even though the children were keen to practise their new found lift extraction skills, a couple of runs was enough, so after taking our paraphernalia back to the locker room we went back out to get the children a couple of sledges that we had promised them.
We briefly stopped for some fresh apple pastries and hot waffles filled with a variety of honey or Nutella, before going back up the slope to the hotel to christen the sledges. This was the hill into the village, which seemed to be the main route that people took with sledges, albeit risking life and limb at the traffic-light-less junction, where the confluence of sledges, mixed with the skier, snowboarders, revellers from the bars and local wildlife in general.
Through some miracle, we escaped unscathed, but the children all had great fun.
With renewed vigour after a good night’s sleep, we were all ready to tackle the slopes again today.
The children were delivered to their class, and Liz also, joined her group up on the slopes shortly after we have sorted out skis, gloves, helmet, boots and all the other paraphernalia that is required of skiing, but which the little ones still struggle to carry about. Unsurprisingly, since even the small skis are cumbersome and heavy for little hands, even if they had been used to the gloves they were also now expected to wear as a matter of course.
Nevertheless, they all went off, although I stayed with Savannah for a while to ensure she was settled. They all did more practice and were introduced to turning while snowploughing, so at least getting down a hill after that would be a more controlled affair.
By this stage, it was only an hour and a half before pickup so I found my way to top of the mountain and then down to the village at 1800 – Les Arcs has a number of villages in the area, at different altitudes; we were staying at 1950, but there are also groups of chalets, apartments, hotels, restaurants and shops at 2000, where the monument from the Winter Olympics at Albertville 1992 is situated (Les Arcs was used for the speed skating), as well as 1800 and 1600, with the number indicative of the nominal altitude of the village.
The run down to 1800 was bathed with sun, but the snow was still perfect as I boarded down to where I thought the bottom lift would be; the temperature was also still quite mild, but we had had a little dusting of powder overnight to freshen things up. When I got there, I found myself skiing through the ‘low’ cloud on the mountain and some scarily icy slopes at the lower altitudes, but eventually found my way to the Transarc lift. This was one of those lifts that went straight from the village all the way to the top of the mountain, and also the link to the other Arcs villages, so it was understandably popular and I spent twenty minutes in the queue.
I managed to get 4 runs in before making it back to meet the little ones, who were all exhausted again, but keen to show off their newly learnt skills before climbing up the nearest snowdrift and throwing snowballs at each other.
Liz arrived presently and we managed to find our way to a snack bar to get some paninis and fries to warm us up. We were walking a constant battle between energy level, sustenance and entertainment and most of the time a lack of energy levels was dominating, especially during the ‘transition’ between periods of feeding and activity!
We went back up to the same place as yesterday and the children confidently set out on the magic carpet again to practice their turning skills down the green slopes up in the 2000 village area. After an hour or so, I left their confidently burgeoning attempts and did another couple of runs, first to the peak of the area to the south, and then to the north-east to see the sun setting behind the mountains again; a beautiful sight.
The apartments where we were staying, ‘Pierre et Vacances’ had stated that they had both an indoor and outdoor swimming pool. The children, no doubt remembering the excitement and fun they had had in the heat wave of west coast America a few months back, were keen to relive that experience in France. I went on a reconnaissance mission and found it eventually in the hotel next door, with a sky bridge joining the two buildings for access. The memory of the sun blazing desert heat was short lived. I think the inside pool was probably the coldest ‘heated’ pool I’ve ever been in and although we braved ducking under the clear, plastic curtain to trial the ‘outside’ temperatures, the external jacuzzi was a one time journey.
We quickly showered and went out, back to our Mexican restaurant to eat, and then got back home and the little ones settled down while Santa’s little helpers got about their business.
After an active day, there were no problems with the little ones getting some shut eye even with all the excitement, and there were plenty of spare tube socks for them to leave optimistically at the ends of their beds.
The rain had stopped overnight, but it was still remarkable mild for for 2000m AMSL, no more than a day after the winter solstice.
The scene we awoke to was as magical as we had expected. Our apartment was ‘cozy’, but sufficient for our needs and the views of the mountains to the east were stunning. Snow blanketed the area still, and the children were excited to get going and so rushed their chocolate coated cereals as quickly as possible.
I was the only one with equipment ready, having brought my snowboard and boots with me. We had explained to the others they would need to get their equipment, i.e. skis, boots, poles and helmets, but we had no idea the size of the queue in the ‘Spirit’ 1950 shop we had been directed to by our Crystal Ski rep.
It was about 9:15am when we got to the shop, and the queue snaked around the labyrinth of the store, with checkpoints set up for the fitting and allocation of each item of equipment, with queuing in between; try to imagine the opposite of a high intensity gym circuit training session and you’ll get the picture.
Morgan and Liz trotted off in their new snow boots to pick up gloves and salopettes while the rest of us waited for the queue to move. They were back before we had reached the steps into the inner sanctum of the store where the all important boots were to be fitted first.
By this time, of course, 6 people (and many others in the queue) were experiencing the heat imparted by several layers of clothing designed for skiing in single figure temperatures, when inside a centrally heated room, with probably 50 other people adding to the overall confinement, heating and claustrophobia effect! Duly dispatched for water, I left the children frustrated but returned to them in the shoe fitting area.
This continued for a while with each item of essential equipment while I tried to find out what was happening with the ski school and instructors, who by 10:00am had already left for the morning.
Eventually with all our equipment fitted, scanned, registered and paid for, we got the children over to their school, and a nice gentleman from the Evolution 2 Ecole du Ski took Liz off to join her group and all of a sudden I was on my own.
I made my way to the nearest ski lift and worked my way across to the top of the only lift I could see to test my new gloves, warm up with my board after 5 years of disuse, and to give me a chance to get my bearings by looking at the piste map.
The skiing was great. I warmed up quite quickly, both in terms of my technique and also body temperature. Snowboarding is like riding a bike from that perspective, but the mildness of the hills had caught me out and after a few runs I was taking layers off on my way down the mountain to meet the rest of the family.
They had had a great, albeit curtailed, first lesson, and they had all got on well in their respective classes, so we planned to go out again in the afternoon to practice, but first the lack of carbs was catching up with us and we sought to replenish our energy levels with some baguettes from the local bakery.
With that done, we went up the Cabriolet lift from our 1950 (m) village to the nursery slopes at 2000 where I spent a good hour or so helping the little ones with their snow-plough technique, which they had been instructed in earlier. It is amazing how quickly they pick things up and despite some initial frustration and tears, by the end of the afternoon, they were all tired but pleased with themselves as they were coming down the run from the ‘Magic Carpet’ tunnel without falling over. Morgan wanted to go down a Red run already 😯
In the evening after having a break it was off to a local pizza restaurant, the smell inside which (the melting cheese, we hoped) was initially somewhat overpowering.
The children ate quickly, and were outside playing in the snow again, foregoing any dessert, before the cheese had had a chance to congeal and you could shake a Cornetto at Jack Frost. They love the snow, but after a long day they slept well that night.
The cats had been packed off to a cattery 🙁 work was finished – for the year, in fact, our skiing holiday was about to start and the Mayan soothsayers had yet again been misinterpreted so the world was still in one piece.
We started out early from a damp and rainy Gatwick Airport, doing another most civilised Purple Parking “meet’n’greet” albeit at 6:30 in the morning. The queues at the Tompson check-in were tolerable and we were through security on supposedly one of the busiest travelling days of then year in almost record time, despite having singularly forgotten (again!) to check in online. After a swift pit stop for breakfast, we were waiting for the plane.
Everything was going smoothly, we dared to think.
We were even installed on the plane with little drama, except for a mislaid boarding card which Morgan had decided to squirrel away as a scrapbook trophy prior to using it to actually board the aircraft. Still, we were all settled and ready to going by our pre allotted time, which came and went without so much as a whisper from the stewardess’ PA. Eventually the captain addressed us, explaining some extra luggage from an earlier flight had found its way onto ours and the would have to reconcile the manifest (count it) prior to our departure.
Of course by the time they had done that, we had missed our slot.
Two and a half hours later than planned, we were finally on our way.
The Thomson charter flight had little food to cater for the needs of hungry children and when we arrived in Chambery, France, with the clocks already one hour ahead, we just wanted to find our way to the bus and make it to the resort, so we were happy to be quickly through customs and picked up baggage and onto the bus in no time; so quickly in fact, that we had no time to get snacks and the prospect of a 3 hour transfer to Les Arcs was suddenly less appealing.
Somehow we managed to keep the children occupied, distracted and they survived on 1/2 a twix each before we had a pit stop at Moutiers, where we arranged some much needed carbo-loading.
We saw the sunset on the journey but it was rather cloudy and we disappointingly found it was sleeting when we left Moutiers, rather than the picturesque snow for which we had been hoping. Nevertheless, the higher we climbed, the bigger and drier the flakes of snow became and although the rest of the journey was fraught with stops behind cars fitting snow chains, the driver only got stuck once and we made it to Les Arcs 1950 just after 7pm.
Having negotiated our way through the utilitarian underground car park with our luggage, which seemed to have multiplied, at least in mass, if not in volume, on the journey to the resort, and just had time to grab some provisions for breakfast before shooting out for supper.
We went out to a Mexican restaurant in evening – where chicken wings, butternut soup and a gorgeous chilli-con-carne hit just the right spot. The children played outside as the snow turned to rain! So in the end they were very wet and tired and we all got to bed by 10:30
I had taken Friday off as my Dad was coming up to visit; clearly he had not had enough of us during the three weeks we were together on vacation in America recently 🙂
I had got a run in early on Friday morning before he had arrived, and as this was only 40 minutes or so, the children, who were still on half term, hardly even noticed my absence!
Saturday we had had a quiet time, in preparation for some fireworks we planned to attend in the evening for Guy Fawkes night. Although chilly, the evening was quite clear, so as we went to sleep, I was hopeful it was going to be a nice run on Sunday morning.
The rain battering down at 2am on the velux window in the loft where we were sleeping, told another story; it must’ve woken me up another two of three times during the early hours of the morning before I finally got out to get ready to run about 6:15am. I had laid in bed for some time thinking I could hear the showers subsiding, but I was sadly deluded.
In anticipation of a wet run, I wore a couple of layers and my lightweight windbreak jacket, then I went outside and sought shelter under a tree while my GPS found the satellites, but I could put things off no longer and it was off into the elements.
To have thought that anything I was wearing would have protected me from the deluge I stepped out into was a bit optimistic, to say the least! Within about 20 paces, my top was soaked; after no more than a couple of km the brim of my hat was dripping, like the porch of a southern Mississippi homestead during a hurricane; my shoes, or rather my feet, fared a little better and I managed to avoid the standing water by the side of the road for at least 5km. After that, the ‘puddles’, mostly fed by cavalcades of tributaries from driveways, road sides, or simply torrents rushing down the kerbside unable to filter into the already bloated storm drains, unfortunately got the better of me, as evident by the squelching I made with every step.
Once wet, it mattered little, although I did get colder a lot more quickly than I might otherwise have done, and although my muscles were stiffening constantly I had to remind myself that stopping to stretch or God forbid, walk, would have been suicidal, especially in the back of beyond on the lonely roads where I saw little more for two hours than hedge row birds fluffing up their feathers to keep warm.
After my loop round the outskirts of north-east Guildford and approaching the town and my final few km, the rain began to lighten, as did the skies and my mood, until the point where I had to negotiate a real swimming pool at the bottom of Boxgrove lane. Thinking the water across the road could not possibly be that deep, I foolishly tried to run across and landed ankle deep, testing the water expulsion capabilities of my already sodden shoes; I guess I’ll not be adding ‘walking on water’ to my miracle list anytime soon 😉
After 10 minutes without rain I was actually starting to warm up and dry out, but I was soon home and so it was not sufficient to erase the tell-tale Christmas tree wrinkles where my prints would normally adorn my fingers.
The family had all had breakfast already, but Liz furnished me with a cup of tea and as the children hugged me, I realised I had neither dried out nor warmed up!
We went to church and then had a very decadent day watching movies and rounded it off with a nice roast beef and Yorkshire pudding supper with a couple of glasses of wine!