Saturday, October 15, 2011



I slammed my trekking poles to the ground, little concern over whether they might crash splintering to pieces. After hopping around on my good, left leg, I settled onto a boulder by the side of the trail completely deflated. My inability to travel downhill without pain had mounted an ever-increasing frustration. The strain in the front of my calf was aggrevated most with my foot pointed downwards and there was pretty much no other way to navigate these steep descents. Catching my toe on a rock and pulling it back simply put me over the edge. Though, in truth, the frustration was worse than the pain.


For days, I'd dreamt of this final descent. With so little runnable terrain and having held back on the few sections there were, I'd kept plenty reserve in my legs for the final push. Unfortunately, things hadn't quite worked out as I'd imagined. Apparently, if you train running downhills all the time, your legs may not be prepared for walking it. The breaking motion required to descend slopes much steeper than just about anything on my local trails did me in. One section, in particular, was so steep and the dirt so loose that we were basically skiing down it. I slipped onto my ass which is when I believe I strained my anterior tibialis. This was the descent after Col Vessanez, a long downhill and the beginning of our worst night of the race due to a bad decision on my part. That story will have to wait.

The next day we made it to Ollomont, the final "life base" (a major checkpoint with extra support and a large area set up with cots for sleeping). After a quick meal we intended a solid 2 hours sleep, but too much noise and activity allowed Harry and I only about an hour each. It was noon and, upon awaking, we discovered that Martina, Harry's girlfriend, had not only snuck treats into our drop bags, but had also shown up to see us off on the final section of the race. This lifted our spirits a bit. We gathered ourselves and prepared for the final 50K. Matina walked with us up the initial climb, but quickly realized that, at this point, Harry and I had pretty much lost the ability to communicate with anyone but each other. Frankly, I'm not even sure it qualified as communication. It was mostly single words and phrases referring to things that had happened over the previous 5 days eliciting grunts, groans or giggles from us both.

Starting on the final stretch should have brought more excitement, but we had become so accustomed to ignoring anything beyond the immediate challenge in front of us that all emotions were fairly tempered. Besides, those last 30 miles would take almost an entire day. For my part, I was also starting to realize that the pain in the front of my leg was more than just "tightness". The climb up Col Champillon was steep, like all the others, but relatively free of supplementary challenges. The descent likewise. However, it was here that my leg started to become a problem. I could jog a little on the smoother sections, but walking brought pain with each step. Still, Harry and I made good time on this section and stayed ahead of the various groups with whom we'd been constantly trading positions on the climbs and descents.

After the small checkpoint at the base of the hill, the elevation profile showed a long, relatively gradual descent into Saint-Rhemy--the last stop before the final climb of the race. Exhaustion was catching up with us both so we found a nice grassy plot next to a stream above a farmhouse just off trail. It was warm and, laying there, we felt like a couple hikers simply lounging in the mountains enjoying a lazy afternoon. We dozed off for 20 minutes of some of the best sleep all week. There were miles still to go and what showed as a very easy downhill on the map would, of course, begin with more climbing. In fact the profile just seemed plain wrong on this section. The uphill went on much longer than expected, the final downhill was steeper than shown and the checkpoint itself had been moved further outside town than the previous year. After so many days we were quite blase about such minor annoyances. However, my leg was really beginning to hurt.

Arriving at the checkpoint, I asked if there was a medic around while Harry hit the food table. I'd heard good things about the medical help at TdG, but there wasn't much to be done for a simple muscle strain other than trying to relieve the pain so I could manage the final stretch. With less than 20 miles remaining in a 200+ mile race, I was prepared to crawl if I had to. Some ointment, a little ice, a couple of anti-inflammatories and I was ready to go, at least mentally. I went back outside to the food table to find Harry sitting at the bench with his head on the table and his eyes closed.

The right thing to do would have been to take a break and sleep. They had a large, quiet room filled with cots. The next stop would be minimal support with sleeping space on the floor and we were unlikely to make it past that without a rest. The problem was that I just couldn't do it. I told Harry to go get some sleep while I ate. I contemplated trying to convince him again to stay and catch me later, but I knew he wouldn't have it. I didn't want a repeat of the previous night. I also knew that it was exactly what I was leading us into when I woke Harry after 20 minutes. I'd just managed to summon the resolve to push forward on my leg and stopping at this point wasn't an option for me. I offered Harry one last shot to stay and sleep. As expected, we started up the long, last climb together.

Merdeux sat just below the final pass of the course, little more than a shed. Harry and I tossed fitfully on the cold, wood floor in what seemed to be a storage room. When the only other occupant left, freeing up the sole foam pad, I was willing to let Harry have it, but he insisted we share. Head to toe on the tiny cushion, we slept. Another racer arrived after around 40 minutes to find water had spilled on the floor. I gave him the canvas tarp I was using as a blanket and left Harry to hopefully get some better rest. Beyond the initial 5 hours stint where my usual light-sleeping habit failed me, I hadn't gone more than an hour straight without waking. I was anxious to get going on my bum leg, but wanted Harry to get as much rest as possible because, either way, I knew what was in store for me. I sat in the hut drinking tea and talking to one of the volunteers who told me stories of his visits to America in broken English.

Col Malatra stood around 9600ft. We moved well up this final climb with only one small incident where a large group of Italians we'd let pass decided to stop for a photo, holding up a string of us on the rocky, technical section lined with ropes. I could hear Harry cursing beneath his breath as he stood there, but I simply pushed through unwilling to delay my inevitable painful descent. As we headed down the other side, Harry's cursing was drown out by my own as the pain in my leg increased with every downward step, reaching its apex when my toe caught that rock.


All manner of negative thought went through my head as I sat there on the boulder. I still had little doubt that I'd finish the race, but I felt betrayed by my own body at a point where I should have been savoring every moment. Harry walked over to me and put up his hand for a high-five. "That was the last climb. We've got this thing done!" I had to smile. Not only was he right, but the role-reversal of Harry reminding me to get over my defeatist attitude forced me to laugh at myself. The pain was worse, but I was moving again.

Eventually, Harry went ahead to the refugio to see if he could find some pain killers for me. Though we'd stuck  through so much over the previous days, I was actually glad for him to go. Not only did I feel like I was holding him back on some of the most runnable trails we'd seen in days, but I really needed to focus all of my energy internally. It was taking everything I had to ignore the shock that went up my leg each time my foot hit the ground. The extra effort further fueled the tiredness that inevitably hits me just before sunrise. I would need one final nap at the checkpoint encouraging Harry to go on. Finishing on my own was fine by me.

Nothing can take away from the camaraderie that Harry and I shared over the course of this race. But, even together, there's a personal aspect to pushing oneself through these type of challenges that's ever present. Having those final miles on my own to reflect simply punctuated the entire experience.

Besides, it's not like we didn't celebrate at the finish!

I had just enough strength left to grab Harry and lift him off the ground.


Danni said...

Wow complete insantiy is what it is. It looks like Harry is humping your leg.

Eudemus said...

...and he's enjoying it too! :-)

That picture was included mainly for Harry's embarrassment!

brendaontheRun said...

Steve - how wonderful to find you in blogland! It was fantastic running with you in TdGs and I'm so glad that we all got to finish this crazy, fun race. I hope you've recovered well.

Beat said...

I did the pole into ground slamming don't care if they break numerous times during the race :) I added some yelling and screaming to it once or twice.

Great job on finishing the race. Fun stuff.

Harry said...

ahhh, memories...

Olga said...

F-ing 200+ miles. Screw that, crazy. BTW tried ti send you happy birthday, bro, bounced back. So, happy one, what a trip you are (and you had). How's the leg now?

katie said...

Congratulations Steve! Amazing accomplishment, and hope you're healing well.