The Start
It was with both relief and dread that I stood on the street corner, cheering and clapping the runners coming past half a mile into the race. I hoped Steve would see me because it was going to be Courmayeur, about 16 hours or so away, before I’d see him again. It was cold and wet and dismal, and after the last runner went past I walked back to the apartment fretful about the night ahead.
A couple of hours in to the race I realised I wasn’t registered for SMS updates. It took ages to get the website to work on my phone. I became more and more stressed and panicked with each failed attempt but eventually got it sorted which meant I could have a slightly less stressful sleepless night. I was dot-watching pretty much all night, only falling asleep briefly not hearing the ping when Steve arrived at Les Chapieux at 03:29 on Saturday morning. I wasn’t too worried to see that he’d dropped quite a few places overnight, the plan was to take it ‘easy’ and arrive at Courmayeur relatively fresh. He kept dropping places up to Col del la Seigne but was still within 42 hour pace so all was going well. I sent a couple of texts before dawn in case he needed a boost, including one that said “Kilian’s dropped. You’re tougher than him”.
Courmayeur
Having experienced the bus journey to Courmayeur two years ago I was far more relaxed about how to get there and what to expect this time around. I still got there a bit too early but after doing a recce to work out where the assistance point was (it was a completely different set up to 2016!) decided to cheer in the runners while I was waiting. I said well done to a runner with a British flag on his bib, he stopped and stared and then we realised we’d both been volunteering just a couple of weeks previously at Hangman! It wouldn’t be the last time I’d see him during the race and indeed many faces became familiar to me as I made my tour around Mt Blanc. Updates came in suggesting Steve would be a little later to Courmayeur than initially expected but it wasn’t too long a wait.
He came in coherent and looking pretty good at 10:31am, well within 42 hour pace still. I set the timer for 15 minutes then went through my list of stuff to check. I wasn’t happy that he’d not been eating terribly well but must have had a premonition this would be the case as I’d made up some jam sandwiches for him. I forced a sandwich into his mouth- “Eat!” and got on with switching the powerbank, ignoring a complaint that his knee hurt, and began the first of 3 Vaseline-ings of feet. Not the most pleasant of tasks but it had to be done. I was out of practise at putting socks back on and struggled a bit- I wish we’d practised that beforehand. He didn’t need to change clothes or shoes although he was cross with his gloves so we organised to swap them at Champex at the start of the next night before it got too cold. He didn’t want a nap but requested Marmite sandwiches for the night and was in and out and on his way in 30 minutes which was great. He thought he might nap at Arnouvaz to prepare for the big climb after that and see him into the first part of the night.
Before the Second Night
At this point I was able to return to Chamonix for a few hours with the intention of getting a bit of sleep once I’d got the kit bag ready and maybe even having a short run, but in the end I was just too busy. A large part of my mind was taken up willing him into Arnouvaz in good time because that would be a hugely significant point in the race- it was where he was timed out in 2016. Also for some reason I was convinced he would want a sausage roll at Champex-Lac and spent some time visiting the various supermarkets and staring in windows of bakeries trying to find one. A tip-off from our friend Paul (who’d not long come in from finishing CCC) sent me back out to probably the only sausage roll in all of Chamonix. In between dot-watching I made Marmite sandwiches, packed extra bread and peanut butter just in case, and got some soup, bread and cheese for myself. I didn’t feel much like eating but with a long night ahead and likely no chance of getting food I needed to eat so I could keep doing my job. As much as you use adrenaline to keep you going while running it’s the same when you’re crewing; somehow you make yourself keep going.
The relief to get a text saying he was through Arnouvaz at 3:31pm was immense especially as a little earlier a text arrived saying his eta there was 17:47 which is barely in time for cutoff. Although I checked the pace chart and could see that must be a mistake it was still a nerve-wracking point fearing the worst had happened again. Steve messaged to say they’d been made to put on waterproofs before leaving the checkpoint so it sounded like the weather had really taken a turn for the worse which would make everything slower and more difficult. The next part of the race he seemed to be struggling, dropping more places. I sent him a text at the start of the evening saying I was looking forward to a hot date in Champex-Lac.
Champex-Lac
Champex was a very tough point for me. The journey there was my kind of nightmare- endless switchbacks down the mountain with a terrifying drop which is exactly the kind of thing I hate and made me feel dizzy and queasy. I got there a bit too early and had probably 90 minutes waiting for Steve. Watching the runners coming in was just heartbreaking. People weren’t running (not that you’d expect them to at that stage), they weren’t walking, they were barely shuffling. Faces drawn, grimacing, some in tears. They stared at the lights of the checkpoint with no understanding, completely disorientated not knowing where to go or what to do. I peered through that darkness not knowing for sure when Steve would appear or what state he’d be in when he did, nor whether I had in in me to do what would need to be done if he was as broken as so many other runners were. You begin to rehearse different scenarios in your head, go through all the ‘what ifs’ and try to work out what to do and say in each one as well as anticipate what the reaction will be. I came up with the plan that I’d tell him there’s only three climbs left after Champex so he better bloody well finish.
By the time Steve did arrive (still on 42 hour pace more or less) I was expecting the worst but he came in moving well. He hadn’t been eating so I pulled out the sausage roll and told him he better eat it as I’d searched all of Chamonix for it. Luckily it seemed to go down well while I sorted his kit and Vaseline-d his feet again. That was an even less pleasant task than at Courmayeur! I think I also made him eat Marmite sandwiches and noodle soup. He said he’d been hallucinating and was getting quite clumsy but didn’t feel sleepy and so we put off a nap until Trient.
Trient
Between this point and Steve leaving Vallorcine was probably the worst part of the whole race for me. I was becoming extremely tired having been awake since 4am Friday morning, and once I got to Trient I started to get cold despite being suitably dressed for a night in the Alps. Steve’s refusal to sleep and inability to eat any of his usual race snacks was worrying me too, especially as I couldn’t make him do either of those things. He never has trouble getting in calories during a race and I wasn’t sure why it was different this time. I’ve been in situations where I’ve chosen to not bother to pause and get a snack because I’ve been tired and just want to push on but have learned that actually it’s better to spare a few moments to eat as calories in = mental and physical boost. It would be completely out of character for Steve to not eat because too tired and I began to fret that he’d already passed that point of no return where the calorie deficit is too much and mental function is impaired. Yes we had plenty of time in hand yet, but I knew that really he wanted more than to just get round- he wanted as good a finish time as he could manage.
As I sat and shivered at Trient I tried to write down what it had been like at Champex:
Petzl-pierced darkness
Shadows of runners break my heart.
Dazed, disoriented,
Eyes unseeing
Disbelieving the bright lights.
Limping lopsided
Limbs lost in pain
Minds numbed by movement
Souls sold to chase a dream.
Night of reckoning.
A price paid in bloodied legs,
Salty sweat-soaked clothes,
Despairing tears,
Hallucinating nightmares.
Limping lopsided
Limbs lost in pain
Minds numbed by movement
Souls sold to chase a dream.
Sunrise pierces darkness
Pale, drawn runners break my heart.
Trudging, shuffling,
Eyes unseeing
Disbelieving end of night.
Limping lopsided
Limbs lost in pain
Minds numbed by movement
Souls sold to chase a dream.
In my notebook follows: “How will it end?” I didn’t write any more after that even though I had plenty of time. I was too numb.
Steve arrived at Trient dopey and vague. He still wasn’t eating well in between checkpoints so again I force fed him sandwiches and made him have some pasta. I Vaseline-d his feet one more time. At least, they looked like feet (and pretty much in perfect condition!) but smelt rather more like the very ripe Camembert in our apartment fridge! It was about 4:15am now and I was so cold and tired that I could barely manage to replace his socks and shoes but did my best not to show it- he needed to know that I was fine and that I was capable of keeping him on track. In spite of everything we managed a 30 minute turnaround and there was still the possibility of a finish by midday. On the other hand, I knew that it was only another 26 miles and that he had 12 hours to get there.
Vallorcine
It’s only a short bus ride from Trient to Vallorcine so I knew it would be a long, lonely wait and those hours before dawn are the longest and coldest of all. I messaged Paul and said Steve better not be late to Vallorcine as I was slowly becoming hypothermic. Seriously, I was extremely cold by now and the last 37 hours of my UTMB vigil were taking their toll. I have little recollection of my time at this checkpoint other than making peanut butter sandwiches in a freezing marquee, the sharp cold, and a sunrise appearing. I remembered that I had a string of tiny cowbells in my rucksack so once it was light I stood outside cheering on the runners as they arrived. Those who had made it this far seemed determined now but very few were moving well.
Steve’s eta got later and later which wasn’t really a problem but still it made me anxious- selfishly I wanted him to finish sooner rather than later as I had to catch a bus to the airport at 6pm and the thought of him finishing and me having to leave straight away was awful. Paul messaged me during this time- he’d obviously managed to speak to Steve and he told me all was ok. My reply was “I’m borderline hypothermic”. Steve appeared at 7:47am, little more than a shell of himself and I had to do most things for him. He’d eaten nothing from his food bag so for one last time I shoved sandwiches in his mouth and got him noodle soup. He was coherent enough to know he could smell the barn but was so far gone that he just wanted it to be over. He wouldn’t nap, didn’t want his feet sorting, he just wanted to get back out there and get it done. A kiss and he went on his way. It was just before 8am.
Smell the Barn
At this point it was pretty certain he’d finish although other than suffering nothing is certain in a 100 miler, but Vallorcine to Chamonix is still 11 or 12 miles and there’s a stinky descent from La Flegere. I took the bus back to Chamonix. I thought I’d feel relieved or excited or, well, anything and everything but I didn’t. I sat on the bus completely empty. We drove past runners as a reroute sent them along and close to the road for a while. I tried to picture Steve there with his peculiar smile that isn’t a smile, an expression reserved for times of extreme grit and bloody mindedness.
I got off the bus and walked like a drunk across town back to the apartment only to find I couldn’t open the door. I just could not figure out how to put the key in the lock or turn it or anything. I tried for what felt like 10 minutes and ended up sitting on the floor in the gloomy corridor crying,really sobbing because I couldn’t function. I texted Paul saying I couldn’t get in but as he was in town that wasn’t much help! Somehow eventually I did get in, but again it’s all a bit vague. I showered and changed, got some food and drank lots of tea trying to get warm. I’d bought balloons on Saturday so I blew some up, made a ‘Well done!’ banner out of half a Cornflakes box and put these on the bed.
The Finish
Although it was too soon really, I headed over to the finish as Steve had said he wanted me to be as close to the finish as possible. Lots of runners have family join them so they run in together but this was Steve’s race and I had no place on those last few hundred metres. Crossing that finish would be an entirely private, personal experience for him. I managed to wriggle my way to the front, just a few metres from the finish. This was the final part of the vigil.
It was just wonderful cheering across the finish runners I’d seen back in Champex, Trient and Vallorcine. Nearly everyone somehow found it in them to run, even leap over the finish and there were so many smiles. The noise spectators made as runners headed around that last bend was incredible! Applause, cowbells, shouts of ‘Bravo!’ hands banging on the hoardings- what a way to be greeted at the end of an immense effort!
Once again Steve’s eta got later and later. I worried that maybe he’s fallen, just laid down on a rock and gone to sleep, even gone off course. That last wait was unbearable. Finally, I saw him. He was jogging round that last bend, quite self-contained. I shouted his name and waved. He didn’t see me or hear me. No recognition. He quietly crossed the finish, but didn’t look round. I shouted his name again and this time one of the race volunteers beckoned to me and let me through the barriers onto the finish. I don’t know if he really knew who I was at that point but I held him and kissed him. At last it was over.
Tears came then.
“Don’t you ever put me through that again”.
