Back in the running game: The joy of ski mountainering and a lesson learnt from not signing up for Trans Gran Canaria

Chasing snow

After the shameful DNF of 3x3000 back in early November where I picked up a nasty ankle sprain, I didn't want to be running anymore...at all or do any sort of exercises. Silly I know but after all of the training and good times we had during our 3 months break, I couldn't bear the thought that all of it was now down the drain thanks to a sprain. What was the point? The season was over, we were back in gloomy England with its little hills and rain sucking the daylight out of you. Nothing to get me out of this dark clouds, not even sorting out our 3 weeks break in the Alps in Mick's hometown.

Mid December, we landed in Geneva for the 3 weeks break barely prepared and drove to St Jean de Maurienne by looking out the car windows and staring at the snowy mountains tops. So ever slowly staring out and picturing our little self in these massive mountains was dissipating some of these dark clouds in my head. Feet getting itchy, I eagerly fell asleep hoping that these mountains could heal me. We were lucky, Smartwool had sent us some winter gear to test during our ski mountaineering break, so the following day, like a kid at Christmas here I was putting on the PHD support bra, baselayer, tights and socks from #Smartwool and pestering Mick to go out in the mountains. But there was not much snow, so we ended up walking up to a snowy top and then painfully going down again.

Dark clouds looming on my horizon, Mick said to not get too flustered yet, my ankle was going to get better with the ski mountaineering, we just need to find some snow. 

So on the second day we do just that, snow hunting. Apparently there is some in Val Frejus. With the same #Smartwool clothing of the day before, we set off to the bottom of the slop. There is barely any snow...We have to walk quite a bit with our ski on our back to get to something decent in order to justify putting the skis on but wow it's worth the wait and the 1h hike.The shoes were as light as running shoes, I was not too warm nor too cold and when we put the skis on, I felt at peace. To get the hand of moving up with the skins on is not too hard but to get the “technique” is another story.

Mick who had been skiing since 3 years old had also read ski mountaineering books, watched videos and researched on how to do things before our arrival so now he was going up like a pro while teaching me the basics :)With every upward steps and trickling sweat, my old happy self dared making an appearance. Mick looked at me and smiled no words were needed. He did tell me how this break was going to be good for our bodies and I wasn't believing it before. But with the ankle nicely tucked in the ski boots not moving sideways or doing funny things and amazing views, there was no sign of my usual dark clouds and I was felling good. For the next 3 days ( until Christmas) all we done was ski mountaineering.Still with the same Smartwhool apparel ( keeping us warm while keeping the moist away) we went up and discovered some trails we had gone during the summer but without the waou white effect and went deeper into the Maurienne valley to reach some peaks and lakes which were magnificent. 

Just writing these lines puts me back into the elation of the moment when we reach the view of Lac du Mont Cenis.

White Velvet

And so we couldn't wait for Christmas Day and its feast to pass to go back deeper in the mountains where I felt whole. For another 6 days we went up and down, climbed Mont Emy more than a few times as the snow was getting rarer everywhere else (apparently Italy got most of it) and slowly got back into some kind of shape. My anger against my powerless body was diminishing with each outing, I was starting to think that maybe I could go back running.

After these 3 weeks ski mountaineering, it was time to return to England, the lack of mountains with enough stress at work and continuous rainy days did the trick for the dark clouds to come back. I did try to run and shake it off but not only had the Brat come back but a shin splint was installed comfortably up my left leg! so no way I was going to sign up to run 125km with this mind and body state! It's so weird how our mind can play vicious games...I should have just sign up and hell with the body/mind state!

But Mick (who has none of my silly issues) signed up for the TGC 125km race and planned to stay 1 week prior to the race to train in the Gran Canaria's mountains.

Trans Gran Canaria 125 Km

Of course, being his beloved wife, I organised our stay (even thou I did wonder how good would it be for him if I cannot run around but can pester him with my dark clouds) and set up camp in Tejeda, Gran Canaria.

 

View from our rental in Tejeda

  It's such a beautiful village tucked in the mountains, quiet and sunny. We ate oranges and lemons on a daily basis and there was this almond cake to die for! 

Roque Nublo and La Palma in the horizon

To get me to come out and run longer, Mick lured me into doing long outing for a piece of cake. 

View from Cruz de Tejeda

Haha it worked fine :) No brat, no shin splint, not once I've twisted the ankle and no dark clouds. 
 After one week in Tejeda, I felt so much better that I was now regretting not signing up. So much so that watching Mick getting ready for the race was heart breaking. So I started making plans on driving Mick to the start, taking my running #smartwool apparel (same gear as the mountainering one, it actually keeps you cool in the warmer weather) and run the first 20 km with everyone else. But Mick tells the organisation won't be too impress...so when he went to register , I asked the organisation if I could run it anyway, surely some people won't start on the day, I could start for them no? But no, for some insurance reason, I can't run the race.

Fine! Lesson learnt! Next time, just sign up for the race and take the cancellation fee. Who knows what might come along and undo all of the dark matter in you?

As for now, I've signed up for SDW 50, Ultratrail Barcelona, Lakes District Extreme 100, Ultra Trail des Belledones and Grand Raid de la Reunion with no cancellation fee ;) Life's too short right?

Don't miss out on Mick's TGC 125 km 2015 race report, I'm sure it will make you want to come along next year ;) 

TransGranCanaria 125km: a dark heaven

TransGranCanaria 125  starts when you wait for the bus to get to the start line.

It's 9:40 pm and we are around 100 sleepy runners waiting to get into the bus to the start in Agaete. We are all looking nervous and unsure of what's going on, wondering if this is wise. Midnight start is awful, you can't sleep the hours before no matter how hard you try ( unless you are like James Adams and 2 beers is enough to knock you out until the start ;) ) and so, you end up being a zombie/vampire until the sun rises, daydreaming of going back to bed...But the buses are there and we fill them up to the last sit.

2 hours later, we are welcomed in Agaete with the sounds of drums and cheering locals. It's cold and windy. My heart is racing, just looking at the 500 runners ice-fill my mind and runs shivers of doubt and fear down my whole body. Mick does it again: reassuring me that it will all be ok, it's 90% mental, 10% in the head he says...I smile at this and shake my head, surely there is a physical aspect to this whole thing, No?!Winking, he replies, I'll find out soon enough...and with a last kiss, the start is given. It's 12 am on Saturday 01 March 2014. Up there 10 km away,  our first checkpoint Tamadaba awaits. We do a bit of road to say goodbye to civilisation and reassuring artificial lights before entering 8 hours of darkness under trees and rockies.

For the next 43.5 km  the only sounds I will recollect will be fragments of failed conversation with other runners in 3 languages, the whimpers of the Brat , the walking sticks knocking the rocky path and the cheers of the volunteers and passers-by from the the 3 aid stations. For 7 hours and 53 minutes, I will remember nothing but fragments of dead looking trails, phantom-like runners' gloomy faces caught from the halo of my headlamp, and looks of runners wishing we could turn back and forget this whole thing.

But the sun rises, and with that, what was dark and gloomy becomes almost enchanting, what was a depressing past becomes a better future. I wonder how Mick is feeling, I'm hopeful he's doing great and this help me running down faster without thinking of the Brat biting my leg. We reach Fontanales check point where I'm welcomed by sun-rays warming up my sleepy head and Scott who's doing the 82km version. I've made the first marathon point in 8 hours, if I do the second marathon the same way, chances are I can finish in 20 hours as the third marathon is supposed to be easier as it is flat and downhill, and I could keep the Brat at bay. I have mentally prepared myself to “embrace the flat” so I don't stop at the checkpoint, and carry on to the next one. Maybe I could do it in less time and not be running up and down for a second night?

From the race profile, it's just a small climb to Valleseco before reaching Teror Checkpoint 6kms later. The elite runners of the 82km are flying by, and I daydream of doing the same! I attempted to follow...but the Brat is playing up, moving up and down my leg, butt and lower back, reminding me that I would never fly! Pufff....clenching my teeth, I distracted myself by attempting a conversation with Bill, the UN work and by the distance left...where is that checkpoint again?

The not so accurate profite

 The climb does not end...and Vallesesco is still out of sight. I don't have a watch or a gps so guessing is all I've got but I'm sure it's been 7km! I make the mistake to ask other runners with big watches and funny enough, they all have different left over distance. So in 3 different languages, we compare notes and find a compromise that we still have 4 kilometres to go before Vallesco...ok maybe I miscalculated the time/distance travel....this day is getting longer by the climb. It's ok, the sounds from the Spanish runners are a very good distraction. They are talking so fast and continuously on that climb! I wonder how they can talk so much and still keep up with the climbing rhythm. I wonder what on earth they could be talking about. I wonder if maybe training while talking a lot is beneficial.I wonder if elites talk so much.  I wonder so much that Vallesco CP suddenly appears. The volunteers and locals are so genuinely caring that my water bladder and cocacola bottle are filled up in to time and I am gently pushed towards...the other climb to Terror before going down and up again to El Talayon. Brrr just the name is scary but it's the half way mark!

View of Pico de las Nieves from one of the climb

 The scenery is breathless and I enjoy looking around until we reach this climbing pine foresty path with dry pines leaves. What is this?  Seriously? The leaves are making the trail very slippery and unsteady...I'm tired... I wonder what time it is. I wonder where is Mick. I wonder why they made us go through this path. Are they mad? Did they not think that after 60km people will be going a bit mad themselves? Here's a man taking a nap of the sliding pine leaves. I wonder how comfortable it is. I wonder if I should join him and close my eyes for a little bit. Hum...if I could just lay there for a while, but time is flying by and I need to keep swearing at the road parts and hardcore concrete village paths that shot the hamstrings and feet in a way I could have never imagine, to reach what I think is the end of the climb to Garañón. 

How wrong! This is not it, it is some nice rock (El Garanon) where they have decided to put the chip control. Arrrh! Really?! Don't get me wrong moon landscapes are great, but with more than 12 hours in the legs, I really don't feel like taking a picture and having a picnic. No No, especially when you then tell me that I need to go back down more and then go up for another 5 km to the actual checkpoint. 

Because you know what, that's not how the race profile look like.

See:

The not so accurate profile

I tell this to a bunch of Spanish guys, I call them FC Barcelona hehe we've been playing cat and mouse for a while now,  even if words are not what we are sharing, they are nice company. They are laughing asking if it is my first time...Venga Venga they say, it's not too long to Garanon where there will be pasta. Haha I never seen people being so excited about pasta! But these guys are and their good mood is contagious, so I follow them down...and up and what felt like was not too long, is actually super long and screws with my imaginary plan. It's 16:30 and I have 3 hours before night fall and I wanted to be there 1h ago to not be running up and down in the night again. It's really not fun, and it plays with your mind in a very nasty way.

So after being controlled there, I try to hurry my way up to Tunte. It's supposed to go up for a little well... according to the race profile, but I start doubting this alot, and so I climb until it is time to go down again and don't stop until I reach this mountain path made of small rocks where you have to jump from one to the others with care or else you twist your ankle or worst fall head first. This game is fun but time consuming and I can see the sun setting, It's 18:15...where is the CP?! ... come on!  A board with the distance left to the finish appears in the horizon. OK, we should be 20 km away and CP should be just around the corner. But that's' where I got it wrong again, from that board, we have 30 km left, meaning...no! CP is another 8 kilometres away up and down...which means I won't reach it in time before sunset. Noooooooooo!

Ok ok, No I just need to run down faster, from the race profile, it's all going down! So let's get on with it.
And that is what I am going to think for the next 5 hours, yes...it took another hour to the check point and 4 hours to do 25km. How naïve was I to think that I could do  a bit more than half a marathon in 2 hours? How naïve was I to carry on thinking that the race profile was truly what was on the bib number...The night had fallen now, and what should have been a shallow descent is actually the deepest descent of the whole race....just before the CP Arteara. I tried running it, walking, butt-sliding it, swore at it, cry to it, cringe at it until I just let it go and went with whatever way came under my feet with cactuses from both side of the paths with sharps rocks and your mind  making the path probably worst than it really was.  Reaching Arteara, we found ourselves going wait... upwards again...I can hear feet heavily pounding the rocks,  quads taking all of energy left to get up and down, everyone around looking again like mechanic zombies. But a worsen zombie version of the night before, as the stride is heavier, the mind in a darker place, and the fatigue is taking over everything good of the human spirit and making people forgetting about the joy of running...

We reach Machacadora checkpont at 117km and we have 6 km left to the finish. I don't stop, barely smiling at the volunteers I reach the 5km to the finish board.  I should be happy but somehow I am not relieved and I'm not feeling anything at all: My mind is gone...what's left is my soul knowing that Mick is waiting  at the finish line and this is almost over. And so I go...we pass Sonneland, the hotels, locals cheering up until we finally reach Maspalomas Lighthouse. It's over: 125km, in 23hours and 11 min of darkness in heaven.

I reach Michael's arms and understand what he had said 23 hours ago: pain is only temporary and this was 90% mental, 10% in the head. Wherever the mind go, the body follows no matter what. But what happen when the mind is gone and the body is fine? or you think it's fine?

I wondered about many things during this race but never questioned my mind about its own limits, but where is the line?