UTMB

I apologize to friends and family for neglecting to post a pre-race update with links. Friday quickly became overwhelmed with concern and then angst as I woke up to a full winter storm and scattered rumors that the race organization was going to reroute the course and change the start time. I spent the rest of the day bouncing between Internet cafes and race headquarters, trying to figure out what the new course entailed, learning the disappointing truth, spending two hours convinced that I wouldn't start the revised race, finally deciding to "just do it," and then scrambling to learn as much as I could about the new course and repacking my backpack before the 7 p.m. start.

The short explanation is that nearly a foot of new snow on the higher passes, compounded by spectacularly wet conditions at lower elevations, presented too much of a risk for a race organization who would have to deal with the fallout in a field of 2,500 runners. The passes dividing France, Italy, and Switzerland were determined to be impassable, so they rerouted the whole course to lower elevation trails in France. We ran the first forty kilometers of the Trail du Mont Blanc, followed by a loop on secondary trails above the Chamonix Valley. The official stats for the new course were 103 kilometers (so quite a bit shorter than 168K) and 6,000 meters of climbing. I carried a Garmin eTrex and recorded 69.8 miles and 19,600 feet of climbing (so it was still a long and stout 100K.)

I admit I was fairly devastated by the reality of the reroute. I understand why it had to happen, but like the other 2,500 UTMB runners, I really wanted to run the full circuit. I had little interest in racing for the sake of racing. I felt like I had to trade my grand personal adventure for a hard workout — still a tough challenge, and still an amazing run in the beautiful Alps. The race organization handled the last-minute massive changes really well — I'm really impressed with the whole event. And I don't fault them at all; I didn't necessarily want to go up to those high passes with 2,500 other people, many who were likely unprepared. And of course I know I can plan my own run of the course someday. I'm not complaining; just stating my disappointment, which lingers despite the fact I did enjoy the experience. I finished the revised UTMB 2012 in 22 hours and 57 minutes.

Of course I'll write a full report soon. I just wanted to make a quick post to let said friends and family know that I survived. I really appreciate all of the messages and e-mails of support. Thank you.

Shake it out

The formidable Mont Blanc, as seen from 12,600 feet at Aiguille du Midi. 

I've had a tough time starting a pre-race blog post, clouded as my mind is in a fluctuating haze of anxiety and awe. I feel peaceful and content when I go into the mountains, and less so when I wander through the crowded streets of town or sort through a growing mountain of gear that I want to pack with me in UTMB. The weather forecast has progressively deteriorated from ominous to downright apocalyptic. The race is expected to launch under steady rain and temperatures around 5C (41F), turning to snow on the first pass around 1,800 meters, and throughout the night the higher elevations on the course are expected to receive about 5 cm of snow, temperatures around -5C (23F) and 45 kph winds. So, basically, we're going to get soaked at the start and then climb into snow and subfreezing temperatures with flash-freezing winds, then slip and slide down the wet snow until the ice crusted to our clothing melts and we can be soaked anew at lower elevations. Having experienced long endurance efforts in temperatures down to 40 below, blizzards, and similarly wet and cold conditions at shorter intervals, I feel like I can express with some authority that this could potentially be as bad as weather can be for such an endeavor. The UTMB is well supported with water and a somewhat limited selection of European food, but we must carry all of our other gear. The fear has set in and I've exchange my formally large backpack for an even larger one. My friend Martina lectured me about its weight but I was undeterred. I would drag my Susitna sled if I thought that was at all possible. 

In memory, the coldest I've ever been — the deepest I've descended into hypothermia — happened about three years ago in Juneau, during a climb up Mount Jumbo in an October storm. I planned to hike hard so I packed fairly light, although I still had quite a bit of gear — Gortex jacket, rain pants, gloves, hat. I ascended soaked to the bone, hit snowline, and kept ascending, feeling slightly chilled but not really thinking about what that meant for the descent. On the ridge I was blasted with wind until my jacket froze, stupidly decided to still tag the peak, and was fully shivering by the time I started down. My traction in the wet snow was so bad, and a fall so potentially treacherous, that I moved painfully slow on the descent. My body stopped making heat, and I reached a point where I couldn't feel my feet, face, or my arms, at all. My teeth stopped chattering and my heart started murmuring in the way that it does when survival instinct tells me that something is really wrong. I made it down, but the experience shook me up so much that I didn't even really talk about it at the time. That was the weather. The weather we're supposed to see this weekend. For a hundred some freaking miles. 

I'd be lying if I put my game face on and pretended to be optimistic. I'm not. That's not to say I'm not excited. I'm going to show up at the start, as prepared as possible, ready and anxious for a grand adventure. Beat has been out there since Monday night. I've only received a few short text updates, so I'm not sure exactly how he's dealing with these conditions. But he's still pushing through it, and if he can, I can. Hopefully fast enough to stay in the race. But I'm not willing to take any big chances. So there it is. Tomorrow I'll post another update with links to where you can follow UTMB online, and hopefully a slightly more positive outlook. 

Gondola to Le Brevent

That's not to say I haven't been loving my time in Chamonix. The weather for the first two days was fantastic and I took advantage of it by visiting popular spots around town, and that includes cafes and restaurants. But of course what everyone comes her for are the mountains. Martina and I set out for a walk on Tuesday, and I predictably got carried away and climbed 5,500 feet to to the base of the cliffs of Aiguilles Rouges. But it was okay, because just a mile away was a gondola that carried me all the way down to the valley. It's not considered breaking your taper if you don't run downhill. On Wednesday Martina, her friend Sandra, and I purchased a gondola pass and visited La Brevet on one side of the valley and Aiguille du Midi on the other, then took the train to Mer de Glace. The train broke down so we ended up having to run 2,500 feet down the trail to town. I guess that's what I get for cheating. But the places those gondolas reach are breathtaking. Simply unbelievable. I was all kinds of happy on Wednesday, despite the ominous clouds looming on the horizon. I'm hoping for the same in UTMB.

I'm still working through my process of accepting what UTMB means to me. I don't have near the time I need to even start writing it out (before the soul-crushing reality of the race unravels all of it), but did think of (another) Florence and the Machine song whose lyrics approach my own thoughts. I know, it's annoying when bloggers post lyrics of songs verbatim. But it's part of my process, which I need right now to calm the roiling panic that threatens to bubble to the surface. So here are photographs of some of the places I visited on Wednesday, and "Shake It Out" by Florence and the Machine.

View toward Rochers des Fiz

Regrets collect like old friends.
Here to relive your darkest moments.
I can see no way, I can see no way,
And all of the ghouls come out to play.

Massif des Aiguilles Rouges

And every demon wants his pound of flesh,
But I like to keep some things to myself.
I like to keep my issues drawn.
It's always darkest before the dawn.

The Chamonix Valley and Mont Blanc as seen from Le Brevent

And I've been a fool and I've been blind.
I can never leave the past behind.
I can see no way, I can see no way.

Dent du Geant (Tooth of the Giant)

I'm always dragging that horse around,
And our love is pastured such a mournful sound.
Tonight I'm going to bury that horse in the ground.
So I like to keep my issues drawn.
It's always darkest before the dawn.

Glacier des Bossons

Shake it out, shake it out ...
And it's hard to dance with the devil on your back,
So shake him off.

The Aiguille du Midi station, built into a pinnacle at 12,000 feet before the invention of helicopters

I am done with my graceless heart,
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart.
Cause I like to keep my issues drawn.
It's always darkest before the dawn.

Climbers ascend the final ridge to Aiguille du Midi

And given half a chance, would I take any of it back?
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone.
It's always darkest before the dawn.

Glacier du Geant

And I'm damned if I do, and I'm damned if I don't,
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road.
And I'm ready to suffer, and I'm ready to hope.
It's a shot in the dark right at my throat,

Aig le Verte

Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me.
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me.
Well what the hell, I'm gonna let it happen to me.

Chamonix

The town center is crowded and the backdrop is jaw-dropping — but there's a surreal tint to Chamonix that I haven't experienced in the similarly set national parks of North America. Maybe it's hints of old-world culture, European richness, or the simple fact that, crowds notwithstanding, the Alps have to be one of the most ruggedly beautiful mountain ranges in the world. The Himalayas, no contest; the Andes and Cordillera Blanca, of course; the Canadian Rockies and the Alaska Range, my personal favorites— but the Alps, the Alps have this way of extracting tears of joy amid cries of pain; a haven of pinnacles both inaccessible and endlessly inviting. I can't wait to attempt to hike and jog for a hundred miles in the shadow of Mont Blanc.

I'm writing a quick blog post while Beat packs up for La Petite Trotte a Leon, which starts today (Monday) at 10 p.m. Chamonix time (1 p.m. PDT.) PTL is 290 kilometers of trail with some 22,000 meters of elevation gain. Some of the steep ascents and descents are on class-four and even low class-five terrain assisted by fixed ropes and cables — essentially climbing routes without the harness, called via ferrata. UTMB is likely going to be the toughest single-effort physical challenge I've ever taken on, but PTL is at least three times as difficult. Beat told me he will be carrying a tracker and I am hoping to follow him on the PTL map page. There is also a "Live Page" that may have updates.

Meanwhile, I have the fear firmly planted in my heart, and so I am going to make every effort to approach Friday as well-rested and healthy as possible. I plan to get out for a few short hikes in the next three days, but it's honestly going to be a mental battle to refrain from binging heavily on these beautiful mountains before my race begins Friday evening. I keep telling myself I'll have plenty of exposure to the Alps this weekend, but the Chamonix backdrop makes it hard to sit still. The rest of the plan includes lots of sleeping, eating pasta and bread, and watching Beat's updates as he makes his way through these amazing mountains.

Edit: The tracking site is located here, showing a Google Earth image of the course and the racers' locations. Beat and Daniel's team is "Too Dumb To Quit." Our friends Steve and Harry also are racing PTL, and their team is "Quit Is A Four-Letter Word."