Mont Blanc Marathon

Mont Blanc Marathon – surely one of the most beautiful settings in the world?

Every year in the last weekend of June thousands of runners descend on Chamonix for the hardcore – but yet increasingly popular! – Mont Blanc Marathon weekend.

A marathon should never be underestimated. It’s a challenging enough distance on the flat, but to make it a little more demanding, the Mont Blanc marathon is an almost entirely uphill affair. Combining gently meandering trails (including the occasional flat bit) with two serious steeps, and one long downhill (just to make sure your knees have taken a proper pounding) – this is a race aimed more at mountain goats than seasoned road runners. It’s all about the trail shoes, the camelbacks, the lightweight poles, and the compression socks.

The start of the 2010 Mont Blanc Marathon. 7am and perfect blue skies!

To non-trail runners, we may look like a bunch of tragic lycra-clad losers, but to endurance ‘athletes’ – of whatever ability – visiting Cham on marathon weekend is like coming home.

The weekend starts with the Cross de Mont Blanc on Saturday: at 24km, this is just over half a marathon. The Cross has a special place in my heart – it’s the first race I ever entered, and the event that started my love affair with running around in the mountains. But having completed the race several times, and probably maxed out my pb, it was time to up the game and take on the biggy!

I’d spent most of the spring away from Chamonix, so my training consisted mainly of running on flat roads. All good preparation, yes, but not ideal when you think about the 2400m of climbing involved in Cham’s biggest event. So, just the weekend before race day, I decided to complete my training programme with a ‘warm up’ race – the 36km Aravis trail, near Annecy.

Now, even the least experienced marathon-er will tell you that proper tapering before a race is vital. And I KNOW that. But of course, I thought I could handle it. So, 36km and 3400m of climbing later (1000 more than the marathon itself!), in freezing fog and knee deep mud and shale, I was the proud winner of a cheese – yes, a reblochon – and the less proud owner of one exhausted body, one sore shoulder, one sore hip (falling over in the mud bath), and the biggest blisters you could imagine on my thumbs (first outing for the poles). Not such great race preparation.

To top it off, having been the most miserable summer to date, the few days before the marathon were hot, sunny, and beautiful. Stunning!! But not running weather. Even at 7am, when the gun went off on race day, it was already stiflingly hot.

The worryingly fast – but nice and shady – first section to Montroc

The first section of the race from Chamonix to Montroc was fast. Worryingly fast. Iain (from Natives.co.uk) had come over from the UK to run, and we were both aiming for the same finish time, so I made it my mission to keep him in my sights – which proved easier said than done with my heart pounding and breathing already coming hard.

In spite of trying to ‘run my own race’, I can’t help but be massively influenced by the crowd and by my own competitive nature, and for the first 10km, I was going flat out to keep up with Iain. In spite of the early morning cool, and the relatively ‘mellow’ terrain to start the race, both of us were already overheating and tired by Montroc: only a quarter of the way through.

Picking up some speed on the way to Vallorcine

From Montroc, a long, gentle descent to Vallorcine gave us time to open up the legs, and cover a decent amount of ground. My aim was to get to Vallorcine as quickly as I could, so as to start the first big uphill as far up the field as possible. At Vallorcine, the trail narrows to single track, which means it’s hard to overtake and easy to get stuck behind slower competitors. Out came the poles, the first Torq gel of the day, and the real mountain race kicked off!

The climb to the Aiguillettes de Posettes is, on paper, the hardest and longest of the race. In reality, largely in the shade, and with relatively fresh legs, it was actually enjoyable. I opted for a steady ‘speed walk’ with poles and made good time to the summit, where the sun and heat of the day were already starting to take their toll. Two girls overtook me on the way up, but downhill being my forte, I overtook two more on the way down.

Coming into Montroc for the 2nd time – the support crew were amazing!! Thank you ;o)

Back at Montroc, nearly two thirds of the way round, and after a long, steep, and now brutally hot, descent, I was starting to feel pretty sick. But I was still clinging on to my position as 6^th or 7^th girl and determined to hold on to it. The support team waiting for me at Montroc were amazing – brilliant to see so many friendly faces cheering us on! The biggest spur to keep my legs moving is ‘allez la dame’, ‘allez c’est bien’, in any race. Unfortunately, I think all I managed to say in return was ‘OMG I’m totally f**ked’ but what I actually meant was ‘OMG thank you so much for coming to cheer me on, I can’t speak because I’m knackered, but mainly because I think I might cry – it’s so nice to see you!!’ Races make me seriously over-emotional!

By far the hardest part of the race is from Montroc up to Flegere. It’s not as long or as steep as the Possettes, but it’s at the end of the race, and it’s south facing in the blazing heat of the day. I’d failed miserably to eat and drink properly – the pace had just been too fast – and I knew I was running on empty, even at the start of the climb. It’s so hard to correct the mistake and force yourself to eat once you start feeling sick. You know that replenishing energy, dosing up on fluids and redressing the electrolyte imbalance is what you desperately need. But you just . can’t . do . it.

I forced down a gel (retch!), sucked hard on my camelback (stomach ache!), and tried in vain to get a bit of energy bar in me (no chance – instant gag!). Feeling thoroughly rubbish, I just tried to put one foot in front of the other, and keep moving up. The path traverses: sometimes gently up, sometimes flat and with a few downhill sections, a route that on a normal day would be great fun running. On race day, I was clinging on, looking hungrily at shady spots I could lie down in, and counting down minutes, then steps, then every 10 seconds, consoling myself with the knowledge that there was less than 2 hours left to go, and I’d run this route hundreds of times before.

All the way up, I’d just been wanting to get to Flegere. Once I was there, I realised with crashing desperation that I still had a good few kms left to go. Fortunately Guy was there with a bottle of coke (I know, I know, not athlete fuel …), and encouraging words to spur me on. It’s mainly cruisy running to Brevant – undulating single track with a few steep up and down sections, but overall a fast paced, fun finish.

Iain looking amazingly fresh on the last sunny section to the finish!

It’s a section that would normally take me around 30 minutes. In the marathon, it turned out to be nearly an hour. I was reduced to a slow walk, unable to even jog downhill sections that I would normally love. I lost count of how many places I lost, and just let people pass. Gone were my time and place goals. I just didn’t care! My head was banging, my stomach was killing me, and I felt like I was starting to lose the plot (arguably long gone). The most motivating thought I could come up with was to keeping moving until I found a flat enough section for a helicopter to be able to land and rescue me …

Normally my competitive streak will keep the legs moving, even when I’m knackered. But I had literally nothing left, either physically or mentally:  in that last 30 minutes, I don’t think I have ever felt so broken or enjoyed a race less. It’s amazing what getting your fueling wrong does! Even the surprise sight of Dawa Sherpa (my running hero) cheering us on – having finished his own race in 4^th place – wasn’t enough to rustle up more than a trot.

The final kilometre of the race is nothing less than brutally designed with a long, sweeping uphill finish, hot and exposed to the elements, and with the finish line tantalisingly close so you can hear the cheers and announcements, and see the refreshment tent – but Yet . So . Far.

Eventually, after what felt like a pitifully slow and pathetic crawl to the end, I crossed the line to the waiting arms of my ‘support team’ husband, Guy, who’s own personal ‘marathon’ on the day was also an impressive effort (overcoming a pounding hangover to somehow navigate round the valley and cheer me on in 5 different places in the race!). Thank you!!!

In spite of being disappointed with my race planning, complete full body meltdown, and losing so many places at the end, I was really pleased with my time: 5 hours and 53 minutes – 7 minutes under my goal time – and 7^th in my category.

My first words were ‘never again’, and I was pleased to hear Iain say he thought the race was harder than an ironman (perhaps a rash heat of the moment comment), but nevertheless reassuring that I wasn’t the only one who suffered! But now that the pain is long forgotten, maybe – just maybe – next year. As long as I train more in the mountains AND it’s not too sunny AND I don’t do another race just a week before AND I get the eating and drinking better sorted (excuses excuses …), I might have to just give it one more go …

It is after all, surely one of the most spectacularly beautiful marathons in the world. And since it’s right on our doorstep, it would be such a shame not to make the most of it!

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