My 4 days at Tor Des Geants 2014

Sarah and I wanted a last big challenge to do together before she's out of 100 milers for a couple of years as we start a family.  Of course a natural place to look would be Hardrock qualifying races!

Tor des Geants caught our intention because it looked insane.  200+ miles, and 24000 METERS of climbing with a 150 hour time limit.  Nearly 80,000 feet!  And all of that in beautiful scenery of the alps going through ancient European towns and farms.  To put it in terms we can relate to... it's twice the length of Wasatch and 50% steeper.  We were also attracted to the self-optimization concept - there are no fixed stages at the Tor.  Just places one can stop and sleep, if desired.  So it's up to us to decide how far to go on any given day, where to stop, and for how long.  It is very different from anything we have ever done, and that appealed to us.

So we went online and read all the race reports about the Tor we could get our hands on.  And that got us more and more excited.  Prosciutto and wine at the aid stations.  Endless number of ever steeper Cols.  Ropes and ladders.  Cups of coffee materializing out of nowhere in the forest.  Aid stations that are helicoptered in.  What all the reports agreed to was how beautiful the Tor was and how relentless its ascents and descents.  Nothing is free at the Tor.  Training is going to have to be serious.  

But life got in the way.  With Sarah's thesis defense on August 8, one month pre-Tor, we did not get nearly as many long runs and double days with lots of vertical as we would have liked.  Also, Sarah got a minor lower leg injury 4-5 weeks pre-Tor, so we decided to take it easy and focus on getting to the start line healthy.  We thought that the endurance and experience we've built up over 4 seasons of running mountain 100s combined with Tor's generous time limit of 150 hours should enable us to gut it out even without enough specific training.  That was wrong.

We arrived at Courmayeur almost a week pre-race and promptly took the cable car up to Rifugio Torino at 11000 ft.  Here we spent the next 4 days acclimating to the altitude.  This proved to be a good move as neither of us had altitude problems during the Tor.  It is normally an acute issue for Sarah.  

At the Rifugio, we marveled at the views of Mont Blanc and surrounding glaciers and jealously watched climbers depart or return from their expeditions.  Surrounded by glaciers, the hut didn't leave much to do for two trail runners without mountaineering experience or equipment.  In fact, they only served breakfast at 2, 4, and 6... AM.

We met some TDG runners up there, including Oleksandr Olivson from Ukraine, and Peter Larsson of Sweden.  Also the Chinese Technica team.  

Being up there gave us a taste of what is to come, as we watched a trail zig-zag its way up a particularly steep slope of the mountain from the comfort of the cable car. Seeing lightning in the distance, we thought “We're going to have to go through that... SHIT."

Courmayeur where the Tor begins.  Mont Blanc is hidden in the upper left corner.

The race check-in procedure exposed some funny differences in culture between European and American ultras.  First, there was the equipment check.  US races, despite all the litigious culture in the US, largely leave it up to the runners to figure out how to take care of themselves.  Here, there was a detailed gear list enumerating things like waterproof gloves, 2 headlamps, and elastic bandage.  

We cobbled up all the gear that we thought would satisfy the requirements and headed in for check-in.  The line to check in took about 3 hours because there was only a few people performing gear checks.  But we got to chat with a Belgian runner Pieter Schaaps and other runners.  The first hiccup was lighting.  We brought a headlamp and flashlight each, thinking this should be enough to satisfy their requirement of 2 headlamps.  But the checkers could not comprehend that a flashlight is an acceptable lighting implement for running.

"But how will you use your sticks with a flashlight?"

Luckily we didn't have to leave to find more headlamps as a friendly local we made friends with in line lent us his headlamps for check-in.  

Same friendly runner also stood up for me when my Altra Lone Peaks were deemed as too minimalist.  These are shoes explicitly designed for the Wasatch 100!!!  Luckily our Italian friend was able to convince the officials that my shoes are fine.

Gear list aside, one difference I really appreciated is the 10 a.m. race start!  For the first time EVER I was able to get a full night's sleep before a big race.  This made me very happy.

The race start was a big party complete with trance music (I love Europe!), parade and a marching band.  We oozed our way into the runner section and positioned ourselves somewhere towards the back of the pack.  And met Jill, Beat, and Dima there!  We've read Jill and Dima's blogs about the race, and Dima has been giving us lots of advice.  The remaining 20 minutes or so went by quickly in adrenaline and excitement and off we went, to the ring of a thousand cowbells.  

 

Pump up trance at the 10 am race start - I love Europe!

I loved the enthusiasm and support for the race from the Aosta community.  On our way out of town and on the trail, people were camped out ringing cowbells, banging pots and pans or screaming "Bravissimo!"  It made the race special like no other.  

The hike up to Col Arp went up fast as we chatted with Dima, Beat, and other runners.  Up on the other side, we couldn't help but bomb the soft downhill, screaming wildly with the exhilaration of being there, and finally having space to run.  

 

Looking back from Col Arp

Top of Col Arp

We ran past Dima who yelled "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation." 

"Ignorance is bliss!" I responded as we continued to gallop down the hill.  

Folly folly folly.

We made good time to Thuile, got our first taste of the delicious aid station fare (I stuffed my pockets with chocolate and salami), and continued on to Col Passo Alto.  I hoped my stomach would be OK on this food, as it was delicious, but not something I'm used to eating during races.  Normally I fuel almost entirely by Hammer Gel and Perpetuem. 

Getting up Col Passo Alto was a long hiking slog uphill, on a relatively OK grade.   The views were incredible.  We saw people from the MUST (MRI study we signed up for and did our first observation with a few days ago).  The descent was hopping down boulders.  That was just fine on fresh legs.  We were feeling good and jogged down the remaining downhill, passing a bunch of runners.

"Why aren't they running the gentle downhill?" we wondered.  "Is it because they know what's coming?"

We passed an aid station that was a cute hotel/farmhouse, with a horse hanging out there.  It tried to nozzle Sarah.

 

If you meet a friendly horse, will you communicate by morse?

Next up was Col Crosatte.  This monster of a climb was relatively short - only 800m or 2600 ft... but over 2.6km, or 1.6miles.   That's over 1600ft/mile!  And this was one of the rare cols where we could see from the bottom all the way to the top.  The mountain side was teeming with people - runners - smaller and smaller until they looked like ants crawling over an ant hill.  The line of runners snaked for a very long time.  This 1.6mile stroll took 1.5 hours.  The final section involved going up an even steeper path through the rocks in twilight.

 

Col #3: Col Crossate

Luckily the other side was not nearly as steep.  We made good time descending.  On the way down, we briefly paused by a monument to a Chinese runner who fell and died there last year.  It sounded like a freak accident as that section was not too steep or rocky.  But he landed on his head.  It was a stark reminder that anything can happen and we need to pay close attention even on seemingly easy sections.

I ran out of water during the descent, but was able to refill from a stream.  Eventually we made it to Valgrisenche, the first life base, close to midnight, 5 hours before cut-off.  We ate some pasta and decided to put some sleep in the bank.  I was feeling pretty good.  My right knee was feeling a little tweaky earlier in the day but seems to have gotten better.  My right shin was a bit sore too, but I figured it would work itself out.  

Reading the race reports, I thought sleeping at the life bases would be hard with constant noise of runners coming and going, alarms going off.  But it was just fine.  I woke up to my alarm, having slept for 1.5 hours or so.  I was worried about blisters, so I changed socks.  

We left the aid station a little after 3.  Sarah didn't get as good sleep as me, and was more eager to leave. We made good pace up the gentle climb to Rifugio Chalet.  Sarah took a quick power nap there while I filled up on tea with sugar and lemon and went to the bathroom.  It started to get light on our way up to Col Frenetre.  

It was nice breaking up the night like that into two sections.  One of the hardest things about doing 100s is the long endless slog through the night.  But with a couple of hours of sleep in the middle it was much more manageable.  

The trail back down from the Col was not technical but ridiculously steep.  It somehow switch-backed its way down what looked like a sheer drop.  Energized by a new day, I proclaimed that this was the best way to descend - soft moist trail that's not slippery or technical and very steep.

 

Beginning of the end for Sarah's feet

Sarah did not share my excitement it turned out.  A short way down the Col, she felt blisters forming.  We stopped as she put some vaseline on her feet.  Another runner passing by asked if we had "Vaselina" with pleasant surprise.  We handed it to him and he put some gratefully down his crotch.

The universe provides!

We continued to descend.  And Sarah's blisters got worse.  The steep descent was making her feet move around too much in her shoes, which turned out to be a tad too big.  She bought a different model of Hoka, but had not had a chance to try it on a long run pre-Tor.  This proved a fatal mistake.

We stopped again and Sarah put mittens on her feet, desperate to keep them from moving around.  This stopped the hot spots on the bottom of her feet from growing, but increased the pressure on her pinkies, which were turning into a big blister.

We slowed down a lot, and eventually made it down to Rhemes Notre Dame where we met up with Sarah's parents.  Sarah was in a lot of pain.  We asked for a medic and luckily there was someone there. He took one look at Sarah's feet and told her to come with him.  She was gone for a while.  I used the time to fill up on food and water.  

Rhemes Notre Dame

Sarah came back teary-eyed.  She looked like she was in a lot of pain.  She told how one large medic held her leg down while the other lanced, excised and bandaged her blisters.  The ones on the pinkies were in particularly bad shape.  We sat there for a bit, and eventually decided to move on.  The blisters should get better, we reasoned, after getting fixed up.

Next up was Col Entrelor.  A climb of about 4000 ft over 3.5 miles.  Not too bad compared to some of the other ones.  Soon enough Sarah picked up the pace, and we were back in business!  The walk up was long but manageable.  We maintained a good pace and even passed some runners around us, while still taking an occasional break.  Near the top of the Col we were rewarded with a rope and some metal steps built into a nearly vertical rock.  Once on top, I saw that the way down didn't look too steep.  I sighed with relief thinking of Sarah's feet.

 

Steps leading up to Col Entrelor

Col Entrelor with emergency aid station that was helicoptered in

Winded but happy to make Col #5

We felt good on the relatively gentle downhill through some gorgeous alpine meadows, around a tapestry of shimmering glacial lakes.   One lady set up a tea stand at her beautiful farmhouse.  She and her two sons were passing out tea to runners.  We felt grateful at how the people who live in these mountains supported us in this crazy endeavor.

 

Coming down from Col Entrelor

Warm welcome at friendly farmhouse

Thank you!  The folks at Aosta were awesome!

The nice downhill lasted just a tad too long, so by the time we got to Eaux Rousses, Sarah’s feet were in pain again.  She took off her shoes to relieve the pressure.  This aid station was long and unproductive, as we were considering taking a nap (decided not to).  Next up was Col Losson, the highest point of the course at 11,000 ft, and a 5500 ft climb over 6 miles.  Not too bad of a grade all considering, but longer than the other cols. 

“We just have to do one more Timp today, that’s all,” we mock-comforted ourselves referring to the iconic hike in Provo, Utah to the top of Mt. Timpanogos.

After we left the aid station 30+ minutes later, we realized we forgot to refill water.  As I said, that aid station was unproductive.  And we were low.  I reasoned that it wasn’t that hot, and there is got to be water somewhere in the mountains – the Alps are wet mountains! – so we pressed on.  But the low water reserve was making me stressed out and soured my mood.

After what felt like forever walking up a wide gentle trail through the forest, we came up to the next plateau/moraine.  And there was a house with a gurgling water fountain!  We gladly refilled with cold mountain water.  My spirits were lifted as we moved on.

The universe provides!

This walk took forever.  With the average climb of almost 1000ft/mile, I expected more of a grade, but the trail lazily meandered its way upward at what felt like a practically flat grade.  And as much as I peered into the distance trying to see the Col, I couldn’t see where we cross the ridge. 

The ascent that took forever - partly up to Col Losson

The way down from Col Losson

Sarah’s feet were hurting a lot at this point – “stabbing pain with every step” – so the going was slow and we took breaks to relieve the pressure.  I wish I felt more empathetic for Sarah at this point, but instead I just felt frustrated at how long it was taking.  Both because of our speed and because the trail just wouldn’t go up! 

I even wound up reprimanding another runner who was cutting the long meandering switchbacks by scrambling up completely off trail.  Apparently taking shortcuts is part of the running culture here, and there are many shortcuts to the main marked trail everywhere.  But going completely off trail in a national park while cutting the course was too much for my American wilderness sensibilities.  And it was a vent for my frustration. 

At the time of this writing, I found that the race Ethics page does state:

“Stick to the paths marked, without taking shortcuts, in order to prevent soil erosion,”

So I don’t feel too bad about speaking up.  This does not seem to be enforced though.

But back to the climb.  I swear it was more than 6 miles, given how long it took to get up there on a gentle grade.  It felt like the most gentle climb of the whole Tor… until we got close to the top.

Then the trail finally turned straight up, as we struggled to lift ourselves over crumbling piles of rock and dirt.  The mountain here was not very solid, which added to the difficulty of the ascent. 

The top of the Col was… cold.  By the time I put my poles away for the descent and snapped a picture or two, I was freezing.  Luckily the descent was somewhat runnable, so we got down from there quickly.

The next stretch we met up with Gianluca, an Italian runner we met at our hotel who had the Tor logo shaved onto his head.  He talked how it was his dream to carry his little girl through the finish line of the Tor.  He was awesome.  We chatted with him about NBA basketball while running down to Rifugio Sella in beautiful colors of dusk, our path lit by the full moon.

Sarah and Gianluca running in the dusk

The “trail” down from the Rifugio was the most horrible I have experienced to date.  It was a steep descent down a river gully.  What made it bad were smooth, flat and layered rock formations randomly jutting out at a 45 degree angle to the trail.  It felt like going down some ancient marble ruins, which have shifted to weird angles after millennia of being there.  At some points we were going down rock chutes.  And if it was hard for me, it was torture for Sarah’s feet. 

This section we were particularly frustrated and exasperated.  “How is this even a trail?” we kept asking aloud.  Apparently this sort of thing is common on the East Coast, Dima told us, but to us, spoiled by posh Bay Area trails, it was quite a shock. 

We kept telling ourselves that they will be able to fix up Sarah’s feet at the Cogne life base.  We read one story of a guy’s feet getting fixed up who sounded to be in way worse shape than Sarah.  And she would change to Altras with a wide toe box, which should be easier on her than the Hokas. 

We got to Cogne about 11 pm.

Sarah has not had blisters this bad since our first Wasatch 100, three seasons ago, so we were not prepared to tackle them.  The medics were not either and there was not a podiatrist around who specializes in this sort of thing.  We decided to get some sleep and see what happens.  In the morning, her blisters were not any better.  In addition to the bulging pinkies, there were large ominous blisters under the calluses on the balls of her feet.  It was painful to even sit.

We talked about it for a while, and Sarah decided not to continue.  We thought she would rest up and join me during the later days so we can do more of the course together.  This is the first time we entered a race to run together where we decided to separate.  I left Cogne at 5 a.m., 1 hour before cut off.  I needed to build the buffer back up, so I took off at a brisk walk.

This section was relatively gentle – one long ascent to Col Frenetre #2, and then a long, 8000 ft descent to Donnas over 30km.  I enjoyed the morning walk.  It felt brisk, misty, and fresh.  The grade was gentle, and there were almost no one else around (since I left so close to cut-off).  I felt like I was just out for a stroll through alpine meadows, taking pictures and enjoying myself.

Just out for a stroll in the mountains

Being a good tourist

I made the Rifugio in a good time.  It was fairly empty and spacious.  This was a nice change from the previous rifugios packed and hectic with runners.  Gianluca was here too.  I had a big breakfast of pasta, soup, bread, and meat, and moved on to the Col.  This was an easy Col.  Soon I was on the other side, running down to Chardonney through bucolic scenes and to the sound of cowbells on actual cows.  Sarah and her parents were to meet me there.

View from the Col

On the way to Chardonney

I was operating on my mantra “Don’t throw away a giveaway.”  This means to always run downhills and flats, especially gentle, non-technical ones.  It has worked for me during 100 mile races.  And there are so few “giveaways” at the Tor, that I felt I had to take advantage of this one.  My knee was feeling a little tweaky here, but I chucked it off to just being stiff in the morning and figured it would right itself out.

A twinge of sharp pain.

And I was stopped dead in my tracks.  Shit.

I’m going to have to slow down on this gentle downhill after all.  Only day 3 – it’s too early in the game for this.  I popped an Aleve, took out my poles and started trying to support myself on the downhill.  I’ve never had to use poles on the downhill before – I’m normally a strong, confident downhill runner – so the going was slow and awkward.  At times I would try to run, try different strides, but the knee was not having any of it. 

I still made it down to Chardonney before Sarah thought I would.  I took a long break there, got some food in me and iced the knee. 

Walking out of Chardonney, some car pulled over next to me, and Sarah jumped out of it.  Hello! 

She hobbled along with me for a bit through the town – the extra rest was good for her feet, but she was not recovered.  It was good to see her.

On the way to Donnas

Did I say nothing is free at the Tor?  What looked like a mostly gentle descent to Donnas turned into a succession of stairs up and down through little farmhouses and towns.  I had lots of energy, so the uphills were no problem, but the downhills turned into problem-solving sessions.

My knee was hurting in a new way that it has not hurt before.  It was on the inward side of the knee.  The pain seemed to be close to the surface as opposed to the patella.  It only hurt during eccentric motions (i.e. when lowering myself from a step).  There was a subtle, dull ache when going up big steps, but that didn’t seem to be a problem.  Judging by the pain, its location, and the fact that Aleve didn’t do anything for it, I thought it was a small supporting muscle in the knee that was in bad shape.  Now I think it was something with the MCL.  Staring at the knee diagrams, MCL seems to be exactly in the spot where I felt pain.

Eventually I figured out a way to go downhills relatively quickly while favoring my left knee and using poles to slow myself down.  It felt very unnatural to slow down with poles on the downhill.  But it seemed to work.  It was a more awkward on downhill steps as I had to lower myself down with poles on each step.  It felt very inefficient as I was expending lots of extra energy on the counter motions, but I felt very energetic, and got pretty fast at it so it was OK.

I heard thunderclaps overhead, and put on my rain jacket.  A downpour soon followed, but it was warm, so not a big deal.  I kept leapfrogging with a Japanese runner named Miki Hashimoto.  She made it to Km 200 of last year’s Tor and was determined to finish this time.  We encouraged each other.

I entered Donnas in good spirits, despite slipping and falling on my ass a few times in pouring rain.  Then there was the walk through the entire city of Donnas that just took way too long. 

Walking through Donnas

Sarah and her folks met me somewhere in the city.  I said “Please don’t tell me there is 20 minutes to go to the aid station.”  Sarah looked down at her feet.  Drat!

I told Sarah that I was done with running for the remainder of the race.

At Donnas I had to give blood and do ultrasound for the MUST study.  So I decided to shower and change, which was nice.  And Sarah handed me a Gelato!

In retrospect I took too much time in Donnas, including getting a thigh massage from the MUST people that felt nice, but I didn’t need.  I left Donnas at 11 p.m., 5 hours later, after sleeping for about 2 hours. 

My energy level was high as I started the infamous ascent out of Donnas.  This stage was set to be the hardest of the Tor.  I went up and down the stairs to visit every house and settlement in the mountains around Donnas.  Just endless stairs.  And not nice, neat concrete stairs, but ancient stairs with large irregular steps made of uneven rocks and boulders. 

I went through a couple of nice aid stations.  One had an array of 5 big cowbells connected to each other, with a rope to swing them.  That was awesome.  Another gave me chicken fresh off the grill and some wine. 

More cowbell!!!

Since this section was mostly uphill, I felt that I made good time, and passed a few people.  My energy remained high and I felt like I was eating up the uphill.  I was feeling so good that I entertained silly thoughts like coming in on Friday instead of Saturday.  Folly folly folly.  Just lean forward and help heave myself up with both poles, and do it again and again. 

The stairs were grinding nevertheless.  I groaned inside every time I saw another ghost – an abandoned ancient house – materialize at the top of another steep staircase.  I couldn’t wait to get back out to the open high country.  I made it to Sassa around 4 am.  I felt myself swaying from side to side, and decided to sleep a little more there.  I found Gianluca in the bed next to mine.  He was to drop here.

An hour later I filled up my bottle with hot sweet lemon tea and groggily continued on my way to Rifugio Coda, the halfway point.  My energy levels were still good, so I was doing relatively well on the uphill and passing folks.  I thought the real test would be having to descend down an actual Col on the bum knee.  I lost myself in the rhythm of ascending. 

Step, place poles, heave, step, push off, step, step, place poles again.

Sharp pain in the knee.

NO.

NO NO NO!

SHIT.

If I can’t move uphill and I can’t move downhill, I’m fucked.  I stopped and took a break.  Got some food down.  I was running out of options.  I thought I would get to Rif Coda by 7 a.m., and from there it’s 6 km to Lago Vargno.  But now it was looking more like 7:30-7:40 to Rif Coda.  I tried to shift my uphill gait to place less pressure on the right knee.  It worked, but was awkward.  Desperate, I thought maybe a quick nap at Coda would help the knee.  But I don’t have too much time – the cut-off to Lago was at noon.  I took another Aleve.

Sunrise near Rifugio Coda.  Normally sunrise is an uplifting time, but I was not in good spirits

I left Rif Coda around 8:20.  I saw Miki there who left before I went to doze off.  She will be riding the cut-offs for the rest of the race, and will finish at 149:33, with 27 minutes to spare.

The relatively easy 6km to Lago took over 2 hours.  The downhills were agonizingly slow and the uphills were not too much faster.  Anytime I tried to push it, the knee would complain with a twinge of sharp pain, and I would scream from pain and frustration.

I thought of adding an Ibuprofen to the mix, but given how Aleve had little effect I decided not to further strain the kidneys for what would likely be little to no benefit.  I thought back to recent clear and plentiful pees, and mentally checked off that the kidneys were functioning fine.

From Lago, I had 28km to go to the life base of Gressony and 12 hours to do it.  Still in the game, I thought, but the section that was coming up had many short-ish but very steep ascents and descents.  I had a big meal at Lago, grabbed some food to go and moved on 15 minutes later.

I headed out for Col Marmontana.  I walked as fast as I could, desperate to make good time on the uphill, sweat dripping off my forehead in the rising warmth of the day.  Walking along a well-marked path, I realized I have not seen a flag for a while.  The Tor is extremely well marked, so that was troubling.  I walked a little further and still no flag.  Pulled up the GPS on my phone, and saw that I was off course (I had the gpx for the course uploaded).  A hiker following behind told me I needed to turn around. 

Shit.  Just what I needed.

Apparently a few more runners took this wrong turn.  Unclear if they followed me or did it on their own.  Luckily I only lost about 15-20 minutes.  I made a good time hiking up to the Col, but was feeling the impact of dealing with the knee for the last 24 hours and moving through the night.  My energy levels were starting to decrease.

I ate a Chocolate Cherry Clif Shot with 100mg of caffeine hoping for an energy boost, and proceeded to the downhill to the emergency aid station.  The downhill was only 1 km, but it was steep and technical, often involving practically scrambling down rocks.  I thought I can do it in 30 minutes but the knee was not agreeable.  Finally I gave up trying to push the pace and just focused on getting down.  At one point I even got desperate enough to try scrambling down on all fours.  It didn’t work very well so I got my poles back out.

After the helicoptered in aid station, there was the brutal ascent back up, that was scrambling up a boulder field.  It felt rather precarious.

My knee was getting worse.  As I thought more about my knee, complaining with sharpish pain at every step taken incorrectly, I started thinking about dropping.  I thought about the long trek we have coming up in Nepal, and how that would be ruined by a knee injury. 

Knee injury.

I thought about my best friend Galen and how his life was changed by a torn meniscus.  While I can push through the pain, I need to evaluate what the pain is telling me.  And I always thought that sharp pain meant bad news.  And sharp pain in the knee meant the problem was structural.  Not something that can just be ignored. 

Risking injury to go just a little bit further was not worth it.  Even if I was to get to the life base of Gressoney before cut-off, I didn’t have enough time in the bank to take a proper rest. 

I called Sarah and told her I was thinking of dropping at Niel, the next aid station. 

Clouds churned in the mountains around me, revealing this patch of the Alps or that, making fleeting figures and patterns, like a curtain with big shifting holes in it slowly moving around in the wind.

The churning clouds

Having made that decision, I relaxed the pace and just focused on covering the remaining distance safely.  Without the sense of purpose, the adrenaline and whatever else kept me going started wearing off.  My energy sagged and the weariness from 4 days in the mountains began to set in. 

I made it to the next emergency station that was helicoptered in, ate some food there, and told the volunteers how much I appreciated their involvement and that of their communities.  The volunteers have been on that ridge since Sunday – 4 days!

Despite the difficulties that I was having and the reality of dropping looming over, I had an overwhelmingly positive feeling about the Tor.  I think it was the awe-inspiring beauty of the mountains around me and the gratitude of being able to see so much of it in such a short time.  I enjoyed this sense of journey, of making progress from place to place, the discovery of figuring out where the next Col was, following the moving ant lines of runners up it with my eyes, the anticipation of seeing what was on the other side, and then the release from finally ascending all the way up and taking in all the open space around, and seeing what lay beyond.  And being treated like a hero or like family by all the folks in Aosta contributed to making me feel so good about the experience: the two grandmothers that set up a table in their town to pass out sweets to runners, the mother and her son dispensing tea at their farmhouse, the lady who took my autograph, the folks grilling chicken in their town in the middle of the night, the people spending almost a week at the aid stations that were helicoptered in, everyone on the trail giving way and exclaiming “Bravo!  Bravissimo!”  Their enthusiasm and support were infectious.  The race is a huge deal to these people, and they welcome us with open arms into their mountains and their community.

Even if we don’t get to do the Tor again, I would like to come back and hike these trails.

From the emergency aid station to Niel it was about 3.5 miles and about 1700 ft down.  It didn’t look bad on the elevation chart.  But any pixel on the elevation chart could mean a climb or descent equivalent to The Grunt at Wasatch.  The real story that the elevation chart didn’t tell was the condition of the trail.

After yesterday’s rain, it was mudslide.  In places it went steeply down, twisting this way and that, like a slide in a water park.  Virtually vertical stacks of boulders lined with slick mud and running water. 

On good legs, I think I would have been relatively confident on it, using the sliding to my advantage where appropriate.  But now I was focused on getting down without further aggravating the knee.  This meant taking painstaking slow steps, making sure each foot was stable, and trying to avoid any sliding whatsoever.  I still managed to take a spill once or twice.  Time and time again I felt thankful for having the poles with me to stop me from sliding and to help lower myself down rock steps. 

It was during that time, crawling and hobbling my way down the slippery slope, trying to stay off the bum knee that the realization dawned on me clear as day.

I shouldn’t be on this mountain.

If I was ambivalent about quitting before, I now knew it was the right thing to do.

Sarah texted me about a runner being helicoptered out of that aid station.  “That sounded ominous”, I thought, as a light rain started up.  “Not going to be me”, I thought, as I redoubled my effort at staying safe. 

Closer to the village, I paused at a particularly steep and muddy section of trail.  At this time, I was passed by a local who casually walked down the thing while talking on his cell phone and carrying his poles in the other hand.

HA!

Reminded me of the locals in Bali descending the steep rocky Agung volcano in sandals.

I saw Sarah and Harold, her dad, who apparently came up the trail to meet me!  I told Sarah that the gully with the diagonal slabs of rock from 2 days ago was now the second worst trail I’ve ever been on.

The 3.5 mile descent took 4 hours.  I got into Niel about 7:30. 186km and 14000m of climbing.  I stretched out my hand and smiled as a kid aged 11 or 12 cut the wrist band off of me.

I am done.

Arriving to Niel

I am done

A day or two later, the disappointment about not finishing set in.

I have no regret about dropping.  Given the sharp and worsening pain in the knee, it was clearly the right thing to do.  In any case, 3.5 hours would not have been enough to go from Niel to Gressoney while bagging a full Col in between.

Still, a DNF, is a DNF.  And it was the first DNF decision I made for myself (not counting my previous DNF at Bear where Sarah hurt her knee and we dropped together).

One of the things that makes running huge races so addictive is the huge feeling of accomplishment from finishing.  Dropping felt the opposite.  A visceral sadness and disappointment, not helped by logically knowing that I did my best and dropped for the right reasons. 

There were many things that went right for me during the Tor:

• My energy remained high.  I feel that I have enough endurance to finish the race within the time limit.  To be fair, I only made it 57% of the way through, with 2.5 days left to go.  So I am sure it would have gotten much harder.  But during 100 mile races I normally feel much more beat up and exhausted by mile 57. 
• My morale remained high.  I never got to a point where I felt beat up all over and had negative thoughts like “This sucks.  What am I doing here?”  These moments are typical for me during a 100-miler.  Perhaps it was thanks to the relatively slow pace of the Tor.
• No stomach issues, despite eating lots of foods I never had before on race day (meat, cheese, etc).
• Zero blisters in 4 days, despite rain and wetness.  Adjusting the way I tied my shoes on the first day, and changing into fresh Drymax socks at every life base must have done the trick.  And not running much probably helped too. 
• No achilles issues despite lots of steep uphills.  Something I was worried since I tweaked my achilles earlier in the training season and took few weeks off to recover.
• My leg muscles were up to the task.  After 4 days and 14000m of climbing, I was barely sore.  The MUST people said the lactic acid level in my blood was actually lower after the race than before.

What went wrong was not enough specific training and experience.

In 20/20 hindsight:

• I wouldn’t have been so aggressive running the downhills.  Especially when it didn’t feel quite right, like on Day 3.  If I could have preserved the knee for another couple of days, I should have been able to finish.  I don’t know if this means I should have walked the whole time or should have run more selectively while paying closer attention to how my knees were feeling.
• I would have been more efficient at the aid stations and life bases.  If I had more time in the bank for a long rest at Gressoney, maybe my knee would have gotten good enough to continue.  I say this because it felt MUCH better the day after I dropped, after 10 hours of sleep.

But I don’t know if this would have been enough without more training for the sort of terrain that I encountered.  Specifically, steep technical downhills with lots of discrete steps.

I would like to think that with more appropriate training, my legs would have been better prepared for the sort of punishment that the Tor doles out.  And my technique would have bee better too.  And I wouldn’t have had the knee issues that I did.  Hopefully.

The only places in the Bay Area that I think may be remotely appropriate Tor training are the steep staircase trails in the Marine, such as the Dipsea and Matt Davis trails.  They’re not nearly technical enough, but they’re steep with discrete steps.  That, and running up and down the stairs. 

If I do this again – and I hope that I do – I will put in a lot of training to strengthen my legs and knees for these crazy descents.  In fact, I will probably do it anyway because it sounds like fun :)