Ecotrail - 80 km

I entered the Ecotrail several months ago. I don’t really know what force motivated me to participate but I’d decided that it was a good challenge to take up and it would also give me points to enable me to enter the UTMB next year. It was one of those ideas that seemed good at the time. Last night, I began having serious doubts about my bright ideas, especially having seen the weather forecast which was predicting a lovely sunny day with an uncharacteristically high 21°C for springtime.

Laurence drove me to the start in St Quentin en Yvelines to the leisure park. The last time I’d been here was to take part in the cross-country championships a couple of years ago. Then, it had been a freezing cold January morning. Today, it was a very warm, sunny spring day – too warm to be running 80 kilometres in my opinion. The distance was going to be the clincher. I’d never run this far before as the longest race in which I’d participated was a measly 58km, still a half-marathon short of the distance to be covered now. However, I wasn’t to be alone, as the crowds in the fields surrounding the lake proved. There were over 2000 people lining up for the start of this race.

Laurence kissed me goodbye and wished me well. She was going back to the house to relax before meeting up with François, Katia and Sandra to travel to Paris and come to St Cloud to meet me at 7:00pm in St Cloud so that we could run the last 10km together. I’d assured them that I would not be outrunning them at this point and that they would have no problems in keeping up with me. I was already mildly stressed about this: would I make it to the meeting point in time, would I be able to manage the distance, how would I cope with the heat. I talked to some friends of ours at the start. Philippe and Anne had run the race last year and were now back again, gluttons for punishment. Other runners from the club were there too and we chatted and took some commemorative photos before the start, discussing our race objectives. Mine was to finish in under 8 hours. An average speed of 10km/h seemed appropriate considering the uphill over the course and the total distance.

I lined up at the start and waited in the middle of the pack. I had begun by winding my way through the field to begin with but I was bothered about seeming to ambitious in such a relaxed atmosphere. With all their rucksacks and water pouches on their backs, most of the field looked like they were about to set off for a picnic. Peculiar bunch of people these trailers. The gun went and we were off. It took me about 40 seconds to get over the start line but I figured that this was not important considering what lay ahead. It wasn’t a few seconds that would determine my performance and finishing place today. We set off through a large field to begin with before joining a wide track that followed the lakeside. I set off at a comfortable pace at about 4:50/km, passing people steadily and gradually working my way up the field. As we rounded the far end of the lake, I could see the front of the field about 500m ahead. I wondered how fast they were running to have made so much distance after only 3 or 4 km and how on earth they could hope to keep this up over the total distance.

The path was relatively flat and easy to run along. There were a couple of slight slopes that lasted a few metres but these were no problem to run up and it was easy going and a steady 4:45/km pace when we finally left the leisure park after 8 kilometres and headed into town. I felt we’d stepped into a different world at this point: people going about their Saturday shopping with bags and pushchairs watched this troop of back-packing lunatics running over footbridges, beside tower blocks and through their parks. We had a few words of encouragement and a few people clapped, but most looked at us as though we were aliens, just stepped off their spaceship from a different planet.

Laurence called me on the mobile phone after an hour to find out how I was doing. The phone was part of the obligatory equipment necessary for the race, along with a headlamp, a survival blanket, food and a reflective armband. I answered the phone at the second attempt, fishing it out of the rucksack pocket as I ran through the forest. At this point, I was speaking to Laurence with the phone in one hand and overtaking other runners. I felt really good, passing the others with a nonchalant look all the while telling Laurence how I was doing. How long would this last?

The first feeding station was at Buc after 22km. I’d been running for just over 1:45 now and I still felt good. The heat was bearable and I’d been sipping a water/orange mix from the camelbak regularly to keep myself hydrated. I made the most of this stop and helped myself to the food on offer: some slices of sausage, a handful of raisins, a few cheese crackers and a complete refill of the camelbak. I was out of the feeding station after 3 minutes and 30 seconds, no time wasted and back onto the track. The path was hillier now having been relatively flat for the first 20 kilometres with only a couple of hills just before Buc. Still, I was confident that I would be fine until the next feeding station at 35km as they would be more regularly spaced at around every 10 km or so.

Laurence called me again and told me that I was in 89 position overall and 29^th veteran at this point (in fact I was 118^th but I must have misunderstood/misheard). I was pleased and this gave me a boost to know that I was so far up the field having run at a fairly easy but steady pace to now. Nevertheless as we passed the 35 km mark, a runner passed me (first during the race) and I pushed on slightly to stay with him. I asked him how he was doing. Apparently fine, as he told me that he’d run at his 24 pace for the first couple of hours and was now moving up the field. He asked me what place we were and I told him that we must be around 80. He announced that he was chasing a position in the top 30. I was slightly mystified as to what his 24 pace meant and asked him to explain. He was saving energy and had adopted his 24 hour race pace. “Marathon too short for you?”, I enquired. He was an extreme distance runner and as the path rose through the forest, he carried on at his pace leaving me behind. I walked.

The feeding station never materialized at 35km. I pulled out the roadbook the organizers had given us and looked closely. There wasn’t a feeding station, just a spot to give-up for those tempted. The next feeding station was at Meudon at 45km and it was water only. I was tempted but carried on regardless. I was a little down-hearted by this news as I’d been looking forward to a rest and some food. It was hot now and I was drinking steadily from the water pouch. I could tell that the rucksack was considerably lighter than at Buc. A couple of sugar tablets helped improve my mental state and I focused on my time and distance and how long I had until St Cloud where I was meeting my support team.

Meudon took a while to reach and the organizers hadn’t taken the simplest path. 45 km under the belt and 35 km to go. I was over half-way. I filled my camelbak here completely. I’d finished 2 litres of water in the last 2 hours and 23 km. I was slightly dehydrated and very hungry. I wolfed down some Gü Chomps, which tasted delicious and instantly lifted my spirits. I must have been severely low on my blood-sugar levels and hadn’t realized. The Garmin was showing that I’d already burnt off around 3500 calories. This was some crash diet. I tried to rationalize my thoughts now. I was tired and slowing, having run only just over 10km in the last hour. I had 25 km to St Cloud and the meeting point and 3 hours to get there. I could slow down further and still manage this easily so no panic on this front. I set off again.

There was a large panel at 47km showing 47km. Apart from the feeding stations there had been no signs up until now. What on earth? It was a control point. I was asked to empty my bag and show the obligatory equipment: headlamp, identity card and reflective armband. Damn, I’d forgotten my armband and now they were telling me that this would cost me 10 minutes of forced wait. I said that I hadn’t realized (which was true as the roadbook I used as a reference that morning to fill the bag didn’t mention this) and they saw the union jack on my bib and “James”. “Are you English?”. I hesitated wondering if this was a trap: 2 French xenophobes eager to dump me in the sin-bin. I replied in the affirmative and they said that I could carry-on. The relief was enormous and I waited until I went around the corner before trying to call Laurence to tell her about it. I pulled the phone from the rucksack pocket and wondered what all the pink fluff stuck to it was doing there. I looked closer and the phone wouldn’t move screens despite me punching all the keys. After a quick look in the pocket, the pink stuff was discovered to be the roadbook that had disintegrated when I’d sprinkled myself with water back at Meudon. The pocket had become wet and the phone had stopped working. Shit, shit, shit! What was I going to do now? I held the phone in my hand and ran for a while with the pocket open, hoping it would dry rapidly in the heat. I tired of holding the phone while running and slipped it back in the pocket. It was too late now. I just had to get to St Cloud for 7:00pm and hope that nothing happened to me in the meanwhile.

I was struggling to run under 5:30/km now. The effect of the heat, the distance and the uphills had all taken their toll and my legs were aching, mostly in the thighs. The phone rang. It was Laurence and the heat had dried out both the rucksack pocket and the phone and I was able to answer. She was in the car with François heading to Paris on the motorway. In fact, I wasn’t that far from them and this encouraged me to keep pushing and to get to our meeting point. The terrain was slightly easier now too and there must have been a good uphill rise to Meudon as the going was flatter here and not quite as tiring. I met up with another lone runner, Pierre-Yves who started chatting to me. It was his first long trail too and, as a 2:53 marathon runner, he was more used to the road. We had a lot in common and chatted together before a slight uphill got the better of me and while I gave in and walked, he jogged on.

Chaville, the feeding station at 55 km arrived sooner than expected and I was able to fill up again on food and water with my camelbak not as empty as last time due to the shorter interval. I rinsed my head and face again and soaked my neckscarf that was protecting me from the sun and keeping me cool(ish). I spent a good 5 minutes recovering here before finding the energy to push on. I no longer had the energy to run fast downhills; I was walking every uphill; and I was counting down the kilometres to St Cloud. I ran down to Ville d’Avray and the ponds there, just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I sincerely regretted the marathon where I would have finished over 10 km ago. My body, and most especially my legs, was a wreck and I had to watch my stride as an unfortunate footstep would start minor cramps in my ankles, calves or thighs depending on whether I was running uphill, downhill or in a rut when I was careless with my foot placement. Pierre-Yves was 100 metres in front now but I was catching him while he walked. I took satisfaction in the thought that we all suffer in the same manner. A lonely figure stood next to his bike in the woods watching the race and as I passed he called out to me: ‘Keep it up James’. I looked at him more closely and it was Jean-Marc from the club. Had he not called out, I would have run right past him without noticing. He accompanied me for a while on the bike but had to leave in order to get back home before dark. He left and I walked instantly, relieved he wasn’t there to see me.

Laurence called but when I pulled the phone from the pocket, I couldn’t answer it. The phone was damp again and I'd done exactly the same thing in Chaville as Meudon. I cursed myself for being such an idiot. She rang again and again and all I could do was to watch helpless. I had to meet up to explain but that was still a while off.

Running was painful now. Each stride hurt my thighs: a constant, deep ache that was tearing at my muscles. It was a permanent battle to keep from walking as this was the only way to stop the hurt. I focused on my Garmin and the distance left to cover. I was getting closer to our meeting point and I could see that I’d be ahead of schedule. I remembered stretches from last year and knew that it wasn’t far. I entered the park in St Cloud and ran down the edge before cutting back over the main section and saw the fannions and arch of the Ecotrail that marked the feeding station. Would they have arrived yet ? I entered the feeding station and saw 4 red Florence marathon tee-shirts matching mine. The support team were there waiting for me. I was so relieved and happy to see them. I was almost home now.

I had some food and drink and unloaded some excess and unnecessary items (like the phone) on them. I was thrilled to be able to run with people I knew who’d help me to the end now. We set off again and I relaxed down the hill, running the next couple of kilometres in 4:45. The girls looked worried as they were at 10km pace, but I knew that this was too good to last. At the bottom of the park, the road rose ever so slightly, the sort of slope that you don’t normally bother about, but I told Laurence that I’d need to slow down. She looked at me with surprise and adjusted her pace. François was taking revenge for Etampes and kept a few metres ahead, taunting me unconsciously with his energy and pace. I struggled on and we ran 5:15/km for the next couple of kilometres.

I stopped to walk. The others continued running. I wondered how long it would take them to realise I was no longer with them. 10 seconds later, they stopped too, surprised, astonished even, to see that I’d reached such a nadir in terms of energy that I'd need to walk. It wasn’t just the energy though, there was the constant pain that had not disappeared. I might be with friends, but this enemy wouldn’t leave me alone. We ran alongside the Seine past Issy and then under the ring-road into Paris. The Eiffel tower was visible now. The end was in sight. I reckoned that we had 4 kilometres to go.

We were caught by a couple of runners but I was beyond caring. Pierre Yves caught us and admired the fan club. He accused me of cheating and so Sandra felt sorry for him and ran alongside him to give him some encouragement too. Mind you, Pierre Yves was not the only one who admired our little group. A few cars beeped their horns as a sign of encouragement and passer-bys admired the women and cheered them on too. I had made the effort but passed by almost unnoticed in such glamorous company. We dropped down to the banks of the Seine and we were almost there now. A last flight of steps and then marshals blocked the traffic so we could cross the street to the foot of the Eiffel tower. I picked up the pace for the last time and high-fived Miguel who was on the podium with the mike. The atmosphere was fantastic and I was over the moon. We ran to the foot of the tower and were each passed a ticket to go up the stairs to the first floor and the finish. 369 steps later and we passed under the finishing arch on the first floor. 7 hours 33 minutes and 59 seconds of effort to cover 78 kilometres and 1700 metres of uphill and finish 47^th overall and 14^th in my category. Beer and coke were on offer however I just looked around for a chair to collapse into but they were all taken by other exhausted runners. It was finally over. An epic account of an epic race.

The stats: 

      -          2 049 starters

-          1 694 finishers

-          47^th overall in 7:33:59

-          14^th V1 (40 – 50) veteran

-          78 km from St Quentin to the Eiffel tower

-          1 700 metres of uphill over the course

-          4 feeding stations of which 3 had food

-          Fastest time of 5:45 for Erik Clavery (world trailer champion)

-          One sleepless night as leg pain woke me every time I moved

-          3 days for the aches to wear off from my legs