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 29th veteran at this point (in fact I was 118th 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 47th overall and
14th 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
-
47th
overall in 7:33:59
-
14th
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
