Running Up (and Down) a Mountain

Last summer, when I went to Chamonix in the French Alps, I expected to see the mountains, and perhaps even do a bit of running in them – but I didn’t expect to do any climbing. Asics Beat The Sun (p. 46) is an impressive and unique experience, for both the brand’s elite athletes and the 23 lucky amateur runners from around the world who are selected to compete. The teams race each other around the iconic Mont Blanc Massif, but more importantly, they all attempt to finish the 140.1-kilometre relay before the sun officially sets on the longest day of the year. June 21 also happens to be my birthday. After the horn went off and the Beat The Sun competitors left the Chamonix town square at dawn, my girlfriend Kelly and I decided that we should mark the occasion by trying one of the town’s toughest challenges: the vertical kilometre. Somehow, it sounded like a good idea at the time. We had a window of just a couple of hours to get to the top and back, before I had to hop on the press bus and drive to the Italian side of the Alps to catch the runners at the next checkpoint. It was just a measly 3.7 kilometres, we reasoned. How hard could it be to ascend 1,000 m in that distance? The well-known route starts at the northern edge of town, on a quiet (and fittingly steep) little road. We quickly found ourselves zig-zagging on the switchback under the Planpraz gondola. Looking up and following the unmoving cable car wire, the route seemed to almost hang over us vertically. The destination, on a slope of the Aiguilles Rouges, suddenly seemed impossible to run. Nevertheless, we carried on – first running, then jogging, and by the halfway point, shuff ling. I looked back on occasion to gain some perspective, but found myself shuddering at the height, choosing to stay focused on what was ahead. It now seemed easier to climb the mountain than to try to turn back and get down.

We passed 700 m of ascent. Kelly was leading, and the Stairmasterlike switchback seemed to end. Puzzled, she stopped to evaluate the scene for a moment, and then did something I wasn’t planning on participating in that day: she reached up, and started climbing up the side of a rock face. I took a quick check and evaluated the reverse: a severe drop in the opposite direction. So, I feigned bravery, grabbed a fistful of granite and followed her. Luckily, the well-trodden course was mostly roped after that first reach of faith. It was practically vertical in the last 100 m and there were mercifully steel rebar foot holds banged into the side of the mountain for foolish runners like us, out of our element.

When we made it to the top, we stood there for a moment in silence appreciating the view of Mont Blanc across the valley and the now minuscule Chamonix nestled below. We realized that we were the only ones on the mountain. For a moment, it was thoroughly satisfying and worth the effort. ‘What a way to start my 36th year,’ I thought.

Then we realized that we were alone because the gondola didn’t start running for another hour, and we had to get back to that tiny town in the distance to catch the bus to Italy. The run down the mountain was another adventure altogether.