Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc
Kilometre 141: I am in the medical tent watching my dream of finishing the Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc slip away by the minute. I worked so hard to create a three-hour buffer within the cut-off time to ensure I would finish without chasing any final cut-offs. Instead, the aid station at Trient became more familiar than it should ever have as my blood pressure continued to drop every time I tried to sit up.
Getting to the start of UTMB required three years of dreaming, training, qualifying, being drawn for an entry, training some more and raising funds through the phenomenal support I received from family and friends.
That was the hard part; now all I needed to do was enjoy the race. Having never run further than 100km or completed more than 6 000m cumulative ascent, 170km with 10 000m ascent loomed with both challenges and doubt, yet commanded a determination that only death could deter. For a number of reasons I had to finish, even if it meant crawling my way across that finish line.
Heading out of Chamonix at 6pm on Friday 26 August, the first few kilometres of the race were met with an overwhelming number of supporters, ringing cow bells and some unexpected climbing. Having looked at the race profile and seen nothing but a completely flat line for the first 8km, the substantially undulating terrain took me by surprise. I quickly realised that those long, steep climbs later in the profile were going to require far more grit than I had thought. Before most races I am usually plagued with nightmares about not having what I need or stations tak- ing longer to get through than necessary but I have developed the ability to recognise that I am dreaming
A race that begins with 2 555 runners from 87 different countries is unique in many ways. For the first few hours I hardly heard anyone say a word, even though hundreds of people were with me.
The crowds of dedicated supporters who filled the beautifully lit streets of StGervais kept this high going as I sailed on to Les Contamines where my husband Dylan was ready to welcome me through the aid station.
As the sun set and then rose the next morning, lighting up a number of glaciers and towering mountains. I was absolutely blown away by the scenery and gained excitement for the challenging trail ahead.
I was loving every moment of the route and my epic soundtrack kept my pace beautifully in check as I hit the first climb of the new day. I gained positions steadily, not because I was faster than the other athletes but rather because I was quick through the aid stations while many others seemed to either be having a social picnic or were already choosing to retire from the race.
After one of the most gruelling descents into Courmayeur, Italy, I was able to head out of the aid station as the 749th athlete having made my way from 1 790th position. The quads were starting to hurt and I began to feel the heat wave that everyone had been warning us about. During that descent I just kept thinking how grateful I was that we were not climbing something that steep. Little did I know that the next climb would be just that. After seeing Dylan for the second time and receiving a good dose of encouragement from some fellow South Africans a little after, I started the two-hour climb to Refuge Bertone.
Not long after that I approached the climb up to Grand Col Ferret, the third point above 2 500m which would bring me to completing the most cumulative ascent I had ever experienced in one day. For the first time the altitude hit me hard, which left me feeling 10 times heavier and as if I was sinking up to my knees with every step I took.
The start of the descent marked my entry into Switzerland as well as the realm of running more than 100km for the first time and despite the daunting 70km to go, I began to feel better and enjoy the 20km downhill that awaited me. By now the race was no longer silent and I found myself engaging in many dialogues that did not involve a second English speaker. Even though we did not understand what each other were saying, I could always feel sure that we were agreeing on the beauty, difficulty or resultant pain of the terrain we were exposed to at the time.
Two hours of pure downhill was definitely a first for me and as much as I appreciated the assistance of gravity, I equally welcomed the start of the next climb that would allow some different muscles to work. Around 10.30 that night I found myself falling asleep on my feet for the first time during the race and so I claimed a quick 10 minute sleep at Champex-Lac. At this stage I had created a buffer of around three hours and 15 minutes between myself and the cut-off time in the hope that it would allow for unforeseen problems.
During the next climb and the long decent into Trient, my metabolism shifted a few gears and my body began ploughing through everything I consumed. I would eat and literally within 15 minutes my stomach would be completely empty and my body would begin demanding food as if I hadn’t eaten all day. That is where I made my mistake. Desperate to finish the steep and technical decent and reap the benefits of the aid station at Trient, I allowed my body to deplete further than what it could manage.
Soon after arriving, I began to feel faint and was unable to sit up. After a failed attempt at getting to the medical tent, Dylan managed to find some strong medics to help carry my useless body there. As someone who eats a lowcarb diet and does not consume sugar, I half consciously declined the endless offers of Coke and cake, but by then I had allowed my body to reach a point of no return. An hour and a half passed of getting nutrition into my body, trying to sit up and then having my body force me back down again. I kept asking myself: “Is this really how I am going to drop out of this race? How do I explain not finishing something as prestigious as UTMB because of something as silly as fainting?” In desperation I finally agreed to drink some Coke and within two minutes I was back on my feet and moving forward.
By now my body had become incredibly cold and I set off very slowly with almost all my warm kit on, peeling each layer off as I began to gain more pace on the next climb. I went slow and steady reminding myself that pushing too hard at that point, could push my body over the edge. After some good intake of food at the next aid station in Vallorcine, the last point where I would see Dylan, I began the final ascent of the race.
By now it was mid-morning and hotter than ever. The climb inevitably was slow and the 4km contour trail before the final descent into Chamonix was uncomfortably technical, making me concerned about whether or not I would reach the final aid station without being cut-off.
With two hours left to complete a steep and technical downhill that most runners took two hours to complete, I certainly was cutting it fine. However God’s strength came through’ and I found a renewed ability to push through the pain in my legs, overtake many other runners and smash that downhill in half the time, allowing me to finish in 45 hours and 33 minutes with a final sprint, South African flag in tow. With only 1468 of the original 2 555 runners finishing the race, of whom only 10 percent were female, I feel incredibly privileged to have experienced the entire UTMB route and to have still had the energy to run through to the finish.