Race of life
Elite endurance athlete Lizzy Hawker recalls the race which launched her career in this extract from her book, Runner
How it all began for ultra runner Lizzy Hawker
The start line. The beginning of anything. You, your journey and where it will take you. Poised in the space between the known and the unknown. Infinite possibility.
I’m standing here scared witless and surrounded by a sea of people. The centre of Chamonix, the Triangle de l’amitié Square to be more exact, and it is shortly before 6:30pm on a Friday evening in late August. Most people at home will be packing up to leave work with the anticipation of a long-awaited bank holiday weekend ahead. Maybe the queues will be starting on the roads. The trains will be in their normal chaos. No doubt there is rain forecast.
I am a world away from that bank holiday fervour. I am a world away from anything I have ever done before. But some things are the same everywhere. Rain, for example.
It woke me last night with its persistent pattering on my tent. I scarcely slept in the end. When day broke it revealed one of those grey damp misty dawns that leaves you wondering if a world exists beyond those low-lying clouds. I didn’t think there was any chance they would lift, but things change quickly in the mountains.
I am on the start line of the Ultratrail du Mont-blanc. It is the third edition of this race and ahead of us is a long journey around Mont Blanc, which at 4,810m is the highest mountain in the Alps and Western Europe. Starting in Chamonix, the old alpine village which remains an eminent centre of alpinism, we will pass through into Italy and Switzerland before reaching back over the border into France to arrive back here where we start.
The Ultra-trail du Mont-blanc encircles Mont Blanc, making a journey of over 100 miles, crossing numerous high passes on tough alpine trails. The race itself is a festival of exploration, endurance, sport, community and sharing – pulling runners, volunteers, communities and supporters into an experience that goes far beyond the race itself.
Months ago now, I read an article about this race. Until then I didn’t even realise that there were races like this. The idea of it caught my imagination and the thought of taking part slowly took a hold over me. I’m not even sure now what the pull was – perhaps it was as simple as the irresistible allure of making a long journey on foot through a beautiful alpine landscape. Or perhaps it was a curiosity to challenge myself in a way that I had never been challenged before. By March I had formed a plan. I was due to finish my PHD by the summer, so I reasoned with myself that if I registered for the race, then it would be a great excuse to plan a couple of weeks in the Alps to do some climbing. The race would be the last bit of fun before heading back to the UK to start my new job.
So I am here, standing in this church square in the centre of Chamonix. Waiting for the start. The minutes are ticking by. The people around me are unsettled. We are not quite sure how to fill these moments until the race starts at 7pm. Everything has been done that can be done. Race numbers have been collected and pinned on
The race would be the last bit of fun before heading back to the UK to start my new job
T-shirts. Kit has been checked. We have given in our drop bags for the support points in Courmayeur and Champex. Or at least most people have. I’m not entirely sure what most people have sent in those bulging bags of extras. But my miscellaneous assortment of kit is a little bit sparse. The only spares I have are a clean pair of socks and a clean T-shirt. The only shoes I have are on my feet, and still relatively new. Bought in a sale, they were a random purchase made just before leaving the UK, my choice governed by economics rather than performance. A friend had suggested that trail shoes could be a good idea for a race that would be on mountain paths. I’d not really thought about it. I’ve left a change of clothes in another bag that stays here in Chamonix to await my hopeful return. What else is there to do?
I have found a step to sit on, in front of the church. The mass of people shifts and moves around me. People are talking, some are fiddling with their rucksacks, others are staring up at the sky. Already we are marked somehow, set aside from the spectators lining the street. It is a strange feeling. It is different to anything I have ever experienced before.
I know absolutely nobody here; my friends left the campsite last night and must now be driving back home to the UK. This feeling of anonymity seems to envelop me, not leading to a sense of loneliness as you might imagine, but rather an absolute freedom.
Most of these other runners seem to look like they know what they are doing. With their skin-tight Lycra, tiny rucksacks and small, fit-looking figures they look like they know what they are in for. If looks count for anything then I won’t even make it out of town.
I completed my PHD thesis this summer and still have that student mentality of spending as little money as possible and then only on essentials. Kit has to last until it wears away. A combination of my ignorance, inexperience and parsimony have resulted in my having absolutely no idea even of what to wear. Running a hundred miles, or at least some part of, must surely require something that is comfortable and that can serve whether it is hot or cold. What on earth will running through the night at over 2,000m altitude be like? The best solution I could devise was to resort to my ancient and trusted Helly Hansens. But I feel like I’m the only
one standing (or sitting) here in holey long johns. And the rucksack was a bit of a conundrum. I don’t really have one that you can run with, only my large mountain sack. My friends lent me one before they left yesterday. It is a bit big though. The waist strap can’t cinch tight enough to fit properly. Not to worry, at least it means I can fit in all the obligatory kit: one to two litres of water, two headtorches with batteries, survival blanket, bandage, passport, waterproof jacket. How on earth do people manage with those tiny packs?
I bring my attention back to the moment. There is a faint hum of nervous chatter from some. Others are diving deep into themselves, eyes shut, steely focused faces. It makes me edgy, all too aware of my absolute ignorance of what really lies ahead. The calm before the storm.
Footnote: Lizzy finished the race as first woman after nearly 27 hours.
Runner: A Short Story About a Long Run by Lizzy Hawker is published in
paperback by Aurum Press at £9.99, out now. Lizzy’s next book, Journey, will be published next April.