I missed a few
some thoughts on the summer, training but mostly my first dnf
I missed all opportunities for reflection over the last couple of months. After returning from Kenya, I jumped straight into full-focus training mode. It didn’t go smoothly from the start—niggles, heel pain, and hip issues made it a training block full of ups and downs. At the time, it frustrated me a lot, but now, looking back, I feel grateful. It forced me to listen more closely to my body and what it was telling me, backing off whenever it asked me to.
That said, I also realize I made a mistake with my foot pain. I should’ve focused more on fixing it from the beginning. My memories of the CCC, where I ran the whole race with the same pain, clouded my judgment. Back then, I rested the foot for about six weeks before the race, and it didn’t improve. So this time, I thought I’d just keep training and add some strengthening exercises for the foot. Quickly, that turned into just training and accepting that it would hurt during the race. Two years ago, it took more than six months to fully recover from this issue, which, in this case, would have been long after the race. Now, I think: I should’ve given it everything to fix it, not just tried to manage it.
For anyone interested, here’s a little recap of the race:
First thing to mention, a midnight start is a tough idea. My body didn’t appreciate it at all. I felt nauseous from the moment the gun went off. Before the first climb, just 2 km into the race, I twisted my ankle on a pothole I couldn’t see in the crowd. Luckily, it didn’t hurt much when we were running fast down the streets of Courmayeur. On the first climb toward Arête Mt-Favre, I tried to find a good rhythm. My friend Patrick and I planned to run together through the night to keep each other in check and avoid going out too hard in the first half, but somehow we lost each other in the big group of runners. About two hours in, someone called my name from behind after catching up on a downhill section I struggled with—it was Jean! I’d run a big part of the CCC with him, and I credit him for helping me finish that race instead of dropping out. We ran together for a bit, but soon my heel started to hurt more than I expected. I slowed down and lost the rhythm I’d had earlier. I kept moving, but much of it was walking and hobbling. Sometime before La Thuile, Patrick passed me, checking if I was okay, but all I could do was keep moving or drop out.
At the 34 km mark in La Thuile, I tried to find my crew’s phone number, but I hadn’t saved it in the small phone I brought for the race. Bummer! I thought running down to Bourg would be quicker than finding another way to contact them. Looking back, I was wrong, it wasn’t faster. I was running down at 8-minute kilometers and not feeling good. Almost two hours later, I arrived in Bourg St Maurice, ready to throw in the towel. Mark, my crew, didn’t agree and I’m very glad he didn’t. He reminded me of the race’s purpose and the end goal, making sure it was my foot talking and not my ego. I knew it was both but my ego had a strong voice still. I’d fallen so far down the field and wasn’t moving as I wanted, so I lost the mental strength to keep going and not give up at the first hurdle. When Peter, another friend, saw me at the aid station, he was surprised, but quickly invited me to run with him up Roseland when he saw I was about to drop out. His gesture at that moment made it impossible for me to actually quit. So we headed out and we tackled the 1800m climb together. Once we were going, I focused on getting to the next stop, I felt like I was moving well again. I thanked Peter for getting me out of that aid station and continued on my own. It was a long climb, but with the sun rising, it was perfect. As soon as I reached the top and started the technical downhill, the truth about my foot hit me hard. The 700 meters down were excruciating. By the time I reached the Roseland aid station, I knew it was over. I quickly calculated that I had another 16 to 18 hours to go at my current pace, and I couldn’t take that for so long. It took me three or four attempts to walk up to the desk where they cut your bib before I actually made them do it.
My first DNF became a reality.
Looking back, I had an amazing summer, spent in beautiful places with people I love being around. And that’s what this is all about. I just love training. I ran in the Pyrenees, the Alps, Spain, France, and Andorra. I ran familiar trails and new ones, with old friends and new ones.
Thanks to everyone around me, I feel pretty lucky.
Onwards and upwards.
