Episode #1
This is the story of an Alpine Ultra Trail, and of a return to myself. I wanted to find time again: 35 hours of running in my own company, and 3 years of desire for a 175K that is said to be "beautiful, brutal, audacious". Believe me; I'm not here to suffer, transcend, or prove. The story is committed, but peaceful and observant.
The Monte Rosa Ultra Tour loves me, and here I am at the start this 02/09/21, 11000+, 175K and 35h outside, still a story of numbers...but I suspend the rhythm. 4am, everything starts now, and it's at this moment that I switch on pause. Private.
I'm going to extend the months that have passed. I'm going to observe them, to see their mutation over the hours, when thefirst dawn comes. Tomorrow morning, where will I be: K110, 120, 150? In 4 hours, the French school system will be back in session. For the past 4 months, I have slowed down my frenzy and am training for an Ultra. The volume has thickened, my speeds have slowed down, and my mind has worked. Week after week, meditation and visualization have solidified my unknown.
Inner landscape, cemented and expanded universe, step by step. My food came back to the sources: to see in time, to see the base, the lasting, the depth. As my concentration grew, I re-spanned my diet towards its ketogenic foundation. Used to it, but dilettante, and the serenity has also grown: goodbye to sweet for 2 final months towards 100% keto. We'll meet again, pastries. Holyfat has been with me for almost a year, and is harmoniously blending flavor and sustainability. At D-4 weeks, I am getting used to consuming it in long/medium sessions. Incredible, exciting journey to see the body respond, appreciate...and develop a non-illuminated zenitude. Durable: that seems to be the word. 4h, I leave to find myself.
Episode #2
The hours go by, and I relive the past weeks. The "preparation" and its rains, cold or small bobos; however forgotten. Certainly, a loose knee is coming to life since the K30 - an absolute first in my years as a base runner (rather than a distance runner). The joint grows by 5% every 20km: accurate, and worrying.
But is this the ultra game, my good Suzette? In my opinion, no; but I am preaching in a hostile land. Ultra running for dolorous hyper-transcendence, nothing to do, I can't do it. It will probably come. For now, the very present merges with the past: I'm following a pass and my June bike ride. I'm marrying a scree, or Orion on the Taschhörn; and my July "prep" trail. I pause, and watch.
Oh, nothing long but the permission to watch. Light wind, soft alpine curd: side pocket, lemon macadamia, and a Tea-Time financier at midnight. Myfirst British break at 2800m, Holyfat on the gourd, and the azimuth of K120. It will still be dark there but I plan a bar - same stamp, cocoa, salt and MCT oil.
The legs are turning surprisingly, after 21 hours of walking. Three weeks ago, I started a final block of sessions on an empty stomach only. Guilty pleasure, I sometimes cracked for a bite of almonds...and its agave hair - but on <60 to 70% FC max. I systematize Holyfat, now in action as well as in pleasure need. Back to the sacredness of the pure moment, I have to leave; it only took 45''.
The valley of Saas-Fee pionce firm, the best hours open; no pain, ah if, knee. Since 9pm, I haven't suffered a drop in energy, and god knows if the sun was mean from Zermatt to Zermatt (K37-K61), on asphalt (K61-K85), or back to Törbel (K98). The digestion is humming, literally. I must be lucky - it's all I see. Slow movement but lasting movement, steady and settled pace: strange analysis of I in motion. Don't stop there.
Episode #3
And then, everything breaks. Abandonment suddenly lurks: knee alert, pleasure at half-mast, suffering from disability. Physically prevented, blocked in the desire and the sadness which invites itself. I knew I was fragile at the K100 of the ultra world, here I am a victim of myself at the K130. What is the pleasure food then? How to find a taste for life? Ridiculous drama of the sportsman! " We have chosen to be here. No ? Then let's run happily!
Darcy Piceu, a legend of the US ultra, knows something about this. So quickly, find a flavour or placebo, by opening your bag of relief: and above all, resume your routine immediately. Change from head to toe - clean underwear, an altar shines to Your Glory. Find yourself ready to go again, and pull out the pin for a snack or a bar. Because no, the noodles trigger the fatwa. Happy humility of the worst "hot meal" of a whole life. Since then, a plaque has been discovered: "here are the most immoral farfalles of Switzerland. Peace to their souls, everything started with a good intention".
And everything... started again. Thus could have ended the story of a Monte Rosa. The day has dawned and despite 12 snacks and Holyfat bars, my liver does not dance a jig. Total squareness. At D-15, I increased my share of omega 3s a bit, with avocados and other fatty fish, but without forcing the disgust. With my Bullet Proof coffee or green tea slung over my shoulder, the memory of these delights still follows me at memory breaks: it's 2pm. I can see the ultimate raidillon, and realize that these last 5 hours, I have just accelerated like never before. Miraculous? inner eucharist with a zenitude, that I never suspected. I arrive, soon.
