This week, the majority of the worlds best trail runners, hikers, explorers and me descend on Chamonix to attempt the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc. I've had a wrist band attached that can only be cut off that proudly says UTMB. It's red. Bright. and a little embarrassing. I'd rather not have something announcing to the world what I am attempting. I prefer the relative annonymity of blogging rather than people looking at me, obviously thinking 'he'll never finish'.
It started early in the week when I was in a trail running store buying loads of kit I didn't know I needed. When I arrived at the checkout the lady looked before we had a slightly awkward and short conversation:
"aaaah (in a French way) CCC!!".
"Um, no, UTMB"
"Oh"
Not exactly confidence inspiring I have to admit. I must still be bloated after the loing haul flight. Also not inspiring confidence is the sheer number of ultra fit looking types floating around town. With approximately 5000 runners taking part in four different events over the course of the week the town is alive with runners of all nationalities milling around the various outdoor stores as well as a small town of wooden huts that has been erected to host a kind of outdoor wear expo. The energy of the town is like nothing I've experienced before and I have to say I love it.
It's funny to observe the different styles of the he various nationalities in attendance. The top US ultra guys seem to have a very laid back style that they bring, a little more of a hippy, chilled vibe. I saw Geoff Roes, Dakota Jones and the i-run far guy, Bryon, milling around having a laugh yesterday, looking very relaxed. A bit of a checked shirt and shorts thing going on. Then you get the southern euro's, the Italians, Spanish and Southern French who are all in what can only be described as 'Salomon Chic'. Even when off duty they seem to stick to their tight bright and shiny Salomon running wear and garish colours. Quite a lot of strutting and preening going on here. I've even seen a few all in one tri suits on display for a wander around town. For a moment I thought it was fancy dress. The british contingent seem to fall somewhere between the Americans and the Southern Europeans. Casual clothes with a hint of Salomon. Just to let the casual observer know that although they are dressed in normal clothes, we're here to get stuck in. Enough Sex and the Chamonix.
As mentioned, yesterday it has all become a little more obvious as to what we're here for as we've been officially branded with wrist straps that cannot be removed. Mine's bright red and branded UTMB. My first thought was that it went well with my Salomon SLABS and red cap. My second thought was that it is really going to happen and ever since then I have had 'the fear', gnawing away at my stomach. This is really going to hurt! Can I even do this? Do I have enough pain killers? Will a local doctor give me opiates? Shall I just get drunk, eat cheese and miss the start? All the usual thoughts before doing something so fool hardy.
Before official registration yesterday Amy the Korean and I spent a buit of quality tourist time together. Best event of the week by far way the cable car trip up form Chamonix (1000m) up to L'Aiguille du Midi (3800m) and across to Italy (3400m). The trip acroos to Italy was in a tiny 4 seater car, with stunning panoramic views of the bloody massive drop onto the glacier that could occur at any moment should there be a stiff gust of wind. Not that I was scared of course, I just don't like the thought of imminent crushed-on-ice-in-a-tiny-cable-car death. The journey back across the glacier was particularly traumatic as we were with an italian couple who insisted on jerking from left to right, opening the windows to take pictures (just to really catch the gust of wind!) abnd generally causing the thing to rick back and forth. Of course as mentioned, I wasn't scared one lkittle bit of being 500 meteres above a glacier in an egg carton, it was great fun. My legs weren't shaking and I didn't wee a little bit. I'm too macho for that. I'd highly recommend it to all!
So yesterday tourism came to a close and the race started to become a reality. Registration was efficient and quick and at times felt a little like stepping into the Lord of the Rings. We had to put down a deposit for the race chip that is contained in the aformentioned red salomon matching wrist strap. I believe something must have been lost in translation, or it was another slip of tongue when observing my obvious lack of fitness, but the very French lady on the reception desk looked me up and down before asking:
"Do you av ze twenty euros of caution?"
"Bloody hell", I though. It sounded a little like I should have been on a quest beforehand, rather that withdrawing it from the BNP Paribas brand on the corner.
"Yes", I replied solemnly, hoping I looked grave and serious enough, "I have the twenty euros of caution". As I held it aloft triumphantly.
With tension building she replied "Merci", and showed me on my way. I was a bit let down. No crack of thuinder, flash of lightening. I just rejioned my friend Tom in the queue feeling a little like this challenge might be beyond me.
As well as my quest for the twenty euro's of caution I have faced other challenges this week. Trying to find food that wasn't shit in geneva, trying not to spend my monthly salary a day in geneva, trying to convince the girlfriend that there wasn't a remote chance of death during this race, trying not to cry on the cable car. However, the toughest test of willpower to date was definitely being in France and not gorging myself on cheese and red wine. It's been a real struggle. I started off strong, but as is always the case as the week went on I felt more and more tested, I started to lose my focus, my body became weaker and weaker, even moving forward was a struggle... ok I'm exaggerating a little, but there are cheese shops everywhere, with their wonderful stinky aroma's clogging up the warm air. If/ when I finish this thing my first words will likely be 'Red wine and cheese', I may throw a merci in there, but cannot make any promises. As noted in past blogs, I'm not exactly a profound individual.
One day to go. I've never been so scared (discounting the cable car).
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