“I’ve found in the fells that there is a common purpose, whether I’ve been with a climber getting sheep off a crag, with a fell-runner or even with walking visitors, our bond is our love for these beautiful hills.” ~Joss Naylor
I sit in the car on the way back to Chamonix, swaying with the nauseating winding curves of the road, the rain pitter pattering on the windshield, overwhelmed by an odd sense of déjà vu from last year’s event. I focus on the pain in my foot and for whatever reason find myself associating it with all the things I don’t like about the event – the insane hype and dramatization of our simple sport, being coaxed into acquiring more and more gear to lug around the mountain yet remaining uncertain what will or will not pass through the checkpoints, helicopters, cameras everywhere, nationalism…all this jumbles around in my head casting a veil oftéléphériques, crowds and noise over Mt. Blanc.
What did I expect though? Had I not injured myself, I’d now be passing over Col de la Croix du Bonhomme and turning a blind eye at all these frustrations. I’d be wrapped up in my little bubble formed by the globe of light from my headlamp, working hard up the hill, floating the downs, wind and snow blowing in my face. Only the running and the mountain would be of concern to me, none of the superfluous show.
Sitting on the couch with my foot in a bucket of ice, refreshing my browser over and over, it’s easy to feel emotional and negative. It’s pointless though to dwell in self-pity and while my race didn’t go as planned it would be a shame to end my trip here on such a low note.
After a few hours of sleep, I wrap the ankle and decide to head over to Champex Lac to follow the front of the race. Just as we arrive, Kilian, Miguel, Iker and Seb are coming through town. While they are all moving well, particularly for this point in the race, Miguel seems to be struggling with some knee issues. He stops in the middle of the road to hold his knee for several seconds. Instead of leaving him to deal with his injury, the other three runners stop too, patting him on the back and urging him to push on. They let him dictate the pace on the next stretch of downhill and I’m impressed not just by their physical ability, but also by their sportsmanship. All the craziness, hype and competitiveness that surrounds this event, both before and after the race, disappears in moments like this where all that is left is a group of friends sharing a run in the mountains. Kilian brought this up at the finish line as being one of the highlights of his race along with the sunrise on Col de la Seigne. This spirit of friendship and togetherness along with wonder, awe and appreciation for the beauty of the environment that we are in, embodies in my mind the true spirit of the mountain runner. It is that that I choose to take away from my time on Mt. Blanc – not the politics, frustrations and negativity that sap my energy, but the stories like that of Kilian, Iker, Miguel and Seb or Hal and Roch bringing it in after two nights out on the hill, Lizzy flying blissfully all night and day and Darcy making the podium and many, many, more great accomplishments of friends and others, fast and slow.
Sometimes things don’t go quite the way you hoped, but slowing down and taking a step back whether forced or intentional is a chance to gain perspective and I am always thankful for the lessons learned.