PART 2 of 2 or MAYBE 3…
From Bard I followed the yellow flags over the old stone bridge, through some cobbled-stone streets, then out of the village and onto the trail that leads through the Roman arch into Donnas. After walking into Donnas with two other runners, an older gentleman stopped us to ask how far we were going: after hearing a brief summary of the feat the man was in awe and insisted on buying us ice cream. Attempts to kindly turn down the offer were futile so in the end we got the icecream and I don’t mean industrial pre-packaged ice cream but the real thing: Italian gourmet gelato made in the parlor from fresh ingredients. Standing in the heat of the late afternoon, enjoying the gelato, and just talking, life suddenly felt incredibly good!
Once in the life base I headed straight to the changing room which was nothing more than a cramped corridor connecting the ground floor to the stairs leading to the dormitory room on the higher floor. I remembered the place clearly, in fact I even recognized one of the volunteers from 2017 — the one who had nearly broken up with her boyfriend because of a broken glass table. One year later she was still hanging around the same corridor, not anymore as a volunteer but rather crewing for somebody outside the men’s showers.
A woman in a yellow volontor shirt came over and asked her to leave, then stood watch there to make sure other people wouldn’t trespass into the runners’ changing space. She noticed she was looking how I carefully tied up my collapsed poles to the top of my Osprey Duro 15. I explained I was doing that to make sure I wouldn’t leave them around by mistake, especially since I had already broken one and was left with only one as a spare.
She went on to tell me a story that had happened in the same life base in 2017: after finding a pair of poles and informing all runners in the place through a loudspeaker, a woman showed up claiming ownership of the poles. About 15 minutes later another woman, the real owner, came out of the showers looking for her pair of poles. It turned out the first woman had just gotten herself a free pair of poles she had never owned. Eventually some local volontor and the village mayor supposedly purchased a new pair of poles and gave them to the runner who had been screwed.
I went in for a quick shower and while I was letting the lukewarm water wash the dry sweat and caked dust off my body, one the other guys showering mentioned seeing earlier from bib number that I had completed the TDG the previous year and started asking a few questions about the legs ahead. After sharing some information and reassuring him he had plenty of time to do well, I began realizing how hard the way ahead was about to get and nonchalantly added how only an idiot like myself would attempt the Tor twice in a row. I am unsure why, possibly because I sounded genuinely angry at myself for that but everybody in the showers broke out laughing. I eventually started laughing too: that funny moment marked the end of the struggle to not quit and the beginning of a whole new chapter of my Tor 2018. Before leaving the shower I rinsed my tracksuit pants and zip top, then squeezed them both as dry as I could and slid into them again. I went to do a quick kit check and went back to the main hall to eat some raunchy croissants with yogurt.
While sitting at one of the long rows of table and staring at the half naked people being massaged or getting their feet taped at the end of the hall, I thought back to the previous year: people in this life base were in a panic, many decided not to go ahead because they would not make the cutoff times ahead. Unlike 2017, where I had found plenty of negativity from participants willing to give up before it was too late, I found a much more positive atmosphere than the previous year.
Donnas to Gressoney
Outside it felt like a warm summer evening, the sunset hue coloring the hills up ahead. I was feeling great until on the way up to La Sassa my left calf literally started “clicking”. Yes, all of a sudden, I started feeling as if something clicked inside my calf. What the fuck was this clicking sound? Muscle, ligament, bone…?
I stopped to rub some heat cream on my calf but it didn’t help get rid of the clicking noise. Unsure what to do about I considered my options:
1. Go back to Donnas which would pretty much annihilate the chances to complete the Tor Des Geants
2. Call the TDG center and ask to diagnose a clicking sound in my calf over the phone…
3. Go ahead and see how it goes
The uncertainty quickly gave way to paranoia so I just did what the average village idiot would do in the 21st century: they say search engines don’t replace a doctor’s knowledge and wouldn’t disagree with that but when there is no doctor available and you need to make a call on something, search engines might still be better than complete ignorance. After scrolling through the search results I found a 20-page medical research PDF: with the clock ticking and 200 km left to go, why not take a break to read a research paper, right? After a few minutes scrolling frantically in the attempt to get the gist of it all, the outcome was “if no pain, usually nothing to worry about!”
This time I spread half a tube of freeze on my left calf, ignored the clicking sound went after the climb ahead like a mad dog, foam at the mouth included. Before I knew it I was in Perloz, the place where locals would cook their best dish rather than just feed you the bland TDG menu of chocolate roll, biscuits, and pasta.
In 2017 I had reached the checkpoint shortly after they had run out of pizza. This year I made it just in time and even had the honor to go through the last few slices while having a chat. I ended up leaving in an even better mood than I had walked in twenty minutes earlier. On the way out I accidentally stepped on and crushed my earbuds but luckily I was carrying a second pair in my pack.
I began climbing toward La Sassa at a relentless pace and caught up with a friendly Italian runner who warned me about a tricky turn somewhere ahead. He told me to go left, right, left, then left again or maybe right, then right once again before taking a left… I absolutely had no idea what he had just explained but having found my way around this section the previous year, I didn’t really worry about directions.
I finally reached La Sassa which was eerily quiet, the reason being it wasn’t La Sassa but one of the many hamlets or farms on the way. My hopes got dashed at each and every cluster of old houses I’d walk through. Eventually, I heard voices in the distance and walked into the checkpoint. I asked straight away if I could sleep and was told they’d put my name on the waiting list; ten minutes later I asked about how long I’d have to wait and some dude angrily barked he couldn’t find my name on the waiting list. It was surreal, not because they had forgotten to write down my name but because the same exact thing had happened the previous year in exactly the same place – and the angry dude looked suspiciously familiar too.
After a heated exchange his pal came forward and admitted his mistake so I got a cot in a tent. It turned out to be a complete waste of time: people were just laughing outside the tent; on top of that, a stinging stench of smelly socks permeated the air inside. After about half an hour trying to fall asleep, I gave up and left. Unlike 2017 when I had barely slept the three nights before the Tor, this time around I had at least walked to the start line decently rested so I wasn’t so desperate for a nap.
I remembered the climb to Rifugio Coda to be fairly quick but I was wrong: after negotiating the initial long steep slope, I realized there was a whole additional section which I had completely forgotten about. It was a depression scattered with boulders and some boggy ground which had completely dried up because of the high temperatures. And so had my mouth: I was so thirsty my tongue felt like glued to the palate: I dreamed about a drop of water till I reached the Coda.
Before entering the rifugio I spent a couple of minutes outside to enjoy the amazing night view of the valleys, with the urban lights glimmering in the far distance, then I went on to eat copiously and made sure to refill plenty of water before leaving again. It felt surreal The previous year I was basically wearing 4 layers with temperatures hitting – 15¨degrees. I went down and reached a house where the owners offered their own food to runners nearly run outstill in the dark. Unfortunately, they had of food but it was still dark which meant I I still had a lead of a few hours compared to 2017. I continued ahead to Lago Vagno – just before reaching the lake, as the sky began getting bright, the crackling sound above my calf resumed, this time worse than before. It still didn’t hurt but something in my calf, just below the knee, was definitely being pulled to the extent of affecting my gate. I started wondering if maybe I had torn a muscle… sleep-deprived, I started having negative thoughts.
I reached a checkpoint just past the lake where a nice couple in their mid-forties offered me an expresso down with their own espresso pot. We chatted briefly about the runners leading the race, then they told me they´d see me somewhere at a refreshment point on stage 6. I replied I wasn’t sure I’d be able to continue due to a problem in the leg but intentionally avoided giving details as I was even paranoid they would force me to drop out.
They just told me there might be a nurse on duty in Rifugio della Balma. I left looking dejected and told myself if the nurse was there, I’d have to get checked. The fear of being asked to drop made started really getting me down: It was what I had hoped to happen for the first 100 kilometers but past the imaginary racoon near Pontboset, all I had wanted, all I had wished for, was to complete my second Tor Des Geants or die trying!
I walked like a zombie to the rifugio, my eyes closing a few times, and falling at least once. I entered the rifugio, gave my number and asked for the nurse. The volunteer pointed toward a woman wearing a vest with a red cross symbol. She was a good looking woman in her mid-twenties, with slightly curly chatain hair and big green eyes. I walked the few meters that separated us as if I was walking to my own funeral, just telling myself that if I was told to drop out, I’d have to do it: “Never forget rule #0: Never take unnecessary risks.”
I called the nurse’s attention and then muttered I might have a muscle tear in my upper left calf. I told her the whole story about the clicking sound and answered a couple of questions. The nurse kneeled down and started to touch my upper calf and below the knee. I readied myself to be told I couldn’t continue but instead, the nurse looked up at me puzzled and said “This doesn’t look like a muscle tear. You might have a muscle contraction but definitely not a tear”
“Are you sure?” I replied hesitantly.
“Trust me, a muscle tear doesn’t feel anything like this.”
“So it means I don’t have to drop out,,,” I said hesitantly as I started smiling. “Well, that’s up to you!” the nurse countered, now beginning to show some impatience or maybe just taken aback by my reaction. “You can try massaging it.” she added, then turned around and left. I ran toward the volunteer taking orders at the end of the hall, close to the kitchen and asked for two dishes of pasta. Then ran back to the nurse and thanked her for the help: she just smiled and then reassured me I could continue.
After wolfing down the two dishes of pasta, I left Rifugio della Balma all amped up and began jogging at a speedy pace towards Col du Marmontana. The good news was that the clouds had showed up and after days of incessant scorching heat, a slightly lower temperature was a godsend. The bad news was, my speedy pace lost its momentum as soon as I began descending from the col: my knees felt as if they were being put through a meat grinder. It wasn’t a very reassuring feeling, especially considering this was that this was one of the easiest descents. I did the only thing I could do: grit my teeth and kept going down slowly. I took a couple of short breaks to take the weight off my joints and then kept going on to Lago Chiaro where I had a break and plenty of chocolate roll.
Now I was feeling tired again but still managed to climb across the giant rocks and the narrow trail that leads to Crena du Ley relatively fast considering the distance I had already covered. The descent to Col della Vecchia, however, was an entirely different story: I let the knee pain snowball into mental suffering. The big rocks often required small jumps which made every step feel like some kind of torture. I tried but couldn’t get to think about anything else. Two thirds into descent and I just couldn’t keep going: I eventually sat down on a rock and let my head fall into my hands. I spent a few minutes thinking, then remembered something from the novel I was reading before the Tor which was along the lines of “Effort takes no talent”. I stood up and slowly hiked to Col della Vecchia, refilled my flasks, then headed down toward Niel. I remembered this descent to be very long. Well, it just got much longer!
It had rained some and as soon as I stepped on a rock I fell backward over it. Luckily my pack, and the reservoir inside, almost completely cushioned the impact against my back and especially the spine. I completely lost it. I got up and starting cursing out loud: “Fuck this shit, I’m going to take the first bus out as soon as I get to Niel!” I resumed the descent but the more I went down, the harder it felt, and the more I got myself back into a state of mental self-torture. I hated myself for having come back and promised myself I’d never do anything like this again. After what felt like weeks, I finally hit level ground, hiked through a forest then saw a volunteer who told me I was a few minutes away from Niel.
Half an hour later, I saw a slated path winding on the grass and the Niel rifugio, large groups of people were cheering, some even calling my name. I entered the veranda where the food was, and was offered some polenta. I declined and tried to negotiate some pasta: the owner agreed and after 5 minutes I had a dish of penne. I wolfed it down and was offered a second one: I didn’t say no. By the time I had finished, I felt completely bloated – not the best state considering ahead I still had the climb to Col Lasoney, the last col before the Gressoney Life Base.
In 2017, I had been so scared to miss the cut-off at Gressoney, that I nearly ran this climb. This time around I had a pretty good margin but, as if nostalgic for the thrill experienced the previous year, I decided to push as hard as I could anyway, at worst I’d be making it up for the time I’d lose by having to slow down on the upcoming downhill. Halfway up I belched so hard that I thought seeing a big rock to my left splitting into two. I began passing other runners, sweating profusely. Some of them were looking at me curiously, unsure why I was going up so hard.
Halfway up I took a breather and had a chat with a hiker coming down – he told me he had been volunteering at Loo, the hut in the next valley where the last refreshment point was, and said they had fresh ravioli. I made a mental note and pushed further up. I had passed all runners on the climb except for a couple that I couldn’t seem to catch up with. There were several fake summits but eventually reached the col and began hiking the grassy plateau of Lassoney. I just hiked and by the time I got to Loo I was starving again: I asked the right question and asked for the ravioli with tomato. I had a talk with the volunteers while eating, then began the descent to Gressoney. I played music in an attempt to get worked up and go faster but jogging was too painful except for the few trail stretches on soft ground.
The last section to the Life Base consisted in a long sequence of hard-packed and rugged switchbacks: I put up with the pain by telling myself I’d end my Tor at Gressoney. After reaching the tarmac road, I told myself I’d think about it. By the time I was inside the Life Base, I just ate, showered and then went to catch some sleep on a huge high jump mat. Volunteers were not waking up people this year so I made sure to set two alarms to wake up forty minutes later.
Gressoney to Valtournenche
After I got up I had a quick snack and left straight away. Despite not being able to really comfortably jog any of the descents for too long, I had taken fewer breaks, slept much less, and made much shorter stops in the Life Bases than in 2017: by the time I left Gressonney at 11:30 pm, I actually had a 5-hour lead on my 2017 time.
I climbed while chatting with somebody I had met on the previous Tor. I also managed to get another real espresso in Rifugio Alpenzu before heading for Col Pinter. This section was never-ending with fake summit after fake summit but as long as I was climbing I didn’t really mind. Once past the col, the torture begain again. I stumbled down a narrow, humid valley as best as I could but by the time I reached the bottom I couldn’t stand the knee pain anymore. I threw myself to the ground to my knees and began spreading freeze cream while gazing at the stars through the tree branches above. Two runners suddenly appeared from the trail bend and I must have startled them: they asked if I was OK and needed help. Told them I was beyond help and just taking a break. They tried to cheer me up and reminded me Champoluc was close and they were right! After a few minutes I reached the valley and began walking on a road along a river – it was suddenly cold and I decided to throw on my light insulation jacket.
I went through a public garden on the edge of the town wishing I hadn’t put myself through this shit again, then began the long climb to Col di Nana. A few hours later I reached the Rifugio Grand Tourmalin where I had pasta, espresso and some chocolate roll. I got going again and the climb to Col di Nana was enjoyable. The air was getting warmer even if the sky was still overcast.
On the way down to Col des Fontaines I stopped a couple of times to talk with hikers or mountain bikers, then eventually made it down to Valtournenche late in the afternoon. Inside the Life Base there were big changing rooms and I was even able to get a clean towel for a shower. I changed into clean clothes, ate, and got ready to leave. Caroline was on her way with a pair of non-GTX shoes but it would take another 2 hours. I decided to get my heels taped as some skin had come off. The massaging team had a waiting list but the feet team didn’t. Of course, people began jumping the queue, probably unwillingly due to the confusion. Eventually, I offered to do some interpreting between the podiatrist, who didn’t speak Italian, and a runner who didn’t speak neither French nor English. As a reward they bumped me up the newly created list. On the way out I got my shoes and had to leave: I had spent over three hours in the life base which reduced my margin considerably but at least I was feeling pretty rested.