SORRY!! Let's go back to December...

In France for the Saintelyon.

My AMAZING hosts. (Laurent, Christine, & Emma)

The Start



The Finish


This is a piece I wrote on the flight from France back to North America for Christmas:

Froid, Fatigue, et Boue. A Fantastique Objectif

The invitation was too much to resist.

While not the longest or most physically challenging race I’ve entered in, the SainteLyon has an element of the unknown that wrecked my logistical head. Starting at midnight, running through the night, in a completely foreign region.

Arriving in Geneva and managing the French to take the train to the lakeside village of Aix-Les-Bain, I was expecting to hail a taxi to the home of my hosts. Dragging my luggage for a 5-week trip home to Canada for Christmas, I was welcomed with the odd exchange of eye contact one has when greeting someone for the first time. I was treated like royalty by my hosts, traditional French food, wine, and deserts were plentiful. The night before the race I was treated to Tartiflette, a dish containing thinly sliced potatoes, onion, bacon, cream, baked in copious amounts of Roblechon cheese.

I had travelled to France from Ireland where I had my my friend Laurent. He was visiting Ireland for “Business English” classes where he was paired with me. To both of our great pleasure we found the common passion between us of ultra trail-running and our “business” lessons were filled with accounts of all-night runs, nutrition for ultras, cross-training stories of ski touring and mountaineering and future outdoor adventures. Never once did we address my “planned” lessons, my new friend always directing our time toward the mountains. Upon his return to France we exchanged information and planned to keep each other updated on upcoming events worthy of our reunion.

A few months later I received word from Laurent of a “fantastique objective” for me to consider. The Saintelyon, a 69km mixed trail run spanning Saint Etienne to Lyon through the Rhone Alps. The race begins at midnight and runs through the night requiring a headlamp or natural bat-like senses. With all the rain the region received the week preceding the race, webbed feet would have been beneficial also.

Laurent’s two friends, Laurent and Olivier, joined us at the house and we drove to Lyon to catch the shuttle bus to the stadium starting point in Sainte Etienne. Registration was interesting as I was missing the required doctor’s note of physical health; with my broken French I explained that my Alberta Health Care card was a “license to run”. They bought it, I’m in!

The hall where we registered and took our time to eat, relax, and get dressed was jammed with wall-to-wall people. Some had brought sleeping pads and bags to catch some sleep while others mingled with friends. Most of my running competitions have been relatively small and I have had the opportunity to find solitude and stay away from the building anxiety/energy of all the participants. Here I was obliged to get my head straight surrounded by 4500 of my fellow competitors, their supporters, the music DJ and the company representatives manning the sponsor village.

This was also my first race where I’ve run as part of a group, let alone a group that I had never had the opportunity to train with. This was a great lesson to me that I need to manage my pace to my requirements. I have always trained alone and recognize now that I need to stick to my guns and maintain confidence in my preparation.

Needless to say, this is all building to the first 15km of the race. From the start I realized that my companions were going to attack the start very aggressively. I was fine on the starting flat section but could feel my heart rate rising as the grade increased. Soon the grade was steeper than my training runs and still my companions were charging up the hills. It was difficult climbing; a steady flow of runners were forcing us to vary our pace and sprint sections to get ahead of the slower runners. In addition to this the trail was an absolute bog with ankle-breaking rocks hidden below the soft muck. With the limited visibility (complete darkness if the runner behind you had a brighter headlamp) you needed complete concentration on the meter of trail ahead. 69,000 meters, one meter at a time would make for a long night. I knew my heart rate was too high and I foolishly maintained the pace, willing myself to believe that I could maintain the effort once we reached the high point of the race.

The aesthetics of the race were beautiful. As we approached the high point, the stars were out and the views to the light of the villages below were stunning. Throughout my travels, I am always amazed to see Ursus Major pointing in new directions. When the trail opened up you could see the glowing serpentine mass of headlamps winding through the darkness. Passing antique farmhouses of stone and raw timbers took us through a part of France I would never see otherwise.

With about 30km left to go I knew I wasn’t going to reach my time goal. I had abandoned my strategy and knew I was expending too much energy. Laurent and Olivier had gone ahead and I knew that Laurent wouldn’t achieve his time goal by staying with me. I encouraged him to go on and reach his goal but he wasn’t going to leave me to run alone. This was hard on me because I felt I was holding him back and but pressure on myself to keep a pace I wasn’t comfortable with. To both of our luck, at the next aid station was Olivier who had decided to drop out of the race as he had put too much into the first half and was cramping. He had either a 3-hour wait for a bus to Lyon or could push on 5km more to the final relay transition where he could catch an immediate bus. Laurent finally listened to my pleas to take off once he knew I could continue with Olivier. I was very happy to have Olivier for the next 5km and knew that I could complete the final 25km on my own.

With a quick change into warm, dry clothes and a renewed constitution about my situation I took comfort in my cocoon with the cold, crisp air nipping at my shell.

What made the final 30km of the SainteLyon very interesting was that Olivier had almost no English and my French is less than poor. We soon found common expressions to keep us going: boue, rapidment, lentement, courir, marche, mange, allez, allons-y, fatigue. Soon Olivier had abandoned his plans of abandonment and we would support each other to the end.

Sunrise was beautiful. An array of deep reds, oranges, and pinks started to glow on the horizon and we knew the finish was coming. Passing runners throughout the streets of Lyon was motivating knowing that no matter how much you’re hurting, someone is in more pain that you. Evil, selfish thinking but comforting nonetheless. In the morning light, the old, winding cobbled streets were hypnotizing, distracting us from the pounding of our toes on the steep urban downhill.

Seeing the 5km remaining sign as we were approaching The Rhone, we were filled with adrenaline and really started to pick up the pace. The thought of getting out of soaking clothes (the second set of the night) and promise of shower helped us to conquer the ridiculously straight, flat final 5km. Supporters along the final stretch helped us with updates of remaining distances and kind cheers. Seeing the sign for the final 200m, rounding the final corner to a huge number of supporters, kept our legs pumping into the Stade du Lyon and the finish line. Entering the Stade and knowing that the running was over sent an emotional chill through the body, a euphoric dizziness.

It’s definitely a unique experience running through the night in the French countryside. C’est fini.

Rocking jeans and rentals in Chamonix on an impromptu ski day.