Today marks a month since I started Trail Verbier St Bernard X-Alpine (TVSB) and I’m still not sure I’m over it mentally or physically.

Previously on SamStaggersOn.com

After a hefty pre-amble and then a chunky blog on the first part of the race, I found myself at the Champex aid station at 4:30am.

The next stop would be the highest point of the whole race, Orny at 2800m, and it was also a “no drop” station – if you decided to stop there, you’d have to make your own way back.

Weirdly this felt like a good motivator. Sometimes the easier it is to stop, the more your brain thinks about it. It would be another 23 kilometres before I would even have a chance to pull out.

It was getting lighter but it was also beginning to rain. The whole race had been muggy so I was loathed to put on my jacket as I always feel like sweating on the inside makes it just as wet as rain would.

Still as I walked alongside Lac de Champex eating a snickers, I reluctantly pulled out my jacket and put away my headtorch. It was a funny feeling to walk through the quaint village as it began to wake up, people heading to work quietly wishing me well as I trudged along towards the forest.

I wasn’t in the worst shape but I could feel how much the previous seven hours or so had taken out of my legs. They felt like they needed recharging, just no energy in them. In my head as well, the tiredness of a 10pm start and no sleep was creating a brain fog and the negative thoughts were coming thick and fast as I got into the woods.

Even though it was still raining, I took of my jacket because it was so hot. Then I walked a few more paces and just stood there, wondering whether to put it back on. When you’ve lost that clarity of thought, it’s funny to look back at the stupid things you did and just didn’t recognise where you were at the time.

It was going to get much, much worse.

The next five kilometres took me nearly an hour and a half to complete. In that time I climbed over 900m. And for the majority of that time I was in floods of tears as I not only contemplated my current life decisions but also every bad moment that had happened in the previous 40 years came to join me, weighing my mind and body down further.

Why was I putting myself through this? What was I trying to prove? And who was I actually trying to prove it to. I’ll save you my hillside psychiatric conclusions as it got pretty dark but this was exactly the point I knew I wasn’t going to make it back to Verbier.

From where I was (physically and spiritually), I had about six hours to get up the mountain and then back down again to Fouly. And I was hating every second. Literally everything around me was making me angry when in fact, I was in one of the most stunning places in the world.

There was a bunch of people who were taking it in turns to stoop over their poles and take a break before walking a little further up. It didn’t occur to me at the time but I was now over 2000m elevation and had run over a marathon. The lack of oxygen was real.

The changes in scenery would’ve have been incredible if I’d been in a different mood. Lush forest, the trickle of multiple streams and the roar of unseen waterfalls gave way to a rocky plain which in turn gave way to a boulder field that had me clambering along at a pace snails would be embarrassed by.

As I kept climbing, the route got more technical with a 100m drop to my right into snow covered gully. That’s right, snow. On the 7^th of July. That gives you an idea of how high I was.

From nowhere, three people sat on the side of the mountain started saying something to me in French. It took me a couple of seconds to work out that it was a checkpoint and they were looking for my magnetic tag. Was I at the top?

No.

On the other side of the ridge, the mountain dropped away to reveal a majestic valley which was now in full sunshine. And to one side of that mountain, a small path weaved along before disappearing around a corner.

A couple of photos and I was following it slowly, trying to work out where I was. The checkpoint wasn’t marked on any of the documents I’d read or if it was, I don’t remember seeing it.

And there wasn’t even anything there. Just three people who looked like they had been camping and I’d surprised them as much as they surprised me.

At least the elevation had levelled out and I was able to even run a little bit. That was until I had a shuffle myself through a hole in the rock without falling down the cliff ahead. Even now I’m laughing at how much my body was trying to cramp as I slipped unceremoniously through like a giraffe birth in reverse.

After this brief comical interlude, it was back to the attritional climbing, 280m more metres up through the melting snow fields, over half of which was done along a ridge of rocks with runners heading the other way and off down the mountain.

For me though, the pain and suffering was to slowly continue – up to 47% gradient into Orny aid station was not what I wanted. And the super basic food on offer wasn’t exactly cheering me up either.

To be fair to the committed volunteers who were wrapped up against the whipping wind, I don’t know what it would have taken to cheer me up. Bloody bouillon again. Instead, I went for the tried and tested coke, chocolate bar and fruit. I also went for the highest toilet break that I’ve ever done while not being on a plane. So that was pretty cool.

If you couldn’t tell by now, I was moving very slowly. So slowly in fact that shortly after leaving the aid station, the tail runners were coming up the other way collecting flags. I think I was probably in the last 10 runners in the whole race.

As I headed down the ridge I’d just climbed, a couple of people overtook me. I just didn’t care. With just over four hours left to get to the next station, I had already given up on making it. With the underfoot conditions and decline gradient, I’m not sure I could’ve made it even in top condition.

My only remaining goal was to try and get some enjoyment out of my remaining time if at all possible.

The descent

In front of me I could see the path’s route down to the valley floor, switchbacks snaking from the rocky ridge on which I stood, down past a series of waterfalls, into and then back out of alpine until it disappeared into the woods.

It was slow going and I slipped over and over again on the dusty, gravel path. My poles continued to support me but would get stuck between the larger rocks so even the slow pace was constantly interrupted.

When I signed up to the race, I remember thinking that at least if I was going through hell, the view would be amazing. And I wasn’t wrong.

The further down I slipped and stumbled, the more that the glacier to my right revealed itself, occasionally cracking and echoing across the valley. The chill from the top of the mountain slowly faded away and was replaced by clear blue skies and rising temperatures, hitting 34 degrees.

I had already drunk two 500m flasks on the way down and the additional heat had me sweating with nothing to replace it. It was exposed and still, with only temporary shade on the path from random tree shadows.

I looked at my watch as the next cut off crept up and then passed silently with some distance still to go. I was in full death march mode, West Wing podcast after podcast getting me through and preventing me from even thinking about engaging with the bemused tourists going the other way along the river path.

On my right, the mountains towered over me still, a looming reminder of what I’d been through and what should’ve been to come. I don’t really remember the last few miles, they just blurred together into a slow trudge into La Fouly.

The aid station volunteers greeted me warmly considering I was nearly two hours over the cut off and almost apologetically explained that I would have to withdraw. To get some shade, I lay in the village mail hut and waited for the bus to arrive, pondering where it all went wrong with a cup of lukewarm sparkling water.

But after a bus, two trains, a gondola, some crisps and a beer, I could reflect that I had done 60 kilometres (about a marathon and a half) with over 4000m of elevation gain.

As I said at the beginning, I still don’t think I’m over it mentally and not sure whether I ever will be. This feels like the end for my super long runs. The 100 mile goal was set and met, and I’ve been searching for meaning ever since.

Today I bought a bottle of wine from Valais in Switzerland (where the race took place) to finally finish this blog and perhaps add some closure. If I’d entered the next shortest race on that weekend I would’ve been 16k from the finish and maybe more determined to get there. I’d still have had an amazing experience, got a medal, and it wouldn’t have taken up to two days.

It wouldn’t have consumed so much of my physical and mental capacity for months prior. My running days are a long way from over, I just need to find more balance in life.

Trail Verbier St Bernard is an incredible race. I wanted a challenge that I didn’t know whether I would be able to complete and I found it. I would 100% recommend not only my race, but Verbier in summer for a holiday.

Just don’t try and run 140k around it in two days. The mountains will win.