My Second Time Around at the Tor des Geants 330k -9.8.24

I was only 20 miles into the 2024 Tor des Geants race when I began cursing my coach, Peter. My knees were already starting to bother me, my legs felt trashed, and I still had 200 miles left to go. You see, after last year’s DNF at the Tor, Peter’s focus was to really prepare my quads and knees so that they didn’t break down as they had last time around. This entailed a lot of vert in my training, but also a lot of squats, hard descents, and back-to-back runs on tired legs. Four weeks before the race, Peter had me do the 55-mile Evolution Loop in the Sierra, which ultimately evolved into an FKT with Marie. The run felt good, good enough to run in Yosemite the next day on the way home. We still had time to really seal the deal before taper time, so the following weekend I raced the Tamalpa Headlands 50k. The race went surprisingly well for signing up on a whim and running on tired legs, but I did notice my knees were starting to whine throughout the second half.  The next day, I did another big training day – four summits of Tam – finally calling it a day when my knees screamed “no more.” It was time to start tapering.

In the days that followed, I noticed my knees were not recovering. Specifically, the left knee was very sore and tender to the touch at the knee cap. I worried that I had overdone it. Yuch tried to convince me that it probably wasn’t serious; that I was just obsessing about my knees since they had betrayed me last year. As much as I wanted to believe him, I knew that my last training block had been hard, and I worried that in our attempt to stress my quads and knees, we had overshot. I started to catastrophize, and imagined myself going all the way to Italy unable to run the race, and instead crewing Yuch. Then, something interesting happened. One night I slept really badly. At work, I was completely exhausted. I was so exhausted that the entire day my attention had turned to how tired I was, and my knees no longer bothered me. At that moment, I realized Yuch had been right. My brain had been in full control of turning the pain knob up and down the entire time. I told Peter “Turns out I’m crazy”, to which he responded “Said no ultrarunner ever .”

The plan going into Tor was to enjoy it and to go really easy, easier than what I thought was easy. I also told myself I wanted to be in the moment, instead of anticipating each aid station and rifugio as I had done last year. Another goal was to not act on fear or anxiety. Sometimes when I’m racing I’ll run faster than I should in reaction to the paces of those around me, or based on fear of a bad performance. Instead I wanted to act practically. I wanted to listen to my body. But most of all, I wanted to get to the finish line. Every decision and action I made needed to be in pursuit of that finish line.

Apparently, I had started out so easy that Yuch, Dan, and Marie had bolted ahead from the start. Instead, I ran with Vicky, who was this year’s Tor de Lucas recipient. The rain started shortly after we began the first climb. The forecast had predicted rain for the entire week. I wasn’t worried about it because I didn’t believe that it was possible to rain for an entire week non-stop. Despite my attempt to run easy, my legs were already starting to feel trashed and the pain in my knees had already started to rear its ugly head This was way too early to be feeling this tired. Last year, I remembered feeling this way approximately 100k in but now I was barely even 40k into the race.

I arrived to Valgrisenche exactly one hour later, at 10 pm. It was now raining pretty hard. Arriving at the lifebase, my mind shifted from dropping out to thinking about all that I had to do while I was here – get my follow bag, use the bathroom, procure food, change my clothes, and grab additional fuel from my follow bag. A half hour later , I was leaving the lifebase into the rainy night, too busy taking care of business to consider dropping out.

Initially it was disheartening to learn that Yuch, Dan, and Marie were so far ahead of me. I would probably not catch up with them and was going to spend the race alone. But as I headed out into the night, I thought about my plans and goals going into the Tor. Enjoy the journey. Do not act on anxiety and fear. Be in the moment! I decided it was okay to be alone, that it would be just like it was when I was hiking the PCT. From that moment on, I fully accepted and embraced the solitude.

Unfortunately, I was getting very sleepy. I couldn’t believe it. Only 12 hours in, and already I felt like I was falling asleep on my feet. Last year I lasted 36 hours until my first nap! I had some seriously big cols ahead of me – Col Fenetre, Col Entrelor, and Col Loson. I knew it wasn’t smart to attempt a col in my current sleepy state, so decided to rest at the next rifugio. The next rifugio did not have a place to sleep, though, and I soon learned that a rifugio with a “R” on the timetable meant it only had food, while a rifugio with a “R+A” had sleep accommodations. Between me and the next R+A was Col Fenetre. I took my first half a caffeine pill, which did the trick and got me over the Col. Arriving at Rhemes-Notre-Dame at 63k, I decided I should sleep. I curled up on a cot, covered myself in a blanket, and set my alarm for an hour later. I lay there restlessly but could not sleep. My body was quickly beginning to cool down now that I was not moving, and I was shivering and producing a cold sweat. After 45 minutes of lying there cold and frustrated, I gave up and got up.

On the approach to Col Losson, the highest point on the course (10,800 ft), I met an Italian woman named Katarina. We had been hiking close together when she finally said, “Where are you from?” I had been solo to that point, and welcomed the companionship. She was from Cogne, and had “treated” herself to the Tor for her 30^th birthday present. I was pretty impressed when she told me she had only started ultrarunning a few years ago. She was a good hiker and, in fact, reminded  me a lot of my friend Noemie from the PCT, strong and confident. The most notable thing about Katarina, though, was her heavy black eyeliner, which remained amazingly undeterred by the weather and days on end of, well, existence in the outdoors. Her English was good enough for us to converse, but I knew it was a struggle for her, and I appreciated her efforts since I clearly was not going to attempt her language. We spent the ascent to Col Losson together but on the descent we parted at an aid station where I connected with a fellow American, Lisa. Lisa and I ran the final descent to Cogne together and ultimately caught up with Katarina and two other Americans, Jon and Brent. Arriving to Cogne I thought, maybe I’m not alone after all.

I arrived to Cogne around 4:30 pm on Day 2 – Monday, September 9^th – to find Jan waiting for me. She told me Yuch was inside sleeping and that he welcomed my company on the trail if the timing worked out when I arrived. I couldn’t believe it. I responded with, “My love?! My love is here??” I checked my phone. We had an ongoing What’s App conversation going that included me, Yuch, Dan, Marie, Vicky, Jukka (Vicky’s Finnish friend who was also running), Jan, and Maureen back in Berkeley. Yuch had left a message that he was setting his alarm for 6:45 pm, and Dan had left a message that he was departing Cogne at 4:30 pm. Just then I saw Dan leaving the lifebase. Although he was on his way out, I cannot express how much joy it brought me just to see his familiar face and to know that Yuch was inside sleeping and that I would soon see him, too.

After wolfing down a couple slices of pizza that Jan brought and organizing my hydration pack, I went into the lifebase sleeping room to find a huge auditorium with rows of cots and sleeping runners. I decided to pick a cot that was far off in the corner. Just as I was settling myself in, I heard a familiar cough. It was Yuch! I looked up to see him staring right at me with his sleep mask on. I waved with excitement, wondering how could he see me through his mask? I grabbed my stuff, jumped up and placed myself in the cot right next to him, comforted by the fact that when we woke up we could continue on the trail together.

I had been lying down for one hour, yet I only fell asleep for maybe 15 minutes. Even though I could’ve used the sleep, I had not been that tired upon lying down. When Yuch woke up he was surprised to see me lying right next to him. Apparently he had not seen me through his eye mask as I had thought, even though he had been staring right at me. Unfortunately, he was not ready to go, and still had the arduous task of organizing his pack ahead of him. I secretly wished that I had slept longer and had held off on my pack organizing, but now I was using my time to sit and watch him. I didn’t really care that much though, because I was so happy that we were together. Plus, Jan and I really got a kick out of watching him organize his pack.

As soon as Yuch and I started on the trail together, I told him I could not guarantee that we would be permanent running partners. I told him I had considered dropping at Valgrisenche, and that I was basically going to take it aid station to aid station, not knowing if my knees were going to blow up at some point. On the plus side, I had a positive attitude. I was really happy to be running in these beautiful mountains, and wanted to do as much of it as I could. I would keep going until I couldn’t go any more. I also felt strangely optimistic. Although my knees had started bothering me so early on, they weren’t getting any worse.

The stretch from Cogne to the next lifebase at Donnas is 50 kilometers, but it’s “easier” than the previous stretch with no actual cols. We were leaving Cogne so much later than last year and it was interesting to enter this stretch in the dark so early. On the ascent to Finestra Di Champorcher I turned around to see a string of headlamps zig-zagging up the mountain. It was beautiful. The next couple of nights would become some of the most memorable of the race. The rain had stopped, the sky was clear, and when I turned off my light I could see all the stars lighting the sky up above. I loved the nights. We didn’t spend nearly as much time at Rifugio Dondena as we did last year, nor did it have the same magic and nostalgia as last year. Last year one of my fondest memories was having Shane join us and running well into Donnas. My memory was that the stretch from Dondena to Donnas was very “runnable”. Apparently my memory stinks. For a net downhill section, this part of the course was deceivingly technical. Or maybe it just wasn’t the same without Shane.

I arrived to Donnas around 7:45 am on Day 3 – Tuesday, September, 10^th. Although I had two attempts at a nap, none of them were adequate and I knew I needed some sleep at this point. I also was really beginning to smell like urine. I had brought a ton of Skratch electrolyte powders in addition to their Super high-carb drink mix for supplemental calories, and with the cold weather and overhydration I was having to stop to go to the bathroom a lot. Stubbornly, I did not want to take all this fuel back with me on the plane so I just kept drinking, and therefore kept peeing. I took a shower, changed my clothes, and slept for two solid hours upstairs despite the room being pretty warm, a man snoring loudly next to me, and a fly constantly landing on me. I guess I was tired.

Yuch asked me if I was scared of the next section to Gressoney. This was the section that my knees had broken down on last year, the section that took me 27 long and painful hours to complete. I wasn’t scared. On the contrary, I was excited and curious about what a new experience on this section might look like. I was also excited to see some of the familiar sights – the beautiful vegetable gardens and vineyards on the ascent out of Donnas, the aid station at Perloz with fresh squeezed orange juice and cowbells, La Sassa where we had previously been greeted by a friendly golden retriever and sipped on some beer, and Rifugio Coda where Yuch had discovered he had an overuse injury from using his trekking poles. This time there was no golden retriever, I opted out of the beer, and Yuch’s hands were free of injury. We continued on, reaching Rifugio Barma at sunset and Lago Chiaro in the dark this time. Although we were visiting the same places, they now felt distinct reaching them at different times of the day.

Yuch was starting to get really tired. He had not slept at Donnas as I had and his balance was becoming noticeably altered. At one point I observed him lose his balance as we were rock “hopping” and I told him he was not to stray from my sight. Despite his current state of sleep deprivation and lack of coordination, he was doing remarkably well leading us. We arrived at the aid station at Col della Vecchia just after midnight. Although I was doing fine, I told Yuch we should stop, take a break and reset. I knew he was struggling and some food, caffeine, and rest would be necessary to make it to Gressoney safely. The scene at Col della Vecchia was absolute carnage. One runner was sitting there wearing an oxygen mask. Our friend, Brent, was waiting it out too, as his oxygen saturation had been as low as 85% since Donnas, and every time he started to walk a few steps he would get lightheaded. Just before reaching the aid station, we had passed by a trail of blood on the course followed by bloody tissue paper. I wanted Yuch to reset, but I also wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

The distance from Col della Vecchia to the rifugio at Niel La Gruba is only 5k, but as is everything in the Tor, it is a long and technical descent. Yuch was leading the descent, but had overdressed, so he pulled aside to put his down jacket away. I couldn’t bear to be present for Yuch’s Pack Reorganization for the umpteenth time, so told him I would continue on slowly and had no doubt that he would catch up to me. But, he never did. I started to slow down and eventually saw a waist lamp down the trail behind me. I assumed it was him, since most runners have head lamps, but when the light approached me it was not Yuch. I asked the runner if he had seen Yuch, and although he didn’t speak English it appeared as though he hadn’t. Finally, Yuch came down the trail yelling my name. He was angry at me, but mostly he was scared.

Apparently when Yuch went to put his jacket away, his sleep deprived mind took over. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to put this jacket away. After he finally realized he could put it inside his pack, and use the zipper to close the pack, he started heading down a creek bed instead of the trail. When he realized he was not on the trail, he quickly started panicking. He knew he wasn’t thinking straight and that he needed to sleep, but he didn’t want to sleep without communicating to me of his whereabouts, and he had no way to communicate with me. Sleep deprivation can hit you gradually and you think you can stave it off, but at times it can come on very quickly. You realize you’re starting to dream while you’re awake, objects begin looking like other things, or in Yuch’s case, you start losing your mind.

I felt terrible that I had left Yuch behind, and we both knew he was not going to make it much further without closing his eyes. Right on the side of the trail where we had stopped there was a small rustic shelter. Yuch peered inside and decided he would sleep here. He was so shaken up about what had happened that he adamantly decided he needed to sleep for three hours. Three hours seemed excessive to me but I was not going to argue with the guy after nearly losing him. Plus, I knew there was a nice warm rifugio less than a kilometer down the trail (or so I was told). But, if Yuch was going to sleep, then I should sleep too. Yuch wrapped himself up in his emergency blanket and I crawled into my bivvy sack. After a few minutes of lying on the cold ground I decided I couldn’t sleep there. I was too cold, uncomfortable, and hungry. I told Yuch I was going to continue on to Niel, try and sleep there, and that I wanted him to catch up with me. I helped him get into my bivvy sack, and instructed him to leave his phone on so that I could reach him. I left Yuch once again.

Adrenaline carried me the rest of the way to Niel. There’s no way this is only one kilometer, I thought. What kind of wife am I to leave her new husband alone in a shack? What if he gets hypothermic? Although I felt bad leaving Yuch, I ultimately was glad I left him napping in the hut. It was a longer stretch than I thought. At Niel I found, of course – Jan. I don’t know how Jan manages to crew not one, not two, not three, but FOUR runners at the Tor, but somehow she does. Naturally I was very stressed when I arrived, telling Jan I left Yuch in a bivvy sack and that he was sleeping for three hours. “Three hours?!” She, too, thought it was extravagant. But she sat there and listened to me as I groused and grumbled about the situation. Should I stay there and wait for him? Should I continue? Grousing and grumbling can take a while and so I sat there with a big bowl of polenta and wasted more time. I texted Peter who responded, “He’ll be fine. He’s a big boy.” I considered sleeping but there was an hour wait for a bed. I put my name on a list, but 30 minutes later I took it off. I decided to proceed to Gressoney. Jan told me she would wait for Yuch and persuade him to catch up to me.

I arrived to Gressoney shortly after 9 am on day 4 – Wednesday, September 11^th – two hours earlier than I stumbled in last year. Still, I spent an insane amount of time at Gressoney – five hours to be exact. Let’s see, what all can one do at a lifebase? First I put my name on the waitlist for a massage. Then I attempted to eat some food (even though everything was unappealing to me) and reorganize my pack while waiting for the massage. Then I got the massage. Specifically I wanted my back massaged as it felt like it was carrying the burden of my tension. Yuch arrived and I took a two hour nap. I really liked the sleeping room at Gressoney – a bunch of big pads against a climbing wall vs. individual cots.

I woke up to find Marie just arriving to Gressoney. I was very confused, as I thought she was hours ahead of me. Apparently she had pneumonia, and although she had decided to continue, she would be moving at a slower pace. I had passed her somewhere in the night. We were happy to see each other for the first time since the beginning of the race, and Marie encouraged me to take care of myself as much as possible while I was at the lifebase. As if responding to her comment, I randomly and suddenly decided I should get my feet taped. My feet have never been a problem during ultras, nor were they ever a problem when I thru hiked the PCT in 2016. But watching a bunch of zombie runners around me, walking barefoot around the lifebase in taped up feet, I wondered if I should be worried about my feet. Maybe Marie’s pneumonia got into my head. Perhaps I should take preventative measures and get my feet taped to avoid any future problems. I put my name on the waitlist again, waited again, and then I spent one entire hour getting both my feet taped including every single toe. Yes, it takes thirty minutes to tape one foot, people. It was agonizingly slow and I realized how much time it was taking, but I told myself it was an investment. It would pay off.

The stretch from Gressoney to the next rifugio at Champoluc was a painful one. My feet were killing me. The tape job was not an investment. These people had mummified my feet and all of my toes, and they were now suffocating. Not only were my feet in excruciating pain, but I was still exhausted despite my nap at Gressoney. I was starting to fall asleep on my mummified feet. At Champoluc I tore off all the tape from my toes (which was not easy nor a fast process) per Yuch’s recommendation. Sweet relief! We slept for one hour. We were told two hours was the max, but they might have to wake us up earlier depending on runner demand. Turns out it was a busy time and they indeed woke us up after one hour. I was ok with that, though, because honestly I had no concept of whether I had been sleeping for one hour or two hours. It all felt the same, and I woke up feeling better than when I arrived. We downed more caffeine and continued on, my feet thankful to no longer be dying from suffocation.

The night was cold. A cold front had come in, and we knew it was going to be cold and windy up at the higher altitudes. We put on all our clothes in preparation. This was my first time actually putting on my leggings and down jacket, which had previously been stashed in plastic bags in my pack. A Scottish runner, Kevin, accompanied us into the night, as he did not trust his sleep deprived self to wander down the trail alone. Another beautiful starry night ensued, and we enjoyed the new company heading into the next lifebase at Valtournenche.

I arrived to Valtournenche (147 miles) around 3 am on Day 5 – Thursday, September 12^th. The previous stay and time indulgence at Gressoney had stressed me out, so I told Yuch we needed to start setting time limits for these stops. I planned on sleeping for two hours and leaving at 6 am. It had also become part of the routine to get everything done before sleeping so that when I woke up, I could just get up and go. I multitasked by filling up my soft flasks and preparing my pack for the next section while I was eating. Part of my routine each time I got into a lifebase also included consuming one serving of Cognitive Switch ketones. In my training I had become accustomed to adding this to my coffee in the morning and in my recovery smoothies. I felt it had been a game changer in my recovery, especially for back-to-back runs. When 6 am rolled around, Yuch was not ready to go, but I felt I should be firm with my boundaries, so I told him I would continue on. Although he might not be as efficient through the lifebases, he was a much faster hiker than me and I had no doubt he would catch up with me down the trail.

I had been coughing and blowing my nose since as early as Day 2. Everyone was. I assumed it just came with the territory of breathing in cold high- altitude air while exerting yourself for days on end. But my runny nose seemed to be evolving into a stuffy nose, and my body temperature control seemed to be a little more off. While I was typically fine moving along the trail wearing shorts, I found myself leaving Valtournenche with all my layers on. Yuch eventually caught up to me at the exact moment when I stopped paying attention to the trail and instead started filming a parade of cows. Fortunately the cow herder caught my error, just in time to turn back and catch up with Yuch. Although the Tor is very well marked, there have been several times where I’ve missed a turn for whatever reason. Every time this has happened, a local (either on foot or in a vehicle) has set me straight. EVERY TIME. They may not speak the same language as me, but they appear to be fully aware of the race and its course.

This section involved a lot of clothing changes for me. I was too cold. I was too hot. I was having chills and sweating. My nose was running non-stop. I told Yuch I thought I was getting sick. He said his nose always runs when he’s running in cold temperatures. Although my feet were over the moon after being released from tape the day before, they were beginning to feel swollen and painful to hike on. I had noticed runners at lifebases propping their feet up on top of their follow bags while they slept and decided to try this at Rifugio La Magia. I lay myself down in a bed for 15 minutes with my feet propped up on my hydration pack. Immediately I felt the blood rushing down from my toes and back to my legs. What a difference this made! Emerging back to a vertical position, my legs felt so much better. Why hadn’t I been doing this from the start?

Col de Vessonaz is at 264k, still about 21 kilometers from the next lifebase at Ollomont. As soon as we got to the other side of the col we were blasted by a freezing cold wind. The cold provoked us to move quickly and we descended down the mountain in what I felt (at the time) was the fastest I had moved in my entire life. If you are not a skilled downhill runner when you start the Tor, you sure will be by the end! We had a long descent into the next rufigio at Oyace – approximately 5,000 feet in 10 kilometers. We were now running so continuously and comfortably that I felt I had entered a flow state in which I was flowing well both physically and mentally. At one point, Yuch tripped but caught himself. At the time I thought it was pretty darn funny and started laughing uncontrollably every time he tripped and caught himself, which he continued to do multiple times in a row. Then I tripped and caught myself and nearly peed in my pants laughing. We continued on this way – running, tripping, and me laughing uncontrollably and deliriously but thoroughly enjoying the ride. As we got closer to Oyace, it began to snow, which made us run even faster.

By the time I got to the rifugio at Oyace I was exhausted. Although the previous section had been fun, I had used up a lot of energy having all that fun. Yuch looked at me and commented that I looked sick. I said, “That’s what I’ve been telling you this whole time!” He said yeah he knew, but that was the first time he actually got a good look at me and I looked pretty bad. I was really cold and ate multiple bowls of minestrone soup to warm myself up. I was wiped out and worried that I had a fever, but as is always the case, the goal was to get to the next lifebase. I could rest more when I got to Ollomont. For the time being, though, I would lie down on a cot for 15 minutes with my legs propped up. Little did I know that the next lifebase would not be the most hospitable place to rest.

We arrived to the last lifebase at Ollomont (280 km) on Friday, September 13^th at 12:06 am. I had been on the trail for four and half days and had just 50k to go to the finish. The only problem was that I now was sick. I guess it had been brewing for a while, but it had now reached a low. We ate some food and attempted to sleep for two hours. I had been so grossed out by my clothes that I had taken them all off while I slept. This seemed like a good idea from the start, but turned into a bad idea when I woke up freezing cold and sweating wearing only my underwear. The problem with this lifebase (or at least one problem) was that it was all outside, unlike most of the lifebases which took place in auditoriums or gyms. It was already freezing cold outside (cold enough to snow) and now we were sleeping in a tent with thin canvas walls. In short, it was not a comfortable place to rest. To make matters worse, I felt like I was in a sick bay in a war zone. Nearly every cot had a wool blanket covered body on it and pretty much everyone was coughing as if some kind of deadly plague had been spreading throughout the course.

I saw a medic and found that I had a fever of 101 degrees. She gave me Paracetamol (aka Tylenol) and advised me to continue to sleep, eat and rest. She strongly recommended that I not continue on the trail “at this time” due to the bad combination of the fever and how bad the weather was, but did say that if the fever broke and I waited until the sun came up, I might have a good chance of continuing safely. For the first time since the beginning of the race, when I considered dropping, I realized that completing this course might be out of my control. The weird thing was that my legs had actually felt stronger and more resilient the longer I went. Multiple times along the trail I had envisioned myself crossing the finish line, and my eyes welled up with tears at the thought of it. But my emotions were no longer in charge either, and I was going to continue to do what I had told myself from the start. I was going to do whatever it took to get to the finish line. So, I did what she said and decided to rest. Yuch opted to press on which I was 100% supportive of. There was no guarantee that I would get better and be able to finish, and I didn’t want him to have to wait around for me to DNF. He left into the cold snowy morning at 4 am and I went back to sleep (this time with clothes on).

I woke up two solid hours later feeling like a new woman. Ok, maybe I was the same woman and I was still sick, but my fever had broken and I felt closest to a non-sleep deprived person than I had felt in a long while. The moment I opened my eyes, lying there on the cot in the “sick bay”, I saw Jan standing above me. I had texted her prior to going to sleep and somehow she had found me among the hundred other sleeping coughing bodies in the room. I had a newfound appetite and returned back to the “food tent” hungry for combinations that were not previously appealing to me (for example stale bread w/ Nutella and jam now was very satisfying and nourishing). I multitasked, consuming more calories and caffeine while restocking my hydration pack in anticipation of moving forward. I felt optimistic again.

I left Ollomont at 8 am, eight hours after I had arrived. It was still freezing, and there wasn’t much sun to speak of. I bundled up in every article of clothing that I had, including my buff, with only my eyes exposed to the outside world. The buff had been a valuable piece of gear with the cold weather. It significantly helped mitigate my nose running and also lessened the severity of my chapped lips from the harsh cold and wind. In Ollomont, we were notified that microspikes were mandatory from here on out, although no one checked that I had mine before departure. At the top of Col de Champillon, I put my microspikes on. The mountains were now covered with snow. The microspikes allowed me to easily descend from the col and I actually felt like it was one of my faster and more effortless descents. It would be all downhill and fairly runnable from here to Bosses at 307k.  Enroute to Bosses, I briefly chatted with a woman who asked me if I planned to get to Courmayeur that evening. I remarked that I would love to, but that I wasn’t sure it was in the cards based on my historical pace the last few days.

The approach to Bosses is one of the most runnable sections of the course, and I was now cruising. I passed many runners on the course who could only hike at this point. It had stopped snowing, and I now began to take off all my layers. When I arrived to the aid station, I went through the normal motions – get food, sit down, begin to organize my pack, and take my phone out to assess the timetable and check my messages. I had a message from Yuch. “I’m in Bosses. Trying to decide whether to drop…Saw Jan here. She said you started. I’m going to try to nap so look for me in the sleeping room – it’s possible I’ll still be here”. My spirits rose considerably. I went into the sleeping room to see Yuch bundled up there on a cot. I immediately woke him up and told him we were going to get to the finish together.

The weather actually looked pretty good, although it depended on where you looked. In some directions, it looked like a storm was brewing. In others, it looked like it could be pretty darn nice. As we approached the final ascent to Col Malatra at 2920 meters, the weather seemed to be okay but it was getting very cold the higher we got. At Rifugio Frassati – the last rest stop before the col – I decided to treat myself to a late birthday present, a slice of delicious apple cake that was featured in a glass case at the front desk. It was my first and only purchase during the Tor, although I had carried my credit card with me the entire way. I guess I had finally had it with aid station food. It tasted delicious along with a cup of coffee. Inside this cozy rifugio we could hear the wind howling outside and banging against the windows. It was hard to leave, but necessary to push on.

The final ascent up Col Malatra was beautiful. It was completely covered in snow and I put my microspikes on again preemptively to avoid having to stop and risk getting too cold later on. The descent was so beautiful, and I knew our time on the trail would soon be coming to an end, so I took my phone out to capture the snow covered trails with Yuch in the distance. Unfortunately it was so cold that my phone had turned itself off.

After Malatra, the trail descends then ascends again briefly to a very rustic aid station. We stopped only to get our bracelets scanned and kept moving. It would be all downhill to Courmayeur. We no longer needed caffeine, fuel, or shut-eye because we were moving forward with adrenaline and joy. Despite my previous skepticism, we were actually going to make it there that night. We spent the evening soaking in the remaining beauty of the Tor and the beauty and resilience of being a human who can carry themselves long distances on their own two feet.

We saw the city lights of Courmayeur long before we were anywhere near it. Although I had told myself at the start that I was going to be in the moment, anticipating the finish line of a 220 mile race is a hard time to be in the moment. In retrospect, it was no different than any of the other descents into towns, long and relentless. Yuch and I were running fast down that final descent, as if this was my final test. Can I make it down this rocky rooty descent on this sleep deprived body without falling? Nope. Failed! I was moving so fast I slipped and fell on my arm. I picked myself up and kept going, trying to keep up with Yuch. Finally, after what seemed like forever, we arrived in town for the final stretch. It was night time now and I imagined most of the town tucked into their homes and beds, sleeping snugly. But as we approached the finish line there were still plenty of people left to cheer us in. We finished at 9:47 pm on Friday, September 13^th, having been on the trail for 131 hours and 47 minutes.

The finish line seemed anticlimactic. I did not crawl over the finish line collapsing to the ground in exhaustion with tears streaming down like I had anticipated. I think I was still in go-go-go mode, and my while my body was happy to be done, my mind was still going, ready to solve the next problem to come along. Luckily for me, we still had a couple more tasks left in the evening: walk across town to pick up our luggage from the hotel we were storing it at, have dinner with Dan, Vicky, and Jan (while still smelling like urine), and check into our new Airbnb. The final task was the most challenging, but Yuch and I joined together our delirious brains to locate the correct apartment room. Side note: Google directions was not super helpful, so we were following turn by turn pictures that the host had sent us. When we finally got to what we felt was the correct floor, there were two doors to choose from. I asked Yuch, “well what does the name say on that door?” He responded with, “There is no name. There’s just a moose!” While every other door in the apartment had the name of the resident on it, our Airbnb door solely had a stuffed Christmas moose attached to it. I laughed continuously that night at that line, but in the end we found the correct spot (the one with the moose) and were both relieved to take a shower and get into a fresh bed that had not been previously inhabited by a dirty runner.

It is three weeks later, and I am still soaking in the nostalgia of the Tor des Geants. I want to share the experience with others, but it is impossible. You had to be there to believe it. I’ve spent a lot of time pondering: what is it about the Tor des Geants that makes it so special? I’ve arrived to two thoughts.

One, as ultrarunners we want to challenge ourselves. Each time we toe the line at a race, we are presented with challenges for us to overcome. The Tor des Geants has all of those challenges and more wrapped up in one intense race. While a given 100-mile race might throw two to three obstacles in your direction, the Tor will throw every obstacle you’ve ever had in every race you’ve ever done, and a few more. It is the test to make sure you’ve been paying attention this whole time. Because you cannot just skip over problems during the course of 220 miles through the Italian Alps. They must be addressed along the way with the utmost care if you are to succeed. It is these challenges and having the privilege of overcoming them that provides the reward that we all really want in the end: the knowledge that we are stronger than we think we are, especially in the face of adversity.

Second, I think that community, connection, and shared experiences is truly one of the most valuable gifts of living life. There have been many times that I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise; that I can be happy on my own. When I set out to hike the PCT in 2016, I wanted to do it alone, to see what I was made of. In the end, it was the people I met along the trail, the relationships that were formed that gave that journey value. I found the same in the Tor. This journey would not be the same if it were experienced alone.

Around 2,000 volunteers are used to organize this race and some might even contest that these volunteers have just as hard of a job if not harder than the runners, withstanding freezing cold temperatures at some remote aid station on the top of a mountain simply to help us be successful. I mentioned Jan Horan before. She crewed five of us runners, driving back and forth at all times of the day and night, getting very little sleep herself (if any) to help us get from A to B in one piece. She brought me pizza, gave me her gloves when I lost mine on the trail, did our dirty laundry, made me eggs when I couldn’t stomach anything else at the lifebase, but mostly she gave us love by just being there.

The Tor is not an individual experience or effort. Yes, it is technically a race, but in the end every single person out there is helping each other to move forward, whether they speak the same language or not, and most of the time they don’t. In the end, the Tor is an opportunity to collectively work together towards a shared goal. It is an opportunity to be vulnerable and to graciously welcome the aid of others. It is an opportunity to connect with others when you are most exposed. It is an opportunity to remember what life is truly about, connection and relationships. Without that, there is no value.

That Sunday at the awards ceremony, every finisher was celebrated as we walked across the stage starting from the last finisher to the first finisher. I saw multiple people at the ceremony that I had seen at some point on the trail. Some I had run with, some I had simply seen hobbling into lifebases looking like zombies, but I felt an intense connection with each of them, as we had all travelled long and far both physically and mentally to get to that stage. I felt an immense gratitude to the volunteers for their service. When it came time for the first female finisher to walk up to the stage, she stopped, reached her phone out of her pocket, and took a photo of all of the finishers that sat before her. I could tell she was not interested in patting herself on the back for finishing first, but in fact she was in complete awe of all that had completed that loop behind her. I think we all felt that shared connection that day, sitting together reflecting on the journey we had just endured. In a time when we spend so much time isolated and alone, with little time to see others, the Tor is an opportunity to do hard things together, to look out for each other when things get even harder, and to realize that experiences are most valuable when they are shared.

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