My Last Tor des Geants (for now) – 9.14.25

I recently listened to an episode of Hidden Brain, with psychologist Jonathan Adler, that talked about the power of storytelling as a way of reflecting on our past experiences. He commented that Americans historically are drawn to stories of redemption, as it helps us reframe or justify experiences, especially when they may have not gone the way we had envisioned them. In this way, we can make sense of our experiences in a more positive transformational light. Everyone loves a redemption story. But what about a story in which there is no redemption…a story in which nothing special happens, or even more extreme – a downer of a story with a grouchy main character and a blase ending? No one wants to hear that story. Right?

After this year’s Tor des Geants, I’ve struggled to put into words my feelings towards my race. I’ve drawn a blank when people have asked me “So…how was it?” My answers have consisted of “hard, long, exhausting, crazy”, but (a) it took me a long time to answer, and (b) none of my answers have exactly been “positive”, like they were the last two years. So instead of telling my story, I instead chose to shove it aside. I guess I felt a little bit of shame that I didn’t have the perfect story to present. But after listening to this podcast, I’ve finally decided to start writing down some thoughts. Every story deserves to be told, even if it’s not the prettiest one.

I knew going into this year’s race that I was not going to do the Tor again in 2026. I already have my heart set on the Andes 100k in Peru in August and there’s only so much PTO and money that I have for international travel. Plus, after spending the last two years in Italy for the Tor and the previous year in Switzerland for Swiss Peaks, I’ve decided it’s time for something else. I had this feeling during the race that I might not see the Tor for a while, but it wasn’t until later on that I realized this with more certainty.

When asked about my goal for this year, I told my friend: “to finish”. Most people might strive for a PR when doing a race a second or third time, but that’s the weird thing about the Tor: it is not a normal race. To strive for a PR assumes a finish, and in my mind a finish at the Tor is never a guarantee, even for the best runners. My main goal for this year was Western States, and I trained hard for a good race there. Finishing the Tor would just be the cherry on top to what I felt was already a successful racing year. Upon further introspection, I told Peter my goals were to (1) not get sick (as I have the last two years), 2) be more efficient at aid stations and lifebases, and 3) not stress out.

Prior to the race, I made myself a little “Note to Future Brainless Self”, a.k.a. a cheat sheet on things to do when I got into lifebases. It doesn’t seem that hard to remember what to do, but you’d be surprised how clueless and spacy one can get when going days on end without sleep. Here is my cheat sheet:

I also made myself a short note on my phone, with lifebase arrivals and departures from last year and goals for this year, based on shorter lifebase stays. I lined up at 10 am on Sunday, September 14th, perhaps a little more physically and mentally prepared having attempted this race the two previous years.

As the race unfolded, I was comfortably arriving and departing from the lifebases earlier than last year. I didn’t feel that I was running faster. I was running smart and decided I would go easy on the descents at least until I made it to Gressoney. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake as 2023 when I potentially compromised my quads on the descents, but I also didn’t feel the need to be as conservative as last year.

Ascent to Col Losson. Zoom in to see the tiny runners

I mostly ran alone. Yuch was ahead of me and the gap between us would continue to grow throughout the race. I was really happy for him. Although it can be helpful to have a partner to run with, I think it’s also really important to run your own race (if you can even think of Tor as a race) and listen to your body. Although I spent brief amounts of time (less than an hour) with various runners throughout the race, this year’s Tor was mostly a solo experience. This was a huge contrast to the last two years in which I spent pretty large amounts of time with Yuch and/or other runners that I met on the course.

Descent from Col della Vecchia, Niel bound

Even though I enjoy my time alone in life and in running, there will always be a part of me that craves and needs social connection. At each lifebase I would turn on my phone and read the current Whats App conversation between our group of runners on the course. This was enough to fill that need. Just knowing my friends were out there on the course, struggling and persevering, helped me to know that I was not doing this alone. Additionally, the Whats App group served as a support group/pseudo-crew for me. Those who were not racing (Maureen, Jan, Nate, and Sarah) provided encouragement, and when I discovered blisters on my toes in Valtourneche, Maureen told me to “pop them, tape them, and slap your socks back on”: simple but useful advice for someone who has never dealt with precarious blisters before!

My loneliness that I didn’t know existed became apparent on the second-to-last day as I was making the climb out of Oyace en route to Ollomont. I had been starting to feel negative the previous evening when, on the descent from Fenetre Du Tsan (252k in), a runner blazed past me at lightning speed, followed by more runners descending so fast I began to wonder if I was standing still. I soon realized that these were not 330k runners, but 100k runners! Tor has a 100k distance, but I had no idea that it overlapped with our race. If this was the case last year, I clearly hadn’t noticed. I soon began to feel resentment towards these fresh flashy runners. Here we had been moving along at a snail’s pace going on our fourth night without sleep with the unspoken bond between us that this was fucking hard, and these runners had now completely changed the vibe on the trail. The trail was now a race course.

When I arrived at Rifugio Lo Magia, I found it inundated with 100k runners and their crews. It was packed! I had to squeeze my way in to get food and tea because runners were standing several people deep in front of the aid station table. I was really tired but decided to press on. This place was so crowded and Rifugio Cuney was only a few kilometers down the trail. Rifugio Cuney is perhaps one of the tiniest “rifugios” on the course, but they amazingly are able to fit quite a lot; a table with benches, a small kitchen, and a room with double bunks stacked up three high. One of my favorite things about the Tor is the nights, and this year with the good weather the nights were so beautiful with the only lights coming from the stars and the runners’ headlamps. However, as I got further into the race, the nights were becoming less and less enjoyable and more and more mentally challenging as I struggled with sleep deprivation. I ended up sleeping at Rifugio Cuney for 30 minutes, but was shocked to find 100k runners taking up bunk space in this tiny rifugio with limited space.

Needless to say, I was eager to get to Oyace after my nap. The sun had come up. I decided if my knees had made it this far, it should be ok to stash my poles and take advantage of the downhills finally. Plus, I had fond memories of running this stretch with Yuch last year. For the first time in the race, I started pushing it on the downhill to Oyace.

On the climb out of Oyace my grouchiness came to a head. At the beginning of the Tor everyone is so closely packed together, but as the days go on, people get more and more spread out. However, the arrival of the 100k runners had bunched everyone back up again and it was giving me anxiety having these resource-taking people surrounding me. At this point, I had grown extremely annoyed with the 100k runners and with the poop on the trail.

Yes, you heard me right. The poop on the trail. In 2023 during my first Tor, I noticed poop and toilet paper left on the trail for the first time. Yuch, Shane, and I joked that there was a “serial pooper” ahead of us on the trail and laughed about it later. But this year was different. This year showed me that this was not just one person, but most people defaulting to going to the bathroom and leaving their toilet paper right smack on the trail.

I began to retreat into my head, to a place where I could and would never understand other people who do things differently than me. Is it SO hard to step off the trail and dig a hole? Are you SO entitled that you can just shit on the trail and ruin it for everyone else behind you? Do you REALLY need to sleep during a 100k? My lack of understanding of other people turned into a complete lack of faith for people more generally. This is when I first came to the realization that it would be extremely difficult to do this race again.

Ironically, nothing had actually gone wrong to this point. I was making good time and my legs felt good. Yes they were tired, but each time I rested and/or ate, I felt completely recovered and new going back on the trail. The sleep deprivation was difficult, but I was doing my best to manage it as best as I could. I could have eaten more, but my nutrition was going fine. But it was at this point that things started to change. On that final ascent to Col Brison, my knee started to bother me with each step up. Even worse, the descent was painfully slow, and I began to have memories of my DNF in 2023. I began to catastrophize and wonder if I really wanted to continue an entire 50k after Ollomont, with the possibility that it could take me as long as 28 slow and painful hours.

On the descent to Ollomont I came across a woman with tons of kinesio tape all over her legs. She was moving even slower than I was. I commented, “It looks like you have the same problem as I do!” She responded, “What? You’ve been on the trail for days on end without any sleep either?” I laughed and said that it looked like she was more specifically having similar knee problems as me. She said she had “knee problems, feet problems, quad problems, pretty much problems with everything”. Talking to her and realizing that she was much worse off than I really put things in perspective. In contrast, I actually had very few problems. I couldn’t believe that she was seriously not just considering but planning on duking it out to the end at that pace.

When I arrived in Ollomont, I still was not feeling great about continuing. I was worried about my knee getting worse and it being a painful slog to Courmayeur. I had already finished this race last year. What did I have to prove? That I could suffer? Plus I was starting to feel sick. Again. For the third year in a row.

In order to meet my goal of “not getting sick again”, I had masked at work for the month prior to the Tor, masked on the plane, masked at bib pickup, and just overall tried my best to practice good sanitization. I also utilized a buff around my mouth at the higher and colder elevations to minimize the risk of developing the ubiquitous “Tor cough”. There were times that I noticed the urge to cough as I got higher and the urge decreasing as I descended, showing me that not all conditions are created equal when it comes to stressing the lungs, and that I had some control in the situation by modifying my pace. My cough actually was not as bad as previous years and I only found that it increased as I got to higher altitudes and colder temps. Now in Ollomont though, I felt like I was actually getting sick. Again, I started to freak out that this last stretch was going to be very unpleasant if I chose to continue.

The What’s App group urged me to rest and told me that I had tons of time. I really hadn’t planned on resting in Ollomont. In fact, I wanted to spend as little time as Ollomont as possible since last year I had spent enough time for both years put together (8 hours total). But then I thought, ok Megan let’s just spend some time taking care of yourself right now and then see how you feel. First, I decided to take a shower because I smelled like urine, sweat, and blood. Ok, I don’t know if blood has a smell but I had gotten my period at Rifugio Coda and while I was grateful that a Volontor had a couple of maxi pads to give to me, I haven’t sat in a pad of my own blood since high school so it only added to my grossness. After my shower, I ate and visited the massage people hoping they could give me some helpful solutions to my knee problem. They couldn’t do anything but slap a bunch of kinesio tape on me like they had everyone else, but part of me was starting to feel a little bit more optimistic. I texted with Garret who said maybe the kinesio tape would work if I believed it did and encouraged me to continue on, saying that if shit really hit the fan I could always drop at Bosses. The castastrophizing had been reduced to a more manageable “one step at a time, let’s see what happens” kind of mindset that I could deal with.

That last 50k was hard. It was hard going into the last night knowing that Yuch would be finished before midnight, but I would be continuing to slog through the mountains with the other zombies until morning. My hallucinations to this point had been mild – mostly auditory, and the visual ones were simply distortions of reality. Despite this, I felt like I was losing my mind. The night seemed to go on and on. The flags seemed to go on and on. At times I wondered if the trail would ever end, or if the bright yellow reflective flags would just continue on forever. There was no one to share my thoughts with which made me feel even crazier. Those who I attempted to share my thoughts with could not understand.

When I arrived at the final checkpoint, Rifugio Bertone, I knew I needed to lie down and shut my eyes for ten minutes. On the approach, the trail had turned into a flowing stream of water beneath my feet and I was finally beginning to have full on visual hallucinations. I wasn’t scared, but I knew that I needed some brain repairs before continuing on that final descent. Seven minutes of shut eye seemed to do the trick and I stumbled down the trail to the finish line, finishing at 7:45 am on Friday. I had finished in 117 hours and 45 minutes; 14 hours faster than last year.

Despite my attempts to not get sick, I got sick anyway. It’s unclear if I got sick on the trail or if my immune system was so broken down that I quickly picked something up afterwards, but I felt like I was getting sick on the trail and was sick for two weeks following the race. My goal to be more efficient at aid stations worked. I spent at least 7 hours less time at lifebases this year. My “running” time can’t have been much different, but perhaps it reflected less time at aid stations between lifebases. As for the stress…it reared its ugly head when I started getting annoyed with the 100k runners and the poop.

I can’t say I “enjoyed” this year’s Tor. I enjoyed seeing parts of the course in the daylight that I had previously experienced in the dark. I was happy to spend 14 fewer hours as a zombie. I was happy to feel mostly strong, resilient, and able to solve problems that came up. However, I did not enjoy losing my mind and having no one to bring me back to reality. I don’t mind being alone for the most part, but I do feel like if I had someone with me to share the experience perhaps I would have seen the beauty beyond what I felt was ugly. Plus, friends make everything better. Lastly, I don’t enjoy the long term effects of sleep deprivation that carry on months later. It is because of these feelings that I have that I held off on sharing this blog. Because if I can’t say I had a “good” experience, what do I say?

I considered writing the Tor race committee after my first Tor, to comment on the poop on the trail but never did. After this year’s race, when I commented on the poop, people seemed to either not want to talk about it or wanted to focus on the positive pretty things. I get it. But, if no one wants talk about it we all get to see more of it! So, I wrote the following letter to the race people. This letter pretty much sums up my feelings towards this race and my experience this year.

To whom it may concern,

I have run the Tor des Geants the last 3 years. It is a very special race to me. In 2023, I dropped at Gressoney after realizing that it would be impossible for me to continue on with knees that could no longer bend. Even though I did not finish the race, I still felt like a winner as it took a lot of determination strength and grit just to get to my finish line at Gressoney! My boyfriend at the time stuck by me as I painfully and slowly inched my way down the trail even though he thought I should take a helicopter down the mountain. After the race, he ended up proposing to me, making the trip an even more special memory that I would always look back at fondly.

In 2024, we again tackled the Tor – now as a married couple. Even though we opted to run our own races from the get-go, we ended up together at multiple times during the race, ultimately crossing the finish line together.

I knew it would be difficult for me to not sign up for the Tor again in 2025. However, both years I have run it, I have never gotten in through the lottery and have had to buy a charity or eco bib. In 2025, my husband got in through the lottery (again), and I did not (again). For the third year in a row, I purchased a charity/eco bib! I guess you could say, I had become a Tor addict! Addicted to the beauty of the course, the epic challenge, the love and support from the Volontors, the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment after surviving something so difficult!

During this year’s race, it became clear to me that this will probably be my last time running the Tor, and I wanted to share with you why. This year the poop, toilet paper, and trash on the trail was simply overwhelming. In 2023 and 2024, I noticed poop and toilet paper on the trail and thought it odd, as this was something I have never seen before on the trail coming from the United States. However, the amount suggested it belonged to only one or two negligent runners. This year, the amount of feces and toilet paper on the trail was overwhelming, as if the trail had become the default place to go to the bathroom. I even saw one runner poop right in front of me, wipe his behind, and toss the toilet paper to the side without any shame. I cannot tell you how much this negatively affected my experience this year.

As I have said before, the Tor is a very special race to me. It is special because it is beautiful. It is special because it is wild. It is special because the Volontors put so much love and support into helping (or should I say enabling?) each runner to get to the finish line. It is special because the organizers put so much dedication and meticulous work into making sure the runners are taken care of and have the things they need to move forward along the course. Every detail down to the cell phone charging stations with volunteers meticulously documenting the runner who belonged to each piece of technology! I was especially amazed by the organization and separation of the various types of waste – compost, landfill, and recycling – at each aid station and the time and care that the volunteers took to separate all the waste!

It is this dichotomy that really made me feel terrible about all the waste and trash on the trail. The runners are given this beautiful pristine trail in the Aosta valley with dedicated volunteers along the way taking care of their every need, and in return the runners shit on the trail and leave their trash behind.

In the United States we have something called “Leave no Trace”. Those who use the trail whether it be runners, hikers, backpackers, do their best to not only make sure the trail is how they found it, but even BETTER than how they found it. Trash is to be carried out. If someone has to use the bathroom, they go off the trail and dig a hole.

It seems that it has become not only common for Tor runners to leave waste and trash on the trail, but it has become acceptable. I have not seen any mention of discouragement of this behavior on the website or any announcements by the organizers. I realize this is not the easiest thing to enforce, but I do think it is important to have some kind of policy or statement reprimanding those who participate in this behavior. The continuation of this without any kind of acknowledgement that this is unacceptable and reprimandable suggests a lack of respect for the trails, those that use the trails, and those that dedicate countless hours to supporting the Tor runners.

I finished this year’s race 14 hours faster than last year, and once again left Italy a changed person! However, I’m not sure I will go back to the Tor as I was too disappointed and disgusted by the state of the trails. This is heartbreaking to me because the trails of the Aosta valley are so beautiful, but the thing is they are not as beautiful when they are littered with waste.

I hope that the Tor organizers will consider adding some kind of statement in their Regulations and race emails regarding trail ethics, specifically regarding human feces and toilet paper (beyond “don’t leave rubbish”). In my mind, if this is not clearly written and discouraged, it may as well be considered acceptable by the race. I hope that one day the conditions on the trail will improve and that I can come back to this beautiful race!

Me, Jan, and Yuch the day after I finished

From Left to Right: Maureen, Laura, Marie, Yuch, Jan, Me, Mat, and Colleen

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.

Start of the 2024 Tor des Geants. Photo by Marie Van Zandt

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.

Dan and I embrace at Cogne, 104k in. I will not see him again until the finish!

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.

Marie and I share some time on the trail leaving Gressoney

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.

Look – a cow parade! I was so busy taking this picture that I missed the turn on the left.

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?

Ascent to Fenetre du Tsan. Yuch wonders why he’s wearing so many layers, while I begin to have chills

Descent from Fenetre du Tsan to Rifugio Magia

Reflecting on how crazy steep that last descent was

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.

Leaving Ollomont. I hope I don’t get cold…

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.

Finish line with Dan who finished earlier that day

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.

Jan and I attempt a Canon in D duet. Photo by Vicky Oswald

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.

From left to right: Dan, Vicky, Jan, me and Yuch

Tor des Geants 330k – 9.10.23

I had a lot of concerns going into the Tor des Geants 330k. Would the course be too formidable for a big scaredy cat like me? Would I make it out alive without falling off some precipitous descent? Would I be able to gracefully handle days on end of sleep deprivation? Would Yuch and I survive 100+ hours together without tearing each other’s heads off? I never once thought that the biggest barrier to finishing the race would be my physical condition.

You see, my body has always been quite sturdy. I thru hiked 2,600+ miles of the Pacific Crest Trail in 2016. In 2019 I ran for 24 hours in circles around Chrissy Field in San Francisco with the most painful part of the experience being when I stopped. I may not be fast, but I’ve always felt strong when it came to the long game. On the other hand, my anxiety has always been a limiting factor when facing anything new, daunting, and well “scary”. Scary being any situation in which I could possibly harm myself or die. Going into the 2023 Tor des Geants, I worried that while my body might hold up, my mind might not. In contrast, I worried that Yuch’s physical body may not hold up. I’ve seen him at the end of 100-mile races and it’s not pretty. I also worried about our relationship. I wanted us to run together, but how compatible would we be when it came to his sleep issues and my fear of well, everything? I imagined us at a sleep station, me ready to go, and him going through his 30-minute teeth brushing routine. When he joined me on the PCT in 2016, we got into some terrible fights surrounding my inability to compromise with another human being who is different than I am. We had now been together for 9 years…would I be the same person who I was back then? Could we complete 330 kilometers in the Italian alps while keeping our relationship in tact?

The Tor des Geants aka Tour of Giants aka the TOR is a 330 kilometer tour (approximately 205 miles give or take) of the Aosta Valley starting and ending in Courmayeur, a beautiful north Italian village at the foot of Mont Blanc. It is easiest to wrap your head around this monumental voyage by dividing it into seven sections, with each section being approximately 50 kilometers of ups and downs in the mountains bookended by big refreshment/aid stations called “life bases”. At the life base, runners can recharge batteries (literally and figuratively), stock up on food, get a massage, sleep, and take a shower. Essentially it’s a part of the course where you can do all the things that you couldn’t do up in the mountains, and get all the things done you need to get done before going back up into the mountains. Not to mention, if you are going to drop from the race, the life base is where you do it. Dropping out in the mountains is not really an option, unless you want to request a helicopter pickup. Sprinkled in between each life base are smaller aid stations – huts and rifugios where food, hydration, and minimal aid are available. Some have sleeping options, too. There could be between three and nine aid stations between each life base depending on the section, and how many mountain passes or “Cols” it has. The big goal of the TOR is to get back to Courmayeur within 150 hours, but the smaller goal is to get to the next life base. The even smaller goal is to get to the next aid station in between life bases. One foot in front of the other.

The yellow line follows the TOR330 course

My TOR journey started in January 2023 when I applied for the Tor des Lucas scholarship. The scholarship was created following Lucas Horan’s tragic death with the purpose of selecting one lucky person to train for and execute Lucas’ favorite race, the Tor des Geants 330k race around the Aosta Valley in Italy, in honor of Lucas. The scholarship provides financial support (race entry + travel stipend) as well as coaching from Peter Fain, Lucas’ former coach and previous RD of the Castle Peak 100k. I got the scholarship. Yuch decided if I/we were going to fly all the way out to Italy for me to do this race, he might as well tag along. He had also been interested in doing the race and it only made sense to do it all in the same year.

Getting into the TOR is not as easy as just signing up. Like many popular races these days, there is more demand than there are spots, so a lottery is held. Yuch got chosen in the lottery, but I did not which meant I would have to spend an extra $1000 to purchase a charity bib. Charity bib secured. Now all that was left was the training.

Peter told me he would coach me not just for the TOR, but also for every race I had leading up to it. This ended up including the Lake Sonoma Women’s Half Marathon, the Dipsea, and the Beaverhead 100k. We started by building up my aerobic capacity, working on my speed, and laying down the strength training groundwork for a strong core and upper body. Heading into the summer, the focus turned to weekend adventures in the mountains, running with a fully loaded pack, vert, nailing my nutrition, mastering trekking poles, and running on tired legs. When Peter first started coaching me, I had been battling a year long bout of plantar fasciitis that was long gone by now. I had also overcome a hamstring injury from spring soccer. My body felt strong.

Approaching race week, I talked to Peter about my strategy. I expressed my concern about running with Yuch, and also about running without him. Peter’s advice was to run our own races. If it worked out that we ended up going the same pace while running our own races then we could embrace it, but until then we should be flexible aka “Operation Slinky”. Yuch was agreeable to the plan.

A lot happened the week before race week. I secured a new job at Marin Health, the job that I’d wanted since the moment I secured my graduate degree. I quit my job at HeartWorks, the job that I had loved for the last year and a half. The new job was significantly closer to home and would pay me a lot more. I felt invincible. Every decision that I had made since grad school was in pursuit of this job at Marin Health. I finally got my dream job and now I was going to do this epic race.

Although it was our preference to take public transportation, we rented a car in Geneva that we would drive to the race start and finish in Courmayeur. This was due to the Chamonix-Courmayeur tunnel closure that was conveniently occurring after UTMB, but before the TOR. The closure of the tunnel meant there would be no trains to Courmayeur. Instead we would be forced to take a very long detour by car.

In Geneva, we were able to see my friend Noemie, and her two kids. We then drove to Chamonix, aka Disneyland for trail runners, where we spent two nights taking in the scenery (but only doing one very easy run) and seeking last minute TOR items such as sunscreen (for me) and a Gatorade substitute (for Yuch). Both were surprisingly difficult to find. Do these people not use sunscreen?? Yuch ended up finding a sports drink that he later would find revolting. I would later settle on a small tube of overly priced sunscreen at an athletic store in Courmayeur.

In the end, the tunnel was open allowing us a quick trip from France to Italy. Our Airbnb in Courmayeur was pretty close to the Sports Center, where the TOR expo was, but a short drive to the town center. The day before the race the plan was to pick up our bib and drop off our follow bags at the expo. The follow bags are big duffel bags that runners can pack with necessities that they might need along the course. They would be available to us at every life base. My follow bag included an extra set of running clothes, extra socks, extra pair of shoes, a long sleeved shirt, a light weight hooded mid layer, extra Light Belt batteries, two extra headlamps, a phone charger, two portable phone chargers, soap in the event that I wanted to shower, a small towel, toothpaste and toothbrush, two big bags of potato chips, several bags of gummy candies, extra Skratch electrolyte packs, and some energy bars. Let me ask you this: Does this seem like too much, too little, or just the right amount of items for a follow bag? Read on to find out…

Unfortunately the bib pickup was not a fast process as there was a huge queue of runners ahead of us waiting to pick up their bibs. We grabbed a number and after realizing we would be waiting there for hours, we decided it made the most sense to wait it out at the Airbnb. We ended up parking the rental car at the Sports Center since we actually had found a spot that we weren’t so sure would be available later in the day. Where we would park this rental car while we were out on the course for an entire week without getting ticketed or towed had been a huge worry of Yuch’s, so it was a massive sigh of relief to have this problem solved. The only downside being we would now have to walk back to our Airbnb, back to the Sports Center, back to the Airbnb, and to the race start in the town center the next morning. That’s a lot of walking before running 330 kilometers. Or is it?

Leaving the Sports Center we ran into Jan Horan, Lucas’ mom who offered to drive us back to the Airbnb, and anywhere else we needed to be shuttled. Jan had come to crew Lucas when he ran the TOR in years past, and now it has become a tradition to come out to the race and support the scholarship recipient. She ended up giving us a ride back to the Airbnb and offered to pick us up in the morning to take us to the race start.

Yuch makes a last minute bakery purchase before the race start

At the race start we immediately located Shane. Oh wait, I haven’t told you about Shane. I know, I know. You’ve been reading this far and I’m still not even at the race yet, but you must know about Shane! We first met Shane after the 2022 Swiss Peaks 100k. We were on the train the next morning after the race and started talking to another runner who had done the 360k, and he just so happened to be from San Rafael. What are the odds? I asked Shane who he ran with. Tamalpa? SFRC? Anyone we know? He replied, “no one”. I guess we left it there. Maybe we would see him sometime, running with no one, somewhere…in Marin.

Fast forward a year later. Yuch and I are training for the TOR by going up one of the steepest ascents to Tam. A trio of runners are coming down and one of them remarks at my t-shirt, “Swiss Peaks!” We meet Shane again but this time exchange numbers after learning he too is training for the TOR. As we got closer to the race, we exchanged itineraries and phone numbers. Yuch and I kept our U.S. phone numbers (only $100/month through Verizon international travel plan), but Shane had gotten an international phone number. As it turned out, something went awry with the phone number and he was unable to use his phone over there, and we were unable to reach him. But that’s okay, because what we would soon learn is that Shane always seems to appear, even when you least expect him. For example, when we went to the bib pickup at the expo, we had only just arrived when bam – out of 1,200 other runners tightly packed in a gym, there was Shane. That was when he told us he was unreachable by phone. We hung out for a bit and concluded that hopefully we would run into him again. And we did, the very next morning at the race start.

The race started at 10 am on September 10^th on the bustling street of Via Roma in the Courmayeur town center. There was so much noise and fanfare, it was as if were out to do something EPIC, and we were! We met a gentleman who said he had run the TOR eight times. I thought, wow – he must really love this race. I think I will be happy to do it once. Any advice, I asked? He responded, go easy on the downhills.

Departing Courmayeur – photo courtesy of Jan Horan

Leaving the town center the course merges on to a single trail, going straight up hence a huge bottleneck. I didn’t mind though, because we had plenty of miles ahead of us, and plenty of time to do it in.

Courmayeur to Valgrisenche

Total distance and elevation gain: 48.55 k, 4048 m (13,280 ft)

I felt fantastic the first 50k. From the start to the first life base in Valgrisenche there were three cols, but who’s counting? It was pretty warm that first day, but I felt solid. As planned, Yuch and I traveled at our own paces. Each time I arrived at an aid station, Yuch was just leaving and would look back to me and give a friendly wave. This was a good compromise. If we weren’t going to be running together, at least we were close and aware of each other’s whereabouts.

Two hours in. A long ascent up Col ARP – 8,422 ft

Descending into the village of La Thuile, 19k and 3.5 hours in

At the aid stations I grabbed bread, cheese, and dried fruit. I was pleasantly surprised when I got to the first aid station that had more real food options, polenta squares! Mmm, I could get used to this.

Rifugio Deffeyes – 28k and 6 hours in. Almost 2.9 miles/hr thus far!

Going up one of the early cols, I ran into Shane. He had stopped at the “side” of the trail, which at the time was a steep switchbacky trail up. He was curled up in a ball (upright) and had his hood on with his face barely visible. He did not look good. He said he was having trouble with the altitude, but would be fine so I kept moving on. I worried about him. If he was having trouble now, would he be able to do this?

Col Passo Alto – 9,370 ft – Getting ready for a good descent 30k in

Col de la Crosatie – 9,258 ft – 36k and 9ish hours in

I don’t know if I was surprised by the terrain yet or not. The ascents were steep, so you just hiked. Easy enough. The descents were steep, too, but seemingly runnable. I passed by many runners on the descent to the first life base at Valgrisenche. They seemed to be going downhill unusually slow and skiddishly. Meanwhile, I felt great and was flying. I thought about what the runner had told us at the start. Go easy on the downhills. I thought I was going easy. But was I going easy enough?

It was just starting to get dark as I approached Valgrisenche. I located my follow bag, but what the heck did I want from it? It was completely packed to the brim and difficult to locate items which I had segregated into individual ziplock bags. I began to peruse the buffet at the life base, which looked like a Thanksgiving dinner smorgasbord. Although I don’t typically eat meat, I decided I could use some protein so grabbed a piece of turkey and some potatoes on the side. Yuch was at the life base, too. I think we were having the same thoughts and fears about leaving the life base alone and heading out into the dark. We unanimously decided to go into the night together.

Valgrisenche to Cogne

Total distance and elevation gain: 104k, 9282 m (30,452 ft)

I can’t really remember the cols we covered in the night. Like the last section, this one had three. One of the cols, either Fenetre or Entrelor, had a memorable descent. It was very steep, and especially precarious in the night time. I recall I couldn’t keep up with Yuch but was comforted to have the company of a Ukranian woman who was just as slow, if not more than I. She had done the race several times. I told her “You must really love this race!” She said that she was pretty sure she failed to remember each time how absolutely crazy it was.

The sun was just beginning to come up as we approached the last col, Col Loson before the life base at Cogne. The sunrise was a game changer. The early morning before the sun comes up can be the coldest, and the arrival of the sun not only meant warmth, but emerging from the nighttime aka the time when people should be sleeping. I wasn’t really tired, but I was getting there. Yuch and I had decided that there was no need to sleep in the first 24 hours. In a 100-mile race, runners do not typically sleep, so why start now? We planned to get some sleep on our second night, wherever that might be.

A little hut on the ascent up to Col Loson

We reunited with Shane on the ascent to Col Loson. It was nice to have the extra company, especially company that speaks the same language! The climb was relentless – over 5,000 feet in 7.5 miles. On the way up I noticed one or two runners who would cut the switchbacks, which seemed like an odd thing to do in a race like this. This would not be the last time we witnessed this.

Ascent to Col Losson, 10,807 ft (the highest pt on the course)

Descent into the second life base at Cogne

Arriving to Cogne around 1 pm on Day 2 (Sunday, 9/11), I first began to doubt my journey ahead. We were 27 hours in, 100k down with over 200k to go, and already my legs felt wrecked. I thought I had been taking it easy, but nothing prepares your body for the damage it will endure on the TOR. Entering the life base at Cogne, a volunteer asked me how I was doing. I told them my legs felt trashed, and I seriously wondered how I was going to do more. Being Italian, they didn’t totally understand the word “trashed” so I had to find an alternative word to use. Once they understood what I was saying, they told me not to worry, that I would feel as good as new after leaving the life base. They also mentioned that John Kelly, previous Barkley finisher/winner, had felt the same way entering Cogne. He nearly dropped out, but after a short rest left in tip top shape (or something to that effect).

Yuch appears stunned to return to a civilized village after being up in the mountains

Taking a shower seemed to make sense at the time. It was really warm and we were exhausted. The shower was time consuming, but felt amazing to emerge clean, renewed, and with a fresh pair of running clothes. We again then faced the task of contemplating the life base buffet and our follow bags. For all the work that I had put into stuffing my follow bag, none of this stuff was of interest to me nor very easy to contemplate in a tired state. Yuch and I must have easily spent an hour unpacking our follow bags, staring at the items, moving the items to and fro, and then repacking them. Shane was now with us although he hadn’t wasted his time showering and probably thought we were crazy. His follow bag didn’t have nearly the same amount of junk that ours did. When all was said and done, I think we had spent three hours at that life base. I think Peter was worried that I wasn’t moving because he kept texting me “constant forward motion”. Easier said than done.

Cogne to Donnas

Total distance and elevation gain: 149.77k, 12050 m (39,534 ft)

Just as the Italian volunteer had promised, we felt pretty good leaving Cogne. We had 46 kilometers to the next life base at Donnas, and there was no way we were going to make it there by night. We started planning when and where we would sleep that second night. Surely we would be ready for some shut eye by then. Our cheat sheet showed three rifugios between Cogne and Donnas. Rifugios are basically what they sound like, high elevation huts along the trail to seek refuge (food and place to sleep). With a whopping three rifugios in our future, perhaps we didn’t need to make plans. We could play it by ear and stop at whichever one we fancied.

Except, we made one mistake. The first two rifugios were actually NOT places that we could stay. Upon further scrutiny and to our dismay, we realized that these were simply listed as “way points” on our cheat sheet. Why we should care about these abandoned rifugios with no food, water, or beds, I never understood. What I did know is that now we were going to have to book it to Rifugio Dondena, the only place with a bed between Cogne and Donnas. Feeling demoralized at that last non-rifugio rifugio, I told Yuch I was so tired maybe we should just sleep there. He was not happy at the thought of sleeping somewhere that was not an actual rifugio or life base, so we powered on.

Despite the recent bad news and our exhaustion, something miraculous happened between Cogne and Donnas. I felt stronger. The human body is amazing. It wants to adapt to the conditions that we give it. The Cogne volunteer had been right. Some food and rest had apparently been enough to keep my body moving forward. It was adapting along the way, and as long as I kept sprinkling in some food, water, and rest I might in fact be able to keep this engine moving! Yuch felt the same way, and we were in disbelief that this race was so quickly transforming us.

Ascent to Finestra Di Champorcher – 9,275 ft

We arrived at Rifugio Dondena around 9 pm. The timing could not have been more perfect. Cold and exhausted, we stepped into a warm cozy dwelling with a roaring fireplace and a barkeeper at our service. Would you like pasta or spelt salad? How about a beer? We opted for the spelt salad as it seemed like a nice reprieve from everything else we had been eating. Yuch got a beer. Although the aid station bread, cheese and dried fruit had seemed delightful at the beginning, it starts to get old when you see the same thing aid station after aid station. We took the bistro table right next to the fireplace. I was in heaven.

Yuch downs a beer at Rifugio Dondena – 126k and 35 hours in

After dinner, we inquired about some beds to sleep in. Beds could only be “rented” for 2 hours. As soon as we entered the room, the clock started, and two hours later, someone would wake us up promptly. There were no private rooms available so we were put into a dark room with a number of beds and runners already fast asleep in them. As quietly as we could, we peeled off our noisy layers and placed our dirty listless bodies into bed.

Lying in bed I shut my eyes, but I did not find darkness. Bright colors and objects moved from side to side in every which direction. Every thought I’ve ever had moved wildly in my head. This was not going to be easy. I looked over at Yuch and he looked fast asleep. What was I going to do, just lie here for two hours doing nothing? At some point, I woke up. It was only at this moment that I had realized that I must have fallen asleep. It had been one hour. I looked over at Yuch who was again, seemingly fast asleep. I realized I needed to get up. I grabbed my belongings and tip toed out of the room.

Outside of the bedroom the rifugio was alive with the energy of the TOR. Runners were coming and going. I requested a cup of coffee and sipped on this wonderful brew while sending out a couple of texts to friends and family, and catching up on my Duolingo (can’t break that streak). This was way better than sleeping more. I had had just enough sleep and after this coffee would be ready for more that the trail had to offer. When the two hours had been up, I noticed the woman who had checked us in was not going to wake Yuch up. Perhaps it had been an unspoken arrangement that since I was now awake I would wake him up. I went into the room, and knelt down next to his bed with my hands atop his blankets. “Yuch, Yuch! It’s time to get up!” It was only after receiving a tired and confused “huh?”, that I realized I had gotten the wrong bed. Oops. I apologized and moved over to the next bed over.

As I waited for Yuch to get his stuff together, I headed down to the dining room. I was pleasantly surprised to find Shane who had just recently arrived. He was feeling pretty down in the dumps and did not think he was going to be able to continue. I couldn’t fully understand why as nothing seemed to be especially wrong. He said he just wasn’t having any fun anymore and thought if he dropped out he might be better able to enjoy Italy. I asked him if he was eating to which he responded – not really. He said he had been trying to eat at the aid stations, but then would get so wrapped up in the trail that he couldn’t be bothered to eat in between. I could totally related to this, but told him he would feel much better if he ate. He did, and after Yuch joined us, we told him we should all set out together. He had been running alone up to this point and that could have also been playing a role in how he was feeling.

I felt an amazing sense of renewal leaving the rifugio, now Day 3 (Monday, September 12^th aka my 40^th birthday!) The three of us were running together and I thought, this is what I love about running – running in the night time when most people are sleeping, enjoying each other’s company, on a crazy adventure. At one point we picked up another runner to join our group. He did not speak English very well, but we gathered enough to understand that he did not want to run alone as he had been hallucinating earlier. We welcomed him to our group. This run from Rifugio Dondena to Donnas would be one of my favorite memories from the TOR. We arrived to Donnas in the very early morning (around 6 am) while it was still dark. Jan ended up meeting us there and bringing me a pizza which was well received. Nothing at the life base nor my follow bag looked of interest to me, although to me and Shane’s dismay, Yuch seemed to find pleasure in eating a large number of hard boiled eggs. At Donnas I decided to get a short massage which was painful but hopefully would help me going forward.

Donnas to Gressoney

Total distance and elevation gain: 204k, 17983 m (58,999 ft)

I left Donnas feeling mildly grouchy. Yuch can attest to this, although he may argue with the “mild” part. I’m not really sure why. I think I was just really tired. Although the coffee had really perked me up the previous night, I was now going on 48 hours with only one hour of sleep. With a lifetime of experience, Yuch is a master at going days on end with little sleep. Some might even say he had been training his whole life for this! Me, on the other hand, I was a softie who needed 7-8 hours of sleep a night if I were to keep my emotional faculties in order. So the ascent out of Donnas was a quiet one as Yuch and I stuck together, but mostly didn’t speak.

Even thought it was only 8 am, I started wondering when our next sleep opportunity would be. Yuch did not love the experience at the rifugio. He already has anxiety around sleep and it didn’t help to have a strict time limit, nor did it help to be surrounded by a number of other quietly sleeping runners who may not be very pleased to be woken up by any sudden rustling. He had already decided if he was going to sleep again, it would have to be at the next life base at Gressoney. But that was 54 kilometers away, and we weren’t exactly moving fast. Who knows how long that 54 kilometers could take?

The first town leaving Donnas was Perloz where we were greeted by a symphony of cowbells (courtesy of a Perloz resident) pastries, and delicious fresh squeezed orange juice. It’s true we had only come 6 kilometers from Donnas but remember, the TOR is very slow-going, and even a 6 kilometer stretch deserves celebration and a rest stop!

Somewhere on the ascent to La Sassa. It all begins to become a blur…

The next big climb on this stretch was to Rifugio Delfa E Agostino Coda – at 7,400 ft. I’m not sure how this happened, but at some point Yuch ended up behind me. I kept ascending, thinking he would eventually catch up. It didn’t make sense to wait, especially with Operation Slinky in effect. As I arrived to the top of Rifugio Coda around 2:30 pm, I started to wonder if something more serious had happened. In the meantime, I helped myself to delicious rifugio food – namely a homemade quiche and cubed melon. Eventually Shane arrived, but no Yuch. I waited and waited and ate more quiche and melon. Shane decided to move on. Finally, Yuch arrived and indeed, something had happened.

Rifugio Coda – 167k and 52 hours in (now averaging 2 mph)

Looking back at the trail coming up to Rifugio Coda. Where is Yuch?

On the climb up to Rifugio Coda, Yuch’s hand started to really bother him from gripping his trekking pole so he had stopped to wrap it up. He was in a terrible state of worry when he arrived at the rifugio, stating that he had no idea how he was going to go on. He appeared to have some kind of overuse injury and the simple act of using trekking poles was causing him a lot of pain. I started to worry too. If he had to drop out, that would leave me on my own. My first suggestion was to ditch the trekking poles, but he responded that there was absolutely no way he could do this cray steep course without poles. My second suggestion was to seek help from the medics at the rifugio. Yuch did not think this was a helpful suggestion as he could not fathom what they could do to help. He finally agreed that while he would not ask for help, he would allow me to ask them for help. In the end, they were able to help, by suggesting an alternative way to gripping the trekking poles that would put less stress on his hands. Crisis averted.

The next place we would get aid after Rifugio Coda was about 8.5 kilometers away, Rifugio Barma. But just as it is for everything on the TOR, that 8.5 kilometers took way longer than expected, roughly 2.5 hours. Not only did it take a long time, but we kept getting faked out by perfectly good looking structures and huts, only to find out that they were not Rifugio Barma. Here’s a suggestion if you ever decide to do the TOR. Do not look at your watch. Do not anticipate when you will arrive to the next aid station, because it will always take so much longer than you think it will take. Even when you think it is just around the corner, it never is. And even if it is around that corner, that is the biggest and longest corner than you can ever have imagined. So take my advice and be in the present. And when that aid station or rifugio arrives sooner than you expect, allow yourself to have that pleasant “surprise.”

Is that it? False alarm. It’s just yet another random structure out here…

At last, Rifugio Barma appears in the distance

Arriving at Rifugio Barma was a double edged sword, for me. It was a relief to get to a nice warm shelter with hot polenta and coffee. But it also killed me mentally knowing that we were not staying. I was so tired, but we had agreed we would not sleep until the next life base at Gressoney. I could not thoroughly enjoy what the rifugio had to offer me because all I could think about was the long road ahead, and the long night ahead. I was scared about what was yet to come.

Rifugio Del Lago Della Barma – 176k and 55 hours in

We climbed Col du Marmontana after Rifugio Coda, and arrived at the Lago Chiaro aid station (181k) around sunset. I arrived in tears. My legs had slowly been breaking down since Donnas, but my right leg was noticeably becoming harder and harder to bend on the descents. It felt as though with each bend, I was doing more and more damage to the quad attachment to the knee. I imagined reaching the final leg bend and that attachment just snapping. Arriving to Lago Chiaro I asked Yuch to fetch me some food from the aid station. I could not bear to show my tear stained face to anyone. He brought me back more of the usual – crackers, cheese, cookies. I could not stop crying. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Yuch, being the wonderful person that he is, said this: “Well, when I didn’t know what to do with my hand, you suggested I ask for help. Maybe you should do the same thing”.

So, that is what I did. Although, I can’t remember if I did it myself, or asked Yuch to do it for me! Either way, I found myself in a dark tent behind the aid station. The sun had set by now and the only light in the tent came from the headlamps on top of the volunteer’s heads. They sat me down and assessed my knee. With minimal English they suggested taking some painkillers and wrapping the knee. The other option would be to take a helicopter down the mountain. The latter was out of the question. I did not have a broken leg, so surely I could continue on. Part of me was annoyed that they could not do more for me. I wanted them to give me an answer to my question which was, “What is wrong with my leg and do you think it is safe to continue?”. But they could not give me the answer I wanted and could only offer me two options – continue or not. I accepted the painkillers and bandage, and continued on.

The painkillers and the bandage helped at first. Until they didn’t. It was only 4 kilometers from Lago Chiaro to the next aid at Colle Della Vecchia. I found that I could still ascend. It was the descents that were the hard part. It got even harder because I started favoring the injured side, so much to the point that I was now having even more knee pain on the left side. Because it hurt so much to bend my knees on the descents, I had a brilliant idea. I would no longer bend my knees. Man, I’m so smart. Much to Yuch’s alarm, I started descending sideways. I rejoiced that I had found a solution to my issue, but to Yuch it was not a solution. I felt I was moving quite briskly using this new technique, but to him I was moving at the speed of a snail.

Arriving at Colle Della Vecchia (185k) around midnight was yet another victory, but we were not victorious. In fact, Yuch was pretty darn sure that I could not go on. We played the same game that we did at Lago Chiaro. Ask the medics for help, and get offered two suggestions: continue on, or take a helicopter down. I again refused the helicopter. Yuch was furious, perplexed, you name it. The reality he saw was that I was barely moving up and down these mountains. Sure, I had gotten helicopter insurance (and I suggest you do, too!). But my reality was that I was still moving. In retrospect, I was not being stubborn. I think when my legs first started to be a problem, I genuinely thought that I could work through it. At this point, I knew – ok, maybe I’m not fit to finish this race, but I’m not broken and I can make it to Gressoney without a helicopter if I just keep moving forward. Regardless of what we were going to do, at that moment I could not do anything. I could not make a decision. I was so tired. We had been moving for over 60 hours with only one hour of sleep. Maybe if I could just get some sleep, I would wake up and feel better. Maybe my knee would work then. The volunteers at Colle Della Vecchia suggested getting some sleep in the tent behind the aid station, which had only two cots.

I felt bad that we were taking up the only two cots that they had at the top of this mountain with other desperate runners arriving in the middle of the night. But, I also knew I was in a desperate situation. Lying down on the cot, I covered myself with a wool blanket that had been used by multiple runners before me and tried to fall asleep. My legs were throbbing with pain. I could not fall asleep. I texted Peter but could not get through to him. Yuch had fallen asleep and I was lying here useless, not getting any sleep at all. Maybe an hour later I realized we couldn’t stay here anymore. We were taking up two valuable spots that others could use to get critical rest. And I had absolutely nothing to show for it. No sleep, and the same messed up legs. I tried to wake Yuch up and told him we had to go and we had to go now. Emerging from this brief sleep was a huge shock for Yuch. To his complete surprise, he had sweat during his sleep and awoke to an absurdly soaked shirt and down jacket. To make matters worse he had slept in his contacts this time around and they were now stuck to his eyeballs. He fumbled to gather all his things in the dark in a half-asleep stupor with hard lenses stuck to his eyes. He had nothing dry to put on, was freezing cold, and now we were getting kicked out of this tent and off this mountain back into the cold night.

It was only 5.6 kilometers to the next aid, “Niel”. Maybe, I should stop using the word “only”. We arrived around 4:30 am. You do the math. Gressoney was so close, yet so far away. Dortoir La Gruba is actually a bed and breakfast in the small village of Niel , but tonight it was acting as a bustling rifugio for a select group of weirdos who like to run, walk, and hobble in the mountains for days without sleep. I peeked into the kitchen to see giant vats of polenta and boiling water for pasta. Runners were all over the place, mostly upright, but some tucked horizontally under benches taking much needed naps. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Everyone but me. I sat, eating my polenta slowly, filled with anxiety about leaving the rifugio once again. And then it started to rain.

Niel – Dortoir La Gruba – 190k and 67 hours in

Leaving a cozy rifugio w/ unlimited polenta and pasta to go into the dark and rain is not an easy task. It was 14 kilometers (8.7 miles) to the life base at Gressoney aka my finish line. But before then we had about 3,000 feet to climb and 3,300 feet to descend. The climb was brutal. Although I had previously been excelling at climbing, this was no longer the case. My tiredness was now becoming painstakingly evident in my emotional state. I was having trouble keeping it together. I cried and told Yuch if I found a suitable rock or tree, that I would just curl up and fall asleep. He urged me to keep moving as he was not generating much body heat with the current pace. We reached the top of the climb as the sun was rising, but the worst was yet to come. It was so cold and my legs had reached their maximum bending allowance.

Although it was officially morning, the sun had yet to do its job in fully warming us. I tried to keep up with Yuch, or at least lessen the gap between us but I could not move any faster. It took about 3.5 hours to travel the six kilometers between Niel to the last aid/rifugio at Bleckene. I saw the rifugio long before I arrived to it, and I believe the same was true for the volunteers and me. They knew something was wrong as they watched how long it took me to arrive.

A volunteer chops fruit at Bleckene – 197k and 70.5 hours in

At this point the goal was unequivocal: get to Gressoney. We tried to communicate the situation to the volunteers, but the language barrier was making it difficult. Despite the language barrier, my current ability was not at all difficult to comprehend. They had seen how absolutely and insanely slow I was moving, and there was still talk about me getting a helicopter for these last seven kilometers. I couldn’t believe that people were still discussing helicopters when I was so close to where I needed to be! In the end, they gave me more painkillers (in sublingual form), and we set on our way for the final leg.

Seven kilometers has never taken so long in my life. Nor has it ever taken so long in Yuch’s life. Of all the descents of the entire course thus far, this was the easiest, most gentle, most runnable, most forgiving. But none of that made any difference to me, because every single step forward, whether it was up, down, flat, or sideways felt the same – the most Herculean effort I could possibly give. This probably didn’t seem the case from an outsider’s perspective, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. With every step, I prayed that my quads would not snap. I had reached my painkiller max, and they were no longer helping me. Yuch was now going at his own pace which meant he would go on ahead, then stop and close his eyes until I caught up. Apparently my pace was too sleepy for him, so this method was preferable. Many many runners passed me during this time. They seemed to be flying by, but then again, that’s probably what it’s like to be a snail – everything is that much faster.

We arrived at the Gressoney life base just after 11 am on Tuesday, September 13^th. I had covered 204 kilometers (136 miles) in 73 hours with the last 20k taking about 11 hours. I had been in communication with Jan through WhatsApp so she was waiting for us as soon as we arrived. I went inside to officially drop out and to grab my follow bag. Dropping out was a no-brainer. I never once debated whether I should continue on or not. Gressoney had been my finish line for a very long time, and I was so proud of myself for getting there on my own two feet.

Speaking of my own two feet, here they are. Right knee noticeably more swollen than the left

The only problem with dropping at Gressoney is that you are a long way from where you started in Courmayeur. Thankfully, Jan had a hotel room in Gressoney, so the plan was to shower and rest there, then she would drive us back to Courmayeur. While we were showering and resting she made us some soup with the little ingredients she had in her hotel room. We then passed out in her king size bed. That evening she drove us back to our Airbnb in Courmayeur.

September 14^th – The day after

The next morning I woke up with a full on cold. I had a headache, congestion, fatigue, and mild fever. I walked myself over to the closest market to fetch soy milk for my tea and was surprised that I could walk. I was glad that I hadn’t damaged my legs beyond repair. I made myself tea and went back to sleep. I had a lot of catching up to do. Around 3 pm we began to fully emerge from our Airbnb and decided we wanted to pay Shane a visit at the last life base at Ollomont. We were pleased to know he was still in the race and wanted to support him as much as we could. Since he had been struggling with eating, we thought he could benefit from some non- aid station food. We stopped by a market in Aosta and picked up a variety of options – smoothies, pot-stickers, and naan. In retrospect, this is a weird combination of food items, but they seemed like good alternatives to aid station food at the time.

I was in the middle of a laughing “attack” (which sometimes happens) when we approached this store in Ollomont and thought this little scarecrow person was hilarious. Sadly, the store was closed.

Although we had been tracking Shane the whole day and had the whole day to get to Ollomont, we missed his arrival. When we arrived to the life base, he had already checked in. Unfortunately, non runners are not allowed inside the life bases without a previously procured badge, so we were stuck waiting outside, hoping that we might see him when he exited, which could be between zero and five hours. Yuch ended up asking a volunteer if he could sneak in briefly to find his runner, and they approved. The next thing I knew, Yuch had located a bone-weary Shane and brought him outside to the crew designated picnic tables. Shane was very confused as to why we were no longer running and instead bringing him food. We caught up him up on the events of the previous day as he wrapped potstickers up in his naan into a naan-potsticker burrito. Turns out the food was edible after all.

September 15^th – The day after the day after

We planned to watch Shane’s finish in Courmayeur the next day, but once again our timing was bad, and we missed him. We ended up driving to the Sports Center where we knew he eventually would need to get all of his stuff. Supporting Shane had been our last hope and joy, akin to supporting your child achieve their dreams even if it is too late for you. I was so proud that he finished the race, despite being curled up on the side of the trail with altitude problems so early on, and nearly dropping out of the race that second night at Rifugio Dondena.

The Sports Center in Courmayeur. This is what a sleep station looks like at a life base

To me, the race had been a huge success because Shane had finished. I, too, had gotten to my finish line at Gressoney. I was not sad that I had dropped out. I was proud that I had done what I had done, which was more than I had ever done before. I had been through beautiful mountains and villages, experienced ups and downs, and witnessed the strength of the human body and mind. Most of all, I was proud that Yuch and I had supported each other along the way. I had come a long way from the person that I was on the PCT in 2016, the person who was not able to compromise or roll with the punches. I had waited and helped Yuch troubleshoot his trekking pole woes, but he had the far more arduous task of staying by my side for that very exhausting trek to Gressoney. He could have left. He could have waved and said, “See you there!” But for some reason, he decided to stay with me. I thought, this person must really love me.

Yuch celebrates our journey with a very large beer

Yuch, Jan, and I watching the last finishers arrive to Courmayeur

September 17^th – Geneva, Switzerland

I was not able to “celebrate” much in the days after dropping. The cold had overtaken my body which couldn’t put up much of any kind of decent fight due to its depleted state. Yuch had gone with Jan to visit some castles, but I had spent most of my time in bed, with a couple of trips to get gelato in the town center. Even on our last night in Geneva, I was still sick. We were staying in a very nice hotel with excellent proximity to the airport where we would depart the next morning.

That evening, I was lying in my bed resting. Yuch was dealing with the important task of checking us in for our flight the next morning. For some reason he was able to check me in, but not himself. Each time he would try to check himself in a big red alert sign would pop up. I thought it was kind of amusing, but he was getting very frustrated. I kept telling him not to worry about it, and that we’d figure it out in the morning at the airport. The frustration and pacing back and forth continued. And then suddenly, he just stopped and walked over to my bed and sat down. Out of nowhere, Yuch presented a ring and proceeded to ask me to marry him. I was very confused by the quick turn of events but eventually said yes. Although we had been supporting each other in various ways for the last nine years, our journey together through the Italian Alps had been the culmination showing us that we wanted to continue to support each other in the years to come.