ULTRA STORM REBOOT
It’s evening, and I’ve been running since dawn. The light is dropping rapidly. A storm churns the sky above the aid station I’m exiting. I’m full of hot tea and soup, recharged. It was all warm in the tent, where variant pain was smeared over runner’s faces and bodies.
For some folk looking blank this will be the end of the journey today. I’m damp and cold, rain is coming down as I position my head torch. Almost everything in me says stop right here.
But a modest voice inside knows I want to get up on those tired legs and run up another mountain col. And keep on running through the night.
Leaving the village far below, it’s comforting to think everyone is headed to bed. The valley lights twinkle. Each home is glowing warm.
As I ascend, swirling inky clouds swallow the reassurance of the valley floor. Things I know are obfuscated now. Sideways weather whips and lashes any part of you left exposed.
This is exactly the point that kit obsession has most meaning. There’ll be punishment for anything you’ve not considered carefully. You’ll be in trouble or not make it. Now is not the place for surprises. Hence miles and miles of training and testing and knowing.
Ambient light lasts a surprisingly long time once it’s dark high in the mountains. Eyes are just amazing at seeing. It’s simple but true. It’s always a shame to finally resort to the torch light.
As I’m running higher and higher towards the summit above me into snow and ice. My sense of place is disappearing again. Clouds are swirling aggressively now and the dark ancient rock reminds me that I don’t belong up here.
Only, I don’t belong down there in the valley either. At least it’s a limbo state. I’m drawn to this place again and again. It’s scary, and exciting. I feel immense comfort that I’ve been here so many times before.
Thunder echoes directly off rock and water pours a river off every possible surface. How can it be so wet here? Mud is shin deep. The edge of my route disappears into darkness far below. I’m happy not be able to see where I’d land.
I’ve not seen a single other torch light, so I check my GPS route. It’d be nice to have someone to share my nerves with, but equally I’m happy to be alone with my own rhythms and thoughts.
Sometimes it’s awesome to run with a total stranger, you might chat for say twenty miles, free to share the most intimate life detail, and vice versa. You’ll likely never see them again, so you may as well be utterly truthful. Sometimes I surprise myself.
Then either they or you stop for a leak, as you or they continue onwards solo, you feel a sharp sense of loss. It’s the strangest emotion as you don’t know one another, except you do share this experience.
God this mountain is big. How do they go up so far into the sky? In moments like this I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see a giant wander by.
Before reaching the col or summit ridge, I’ll add one more layer as I’m about to feel the full force of raw weather. Astonishing power. I’m totally alone. But I know I’m safe, I have everything I need right here. In my mind, my legs and in my running rucksack. If I needed it, I’ve a bivvy shelter, snacks and goosedown.
It’s all good. I enjoy the mayhem up here. There’s nothing, except continuously running forward, and being present in the moment. It’s so simple. I’ve endured more than this.
Passing over this giant alp and down into the next valley I descend through a farm hamlet where two young kids and their dad offer me sweets and hot chocolate. It’s the middle of the night, what super stars. As I wave goodbye, I feel dumb for welling-up in gratefulness.
I startle a family of three sheep in the darkness, a parent and two littluns, which for some reason reminds me of my family at home. I pass gorgeous fields and woods and streams, I log my favourites vowing to return and picnic here with my lovely wife and kids on a sunny day. And we often do.
Miles of descent later, I will soon arrive in the safety and calm of another valley. It’s weird but I feel reborn or something. I hear distant noises from the next aid station.
When I get there, my race number will be checked in safely and I will repeat this process up the next valley until I conclude the 103km of mountain miles back to Chamonix. Or wherever the destination is today.
WORDS BY: ZAK EMERSON
PHOTOS BY: VARIOUS INCLUDING THE LEGENDARY IAN CORLISS / INNOV8 / PETZL / JSARAGOSSA / ALEXIS BERG / REMI FABREGUE / FLORIS VAN BREUGEL [THANK YOU ALL APOLOGIES IF I MISSED ANY NAMES, DO PLEASE LET ME KNOW]