Glaciers A Go-Go?

More like "Glaciers a No-No" for me. See what I did there? If not, then clearly we're not friends on facebook. This saddens me greatly.

Anyway...

I had my first race ever on Saturday, 10th of August. The Glacier 3000 Run was 26k with an incline of 1900 meters from the gorgeous ski resort town of Gstaad to the top of a glacier in Les Diablerets.

At the starting line I was feeling nervous, but also excited...

With these guys rocking out on the alpine horns (in front of Louis Vuitton no less), you couldn't help but be pumped for a day of running in the mountains.

And with a multilingual countdown (in German, French and English), we were off!

The running bit was fantastic (you will see why I specify 'the running bit' shortly). The whole time you could see the Les Diablerets getting closer and closer. I wanted to make the absolute most of this race, so I kept my phone close at hand with the plan to capture some actions shots, so long as it didn't get in the way of the actual running!

At the 10k mark I came across these guys... not only did they quite like having their photo taken as they shook their ginormous cow bells, but this photo also serves as photographic evidence of me ahead of someone. Booyah.

The locals were out in force, cheering on the runners with chants of "hop hop!", the Swiss equivalent to "go go!".  Because you have your name on your race number, the more daring and forward Swiss would even cheer your actual name.

These kids were awesome - hearing them chant "hop hop Yen-nee-fair!" in their Swiss French accents and giving them high fives was possibly the highlight of the race - and this was only in the first 7k.

I reached the 17.5k point and heard a booming voice chime in. "Is that you, God?" I thought. But then I realized there was an announcer telling all the runners they only had 10k to go and to "hop hop!". The announcer then proceeded to tell everyone that my name was "Yen-nee-fair" and this was my first race. Maybe she was God after all...

"Thanks for the water - okloveyoubyyyyyye!"

So remember earlier when I said I would shortly explain why I specified "running bit"? Here's where I explain that. Right beyond this very shed the course changed entirely, going from rolling trails to a pretty gnarly incline with switchbacks that carried on for around 2.5k. Here my strategy was to conserve energy (for the glacier, obvs!), so I took it down a gear from a slow run to a brisk hike. I decided to send a text message - it unfortunately didn't send, but here's what it said:

"The good news: I'm not in last place. The bad news: there's an octogenarian hot on my tail!"

At the 20k mark the trail changed once again, and not in my favor: from dirt switchbacks to loose moraine rocks and an even steeper incline. All race long I had felt fantastic and genuinely amazed at what this old bag of bones I call a body was able to do with 4 months of training. However, with one look up and the realization that nowhere on the remaining course will it flatten out, I started to lose my mojo a bit:

"Is that a chairlift I hear, or circling vultures?"

The next 6.5k would be just like this, with the runners having to zigzag their way over rocks hand over foot. Even if I was still capable of running, I wouldn't be able to because all the loose rocks underfoot meant you had to strategically place each step or risk rolling an ankle and sliding back down the mountain. Shortly my "brisk hike", was gradually turning into a drunken stagger.

And then my calves gave out.

And then I started to cry.

And then I started to hyperventilate.

And then I started to vomit.

By 21k I was stopped by a race volunteer who made me sit down and take a few breaths. He kept telling me "piano... piano"... which in Italian means "take it easy". He gave me a pat on the back and stayed with me until I caught my breath. Then I asked him in a wretched mix of German, French, English and Spanish (the closest thing my warped mind could come up with) where the finish line was. He said it was just ahead, 20 more minutes to go. So I got up and carried on, staggering, occasionally falling to my knees, or going off course to vomit again. I came across the crest of the moraine, hoping to see the finish line, but instead found this:

More climbing. The shed at the top, which I thought was the finish line, was actually the 23k marker. It was still 3k short of the actual finish line. Slowly I crawled to the top, with spectators still chanting "hop hop Yen-nee-fair hop hop!".

Me coming up to the 23k station, closely followed by First Aiders and my Italian savior.

As I reached the station, another volunteer came up to me and literally ripped off my microchip (HARSH!) and told me I was done for the day. When I asked how far the finish line was, and if there was any chance I could just try to cross, he gave me "the look" (which I'm sure you can imagine) and pointed here:

The finish line is that tiny speck sticking up over that peak. On a good day, it would take me just over 20 minutes to run 3k. But there was no way - NO WAY - I was going to make that in my current state. I accepted defeat, handed over my microchip and went to go sulk in a corner.

Of course I was pretty devastated for a while, but then I looked back over the ground I had covered:

When I realized I couldn't even see the starting line village of Gstaad, I felt a wee bit better.

And when I looked at a map of the course, I felt even better:

Kinda puts it into perspective, doesn't it?

Ok, so now that the pity-party is well and truly over, there's only one question left:

When's the next race?