Fear and Loathing at the Tor
“I don’t know who I am anymore."
“I know I have to run 330K, but am I in a race?”
“I came to a crossroads of five paths, all going to infinity...”
The Tor does things to you.
Healthy things?
Probably not.
Things that make you feel alive?
Hell yeah.
The Tor des Géants is a 15-year-old, 220-mile/355km race with 26,000m/86,000ft of climb, a giant loop of the magnificent Aosta Valley in northwest Italy. I’d always heard great things about it, mainly from Irish runners, who were going back time and again to “the Tor”. I wanted to do it for years and had a place twice before my 2022 debut, only to opt for UTMB instead. Indeed Courmayeur doesn’t get quite as-well-known runners as Chamonix, but they’re a tougher breed. They have to be.
The 2022 race gave me a mind-warping adventure. If you haven’t done the Tor yet, your life is incomplete. But it was frustrating from a performance point of view. Sleep depravation (mis)management and (disastrous) route infidelity being the two obvious things to improve on. But frustration is a huge motivator. Annoyance from previous years has helped towards my best runs at UTMB and the Winter Spine Race. I felt good in training, which included experimenting with an altitude tent and loved being back in Courmayeur, sharing meals with like-minded loons (and swapping race snacks with the Tea Dodger, aka John Kelly).
I was lucky to have Ajay Hanspal crewing me, a friend, talented young athlete, running coach, ex-Marine and Green Runners co-founder. I’d given him a 75 hour schedule, which in 2022 would have been second place. My B goal was 80 hrs, which felt more realistic (especially given it took my 88hrs+ last time). My C goal was to simply get it done without huge topographical embarrassment. The problem was, two-time runner-up, Canada’s Galen Reynolds had a 70hr schedule...
Day 1, approx the third climb
A North Atlantic Alliance quickly formed, as Reynolds, Kelly and I briefed the affable two-time, Western States runner-up, Seth Swanson on some things to expect, such as riotous switchback cutting. The Tor 330K throws some of the longest and highest climbs at you right away, the forecast was hot (for a Brit) and it’s common for runners to feel pretty wonky early on.
The front group stretched out in the afternoon and, despite my doubts about his tea-making skills, Ajay was already proving his worth, giving me a feast of tasty spuds and choc milk at the first Life Base (LB), Valgrisenche (48K, 7hrs).
I reached Cogne (LB 2, 104K, 17.5hrs) at 3.30am, on my own, feeling a little disgruntled. I’d misread my schedule and thought I was someway behind, when in fact I was 30mins ahead. A handful of runners scoffing there looked beat up already, especially those who’d be running with Franco Collé.
With my Canadian pacer, approaching Rifugio Grand Tournalin as dawn broke on Tuesday
I left on my own in third place (but trying not to think about that) and was soon joined by three runners I would spend a lot of time with; Reynolds, Italy’s Gianluca Galeati (who’d I’d run with at Cervino Matterhorn Ultra Race in July) and Romania’s Corneliu Buliga. In what would become a long-running (pun half-intended) theme, Galen and I soon broke away. Yet the other two remained stubbornly in our rearview mirror.
The day warmed on the 27K descent to always-scorchio Donnas (LB 3, 150K) and my legs started whingeing. It was a struggle to eat and the other three left before me. But we were reunited on the 3hr 15min climb to dreamy Rifugio Coda. CCC-winner Julian Chorier joined us for what felt like a running holiday as we chatted our way towards Niel (190K) in the late afternoon sun, via a cheerleading group who’d come up onto the mountain to chant songs about our Canadian pal. Talking of which, we were on his 70hr schedule. Too fast? Hmmm.
Niel was a pivotal point for me last year. I’d arrived in 5th place, but after a failed table nap the next few hours were a mess of snail progress, failed dirt naps and deja vudoo. In contrast, master schemer, Switzerland’s Martin Perrier had some quality zzzzs there and waltzed cheerily past me, to ultimately finish in 81:42 and 7th place (with me back in 12th).
Better sleep depravation management was a key goal this time, getting shuteye pre-emptively rather than leaving it till I was falling off cliffs. So I was keen on sleep here, regardless of what any other runners did. However, at 9.30pm the place was a friggin rock festival, AC/DC thumping out down the valley. I had no choice but to push on (after copious mouthfuls of Ajay’s delicious pesto gnocchi and tea).
I felt sluggish on the climb, but hung on to Corneliu and Gianluca. I overheard them heatedly discussing sleep strategies and I was casually asked about mine. All rather cagey. By Gressoney (LB 4, 204K, 12.30am Tuesday) Corneliu and I had been left behind. I was determined to press snooze and lay down for 15mins on a camper bed, unsure if I actually nodded off. It felt like a gamble as I’d noted what a difference travelling with others at night was making. I’d also developed a gag reflex to most foods.
Inside Rifugio Grand Tournalin (probably)
For most of the solo long climb I could see headtorches above, that could be anywhere from five or 20 minutes ahead. Energy waned and I lay down for a dirt nap, again unsure if I’d actually nodded off. It began to feel like letting the others go had been a mistake, especially when arriving at Champoluc (221K, 5.30am) and being told “the next runners” had left... two hours ago.
TWO HOURS!? Feck…
And yet, round the corner, there they all were. (The first two runners had left two hours ago). Not looking too fresh either. I gave the Thompson Twins a head start and waited for Big G to have a power nap.
We assumed we’d catch the others soon, but they’d put in a shift, finally spying them 90 minutes later outside Rifugio Grand Tournalin, backdropped by a glorious sunrise (see pic above). I’d fallen asleep on the trail just five minutes outside this refugio in 2022, the staff coming to wake me up.
I usually led the climbs, Galen the descends and he put in a master class as we caught, overtook and gapped our frenemies, arriving at Valtournenche (LB 5, 237K, 47hrs) for 9am Tuesday, feeling pleased with ourselves. They arrived before we left, but looked worked.
We relaxed too soon though and again spied them behind us, near the top of the next climb. We gapped them again. But soon saw them again, 5-10 mins behind. They seemed impossible to shake off. But it was too early to be racing, really.
When it rained, an abandoned stone hut presented itself like a gift we couldn’t resist. Our rivals soon joined us and it was all very cordial, especially when they got out a silver blanket to create a two-person dress. The sun came out and a very pleasant afternoon in the mountains was had as we toured high refugios (see pic below), snacking on soup and pasta, forgetting about racing each other.
That difficult second album
The 1,500m descent to Oyace (274k) is a right ass. It’s rocky, it goes on forever and it made my knees and hips angry. It's not running, it's just thumping yourself into the side of the mountain. Then, unusually, you climb again, to reach the aid station (6.40pm). However I got a huge lift from seeing some of my oldest running friends and fellow Bath Bats, Renee McGregor, Lizzie Atkins and Ewen Malloch. There was no under-fuelling with super sports-dietician Renee around (even if I couldn’t face the chips Ajay had thoughtfully sourced, sorry man x).
The four of us left together, heading up into a storm. Somewhere on the climb I spied a person in a hammock, somehow invisible to the eye-test-needing Reynolds. As we approached the summit lightning and thunder were just 2-3 seconds apart. I thought I’d stick close to the Canadian. He’s tall.
Even though we had a full night of running ahead, the next runner was thought to be some two hours behind, so we had a vote on whether to all finish together. I had reservations, but I agreed. Joint third suited us all (except perhaps Galen, who was clearly the strongest). That plan, however, didn’t account for scheming assassin Martin Perrier and his iPad-wielding supercrew.
We had agreed on a collective 20mins snooze at Ollomont (final LB, 286K, 10.44pm Tues). But when we arrived, our crews urgently informed us Martin was now less than 30mins behind. A tiger amongst the pigeons. Everything changed. Faces went from relaxed to stressed. Folk dashed about in panic. A crowd formed to watch the flapping birds. I went for a kip. He’d likely catch us either way, I figured. I’d rather be fresh when he did.
When I woke, Martin had arrived, Gianluca and Corneliu had gone, Galen was still there. The shaved-legs Canadian and I set off on the next climb with purpose. We soon passed Corneliu, half asleep under a tree. Then spied Gianluca’s headtorch ahead. I wasn’t managing my dysfunctional breathing well and Galen powered on. I passed Gianluca with a friendly grunt.
I could see two headtorches behind, very likely Gianluca and Martin. I just wanted to get to the climb done and felt confident I could fly away to safety down the other side, like Peter Pan.
Down I shot, feeling no man alive could keep up. So when I glanced back and saw – fecksake! – a headtorch close behind, I felt defeated. I congratulated Martin on his descending as he passed. I genuinely like the man. I’d like him even more if he sneaked up on me in races less often.
I’d lost 4th place, but 5th was still desirable (6th seemed unexciting). But a lot could still happen. Indeed, 30 mins later I rounded the corner and there was Martin, walking. He explained he had throat issues and I felt mean passing him.
Now there’s someone who knows EXACTLY what’s going on
“This part of the course is bull shit,” he said. After going endlessly up and down, it’s suddenly a long flat track in trees, almost entirely unchanging for many dark kilometres. It’s the Tor’s Bermuda Triangle, with several runners having mind-warping experiences here and/or getting topographically embarrassed.
Indeed, deja vu had returned. Again. As I had been geographically here before though, it was a legitimate feeling this time, unlike last year. I had a strong sense that I was reccing the route for someone else. I also had a strong sense that I didn’t know who I was anymore. Some voices were telling me not to mess up like last time. Some other voices were telling me to give into the strong desire to lie down and dream.
At some point Martin re-passed me. At 3.30am I reached Bosses and asked Ajay whether I was in a race. I told Galen’s mum that I didn’t know who I was any more (she didn’t seem overly concerned) and that I’d come to a crossroads of five paths, all going to infinity… (The crews were all bonding over their runners' increasing delirium).
Time for a lie-down. I got 10 mins on a bench.
When I woke, Galen had left and Martin was snoozing. Ajay, who’d been sensational, calmly told me Gianluca was 5-10 mins away. I was about 6hrs from the finish. No time to dally. I brushed my teeth and left, assuming Martin would be close behind.
I didn’t force the pace, just tried to stay efficient and save something for a strong finish. I was okay for a bit, then, for the first time in an ultra, I threw up. I wanted another lie-down. A car woke me, its wheels churning the dirt right next to my face. I’ll likely never know if it was real. It was still so dark and the trail convoluted. Two headtorches close behind. They wanted what I had. It was a battle of tired tortoises.
Finally, I reached the last rifugio, the longed-for Frasatti, at 6.30am, still in the dark. As I knocked back some soup, I was surprised to see Gianluca enter. I exchanged pleasantries. And legged it.
It was getting light, as we climbed towards the legendary final pass, Malatrà, clinging to a rope on steep rock. I had a lead of perhaps two minutes and disappointingly Gianluca wasn’t looking particularly sleepy.
I hared it down the other side into a grey bowl of Mordor rock under the rain. The path got confusing as it climbed again and at a drinks station my Italian frenemy, as ever, wasn’t far behind. I chose to wait for him, I'm not sure why. Maybe he would be happy with 5th place and a chilled finish? He chuckled. “Well…” he said. I got it. The race wasn’t over. I’m an Arsenal fan, so a 4th place trophy is a real thing to me. I was off.
There was about 13K left. In a final show of faux-strength I hit the downhill hard, hoping to shake him off one final time.
On the gorgeous undulating shelf run to Courmayeur I couldn’t see far behind. Gianluca had often been counted out, only to reappear closer than expected, refusing to die, like a much thinner Terminator in a baseball cap. I had to assume he was still fighting for that 4th place trophy.
On the final descent, hikers gave me a lovely ovation. I turned my music off to see if I can hear them heralding Gianluca above me. Even in town I couldn’t relax. Until, finally, 72 hours and 4 minutes after I’d left the centre of Courmayeur, I was back, at 8:04 Wednesday morning.
4th place, 16 hours faster than last time, no wild topographical embarrassment and the quickest time by a UK athlete at the Tor. Even if that athlete doesn’t know who they are anymore. Then someone kindly handed me a cup of tea and I half remembered...
Huge thanks inov-8, Ajay, Renee, David Roche, Coach Dee, Petzl, Leki, Veloforte, The Altitude Centre.
Image credits (top to bottom): GetPica.com, George Grant, me, GetPica.com, GetPica.com, Ajay Hanspal (and video)