Kodiak 2014 - 165kms & 5000m ascent - 1st woman & 6th overall
Abstract:
It is hard to explain the energy I garner from and the
fulfilling feeling I am offered by the simplicity of the mountains, their
perennial beauty and potent peace-giving. It is something that penetrates me and smooths
my view on the world and myself.
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Copyright to Impact Photography, no infringement intended
I love the Mountains
and the dignity and solemnity I am infused with up there. Mountains pilfer my
soul. I decided to run the Kodiak 160k/5k m ascent race on a late notice. Feeling
strong after my fairly easy 3rd woman place and 6th overall ranking on the Fat
Dog 120kms and 3k m ascent, I wanted to be in the mountains in a race context
again. This time however I wanted my preferred distance i.e. 160kms and more
ascent, which is what I long for.
I landed in
Los Angeles airport quite tired from a demanding, yet fulfilling work week. I
was sleep-deprived but soul-replenished from the beauty and allaying power of
British Columbia's scenery. As I drove up to Big Bear Lake, CA, I was
withdrawing from the city's smog; the epitome of one reason I love mountains
and mountain running: to elevate myself and abscond to the heights where I
belong, where views are clear and the mind can be free and heedless of the
unnecessary.
Big Bear
Lake is a cute little mountain town, that seems to have remained 10 years back,
a bit kitsch but in a sweet way. There are log homes tucked in the trees
everywhere and every other property and business have the name bear in it:
honey bear, bear creek, grizzly manor, teddy bear, etc. This is bear territory
then and for the ones who know me, that means Gratianne's territory! The
atmosphere is rather low-key and this is what I was looking for. The race, with
a 2nd edition only, is also a bit under the radar, very much to my taste: when
I ask where to pick up my bib number, nobody has heard about the event. They do
know however about the other one happening in town, the "October Fest Wine Tasting". I thought Oktober Fest was about beer but since I don't drink, I
could be wrong... And you know what they say, 'never mind the bottle, just drink
it'. A bit like running really: no matter the distance, just run it. After I (finally)
find the information, I traipse around town. I'm really happy to be here, I beam
inside and out. It feels like one of those moments when you know that you are
where you're supposed to be and I go to sleep very soothed by the crisp and
pure air only found up in altitude.
I manage to
get a staggering 8h sleep night, uninterrupted which had never happened in the
last 6-7 years racing and I get ready till the unusual 12pm start. I feel
impatient to go and discover those mountains I haven't seen in 10 years, and in
summertime, after I came here to ski while an exchange student in Santa
Barbara.
In the start
area, I discover with amusement my fellow companions, this is
definitely So' Cal: Vin Diesel-looking buff guys, extensively tattooed bodies,
colorful garments, flat era hats, yesterday's first impression cool vibe
continues. This is my first time racing in the States and it meets the laid
back spirit read in magazines and witnessed on American runners on the European circuit. They run it as they wear it.
That is another reason I love racing as a travel-type: I want to discover
different places (read: mountains), different racing approaches and spirits, organizations and rapports to the sport.
A few
minutes till the gun start, we are 59 on the line enjoying this convivial
setting. It is bluebird sky and scorching hot (again, this is So' Cal'!). 12pm,
time for me to escape for the next 160kms and 5k m ascent.
After about
10k in, and despite a presentiment something good is going to happen, the legs
are still not warm (much in contrast to being on fire myself from the heat!). I
don't over analyze (rare for me!) and put things in perspective so until they
are ready for 2nd gear, I make the most of the scenery, my main drive in any
case. I watch the different size boulders, harking back to the landscapes of
beloved Sweden, the hug-inviting cedars, the pine trees' enthralling smells and
their dead needles on the ground that make a smooth carpets to run on, the
chipmunks' screeches as they scamper on the dried barks as I approach, and how
about those cute flowers I almost stepped on! I stare so much as I pass by them
that I fall flat on my left flank, not in the most ladylike manner... I feel
quite dizzy and my hip really hurts. I feel it has moved 10cms higher up that the
right one. I trudge on the next kilometer or so but continue to soak in the
surroundings to keep the pain away and feed off the views instead. That it
requires a little pain or hindrance, a little extra effort only adds to the
beauty of the inner quest that mountains and trail running represent. Happy the
one who goes through hardship because once on the other side, life is upgraded. (Below is a shot actually taken moments after -Copyright to Impact Photography, no infringement intended)
I am rather known to be able to discard pain with an impervious indifference. My
doctor once told me my "resistance to pain was way too high"... Well,
we all have our flaws... And moi
first. I struggle more when it comes to the beating heat. My
Scandinavian-adopted me melts but the glass if always half-full and the aid
stop is coming up soon. Once there, I quaff liters of Coca Cola and Mountain
Dew, which I had never tried before. This is so good! What did I miss all those
years?! In addition to my accent, the volunteer serving me seems to be puzzled wondering
where the heck I'm coming from, Mars maybe?...
So far so
great and next up about 15k later, is the climb up Sugarloaf Mountain, standing
tall at 3033m, highest point of the course. I am baffled to see on the aid at
the foot of the climb, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches... You gotta love
racing in North America! It is not my mountains' local cheese but this bodes for
a well-fed race... I shamelessly gauge on those and if I don't suffocate from
this sultry temperature, it may be from those... (Below, caught red-handed...)
More than refueled then, time
to hit the summit. I utterly love climbs and I am drawn to them, so much that
once at the top, the two men that were right behind me thank me for
"pulling them". I knew they were drafting! On the way down, as it is
an out and back, each and every single runner greets the other one with
"good job man", "looking great", "great job".
That is very American and very nice. North Americans have this
community/socially natural way of living which is very nice to experience. I
also meet with Mark on the way down. He lets me go in front and therefore sees
my Swedish flag on my back pack. He asks if I'm from Norway, to what I reply it
is a Swedish flag but I am French. He then says that he has been there and loved
Lausanne. I neutrally comeback that this would be Switzerland but that Europe
is made of so many countries anyway, it is hard to keep track. He wittily retaliates:
"Oh, look at me the typical dumb American who doesn't know his geo".
To his defense, he has lived in many countries of which geographies I wouldn't be
100% confident. And to salute his fairplay further and great persona, a few
minutes later after I made a quick pit stop and re-appeared right in front of
him from the bush, he said: "Oh look, that's the Belgian girl!". I'm
lucky he will be back as my squire further in the race.
The sun
remains relentlessly hot despite descending towards the desert in the backdrop
but I prefer revering in the reddening sky enveloping Big Bear Lake in the
closer distance. The night quickly falls and in case I didn't mention it yet,
this is So' Cal, which means, hello starry nights, whose magic is heightened by
the light-free environment of being far from the cities. As I take out my lamp,
it quickly shows signs of feebleness. This is my no-failing lamp and I don't have
time to blink before it dies... A flutter of anxiety enwraps me. I distressingly
take out my back-up lamp until it shows the same fainting signs a few minutes
later. I change the batteries before it goes completely out and start to
ruminate anxiously. What if my back-up batteries on my back-up lamp give up on
me? Why am I even in this situation? I have 16kms till the next aid station
and 16 more till the next one where I have a 3rd headlamp in my drop bag. And I
continue to slightly loose my newly imbued So' Cal' coolness when markers on
the course prove useless in the pitch dark since they are not reflective. I
decide to stop running and pause. I take a deep breath in and look up. The riveting
stars grace every piece of the sky by their presence. The dim milky ways act as
patches amongst the starry ensembles, softening the picture as the cedars and
other trees' lichen beards do in the forests back in Canada. How many of us in
the world in this very moment or any given time get to witness such beauty, in
such a simple form? I annihilate any further black thoughts I may have had seconds
ago. I just have no cogent right in this context. I am blessed to be here. So
far I have been feeling great. So I take one more big breath and start running again,
gazing through the darkness for those small orange flag, beacons of hope that
I am still on track and not astray in the wild in bear's territory...
Km78, phew,
I see some light in the distance. My lamp made it to camp 2. I feel great
though a bit dozy, the lack of this past week's sleep and the sun's hammering
all afternoon is catching up with me. I thus bestow myself a good 20-25 minute
break. I am taken care of by RD Paul who tells me I am minutes behind the top. #7
I think he says and just as for the Fat Dog race 3 weeks earlier when I was
told I was #2nd in the race, I freeze, wondering how many dropped out or who
paid them to DNF (papa/Doudou, sur c'est pas vous??)... After grabbing my 3rd lamp
hoping this one will make it without hiccups, I head out. About an hour later I
join-up with Trevor with who we do nott speak much until we get lost... Some smart pants
have taken the glow sticks markers into another direction and we lose about 20
minutes before getting back onto the right course. This has definitely
woken me up ensuing the pulse rise from running faster here and there looking
for the course and the anger from such stupid attitude. I give myself the right
to remain exasperated by men's selfishness and actually use this energy for my
purpose. And then go back to happy runner mode and the known night-running
automatism when each step if calculated, would be the exact same distance.
Human body and mind's wonder...
My body
shows a little less wonder an hour or so later when I start feeling my cuboid
as I did during the last 50k of the Fat Dog and the excruciating pain that went
with it, keeping me from staying 1st woman. Here again it is so tensed that I
feel I am running on a sharp knife every step I take. I grunt like a bear would
(one connection amongst others with bears). I stop to stretch it, I massage it
so it loosens but it only helps a bit. And I want to run so off I go and by
self-persuading myself it doesn't hurt, it probably, let's try, won't anymore.
Shortly
before km 88's aid station, I am caught up with Mark. We head out together and
start chit chatting as if around a tea with scones moment, in an English
manor's veranda overlooking a pond with ducks dancing like a swan's ballet. Ok,
maybe I'm dreaming a bit here but it is close to 3am after all and we do
walk/jog with ease that it lulls me (not that you are boring Mark!). Our pleasant
time is suddenly disrupted when Mark feels like telling me about this
"cool" app (this is So Cal) and realizes we are off course. Damn me,
again?! My heart rate and irritation spikes up again until we (he) finds the
course about 15 minutes later. I re-center my energy on the moment and the fact
that Mark got us back on tracks in a deft manoeuvre. If you read this Mark -
thank you again.
I still feel
really good as we arrive at Km 96's aid station, where volunteer Pedro welcomes
us. He came all the way from Mexico to be there for us... I blame myself for
having had dark thoughts earlier on as I realize how lucky I am to be here and
meet people like him. Even more so that he greets me as "the first
woman"... I beg him pardon but he shows me the list... Ok, can't refute
it. At this point also joins Jay, a pretty cool dude with a "stache"
that he longs to dip in beer and the lake (not sure which order) as per his own
words. He will prove of equally great company as Mark in the next kilometers,
not to mention his eyes; a fine melange of the sky's bluebird tint and the
nearby Navajo's turquoise stones... So off our trio hits the road again. At
least for a little while because they must have had more peanut butter &
jam sandwiches than I did on that last stop and they slowly but surely distance
me. Gentleman Mark still makes sure however for as long as I can hear him that
I don't miss the easy to miss turns thanks to his GPS app. Back alone, I revel
in this moment: I love seclusion - another reason why I love mountains and mountain running.
It is now
close to 7am and I am about to witness something I'd never seen before, a magical
moment that only nature bestows and grants the ones who go look for it. The
horizon starts to glimmer into an incredible amaranthine color which slowly
separates into a softly layered sky. It has taken the form of a rainbow, from
light pink to warm red to dark purple, the assemblage finesse is indescribable.
It is only missing the crackling you can hear when watching aurora borealis, as
this halo yet vivid light feels very similar. It takes me a while to escape the
trans it's put me in and pick up the pace. I arrive at km 116's aid station
seemingly impassive and muzzy, not from the fatigue (I'm feeling great) but
from what I've just lived... What brings me back to the very moment is the kind
volunteers offering me turn after turn a glass of Coke, fruits or a Nutella
sandwich. After tens of hours in a race eating regularly, the aid food
libations often become a predicament for me but who could say no to a PJ
sandwich, even if you're French, there's no "faute de gout" on a race...
They also offer a blanket. They are the ones who must have been freezing in
this cold night and should be using those. I reply I could use one though and
this man tucks me into it as when I was a child. I am pampered and would I not still
be feeling great, I'd stay... When I'm ready to go, the latter walks me across
the road, warning me not to let him slow me down. Sweet sweet man... And he
waves goodbye saying I have a "great spirit" for thanking and acting
with the volunteers as I did. I'm starting to wonder if he really existed or if
I had slipped into Morpheus's arms in this warm blanket...
After the
Sugarloaf ascent, up next is "The Crux of the course" as the organization put it: a 2km descent into the Canyon and then back up 3 kms and
~1000m ascent on the other side. That should say "The fun of the course"! Well,
my kind of fun. And I feel great going all the way up. This part of the
course has been worked on and reopened specifically for the race. The work has
obviously been colossal and I feel grateful once again to be here and to be part
of this. Some sections have been literally dug and shoveled and I feel like
one of the early adventurers opening routes... Thank you to all the helping
hands, this was a special experience.
Right before
km 144, I am joined by Jay again who "took a nap" on the previous aid.
We chit chat again till we start seeing the Lake and the city down the plateau
we're on. The heat is back but I'm still feeling great, 3h ahead of my
scheduled time and still first woman... Hard to believe. And as most of my
races, I feel like slowing down because I don't want it to be over yet. I want
to maintain the time hold. My wish will be partly granted since the end
distance will be 5 kilometers more. As Kilian once said it while getting lost
on the Tahoe Rim run, the more kilometers the more fun.
Back on the tarmac,
as usual, the feet speed up without having to ask. Automatic mode as always. Last
straight line, a handful of people are on the finish line and RD Paul announces
me. I can't remember what he said, my smile was covering my ears I suppose. I
wish I could say the emotions were the strongest I'd ever experienced on a line
but I think because I felt so great all along and enjoyed it all along and in
this way, had an "easy" race, I cross the line with a huge smile but
as if I was runner X along the list. I just can't sink it in that I am the
first woman. Paul professionally tells me that I look amazing and gives me a
big hug. I feel ill at ease with all his complements (he is quite the cool guy!). I tardy a few moments on
the line, a few people come up to me and congratulate saying I look like I've
run 5k and that it is really impressive what I accomplished. I have heard it
before (and still disagree!) but in this case, I really feel uncomfortable
receiving those kind words and acknowledgements. Do I really deserve them and
being heralded "fastest woman in So Cal" when it all went so easy? And
what if the woman before me hadn't gotten lost too, she seemed fresh and would
have finished hours before me. I feel like Stephen Bradbury, the Ozzie speed
skater who won gold but because all his opponents fell in front of him. Sorry,
that's not really nice for him, he still made it to the OG and went to the
finals... (Copyright to Impact Photography, no infringement intended)
After a good shower, I'm back to the
line and the podium area, where I see Mark and Jay again. Their words ("tough
woman" inter alia) and jokes appease me and though still feeling odd about this "win", I go back to
the happy camper I've been for the last 27h23min. This first place is
amazing of course and is the utmost proof of accomplishment that make me do these events.
I veer my thoughts to actually be cognizant that if it has been so easy it may be
because I have built the shape to reach that point and that I used the small
hurdles today in my favour which shows the strength I found to do so. Improving and
becoming a better version of myself is another reason why I participate in these events,
so I ought to recognize that and this rank I am granted. Again, this is what I long for year round, to just
be out there, to discover and write my own story, instilled by the help of my
hosts: the summits, the cols, the passes and everything that makes my Kingdom
an umbilical attachment.
Back with
the right state of mind, I run up the podium as Paul announces "29, from
France, Gratianne Daum" and make the most of it all: the actual title, the
little crowd, my fellow runners, finishers (28) or not (this time), my prize for being "Queen of the mountain" i.e. being first woman on top of Sugarloaf (I was second but the first one DNF) and one of the
best object I've ever owned: a huge bear head-shaped wooden trophy (that will
prove quite the carry-on!). (Copyright to Impact Photography, no infringement intended)
It's hard to
explain the energy I garner and the fulfilling feeling I am offered by the
simplicity of the mountains, their perennial beauty and potent peace-giving. It's
something that penetrates me and smooths my view on the world and myself. In
a perfect world I'd also be able to take that all the peace and strength to the "real
world", as defined by society. That would be in hopes of keeping away from
the fusillade of dark thoughts and concerns of whether I'm good enough; of a
person, of a family member, of a friend, of a co-worker. Maybe some day. I do take a good part of it though. The
Grand Dali once said when working for our family business: "the fragility
of crystal is not a weakness but a finesse". If my fragility is a burden
in the life down in the valley, up here in the mountains it has no impact and
no diktats apply. It actually helps me push harder to prove I can make it
without breaking. And I become stronger each time a little bit more. I run into oblivion, to find the lightness of being, where a
sharp sensation of being alive suffuses me and where I am intoxicated with a
feeling of rightness. So for now, I content myself with cutting myself from the
truth of my existence while I'm up there and enjoying the placid state of my entire
body and soul. (Below, a sun-baked golden shroud over this life infusing walk in the park as I drove down to LAX).
Thank you
again to Paul, Matt and all their volunteers and anyone who made this event
happen for us lucky runners. I will for sure be back with great pleasure as
your "guest", especially since I heard there will be more ascent. But
no more heat for now, next race up is a 100 mile in Alaska next February. Can't
wait. Stay tuned! www.susitna100.com
PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT! At least to show you didn't fall asleep while reading :) |
Wonderful girl. Dad is proud of you and confirm he did not pay anybody.
RépondreSupprimerGreat job since your first win in the CCC. Just follow.
Dad
Wonderful girl. Dad is proud of you and confirm he did not pay anybody.
RépondreSupprimerGreat job since your first win in the CCC. Just follow.
Dad
Moi non plus je n'ai payé personne !
RépondreSupprimerEncore bravo pour cette remarquable performance. Ton récit est extrêmement vivant et donne envie d'y aller voir un jour...
Attention cependant : à compter de maintenant tu dois honorer ton rang et viser les podiums à chaque fois : tu ne peux plus te contenter d'être simplement finisher ( comme le vulgum pecus ! )
Je penserai très fort à toi dimanche prochain, lors du marathon d'Amsterdam auquel je participe : I will keep smiling from the start to the finish line, thinking of you : you will make me strong !
Love from devil