This October I accomplished a goal that wasn’t even on my radar at the beginning of this summer (a prime example of why I don’t make bucket lists). I ran 37 miles, climbing and descending 10,000 vertical feet to complete my first Ultramarathon, and my third ever trail race. It took me 8 hours and 45 minutes, and I managed to sneak into the top 10 (7th place!) for women. Perhaps the craziest part of all though, is that I crossed the finish line with a pep in my step and a smile on my face. The pep didn’t take long to turn into a hobble, but my smile remained intact. Why and how did I go from casual runs on the pavement to a trail ultramarathon? I’m glad you asked.
Before I dive in, a couple quick things:
- Ultrarunning isn’t all running. Yes, I got myself in pretty good shape over the summer, but no, I do not run up mountains. Walking is the best kept secret of trail running.
- It’s not as crazy as it sounds. I, too, thought people who ran ultramarathons were slightly masochistic lunatics. Upon further investigation, though, I have come to realize that most of them are just people who love running and the mountains.
From 10K to 60K
At the beginning of the summer, I had never run on a trail. Matt and I love hiking, but I had always been equal parts intimidated and intrigued by trail running. When my sister Bonnie, an avid trail runner herself, came to visit us in June it seemed like the perfect opportunity to dip my toe in the water. I bought myself a pair of trail running shoes, and we signed up for a 10K “fun run” that coincided with the final weekend of her trip.
We spent the week leading up to the race hiking throughout Switzerland, before crossing the border to Chamonix, France where the race would take place on Saturday afternoon. It seemed wise to try at least a little bit of running before the race itself, so on the descent of our Friday afternoon hike Bonnie and I broke into a jog. Approximately 2 minutes in, I caught my toe on a rock and fell forward in a rather dramatic fashion, calling out to Bonnie “I’m down!” I must have done some kind of barrel roll, because when I popped up and dusted myself off, I somehow managed to skin my left knee as well as the back of my right shoulder.
I think it’s safe to say, I was a natural.
We made it down the mountain in one piece, and headed into town to pick up our race bibs. This was where I got my first taste of the trail/ultrarunning community. Our 10K was part of a weekend full of races that ranged from a “Vertical Kilometer” (ascending 1 km over just 3.4 km of distance) to a 90K ultramarathon. As we walked through town, runners who had begun racing at 4AM were making their way back to the finish line. Who were these strange, mystical mountain creatures?
The next day, as we lined up at the start of the 10K, a fellow runner named Eliza noticed the American flags on our race bibs and struck up a conversation with us. Her sister, Alex, had just moved to Geneva.
“She’s a runner too”, she said, “you guys should meet!”
What she didn’t say was “she’s a badass ultrarunner who finished in the top 10 of the 90K race last summer, and her enthusiasm and positive attitude will slowly creep into your psyche until you start to think that you, too, can run ultramarathons!”
I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the moment when my fate of running up and down mountains all summer was sealed.
The race went well enough. No blood was spilled, and Bonnie managed to get an ice bucket dumped on her head at the finish line. I distinctly remember nearing the finish and thinking to myself “Lauren, if you ever get it into your head to try to do a half marathon, just…don’t.”
3 weeks later, I signed up for a half marathon.
That same week, an email arrived from Alex, asking whether Matt and I would be interested in a trip to Croatia in the fall for a race series being held there.
“Sounds fun, I’d have to think about distances,” I wrote.
“You would crush the 50km,” Alex wrote back.
I laughed out loud as I showed the email to Matt.
“I can’t do a 50k!… Can I?”
The seed was planted.
July and August were filled with a series of these moments. Ultimately, it was curiosity that drove me to dive deeper into trail running. Each time I pushed a little further or allowed myself to try something I thought might be too hard, my body surprised me. I had never considered myself an endurance athlete. Over the years I had internalized the belief that if I went longer my body would shut down, or start to fall apart from injury.
The week after my half marathon, I joined Alex on one of her long training runs. We covered 20 miles – 7.9 miles more than I had ever done before. I wasn’t the fastest, and I still felt like my heart was going to explode on the uphills, but it was so incredibly empowering to realize that what I had perceived as limits were nothing more than self imposed beliefs. The views were a good distraction from the pain too.
Empowering is really the best word I can think of to describe my relationship with trail running throughout this past summer. Time and time again, I pushed past self doubt, and every time I was left feeling stronger, more capable, more confident. I have never felt more in tune with my body. I learned to listen to it, to understand what it needs, and to take care if it – with sleep, food and a whole lot of stretching. Running in and of itself was never the focus, but instead, my motivation was getting physically stronger so I could do more of what I loved – explore new places that only my feet could take me.
It felt good to have goals, to try things that were just outside my comfort zone, and sit with the discomfort of them. I had missed those nervous butterflies in my stomach that often visit the night before a big athletic event.
Still, I struggled to pull the trigger and sign up for an actual ultramarathon race. I found myself afraid, once again, that the 60km course in Italy I had my eye on was too aggressive for my first try. Matt, who was also growing to love the idea of trail running, continued to encourage me. Finally, after completing a 4 day/ 100 mile trek on the Tour du Mont Blanc, I got up the courage to complete my registration. I had 6 more weeks to prepare.
Alex helped me map out a training plan, and encouraged me to “practice my nutrition.” This meant I got to spend my Saturdays going for long runs in the French Alps while eating lots of stroopwafels, and other delicious snacks I planned to bring with me on race day.
It’s crazy how quickly my attitude about mileage and training shifted over the course of the summer. While I was intentional about mapping out routes and covering miles on the weekends, it felt a lot less like training and a lot more like an adventure. This, I realized, was the beauty of trail running. No two miles are alike. You’re constantly changing up your stride and your scenery as you cover different terrains and reach different elevations. Living in Switzerland meant I had no shortage of amazing trails at my disposal. I was extremely lucky to get to do most of my weekend training runs in the Chamonix valley, as well as get to explore trails in places like Lake Como, Italy and Zermatt, Switzerland 
As race day drew nearer, I was nervous, but also excited. I had never done anything like this before, so I really didn’t know what to expect. I had no idea how long it would take me, or how my body would react, but I did my best to stay confident, remembering all the miles we had covered over the summer, and how strong my body felt.
Race Day
The race start line was on the lake front of Lago d’ Orta, a beautiful lake just east of Lake Como in the Italian Lakes district. There are certainly worse places for a carby pre-race dinner than Italy. We tucked into some pizza and pasta and watched the sunset before heading back to our airbnb to attempt to get some sleep.
In the morning, Matt dropped me off, and I made my way to the starting corral. I did my best to stay loose, as I adjusted my running vest, which I would wear to carry all the mandatory race gear (extra layers, bandages, food, water, etc.). Before I knew it, the countdown was on…”cinque, quattro, tre, due, uno!”
The night before, we had mapped out the logistics of the course and determined the best places for Matt to meet me along the way. There were 5 aid stations along the route, but many were difficult to get to by car. We decided it would be best for Matt to meet me at the 3rd and 5th stations, which meant I was on my own for the first 20 miles.
Over half of the race’s 10,000 feet of vertical gain came in the first third of the race. I got off to a good start, but quickly slowed my pace as the upward slog began. A cobblestone path gave way to a narrow dirt trail as we climbed higher and higher. This first section was by far the biggest mental challenge for me. While I spent a lot of time this summer in the mountains, uphills are definitely not my strength, and it was hard to stay positive and focused on my own race as other runners continued to pass me. My legs were screaming, but I reminded myself that I’d felt this before. While my brain kept trying to convince me that I couldn’t possibly keep going, I knew from experience that if I could just push through, I’d get a brand new surge of energy as soon as the terrain changed.
A short downhill lead me into the first aid station aka a tent full of friendly volunteers and snacks (aka my dream). As tempting as it was to shovel food into my mouth, I had been told that the key to keeping your body fueled and your stomach happy was a slow, steady stream of calories. I downed some chicken broth, refilled my bottles with water and an energy drink and got back on the trail.
After another uphill battle, quite literally, I made it past the course’s highest point and things started to improve. Not only was I heading downhill, but I was nearing the 20 mile mark where I’d get to see Matt. Despite some early thoughts of “WTF am I doing, this is horrible, I want to quit” by the time I saw Matt my spirits were high and I was feeling strong again. I have learned to evaluate races/long runs based on the ratio of “WTF am I doing this is horrible to” to “WTF, I’m doing this and it’s fun!” There will always be moments of struggle, but they only make the moments of strength feel better. Hoping to keep riding the wave of endorphins, I downed some Pasta and a few more snacks, and headed off for more Italian exploring.
From here on out, it was relatively smooth sailing. As the miles ticked by, I continued to be amazed by the fact that I was still going. My hamstrings threatened to cramp, but I managed to keep the cramps at bay with plenty of electrolytes and a little bit of luck. The trails were beautiful, and I tried my best to look around and enjoy the experience as we passed through quaint Italian towns overlooking the beautiful Lake Orta.
I had set a goal to finish in under 10 hours, but secretly hoped I could finish in closer to 9 for the sole purpose of beating the sunset. As I left Matt at the final aid station, I was happily surprised to see that a sub 9-hour finish was within my reach. In the end, I made it back to the finish line in 8 hours and 45 minutes, still running with the sun still above the horizon.
As I crossed the finish line, I felt a surge of relief, pride and satisfaction. My legs were tired, but I had such an incredible store of endorphins built up from the day that I didn’t feel tired. I was greeted by Matt, Alex and our friend Dave who cheered me down the final stretch and were there to congratulate me. I’m so thankful for all the support and encouragement both Matt and Alex gave me this summer. It’s safe to say this isn’t something I would have ever schemed up on my own, but realizing I could both do it, and enjoy it was pretty great.
Awesome recording of your race. I could feel the burning legs and blood in my throat, but in a good way. See you in a month. Love you and Matt!
I loved reading about your experience. Like you, I have always thought of this sort of running as done by crazy maniacs. You gave me a better understanding of not only the how but the why involved in trail running. You are amazing. Can’t wait to see you at Christmas!