Up High into Heaven, The Gornergrat Ultra Marathon 2019

Zagan the motorhome’s spending one last night on the grass of Camping Täsch before leaving the Zermatt Valley after Ju and I ran the Zermatt-Gornergrat Half and Ultra Marathons yesterday. We had a couple of chats about who should write this blog post and it’s ended up being me, largely as Ju’s thoughts on her race were roughly: she really didn’t enjoy it one bit! It was hot, and she dislikes running hills and rocky trails, and running at altitude makes her feel sick, so the 13.1 miles she slogged out yesterday were a torture she doesn’t intend to repeat! I’m very proud of her, whatever she says. She committed to doing it back in Oct 2018, has had some knock-backs along the way and in the end made good, a little over four hours and she crossed the line with a Swiss local lass who’d buddied up with her on the final lengthy climb, working together to get themselves to Riffelberg. Ju, I salute you. The rest of the blog post is mine. Prepare for an assault on your senses folks.

My mate Phil, who’s lived (and continues to live) an extra-ordinary life, got me to Zermatt last July to run a bonkers-sounding uphill half marathon. I weighed 90Kg when I signed up for the run (20Kg more than I weigh now), and I trained hard for 6 months before the race to gain the needed fitness, finishing it in 2 hours and 37 minutes and feeling on top of the world. Losing that amount of weight to complete the run had transformed my mindset, and sparked my imagination. Within a few weeks I signed up for the ultra marathon version of the same race, which gave me roughly another 11 months to prepare. It turned out I’d need all of those months. This is a really hard race folks, but the sensation of crossing the finish line was worth every single 20 mile training run, every hill session, treadmill effort, hundreds of press-ups, planks, squats and lunges, no ale for almost a year, the lot. I’d do it all again tomorrow.

I try to be honest in this respect: I run mainly for myself, for my own sense of self-worth and to stay mentally healthy. But that’s not the whole picture. I’m inspired by other runners, and in turn I try to inspire others, albeit in a largely passive way. If someone sees what I’ve done (which I don’t consider to be anything extra-ordinary by the way, I’m a pretty bog-standard runner), and it inspires them to have a crack at a ParkRun, or even a 10K or half marathon, then that’s very important to me. It means a lot, as I know what starting running again has done for me, and what it can do for them too. Ju and I also opted to run one race a year for charity, and we combined our efforts this year to raise money for the British Lung Foundation. Why the BLF? because it’s personal, and that’s the best possible motivation. The BLF support groups across the country called ‘Breathe Easy’ who in turn support people with breathing difficulties. My dad has COPD from 20 years on the coal face, and our local Breathe Easy group has given him and mum a great deal of help and guidance which has in turn helped raise their quality of life, something I’d happily run up a mountain to say ‘thank you’ for.

We’re so happy to report we’ve raised over £1300 between us for the BLF on these runs!!! Yeah baby!! We’ve been banging on about this charity event for weeks now but it’s done, so no more asking for your hard-earned. Well, maybe one last beg: if you can spare even just a couple of quid, click here to go to our Just Giving page, and your donation will go direct to the BLF. That’s it now, we promise, no more asking for donations, at least not for another year!

The Race

The Gornergrat Ultramarathon takes places in early July each year, in the Zermatt Valley. The course runs from the village of St Niklaus, south for a half marathon (13.1 miles or 21.1 km) to Zermatt, steadily uphill with three ‘steps’ which are steeper sections needed to get to the next length of trail. The St Niklaus start sees the marathon and ultramarathon runners all set off together, roughly 1500 of ’em. There’s also a relay marathon, where one runner does the lower half marathon before handing over to a partner at Zermatt, who then completes the upper marathon. The relay runners leave a few minutes before the mass of marathoners. Elite runners in turn set off a few minutes before the relay runners. This spreads the field out a little, as the trails aren’t wide enough to take all those bodies.

It’s at Zermatt where the going gets tough. You’ve come up 500m in altitude from St Niklaus, to 1616m above sea level. There’s about 18% less oxygen in the air than at sea level, and you’ve already run an uphill half marathon to get here. At Zermatt the half marathoners join the main field, the marathon relay runners change partners and we all run through the scenic town, with the almighty Matterhorn standing high in the sky above us. After about a mile running up the river, the course turns back on itself for a mile before launching itself uphill. Marathoners are at mile 15, and we’re all in for 3.5 miles of climbing at an average incline of 10%. The path winds its way upwards through the trees, using switchbacks here and there to gain height. Zermatt’s visible every now and again through the trees, rapidly turning into a miniature toy town.

At mile 18.5 there’s respite. The course flattens off to only 2 or 3% uphill and takes a dip downwards until just before 20 miles when it kicks back up again for just under a mile. We’re then finally set free, with the course steadily dropping for 3 miles across trails and rocks. It pays to keep your eyes on the ground as it’s easy to turn an ankle or trip on the uneven footing. There are a couple of ways to see this section of the run: either a gift, for allowing your legs to finally run loosely again, or a curse, for you’re just losing some of the height you’ve gained, which you’re just about to pay for. At mile 24 you hit the bottom of a pretty tough drag, hiking hands-on-knees alongside the cog railway as it launches itself into the sky up to Riffelberg. The views at this point are stupendous, monumental scenes of mountain and glacier. Your lungs are most likely demanding your attention mind you.

The half and marathoners finish at Riffelberg, but for the ultramarathonners the uphill hike continues past Riffelberg, for a total final climb of 4.1 miles at an average of 13%. And yes, at that point where 90% of the field turn off towards the booming loud speakers and the crowds, when you’ve already run and hiked a marathon, it is a challenge to keep going. If you’ve genuinely had it, the organisers allow ultra runners to finish here instead and still get credited as a ‘standard marathon’ finisher, both a blessing and a curse. The turn-off point for the ultra is just before the marathon finish, at 26 miles, leaving 2.1 miles of trail. The views are now just plain bonkers, like the gods themselves are putting on a private play for you and those four blokes you’re slogging away with in a gasping tango, an entire sky forming a gladiatorial backdrop to your effort.

Who knows what your fellow runners have done to get here? In all likelihood they’ve committed to this as hard as you have, and it means the same to them. It’s impossible to see from the outside the range of emotions which play within. Fear of failure, right here at the end stumbling along at almost 3000m. The oxygen is now a third less than that at sea level, and your attempts to break into a slow jog on the few sections of flatness leave you gasping for breath. Runners ahead seem vertically above as the trail gets as steep as 30%, laughable, but they’ve done it so you will too. The kilometre markers placed by the organisers alongside the entire route are now spaced at half kilometre intervals, presumably to aid your flagging sanity. With roughly 44.5km done there’s one last final drink station. One of the marshalls asks if you’re OK to continue. A nod and a thumbs-up later, with a couple of isotonic drinks and a coke in the system, the final ascent starts.

Finally, finally, the hotel and observatory at Gornergrat comes into view. This is a point you’ve dreamed of. Just a few hundred metres of rock to stagger over and you reach the metal steps, your legs strangely working fully while your lungs continue to rasp. There are people here, shouting encouragement, with one voice comes the message “20 meters to go”. You break into a jog, one last dig into the soul, the word ZIEL (FINISH) above as you cross the line, hands in the air, victorious in the endless battle against yourself. A blur happens. Your name comes loud on the speakers around as someone grabs and shakes your hand, a red ribbon with a heavy medal is placed around your neck and someone ties a gold blanket to you, protection against the cold now you’ve finally stopped. What happens next is up to you, but whatever you do, bragging rights are yours my friend. At least until the next mountain comes calling.

What Happened in 2019?

The 2019 race was warm. Marathons are best run in the cold, 7 or 8°C at most. In Zermatt it got up to about 22°C when the half marathon joined us, and the locals were hosing us down as we passed, one comically soaked me to the point I couldn’t see where I was! I was thankful afterwards. Last year the organisers had also warned us to drink more as we’re at altitude and dehydration is a bigger risk, so I made sure to stop at every station and down at least 2 cups. My plan was to use the ‘Power Bars’ they had out here (alongside gels, fruit, soup, isotonic drinks, coke and so on) but after eating a bar over the first couple of hours, I gave up on that idea and started drinking as much isotonic drink as I could stomach, turning to coke when there was no ‘iso’ or water when my stomach started to churn with all the sugar. There were plenty of cold sponges knocking about and I used them when I saw them, soaking my shoulders and neck. Some runners held onto a sponge and re-wet it in the snow melt streams as they went.

I’d expected the first half marathon to be easier than it was. I think the heat played a part, and by the time Zermatt came into a view, about a mile down the valley, I wasn’t feeling great, and it took me about 2 hours to get there. Ju had already been released into the runners ahead of me. Last year I’d started from Zermatt and happily legged it up that 10% incline out of the village, surprised my legs were working so well, passing a large number of walkers as I did. This time around practically no-one was running and neither was I, although notably one blind runner and his guide ploughed their way up the hill like it was the flat lands, the guide giving constant instruction to his charge. It was only when the course went rocky that I finally caught and overtook this pair. How on earth they managed to get over the rough sections were beyond me. Another hero we both spotted had broken his arm before the race, and completed the marathon with it in a cast.

I caught up with Ju on the long slog upwards out of the town and we had a quick chat and grabbed a selfie with the Matterhorn behind before she ushered me on ahead. The overall race had this kind of feel for me: more relaxed than a ‘normal marathon’ and grabbing a photo along the way didn’t feel wrong. I came 130th in the end, from a field of 383 male ultra runners (those who finished, some poor souls had to drop out), so I was never going to win anything, other than my own self respect. That said, I only grabbed a couple of pictures from high up on the ultra section, and I’m grateful to Ju for getting more to remember the run by (and Ju was grateful for the excuse to stop for breath).

Topping out on the Zermatt climb at mile 20 I started to feel better, perhaps as the air was cooling a little and I’d supped enough ‘iso’ to fuel a battleship. Getting my legs turning again was a bit difficult, as my achilles has a habit of seizing when I ask it to do daft stuff like this, but everything eased off again and I started to flow over the rocks, trails and streams, remembering to look up and take in the majestic surroundings. I knew it’s impossible for practically anyone to run from mile 24, the course is so steep, so I tried to make the most of the downhill and flat sections to make up some time before the hands-on-knees fun began.

The term ‘ultramarathon’ technically applies to any race longer than 26.2 miles, but in practice the shortest ones are normally 50km, about 30 miles (and up to over 100 miles), so this ‘ultra’ was a very short one. Before running it I was a little cautious about calling it an ‘ultra’ as it’s only a couple of miles longer than a marathon. Now I’ve done it I’ve no such qualms. That last two miles were hard, my friends. It felt like a vertical, breathless scrabble at points, as we all processioned our way along, hardy anyone making any attempt to overtake, just watching out as we each stumbled and caught our feet on rocks in exhaustion. Emotions started to overcome me in waves from mile 27. I blew my nose at one point, quickly regretting it when the two or three breaths I’d missed sent me dizzy and I took stock of how close I was to toppling over. I eased back a bit, suddenly worried I’d fail right when the finish line was within reach.

When I saw Gornergrat rise over the rock, I looked at my watch and realised I might get there in under 6 hours. I’d not set a target beforehand, but now I was so close one suddenly arose in me and I found a new level, running up the metal steps and across the bridge, up the final slabs of rock and through the finish, arms aloft, a wave of euphoria hit me all at once, a thousand small highs wrapped in a second.

Once through and past the finish I found a section of wall where I lowered myself to the ground, pulled my cap down low and sobbed a while. I don’t much know why this happens, but it usually does after a hard effort, by which I mean a year-long one. Loved ones, of people who suffer stoically around me, of the messages of support sponsors and friends wrote to us, the Matterhorn looked on. I don’t know if anyone else did, but after a few minutes I came back to life, got a message from Ju that she’d safely finished and happily accepted someone’s offer to get a photo of me. Afterwards I took the train back down to Riffelberg, a runners-only special train, filled with silent, introspective (and knackered I guess) runners clad in gold sheets like mine. All of us alike, all of us winners that day.

The Aftermath

Once we’d met up at Riffelberg and snapped a few more pics, we headed down on the train to Zermatt, heaving with sweating runners like it was last year. At one point a bang and flash of light from the electric lines above us had the cog engine rapidly hauled to a halt. We all sat steaming in the heat, us two thankful for a seat (we took the train up to Gornergrat and back down again to avoid the mass of runners waiting to descend). One poor lass could wait no more though, and lightened the mood for all of us as she dashed past the panoramic windows and behind a building, no doubt painfully aware of the cheers from the semi-stricken train. After some checks and adjustments, we crawled off the mountain again, taking an age to reach the valley floor.

In Zermatt the pasta party was in full swing, and we headed in clutching the free vouchers all runners were given for a meal. Last year the tent had been all-but-empty but this time it was packed, as the town was welcoming elite runners competing in the European Mountain Running Championship today (Sunday). The tent was hot and the speeches and singing endless so we beat a retreat back to the van to check on our war wounds. Chafing was the main issue, with us both finding seamed underwear isn’t a good idea! I’d managed to miss a couple of areas of my back with the factor 50, which were now bright red. My achilles seized and left me hobbling about, so I was amazed to see a couple of fellow ultra runners heading out for a ‘warm down’ run that evening. Our legs have gotten through it well, somehow, and my thinking is the heat forced us to move slower than we otherwise might have. I felt my lungs were the limiting factor, and my legs didn’t seem to suffer, although I did have to knock back a couple of pain killers last night when me left leg went into ‘deep ache’ mode and wouldn’t let me sleep.

The Mountain Running Championship

Our running numbers have train tickets embedded in them, granting us three day’s free travel on the valley routes. These tickets usually cost more than the race entry, and we made good use of them, including heading back up to Riffelberg today to see the end of the senior races in the championship. These races are only about 10km, starting at Zermatt, so are steep, very steep. These athletes are Europe’s best at legging it up hills, and most of them seemed to weigh roughly nowt. We stood about 500m from the finish, watching the faces of young men and women who’d come from everywhere from Israel to Albania to represent their country, and those faces were in pain! One chap was oozing slobber from the edges of his mouth, his eyes fixed upwards through the spectators along the route, with cow bells clanging and shouts of ‘hup-hup-hup!!!’ bellowing out in support. We were amazed to see a British man winning the senior race. Fantastic stuff, given the fact none of them are lottery-funded (we met a couple of their managers on the train) so they’re unlikely to have much time to train at altitude.

And Wrapping Up

So, that chapter in our lives is closed. Ju’s never running a race like that again. I, on the other hand, am. As long as my achilles holds up that is. Which one it will be, I don’t know. I have a 24 hours race lined up which I’ll do with a fellow member of our running club (KADS – Kimberley and District Striders) and a 26 mile hill race with the same chap a few weeks beforehand. After that I’ve nothing sorted, but I know now I work best when I have something ‘big’ to aim for which is far enough away to give me the time to build up to it. I’ve a few ideas knocking about, but nothing solid yet, partly as this is something Ju and I need to agree together, as it impacts the both of us.

If you’ve read this far, wow! I expected no-one would. Thanks again for all the support you’ve given us over these past weeks and please know that every kind word’s been very gratefully absorbed.

Cheers, Jay