Race Report: Trail Alsace 100Km/100Mile

They called these races 100km and 100 mile. but I feel compelled to report right up front that the actually distances were 72 and 110 miles. Bonus!

So many of our races seem to require a complicated back story to explain how we ended up at that particular start line. This race is no exception. If the back story isn't what you signed up for- skip to the next section- it's long! It goes back two years, really, to 70.3 Oregon in 2022. I had the race of my life- one of those rare perfect days where everything goes right and you cross the finish with a giant smile and a big PR. 4:41:41. Jerome had the opposite kind of race- he'd had a flat on his brand new disc wheel and didn't have the right supplies to fix it. He'd had to wait for help for over 40 minutes. We went to the awards ceremony- I'd taken 3rd in my age group and 8th overall. After announcing the podium finishers in each AG they began the World Championship slot roll down. Jerome suggested we didn't need to stay since we had no intention of going all the way to Finland for another 70.3 WC, which we'd raced twice already. I smiled

a bit coyly and remained seated. He looked me straight in the eye and said "No".

I smiled again. I knew Finland wasn't our plan. But this race had gone so well I not only felt like I might get a slot, I felt like I deserved a slot. For possibly the first time ever I felt very qualified to have an opportunity to compete at a World Championship. I wanted the slot. They got to my age group and announced there were two slots available. The first place finisher already had hers. Second place took her slot. Then they called my name. I looked at Jerome once more. He rolled his eyes, but he didn't protest. I stood up and raised my hand to claim it. It was a spur of the moment selfish decision. We had no way of knowing if Jerome would be able to get a slot or not and it would be a long expensive trip to Europe we hadn't agreed to. But, this is our relationship. We understand each other well enough to know that while my choice wasn't going to make him happy, he'd ultimately support me, and do what he could to also be on the start line. He knows I’d do the same in return. We want each other to follow inspiration when it strikes. As it happened, we entered a brand new 70.3- Happy Valley in Pennsylvania, later that year and Jerome did, in fact, earn his own slot. However, in the mean time, Jerome was also offered a slot for the (men's) full IM World Championship in Nice, France, two weeks after Finland. Knowing we would have to be in Europe anyway, he took it, and we ended up planning a long trip- nearly three weeks- in Europe that fall. We began brainstorming what we could do with the time between the two races. I had always wanted to see Chamonix, a mountain town in the French Alps known to be a European mecca for outdoor adventure enthusiasts. We'd vaguely floated the idea of working towards a qualification for UTMB, a famous trail race that starts and ends in Chamonix, so we decided we should go do some scouting of the area. We totally fell in love. It's the most magical place I've ever visited. And Jerome became entranced with the idea of racing the UTMB one day. So we started researching what it would take to qualify. You had to earn "stones" at specified races and then enter your stones into a registration lottery. We started choosing races. There weren't too many to choose from in the US, so we ended up deciding on one in Mexico, one in Colorado, and one near where Jerome grew up, in France's Alsace region. OK- there you go- now you're all caught up on how a great race in Oregon led us to this Ultra Trail race in France!

We chose this race after the one in Mexico- a 100km race with a ton of very technical very steep single track through the Mexican jungle. That race had kicked our butts. Jerome finished, but physically destroyed and in way more time than he'd anticipated. I hadn't even finished. My legs were gone half way through, and by mile 45 (out of 67ish) after hours of walking and crying, I threw in the towel. We both adjusted out training methods and our expectations. When we chose this race in France, Jerome felt confident he could go further, and chose the 100 mile option. I still needed to conquer the 100km distance, so chose that option with one goal: just finish and get my stones.

We arrived in France a couple days early. Jerome's race started at 8pm on Friday. We drove to the start, picked up his bib, he hit the porta-potties a few

times, and finally he was off. I cheered and crewed for a few hours, until about midnight, then had to let him go on his own and get some rest. My own race would be on Sunday. Turns out, though, when your spouse is running through the woods in the middle of the night it's about impossible to sleep. I kept tossing

and turning and checking my phone worried he'd send a "I need you" text at some point. It was a cold night, I was afraid he hadn't packed enough layers, or a headlamp would die, or any number of other things might go wrong. By 6 something, with no updates, I checked the tracker. It showed he was about an hour from the next aid station- one near our airBnb. I sent a text- "You OK? If you need me I'll come, if not I'll try to sleep a bit more". No response. I stared at my phone until it was too late to make it to the aid station in time. No response. I closed my eyes and hoped no news was good news. After another hour or so of tossing and turning I got up, packed everything I could think he might need or want, and headed to the next aid station. At this point he was already over 35 miles into his 110 mile race. He decided to take his time and do a full refresh. He changed from tights to shorts, changed his shirt, put on fresh socks, restocked his snack supply, filled his bottles, and was off again. I crewed him throughout the

day until he finished around 11pm. By the time we got home, got cleaned up, had some dinner, unpacked and repacked, it was about 1am. 7 hours to sleep before we needed to get up for my race, which would start at 10am. Thank god Jerome is fast or this night could have been a lot shorter. By the time my alarm went off at 8am, Jerome had already gone to the bakery for fresh bread for breakfast and had brewed coffee. Sometimes I wonder if he's even human.

My race start was arranged into three start waves based on your prior race results. Given my lack of results, I was in the last wave, and happy to be there. I was sure my key to success would be severely restrained pacing. So I started with the slow pokes and tried to fit in. When they walked, I walked. When my HR started going up, I slowed down. I put in my head this needed to be stupidly easy early on, so that it wouldn't be so stupidly hard later on. And it worked. The miles rolled by- the first 40 went by so fast and easy I started feeling a bit more confident. The course was mainly

single track winding up and down hills going from castle to castle, many complete with armored knights and singing minstrels, throughout this wonderful area that has heavily embraced and preserved their medieval history. After a week of rain and several other races having already gone down the trails, they were thoroughly trashed. The mud was ankle deep for long sections, but I decided my background in muddy OCR racing must give me the advantage here. I was certainly no stranger to running through mud for hours. I was consistently passing people through the day, people who hadn't paced as well at the beginning. By miles 40-50, the flat sections had disappeared and it was all up or down, so I was progressing a bit slower, but I still felt strong and comfortable. Somewhere around mile 52 or so, I started to fall apart a bit. It was late, maybe 11pm. I still had a lot of hours and miles ahead of me and hit that slump every endurance racer has experienced. My thoughts turned negative, my stride slowed, my breathing became ragged as a lump of unhappy formed in my

throat. But I've been here many times before. I know it's in my head. It's some logical instinctual part of my brain saying "this is hard, and unnecessary. You're tired. It's past bed time. Wouldn't you like to just stop running and go sleep in a warm bed? That's an option. Up to you." I fight it with the conscious part of my brain "You're trying to make me stop but I won't let you. I am strong. I can do this. I don't have to listen to the bad thoughts.". As I'm working through this inner dialog, a man passes me doing a more productive power hike up this final climb before we descend to an aid station where Jerome will be. "Just stay with him. Let him set the pace, I'll just follow." It was working, something about matching his pace, following his steps, turning my unfaithful brain off and just becoming his mindless shadow was calming me. My pace was better, my breathing had returned to normal. Just then Jerome texted "quick stop when you get here, you need to keep moving". I

knew I was still on the edge though. I replied "No. Feeling sad. Need a big stop". He would know what that meant. I was in the dark place and needed some extra love and encouragement. And, if all else failed, I needed him to be a jerk and refuse to allow me to quit. Luckily, it didn't come to that. I followed my involuntary pace partner all the way in, and Jerome was there ready to welcome me with a hug, then plant me in a chair, feed me, make sure I was stocked up for the next big section, and shower me with kisses and smiles that made this all feel happy and normal. There were two sections left from that point- 10 miles over one last big climb and descent, then 4 rolling miles to the finish. The 10 mile section was slow, daunting. It was steep and muddy. For each step forward you'd slide back half way. At mile 20 that's sort of funny- in the middle of the night at mile 60+ it's soul crushing. But I just kept moving steadily forward. Going down in the mud was no better, or

faster. Occasionally someone would fly by running down the steep, muddy, rocky trail. If it were any time other than 3am I'd have been sure they weren't racers. How in the world could they do THAT at this point? And if they had that much left in the tank, what the heck had they been doing all day? But, alas, the key to success in ultra-running is to stay focused on your own journey and not let others influence you too much. I kept plugging away, made a brief stop at the last aid station for a few more kisses and words of encouragement, and off I went into the forest one last time for the final stretch. About an hour later we were descending steep village roads into Obernai as the

sun was creeping up to mark a new day. I crossed the finish line and claimed my first 100km race finish in just over 19 hours, right about dead center of the field of racers. It wasn't fast, but it wasn't slow. It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible. It may not seem like it, but this in itself is a big victory for me. I'd learned after a couple DNFs that I needed to recalibrate expectations in ultra running. I needed to start out shooting for solid finishes, first, then work my way up, like I'd done over many years in triathlon. So a mid-pack finish is a victory, for now. It's progress. A place to build from.

If you've made it this far, congratulations for also being someone who can endure very long undertakings. I have to add one additional thought here, though. I finished writing the report above and very nearly deleted the whole

thing. I re-read it and it immediately struck me that while I had recounted the events of the weekend I had totally missed the mark on what had actually mattered. I did a truly poor job highlighting the efforts of the true hero of the story: Jerome. So if you'll allow it, let me quickly recapture the whole thing from the perspective of a lucky wife, rather than a runner.

First, he raced 100 miles through rain, hail, mud, hills, and darkness as his race both started and finished at night. He never complained, his focus never wavered. He ran hard the whole way, ever conscious that the earlier he finished the more sleep I'd get before my race. It pushed him to run hard even when his legs no longer wanted to. I didn't crew him nearly as well or often as I normally would, or would have liked to, as I had to balance my own rest and race prep. He didn't mind. He understood. As I mentioned above, after racing for 25+ hours, he

got up earlier than me the next morning to get me breakfast before my race. He helped me prep, drove me to my start, and was fully enthusiastic about my race, completely disregarding his own post-race pain and exhaustion. His nephew, niece, and niece's boyfriend came to my race start. He took them out to brunch and then spent the entire day and night crewing me through my race, taking a break for only a couple hours to nap in the afternoon. All with a smile on his face and constant enthusiasm. Meanwhile, he was also staying in communication with my family, who were flying in to spend some time with us in France after the race. They had landed while I was still racing and he made sure they were taken care of so I didn't have to think about it. When I finally finished after 5AM the next morning (he stayed up and crewed me all night), we went back to the airBnb and had a decision to make: nap a few hours before heading to Chamonix to meet my parents, or just go. Jerome said "I'm up, sleeping now will only make me tired,

let's go, I'll drive". I'm not even sure that was true, but he knew I was anxious to get to my family, so he was going to make it happen. He packed the car while I showered and ate, and he drove us the 4+ hours to Chamonix, while I napped. We then spent the week with my family, touring them around the Alps, hiking,

eating everything, and drinking far too much. By Friday, I was sick (that's what you get for treating your body poorly after a long race- I have no idea how he didn't also get sick). My family headed home Saturday so Jerome and I were supposed to have a few days for some

extra adventures before we flew home. I spent the majority of those days on the couch sleeping. He never complained or even gave the slightest sense of disappointment, just took care of me with a smile. It's appropriate that this race had been themed around gallant Knights, because my whole trip was made perfect (heck, was made POSSIBLE) by my very own hero, Jerome.