2019-09-13
Last December I wrote down the goal to cover 100 miles, on foot, "in a push" (basically, without sleeping). Why? It's a nice round number, and it's about the longest standard race distance. Mainly, it's something that I was very curious to see if I could do. When I'd first heard about the concept, it seemed ludicrous, not for normal people like me. At the time I was interested in mountaineering, so the idea of going for that much time/suffering was comprehensible, but not the distance.
I felt like it was possible now, though, as I'd done 120 km (75 miles) a year and a half previously, and had been running pretty consistently, including long routes. With some actual planning and training, things I'd largely eschewed before, 100 miles seemed feasible.
I wrote down some weekly distance goals, with plans for increasingly long intermediate routes. I kept to the schedule, more or less, running longer and longer long runs. I hadn't initially planned on it, but what was extremely effective was entering two 100k races over the summer. These really focused the training.
After the second 100k and a week or so of recovery, I just waited around for good weather. On one marginal weekend, I went to Italy and did some recon on what I thought would be the trickiest part of my planned route, over the Simplon pass. I was glad I did, because the Italian section didn't have obvious trails, and I found myself having to run along a few sections of dangerous, if empty-at-the-time road between Domodossola and Varzo. I also scouted a section between Varzo and Gondo, climbing above the valley floor for some up and down and route-finding challenges.
The next weekend, the window arrived.
Conditions were perfect. September, so everything relatively dry. It hadn't rained or snowed for about a week. Stable conditions - forecast 10-20 at most elevations, no wind, clear. It was even a full moon! In confirming this I realized it was a micromoon and the harvest moon. And it was Friday the 13. Spooooky.
I had decided to start at midnight. This was to try to avoid traffic at the crux road section (spoiler alert: it didn't work). A friend who has run 100 mile races noted that those usually start in the evening for good reason reason - get the night done first, hopefully finish before it gets too late on the second night. If I had to do this again, I would start in the late afternoon, if I could sleep during the day, or otherwise start in the morning after a good night's sleep. Two essentially sleepless nights was the rate-limiting factor, not to mention the fun-limiting factor.
I took the last train to Italy straight from work on Friday, waiting for an hour for a 6 minute train ride from Stresa to Verbania-Pallanza. I had hoped to nap on the train or at this station, but I don't think I got any actual sleep.
My warmup was about 3km of walking under a gorgeous moon, not needing my headlamp. The scenery around lake Maggiore was magical - bulbous hills glowing under the full moon. Lights and castles.
Conditions were as perfect as hoped. Bright, calm, not too hot, not too cold.
I made my way to a pretty little village by the lakeside, called Feriolo. I had picked this as the start because it was about as close to the Simplon Pass as you could get on the lakeshore, and because there was a boat station with a donkey statue that made a good starting point.
I reorganized my gear and enjoyed the scenery, watching a few people wander back from restaurants, until midnight. I started exactly at midnight, so clock time and elapsed time were identical.
Early on, I saw a sort of muskrat! [Update: probably a nutria]
My apprehension about the route was mostly limited to the first 5 hours. I hadn't scouted this, and unlike in Switzerland, wasn't necessarily expecting it to be easy to navigate.
I had done a lot of scouting on Google Earth and Google street view, though, so had a plan to get out of the most urban part, and from there was planning to follow the main local route up the left side of the Ossola valley, to Domodossola, where I had begun my recon run the weekend before.
The area didn't feel too sketchy. I avoided some drunk teenagers, though, as I went through a shopping complex that could be anywhere in the world - I was in Italy, but could have been at the outlet malls in Vacaville.
I was glad that I'd done a lot of research on the route to get out of town, as it let me make one 300 m or so jaunt through some fields next to the main road, to end up on a fairly simple route up the valley. I was thrilled at one long section with a perfect, new bike path, fresh white lines glowing in the full moon.
The hills glowed in the moonlight as I made steady progress.
Traffic thinned to nearly zero, so I was able to efficiently cruise on the street, passing illuminated churches and setting off barking dog after barking dog.
As usual, I had water problems. I made the big mistake of thinking the water bladder in my backpack would work, though it intermittently leaks. It leaked this time, so my capacity was a single small squishy bottle that I got at the Swiss Alps 100k - I see why these are popular! Very easy to refill, and you can put it in your chest pocket and drink directly from it.
The route was mostly well-watered, but with such limited capacity there were many times when I was suffering and slowed by thirst. Downtown Domodossola provided one of several "thank god" water fountains.
I got to the dangerous road section at about 5. This is on the stretch from Crevoladossola to Varzo. The only possible way up the valley floor seemed to be on the main road (which is superseded by a highway, so has few cars). The road is shoulderless in places, with a steep hillside to the right, guard rails to the left, and frequent blind corners. You usually have at least a gutter to jump into, but one part, after a tunnel, is harrowing - blind curves, with a a guard rail over a drop on the left and a vertical wall on the right, and people driving fast. I had sprinted this on the recon run, but there had been almost no traffic.
Now, to my dismay, at 5am on a Saturday morning, there was a small but steady stream of cars coming down the valley. I only saw one going up, so was mostly able to make it to the critical section without panic, staying on the right.
It was clear that I couldn't continue the way I'd gone before, but I didn't have a good alternative, even after hours of Google Earthing.
The only way was through the river. I scrambled down a thorny drainage ditch next to a rail bridge, saw that the water was only calf to thigh high, and that one could proceed safely to the other side. I took off my shoes, got out my poles, and waded across.
I picked my way through rocks and brambles on the other side. It felt great to have refreshed my feet, but it was slow going, and I soon began to despair, as I found myself stuck in a tangle of boulders, brambles, and trees, unable to move forward. But then I looked up and saw my salvation - the Ponte Nuovo, which marked the place where one could leave the road! Cheering, I scrambled straight up the steep hillside, over boulders and through brambles, and was back on route. This little detour cost me quite a bit of time and energy, but was certainly the right choice.
I was now able to mostly follow my route from the previous scouting. I still couldn't quite figure out the proper way to Varzo, but at least got less lost and with a bit of bumbling, made it there.
A steep climb from Varzo to Trasquera allows one to avoid the highway on the valley floor. I took the correct way this time, staying on a nice, old, steep, cobblestone road, ignoring a sign directing you to a traversing trail to the right.
I retraced my way from the previous time, doing slightly better at staying on the trail but still losing it a few times.
I was interested to encounter Il Ponte del Diavolo, because there is a famous bridge of the same name, in German, over the Schöllenen Gorge in Switzerland, the construction of which famously opened the Gotthard pass: Die Teufelsbrücke. It turns out that there are dozens of bridges in Europe, and even further abroad, with this name, with an accompanying legend!.
After the steep 600m descent back to the valley floor, I joined some nice, Swiss, yellow trails, which I (correctly) assumed would be trivial to stay on. The route from Gondo up to the Simplon pass was fantastic - the trail and the highway weave over a dizzying slot canyon, and part of the route opts to just go straight through the mountain! I was desperate for water by the time I reached Gabi, and tried my luck with the water bladder to try to be able to further rehydrate on the go, only to have it douse my back.
This pass is dripping with history. I'll just give you some links in foreign languages.
I somehow managed to lose the perfect trail briefly in Simplon Dorf, but made it up to the pass, seeing the Altes Hospiz and the Steinadler!
Taking stock of things at the pass, I realized that I had travelled about 10 km further than my plan had said. Redoing the calculations, I realized I'd made a far graver error, which was not updating my plan with the true distance over the Lötschenberg pass, the next objective. My reconnaissance run between Visp and Kandersteg had totalled 60km, much more than I'd estimated, but I had forgotten to update the total distances. This meant that from the Simplon pass, already having covered 90km or so, it would likely be 100 additional kilometers to Spiez, my original goal. This was more than I could contemplate, so I decided shortly thereafter to choose a different objective to reach 100 miles. The obvious choice was just to continue down the Valais to Sion, which is what I did, using the nicely-marked network of trails on the Swiss Mobility app. I kept my phone in airplane mode, mostly, and didn't have a problem with the battery life, though I had a small battery pack which I successfully used to charge my GPS watch while recording.
The descent was much slower that I'd hoped, as my legs were getting tired. I was treated to great views of the massive Schlucht. I crawled up a steep incline to Shallberg, and then pushed as hard as I could (still slow), making it to the Coop at the Brig train station at 1650, 10 minutes before closing. In my ravenousness, I bought far too many snacks and drinks, which I couldn't finish.
It was hot (my watch said 30C, but that seems too high) as I began making my way down the Rhone.
The rest becomes more of a blur.
I did some zigzagging on farm roads just past Visp - I should have crossed the river at Baltschieder as planned.
I got some water out of a hose, thanks to a friendly woman and my terrible German.
Morale dropped to its nadir after a couple of hours of darkness. The urge to simply lie down next to the road was almost irresistable. I tried to silence the voice in my head reminding me of trip reports I'd read (usually of much longer runs) extolling the benefits of short power naps. I had been imagining that this new route, long stretches of which involved straight, flat, empty roads, would give me some chance to rest, mentally, but in fact the more monotonous the running, the more time my brain had to produce hallucinations and excuses to stop. The sometimes-steep up and down sections in the middle of the Valais section were actually easier, as I had more variety to distract me.
The deal-making began. An imaginary council debated and decreed that the rest of the way would be divided into maneagable 10-kilometer blocks. To encourage the reluctant participant, various fabulous prizes and incentives would be promised. The first goal was 120k, which would be my PR for distance covered within 24 hours (I covered about 130km before midnight). I was most fixated on reaching 130k, which would mean a very-digestable 3 stages left, and was also the point at which I promised myself access to music. I also allowed walking breaks at the end of each 10k stretch, though I certainly walked much more of the route than just these. Later, the challenge was the mental one of pushing myself to jog at a reasonable pace - clearly I had something left in my legs to do it, but my mental state was such that I would often be "running" to look at my watch and realize that my speed was 6 km/hr, compared to the 5km/hr I'd been doing while walking. Only at the very end did I figure out a trick of using my poles to encourage a bit of a faster pace, though this likely had much more to do with having the end in sight than the poles.
A brief high point was finding a water fountain after a long dry spell, thus being able to finally eat more gels, and immensely enjoying all the New Pornographers tracks on my phone.
I had been keeping Dan and Dani periodically updated via text messages, and I think that at this point, just before Leuk, I was feeling about ready to throw in the towel and said I'd probably not make it much further. I was holding out for an SBB station, thinking that due diligence (that is, the analysis I'd be sure to subject myself to later) demanded that I at least attempt to revive myself chemically before giving up. At a train station, I could expect to a vending machine, which would have cola or (shudder) energy drinks, which I was desperate enough to try. As luck would have it, there was actually a coffee vending machine next to the usual Selecta. I bought a coffee and a Coke, and drank them as I continued walking. The coffee, to my surprise and relief, did take the edge off the "lie down and pass out, right now!" voice in my head. I had not been hopeful that this would work, as on previous occasions when I've felt so tired, caffeine has had little effect.
Up and down I went, past beautiful castles and vineyards under the full moon. The hiking trails here were often just roads, but mostly, it seemed, rarely-used ones.
Eventually I descended to Salgesh, running against a tide of good-natured, drunken teens heading for the train station. They were apparently dispersing from some sort of event in the town center. "Run, Forrest!" one called out.
I descended to the main road, and then made my way to the long, final section. This was a deserted road, marked as a hiking trail, along the Rhone, leading the whole way to Sion.
I didn't need my headlamp, due to the full moon and the trivial terrain.
This was the peak of the hallucinations. The shadowy trees boiled with figures and faces. This has happened to me enough times that I was ready for it - it always seems to me that in an exhausted state, the brain's pattern-matching machinery declares more false positives, especially for things I'm looking out for. Signs, pedestrians, cyclists, animals pop into existence for a while.
This time, though, I experienced a new flavor of delusion, which manifested as a loss of individuality. I had spent the day speaking to myself in the first person plural: "we need to get water soon", "let's try to run a bit here". This practice intensified during the deal-making portion of the route. The council in my head would agree to run for another 5k, then re-check the map. They had all shaken hands that we'd push it to at least 162k by the time we reached a train station, to make sure that we'd really gone 100 miles. As the night progressed, I'd frequently find myself a bit bewildered to be alone, to be only one person. That there wasn't anyone else running beside me, or even as a part of me. As I started up a hill, I'd somehow be surprised to remember that I was the one whose legs would be pushing us up there - I'd be thinking of us a team, taking it in turns to bear these various burdens, helping each other.
I made it to Sion after 4 am. A guy on a bicycle lazily followed me across the bridge - he said something to me, but I can't even say which language it was - either French or Valais Swiss German. I just said "nein, danke," and kept going. I followed signs to the train station and stopped my watch. It turns out I was actually in the parking lot of the train station. A french-speaking man, who I'd passed a few minutes before perusing real estate offerings in a window, walked towards me, asking if I was looking for the train station. I prepared to run, or defend myself with my hiking poles, until I realized he was just trying to tell me that the main entrance was down the block. "Merci," I said. "C'est rein", he replied. I meandered to the train station proper, and was happy to discover that I had only about an hour to wait before the first train, and that I'd be back in Zurich for breakfast.
The route took 28 1/2 hours, covered 162 km, about 3600m of climbing, two countries, and interactions in 5 languages: Italian, German, Swiss German, French, and English. With the very notable exception of the coffee in Leuk, I could probably have done the route "unsupported" as opposed to "self-supported", as I had quite a few candy bars left at the end.
I'm very pleased to have completed the route. There are of course ways in which I wish it had gone differently. The obvious one is that it made things more difficult to start after a full day awake. I would also obviously like to do better with my distance calculations next time, so that I could run my originally-intended route. Mainly, though, I feel like I have completed a phase, and am now eager to move on to the next one. I'm currently thinking that I should work on improving at running itself. I've proven to myself that I can push myself hard and far, but I'm not too keen to further explore the limits of sleep deprivation. The only solution is to learn how to move faster!