In my field of vision, there's the starting line and Mount Albert gradually coming into view. I have no idea what time I'll be back; I just want to succeed. The sun hasn't even risen yet, and it's already hot.
5:00 a.m. The departure is announced. The first steps are taken silently. We each experience intense emotions in our own way. Morning activities are always a little difficult for me, and I'm searching for a rhythm that will allow me to enjoy myself throughout the day. I feel a little dizzy, but I know it's only temporary. In a few hours, my body will finally understand what I'm doing, and everything will be fine.
In perfect synchronicity with the sunrise, I reach the summit of Mount Olivine. The sky is clear, allowing me to see everything on the horizon. I am absolutely captivated by the beauty of the landscape! The doubts I've been carrying until this moment vanish as I take my steps up the summit: regardless of how the race unfolds, I must appreciate the grandeur of the "Impenetrable Barrier."
I feel like I arrived quickly at the first aid station, the one at La Serpentine. This first section is fairly easy going, and above all, dry without being too hot. Next, I headed towards Le Versant where I was lucky enough to encounter large rocks and… snow! The climbs were very steep and long. The sun was beating down, and I appreciated the snowball I put on my back. At times, I had a little trouble finding my way despite the trail markers, then I reached a bare summit. I took the opportunity to send a text message and take some photos before continuing on my way. Sometimes, I was breathless when I realized what I was experiencing: a dream.
Mud, mud, mud. While the first few kilometers are fairly dry, this is almost never the case again until you reach the nearly tropical ferns of Mont du Milieu or the last eleven kilometers, including an extremely steep climb up Mont Albert, the impressive plateau, and the fantastic five-kilometer descent. In this section, I experience a rather slow descent for my usual pace after a bit of a scare: I momentarily lost a shoe in the mud while simultaneously sliding towards a rather rocky cliff. I regain my speed a little later and continue to have a blast! Once again, without realizing it, I approach an aid station. Along the way, I encourage several people and take the opportunity to chat with others: the heat is oppressive, and we're already fantasizing about the moment we can dry our feet before we've even climbed Mont (H)Ells.
Bad luck at the La Paruline aid station! On my first pass, I got stung twice by a wasp: a first for me! My arm swelled up quickly, and I felt some numbness. They gave me some medication to take if my condition didn't improve, but I didn't take any. I hurried a bit and caught up with the two men I'd had in my field of vision for a while before the stop. And yes! The little goat, a nickname I'd heard surprisingly a few times, especially on the descents, was back. In trail running, we're each other's safety net. When people asked me how I was doing, I knew I lit up… and, ultimately, I could see the effect those questions had on others too. The UTCC showed me how much individual sport can also be a team effort to pull each other to the finish line.
More mud and slightly less technical terrain towards the Lac Cascapédia aid station. Emerging from the woods, I see my father helping everyone out. I'm overwhelmed with emotion! I've passed the halfway point, and I can't feel my arm anymore, this time in a good way. A Canada Dry, a water and Nuun refill, a few candies, and I'm off again towards the La Paruline aid station, the last one before the finish.
The hours passed and the day kept getting hotter. I had no idea there could be cicadas in the Alps! I arrived at La Paruline, for the second time, thirsty, ready to refresh myself and have something to eat. I gave in to temptation and bought a canned potato. I put it in my mouth and immediately had the feeling it was a bad decision. So much for the saying: "after eating, indigestion." Two hundred meters further on, just after a slight bend, THE potato dispersed into the wild, quickly offering me relief. Nevertheless, I felt the ghost of its presence for the next two or three kilometers, during which I chatted with some tough guys tackling the 113km race. Their wisdom was there at just the right time. Once that episode was over, the other runners in the 62km race and I arrived, a good distance apart, at the final part of the course: the refreshing waterfall, the snow slide, the last climb up Mount Albert, and then the long descent. The gap between us also allowed me to appreciate the sight of the caribou in the distance and to savor the moments I was meant to experience on that summit!
Let's talk about the snow! I've been waiting for this moment all race! When I see the slab to cross with the footprints, I tell myself that I must definitely treat myself to the pleasure of sliding on my butt, a moment that I can't help but immortalize on video.
Let's talk about the final climb! So steep, yet so short, and seemingly endless. It's there that the three of us push ourselves to the summit to cross the incredible plateau. As we're about to descend, just after the last checkpoint, I say to Pascal, whom I'd met for the first time many kilometers earlier: "Okay, but are we downhill now? Is this the 5 km descent? Okay, it's downhill! See you later!"
With a huge grin on my face, I raced down the legendary Mount Albert. My legs had already covered nearly 57 km and 3200 m of elevation gain (Strava seems to be down?), and I maintained a surprisingly good speed until I spotted a magnificent moose! Just as I was about to continue my descent, I thought something like, "Hey, at this point, a few minutes won't make a difference." I stopped and watched it enjoying the still lush foliage before continuing my run with a lump in my throat. At full speed, I reached trail 299, where I saw Eric, Valérie (whom I had the pleasure of seeing the next day during their race!), and my father. I was so happy to see all these wonderful people. I only had a few meters left to cross the finish line, ready to share all these stories and congratulate my fellow runners who would arrive a few minutes later. A volunteer quickly brought me a medal, and I expressed my immense surprise at receiving one. She told me it was just a participation medal, and I thought to myself that she hadn't understood. Like the photos, this medal was simply a way for me to remember this race and how lucky I was to have participated. I only looked at my watch to check the time; I let myself be carried away by the trails that gave me the chance to run them that day.
As I write these words, my dad has been driving for a little over seven hours. He made it possible for me to experience THIS. I jokingly told someone I didn't know if he loved me or not for driving me to this point, but there's no doubt he does! It's an incredible gift from him! I also kept my promise: I enjoyed my race to the fullest, and we went for two hikes the next day.
If you've read this far, the words of an unassuming runner who will never win anything beyond the satisfaction of having accomplished "something, somewhere" once in a while, thank you, and know that I've thought of you, directly or indirectly. The road to ultra-running is long...
I would also add that an ultra is something you experience more than something you write about!
