Tor des glaciers 450 (2024)

Oct 03, 2024

Prelude: I depart. Burn the dry waste and compost kitchen trash. Heavy back back. Just because I have 30 kg allowance, I stuffed it plenty. Unlike my AirAsia travels. Take everything, I might need. Including 4 pairs of shoes (wish I had more). Food and chargers in carry-on luggage. Waited a long while near the old bus stand. Finally, the rickety bus arrives at 19:00. This goes via Kiratpur – Nalagarh – Chandigarh. So, no Rupnagar. Still, got a seat at the rear and shook around in the old, slow HRTC. Reached Bharatgarh at 3 or 4 am and it was pouring. Just as I got off, it stopped. On the highway at Ghanauli cross. An old chap driving a Dzire taxi slows down seeing my outstretched thumb. Request him politely for a lift. He seems wary initially but lets me in after much coaxing. Drops me off 8 km away at Rupnagar railway station. Asks for 50 bucks. I give him 200 stating I’ve no change. He scoots off with my money. What a charlatan. I curse him. Walk inside and lie down on a bench. Got into Janshatabdi at dawn and slept most of the journey. Off at NDLS at noon. Took lots of food parcel. 15 rupees rail jan aahar consists of puris and aloo sabji. Bought 4 of them.

Took the airport metro. Reached on time. Collected my boarding pass. Had a petty argument with the forex guy. He was giving me attitude so, didn’t exchange INR to euro. Boarded the flight. Sharjah. 90 mins transit. I kept munching the Patanjali stuff from DEL. My go to shop that sells items at MRP in an airport. Next flight to Bergamo. Landed in the wee hours. Exchanged some currency. Then, slept on the floor. Till dawn. Took the Flixbus to Novara. Katia was waiting there as decided. Off we went to Courmayeur. Had strong Italian coffee on the way (with 6 sachets of sugar). Picked up my bib and TOR bag. Took tips from Tiaan Erwee(eventual winner), Volker(second) and others.

Went to Parco Bollino to pack up. Took a long time. Very complicated. Decided to use the TOR Kailas vest. Full and heavy it felt. TOR bag was tough to close too. She dropped me to the start. Took a quick shit in a porta potty. 5 mins to go. Lined up. Excited, scared, fortunate and thankful at the same time. 3 2 1 and GO.

Run: Was leading straight away. Let some go ahead at the trail head. Took the trail to Dolonne briefly and joined others minutes later. Tripped over a stone. “Not for the first time,” said Amy Sporston. Definitely not – I concurred. Was 1^st as Maison Ville (big party going on there). And probably 2 or 3 at Elisabetta. The Italian, Dario Pasta was with me. Along with another French guy who was all the while on his phone. Asked for food at rifugio Elisabetta. None. Gulped down broth and got out. That’s some powder mixed in hot water we would be offered going forward. Went down and lost my way a bit near the stream. Many went ahead here; it was windy with low visibility. It seemed all new. Much different from last year. None of those simple switchbacks. Even after the col, we roamed about left and right, over some ice too. Finally hit the dirt road. Smooth going to La Thuile and I took the lead, Dario followed. Running similar pace. Maybe, I was slightly faster being lighter and leaner. I just tried to match his thud thud footsteps, thereby conserving my energy. Met a Catalan runner - Jordi and we had the usual geographic chats. Up La Joux, down the road, up the trail. As we approached Deffeyes, only food was on my mind. Pasta - 2 plates please. Relaxed in the warm rifugio. Volker joins. Last time I see him. This time he’s super-strong, confident and pushing the pace, having recced parts of the course. All head out eventually. Col Planaval was cold. Snow and Ice greets us. Some put on crampons, not me, I navigated slowly along the left side rocks. Down. To Planaval village. Ivan’s co emcee, the Italian man was going live on camera. I heard him mention RAO in his Italian update. Good. I’m probably among the top. Met Tamara Nofri and her friend there. A long dirt road climb up ensued. Doing what I call Himalayan jogging. Light nimble toe pushes barely going any fast, just mimicking running. Beside me, Dario was hiking, same pace. Numerous huge cows approached downhill. Dodged them by veering to the right. Motioned them with my poles- to the left and clicked some sounds. Topped the road section. Traverse through the trail now. Towards Degli Angeli. Hungry. Reached at 11.20. It’s the rifugio after the small pond – like a manmade water body. We go around it and up. Cheering could be heard from afar. Pushed. Went in and ate. Pass by another picturesque lake Lago San Grato. I run alongside Katja Fink – last year’s Rinjani survivor. She’s a strong Swiss woman, I’m in awe and glad to chat with her.

Ran down a road and cross a bridge. Here I asked for water from a tent on the right. I remembered, no more water till Bezzi. A gradual uphill road. But long. So, I filled up. I had lost my phone here last year (eventually got it back thanks to a good samaritan). I believe it was around the same time last year. Afternoon, so I hastened my steps. Said hi to Stephanie Case (pregnant and not running this year). She told me that I looked good. Couldn’t get into a strong running gait though. The last section is a single-track trail and veers up. Here, someone was on my heels, so I dug in. Was in high HR zone. Satisfied, I did not let him overtake me. My general weakness was I’d overtake runners in the start/ middle of every section. Just before the rifugio (usually at the top), they would overtake me. Not good. Maybe because of the dip in energy. Poor fuelling. Mental. Cant quite put a finger on it. Reached Bezzi at 16.47. Usual food and coke later, I scooted. An old chap I christened in my head - thatha led the way, it was cloudy with wind chills. I remembered the previous year when I was step to step with Luca Papi here. Now thatha was company. Huge glacier to the right. Bloody never-ending climb. Over 900 m D+ rolling and some ferrata. Sun poked through a hole in the cloud. On the peak. Wow. I craved for that sunshine. Alas, there was none at the top. Just a col with a sort of sun dial. Barassac Dere. Time to head down. Reached Benevolo at 20:30. Late. I think I ate lasagne there. Not 100% sure. The usual coffee. Crossed the stream and went to right. Lots of water flowing in rivulets. Damn, my shoes got wet again despite me hopping gingerly. The climb up to col Rosset was gruesome. Lonely. Nobody in front or back. Spot one headlight at the base as I approached the top. But the light’s gaining on me. Didn’t let him/her through though. Down to Savoia. Running right next to the serene lake’s water. I remember the full moon night 2 years earlier. It was majestic back then. Cloudy now, so no moon. Last year I was pretty smashed here and remember having a nap here along with Volker. With my feet up in a chair. Not this time. It looked deserted. Nobody around. Some had gone inside to sleep – I saw gear strewn around. Just grabbed the essentials and coke (of course) before I stepped out into the cold night. I asked if I could get some takeaway – potati is available, the lady said. It was boiled and roasted with skin. She gave it to me in a styrofoam box, I was happy. Walked down the road for a while, chomping on the potati. With saale on top. Saale= salt. And a sachet of cheese powder sprinkled. Oh, such a delicacy it was. Screw veganism – I need calories. I was all alone. No body in front. For a long time, no headlight in the rear. The trail was open, smooth and actually easy to run. One problem though. Water. It had rained and there was a slight drizzle in the air. The trails were all wet. Now, getting my socks wet is not my thing, so I slowed down. Hopping gingerly over stones and ever so often veering to the extreme left or right of the trail to avoid water. A light (maybe two) appeared in my rear. Now, I hastened my steps over bigger boulders this time. A proper trail went down. Methodically, I trotted. Crossed the road at Pont Valsavarenche (a beautiful camping spot actually). Last year, I had dozed on a bench here out of exhaustion. Not this time. Not for a few kms. More slushy tracks got me frustrated. The climb to Vittorio Emmanuelle took forever. Purely due to sleepiness, my body was zombie walking. Some even overtook me. My mind ceased to work. I needed sleep, that’s all. It was about 06:00 by the time I reached and there, I simply ate quickly and asked for a bed. A comfy bed upstairs with blankets welcomed me. Set the alarm for 90 mins and was up in about 75. Coffee and scoot. Grey skies, no sun. An Italian hiker also set off (Renato Farys was his name, I realized on seeing his mail today). Chabod? I asked him. He replied in the affirmative. I’ll tag along I told him, hoping he would agree. My body was creaky after the nap. He was in hiking gear and had a big backpack. Would stop now and then to click photos. Suddenly he stopped in the middle of the trail and showed me an old pic. It was the both of us. I was wearing the UTMB beanie which has been lost since. It was from 2022. Before the TOR, I had done a recce to Col Grand Neyron (up ahead) and we had met there. Wow, serendipity. Send it to me, I told him

I followed him employing long strides and hopping over rocks swiftly. Not running. He went ahead. In the distance I spotted many ibex on rocks. They were minding their own business and I sort of crept up on them softly. Two locked horns. And crack! The sound reverberated around the valley as they clashed foreheads. This is common amongst ibexes. Must study this behaviour, I thought. Fascinated and fortunate to witness this up close from such shy creatures

I could see rifugio Chabod up beyond the ferrata and flowing water. It was freaking windy and cold outside. Rifugio Chabod was a warm place. Eat and out. Bade goodbye to Renato. Hiked head down, a mantra on my lips. Legendary female veteran Marina Plavan came up from behind. She has podiumed Glaciers multiple times. As usual, she had company. Canadian female Erika in front and a strong young Italian chap behind. Chatting, pacing, giving her company. They seemed to be from TRN which Marina is part of (I think so, seeing their clothes). She speaks almost zero English. Not the social type. I’ve run with her several kms to know her. Super strong athlete. Here, she was not 100%. She let me go ahead while climbing over the slate scree. It had snowed, but I was comfortable. Almost to show my confidence to them, I went ahead strong, without fear. Overconfidence. In one place I was a lizard on the wall. One mis-step and it was death (near the col). Took several minutes to regain composure and by then, Marina and her team overtook. Only to stop at the col to put on crampons. Oh well, let me put ‘em too since I’ve got them. This was probably the most frustrating, time-consuming section as I waited for someone to move. Yes, its Grand Neyron. The longest via ferrata section. Snow had fallen earlier and it was cold and windy. My 40 bucks rubber gloves (BRO labourers use them to build roads) did give me grip but I craved better insulation. Fingertips numb. Several ladders and ropes (some new blue ones were installed) and chains all the way down. We can only descend one at a time. No overtaking. And Marina Plavan was shit scared. I could see it in her eyes. She exclaimed something in Italian and everyone laughed. Erika was ahead and babying her. Left foot here, hold there etc. Italian dude behind, providing positive reinforcement. By now 3 other guys were stuck with me hoping she would descend fast or let us go. No no. I felt super confident in my Kahootla micro spikes(thanks sis) and calmed my irritated brain thinking - this too shall pass. Down, across the water. I pop a gel. Waited for someone approaching. A Polish guy - Buchowicz. He didn’t seem to navigate with his watch. Told him in broken lingua – Col Loson – highest. Multo grande. Pointed in the upward direction. Climb. And climb and climb. Probably a 1000 m climb. Snaking relentless although I was ahead. I got power, I lost power. Snow, ferrata and finally the col. I feel that the difficult part is over (naïve thinking 101). Descend to Sella through long switchbacks. Damn, I’m late. 15:25. Ate well. No sunshine still. Head out. This route seems new. Buch does not believe me. I have to tell him Casolari first then Cogne. 5k through hillside broken by several landslides. Then forest trails. That long road beside the river was not there (Valnontey) as compared to last year. We descend behind Cogne and cut across what seems like large grassy football fields. I go ahead first. Reach Cogne needing a shower. No hot water. Washed my feet in the wash basin in cold water and changed clothes. Taking a cue from Buch. He had crew (probably wife) helping him. Lucky. Huge difference it makes. Charged devices. Ate. Waited in the medical tent for bandages and feet care. Thanks, old sweet lady. Mama mia I call her. Took a long time here. Ate food on the foldable bed and crashed for a while. With so much stuff in the Tor bag, emptying and repacking stuff took a long time. I had a terrible itch in my ass and wished for smoother shit. Sadly, I couldn’t explain it to the medic. The sweet female doc gave me a paracetamol. Wary of pills, I took half and kept the other half for later. Finally, I got going at 22:51 (4 hours later) and I head out only to see pouring rain. Back in, I put on my green plastic poncho. I had pinched it in Korea, I think. It was discarded after the rainy closing ceremony there. A flimsy, use and throw plastic film basically extending up to my thighs. Pissed that it was pissing down. Change of shoes to Hoka Zinals, no use. Wet in a jiffy. Up the road towards Grauson, I had company. Jordi, the smart Catalan who played cat-and-mouse through several stops was there soon joined by a fresh-looking Buch. I took the lead and went up the trail first. By rotating shoulders and focusing on that movement (sans poles) I observed to have attained high vert speed. Without exertion in breathing or lactic acid in my legs. I built a significant lead and lost these headlights behind me. Reached Grauson in less than 3 hours. Delighted that it was above record pace for that segment. The jovial fat chef welcomes me. Quickly gobble some food and ziplock some for the way. Exited and the other two enter. Back down the same way to the cross the water. Felt heavy and took a shit. It was a pattern I noticed. Whenever I hear gushing water, my bowels crave a relief. Much lighter, I go on alone along the gradual climb. Becomes steep near Invergneux and Champorcher. This is supposedly a mountain bike track. Going down, I belt it seeing lights in my rear. Cold and windy. Across some long ascents and scree. Not expecting it, Miserin appears in the distance. The long descend starts. Rifugio Miserin is a small cozy cabin. One young photographer was braving the chilly gust and clicking flashes. Asked for food and dried my shoe and socks inside. The fireplace was soothing and many huddled around it drying out their wet, smelly socks. I took several tissues and squeezed them before drying my own pair. Tummy happy, the serving boy (who seemed high) gave me some takeaway food too. Exited after spending more time than needed. Exchanged pleasantries with famous photographer Naden from Thailand. He's at all the major races worldwide. Half an hour below was rifugio Dondena. No time check was required here for us. They were catering to Tor 330 runners. A girl told me that the leader just left. Frenchman, Benat Marmissolle. The legend - Francois d’Haene was expected any moment. I couldn’t miss this. Sat and observed. His crew laid out a table with food. Soft flasks filled. Cameramen were ready. He arrived. Sat down. Wee bit tired.

Chomped something from a ziplock. It looked like what’s in a samosa - the filling. Several bars, gels and drink mixes were at his disposal. Calmly, methodically he did what he needed to do. Un fluttered by media, people talking to him. Gave him the thumbs up and said “win the race”. Ran out too but couldn’t keep up with this tall, nimble-footed elite for long. He was gone. Down the long trails to Chardonney. I took it slightly easier as my knees were quite busted by then. Sunrise. Enjoyed moments of sun on my body. Washed myself under a fountain. Sun rays on my skin, aah. Such simple joys of life. Down there was another aid station for 330 runners and Francois was exiting. I grabbed some crackers and followed. By the river. Third place guy, Martin flies by. Mighty impressed with his intent and purpose. Another long climb ensued. Col Fricola. Was within phone reception now. D’souza had answered my FB messages, so I spoke with him on Bluetooth. Shared my excel sheet with him and he understood. Going forward, he updated me on what’s upcoming, how many meters etc. So sweet. Nice to speak to someone (an Indian runner) after so many days. Someone with an understanding of European trails. He had just gone back to India after CCC. This long climb took a while and Jordi and his mate overtook me again. 25 km, 10 hours between aid stations and its taxing. Dort Retempio is run by this plump lady and her dog. A relaxed atmosphere. I’m not in the mood to stop. Utilize sunshine, I told myself and scooted. With an apple and coke, I’m back on the trails. On my way up, I called Katie on Bluetooth. Asked her if she could bring some warm clothes. If/when possible next. Was occasionally raising my voice as the network was sporadic. Besides others, a US runner was ahead of me – Micheal Hewitt. A Hardrock veteran. Little did I realize I had pissed him off. By speaking loudly in the trails. It’s a culture issue, I realized and apologised profusely. Not my intention. It was the first time I was in network zone. I am from India after all. A population of 1.4 billion. Privacy, what’s that? I thought it was inane but accepted my wrongdoing nevertheless. While making small talk, I claimed Hardrock should open the gates for all, not restrict entries. And the lottery is complex having missed out several years. He took offense to that too. An old grumpy chap, rigid opinions (I thought in my mind) and went on. After a while he approached me for a chat. Sweet. We discussed a lot of things, like the state of affairs in the US. My take was – encourage more people to venture outdoors. Lifestyle diseases mitigation. Life under starry skies vs concrete jungles. The pros, cons and the negligible. Segued to how commercialization helps the sport. Better talent, better standards. Reward hard workers, encourage young guns. We made peace and found middle ground. Time passed and soon I was in rifugio Bonze. Met the fluent English-speaking Spaniard, Nuno Santos who I would cat and mouse almost till the end. The sweetest people at Bonze continuously cheered when they recognized me. I had been here on recce and smashed the downhill back then. My desire was to do the same and reach Donnas by dark. Went fast. Too fast and even overshot some section in the forest. Then I took time, recouped and reached the Roman town of Donnas at 21:22. Drop bag. Again – way too much time.

The hall was crowded. Found a corner and settled. Routine – unpacking, packing. Decided to avoid gels. Mucus was building up and hardening in my lungs and nasal passage. Frequent spitting showed it to be thick, even solid particles at times. Attributed it to Leap gels and the cold + altitude. I’ll manage with energy bars for some time now. And Coke, of course. It was a compromise (experiment perhaps) I had to try. Ripped off the soggy bandages and went in for another foot repair session. Familiar faces of massagiaTor. The Filipino guy was translating. Asked for a repeat treatment of Cogne and it was done, albeit leisurely. Ate. Grabbed some Enervit bars and scooted. While departing, I double checked and confirmed the route with Volontors. Confidently I was told, follow the 330 route. Perloz, Sassa. So I followed runners to the right and down Donnas town. After about half an hour, the map on my GPS watch did not match. Asked 330 runners for Perloz and they said just follow. But no. It would be a short cut. My conscience will not permit that. I believe in karma. I’ve been in this sport long enough not to pull off such a cheap stunt. Went back to sports hall. Then the other way up. A steep climb along cobblestone paths and stone stairs. Nobody for company. Last year I had got lost here. Sadly, history repeats itself. It seems that there is a road on the left above me. Into the forest therefore, I climb. There are cairns, some signs but no path. Spent easily a frustrating hour, maybe more. The bloody GPS is always off by a few meters in tree-covered areas. Zooming in and out doesn’t help. My brain is a wreck. Mind you, I hadn’t slept. Last year I collapsed by an earth mover parked on the road here. This time, I zombie trudged on. Filled water at a fountain. Relieved to spot the 330 runners, I join this track. Curled on a bench for a while – foetal position. Although sleepy, I craved a blanket so got up and walked ahead. Finally, at Perloz, I decided to sleep. Told them I was very tired and they actually opened a bed and blanket right then and there. Ate some pretzels (the only place I saw them) and slept. Told them to wake me after 40 minutes. That sleep was good. More pretzels, caffe and I was good to go. Slowly trudged down. Crossed water and onto roads. The biggest climb of the race perhaps. Found a good rhythm. Didn’t let any 330 runners overtake me. Mind you, they have fresh(er) legs. I was determined to make up time. Climbed to Sassa where we deviate to a trail on the right. Another lonely section as twilight broke. Took a shit by the stream again and felt good. Above the tree line, I knew technical sections would emerge. Focused to belt this section. I’m good at technical stuff. I love ferratas, I claimed to myself. False reinforcement works sometimes. One last climb before Coda and I saw someone behind. Hastened and reached the rifugio Coda at 10:58. Nice and warm. Lovely experience. Politely, the chef asked “what can I make for you?” I was sick of pasta in pomodoro (tomato sauce). It had burnt my palette and I couldn’t taste anything. “No meat” I replied. I was suggested egg whites and mashed potatoes. I don’t remember the last time I ate eggs. Bring it on, what the heck. This simple plate was so delectable, I felt grateful to God. The egg whites were soft and fluffy as cotton while the potatoes had a creamy texture – almost melt in the mouth. Sprinkled some salt over and enjoyed this with a coke. Aah. Life’s good. Left happy and even posed for the photographer.

The trail to Barma was smooth sailing. A slight confusion before we reach near a lake. We can go either up or down. I chose up, as per my watch. A quick entry into Barma. Downed some Pepsi and polenta here. Sneaked some into my ziplock too. Another theft I’m guilty of is flicking single-serve Nutella from rifugios. I’m addicted to them, I admit. When no one’s looking, I pop one or two into my bag. Delicious to lick, it’s a privilege I don’t have back home. Back on the trails, my gait has hastened. Thanks to the shy sun who had been hiding all along. Plus, I got a text from Katie (surprise, surprise) stating that she would be there at Niel with a rain jacket. I should be there by 19:30 I told her as per my hastened gait and optimistic calculations. Met some 330 runners along the way and all in awe of India, Himalayas and my 3300 m abode. Little do they realize my challenges. The privileges they have. The difference is stark. Comparisons are unfair. Just around twilight, I enter Niel. The usual fanfare of cheering and party-like atmosphere. Had asked Katie in prior to keep food ready, things ready but no. She’s not an athlete and doesn’t realize that every second counts. After a leisurely stop and thanking her for an oversized blue rain shell and undersized gloves, I bid her goodbye. The climb from Niel was steep. Another download stop. Output=Input. Good sign. Too many good things can’t go in my favour, can they? Another major mess-up which cost me several hours. My watch died. It still had over 20% battery and HR was off. Should have lasted a few more hours to Gressoney, I thought. I had left the power bank in my TOR bag. Couldn’t charge it now– big mistake. After a while my primary headlight died. Sat down on some stones to take stock. It was frigid - probably explains the watch’s sudden demise. What next best could I do? Whipped out my phone. Some juice is left. Put it in airplane mode and checked OSM for downloaded maps. A vague path was shown. From the excel sheet timetable chit (someone had dropped earlier) I read and memorized colle Mologna, col Lasoney and Loo. The order, I need to go. Took off, glancing occasionally at my phone. Markings were barely present on ground barring a few cairns. Sleep deprivation, wind and haze weren’t helping. Poof, after a while the phone dies. No body ahead or behind. Thinking, I need to go down, I follow the water. Stupid mistake. Descend into a wrong valley and I’m lost in the bushes. After long, I spotted a headlight up in the ridge, they were traversing. Thanking God, I realize that’s my only option remaining. Hiked back up using the dim, power saving setting on my final headlamp. Relieved to make it and who do I meet? Mike Hewitt and his pal. “My maps have switched off. Please let me follow you” I pleaded. He was not much fast either but hey, some hope, he agreed. Made it to the grasslands above Loo. If it was daylight, I would have belted these. Akin to the descent from Khobi above Solang village. It was slow going and the grassy trails were slushy. Reached the small rifugio at Loo and pulled out my charging cable and gave my watch to charge. It was crowded as many runners came and left. I put my head down on the table for a while. Bad napping style. Back in the cold, I was sleepy again. I needed to lie down properly. It was around 04:00 and I had the worst case of sleep deprivation. A weird form of hallucination took over me. Imagine this – On a long downhill trail, I’m slowly walking with my poles for support. My mind is telling me this is not a race. Casually stroll down to Loomatten and sleep at Katie’s Mountain home. (I stayed there the previous year when she was away on holiday). My mind has forgotten that I have to reach Gressoney. Just sleep, this is not real. I’m asleep. I’m dreaming(while moving). The lights in the distance are not real. Runners passing me are not real. Nothing is real. Actually, my mental system has shut down. I can only think of a soft, cozy bed. And the next moment, I’m out like a light. In the foetal position, by the side of the trail, the straps of my poles still around my wrist. Collapsed is the apt word. Don’t know for how long. Night passes and I slowly returned to my senses. Slapped myself several times, livid with myself. Started moving. Made it to the final life base – the sport haus at Gressoney.

You guessed it right, another slow transition. The slowest of them all. Big crowd of 330 runners as well. Here was a token system for foot repairs. Wait for your turn. The team was headed by this young chap with a white goatee. I told him please call me over when my turn comes. I’ll eat till then over there. No. I have to stand there in queue apparently. Indefinite waiting. I’m pissed. I doze off for a while. Finally, my turn comes and the final repairs are done. Unnecessarily I’m pricked where there was no blister. Aargh, I yelled out. Slept on the floor for a while. Katie arrives but she’s not permitted inside. I hand over smelly, dirty clothes for her to take away. Even the volontors were pissing me off by not letting her in. Told her to meet me outside, by the road. Exited at daybreak. Took more food from Katie on my way and thanked her. The long climb to Sitten via Batt ensued. 287 km done. The race starts now. No more drop bag, no more assistance. Steady hiking. I looked forward to rifugio Sitten. One of my favourite, swanky rifugios. It marks the beginning of what I call Cervino region. No more trees. There are ropeways all around. Fancy ski resorts. So, this place risotto Sitten one of the best I’ve seen. The food’s going to be great, I knew. Ask for the chef’s recommendation. Spinach ravioli. Oh, so good. I gobbled them even while it was steaming inside. One more please. Some polenta too, thanks. That’s how gluttonous I was. Spoke to the owner again this year and mentioned if you give me a job here, my life would be sorted. Didn’t sleep in the oh-so-cozy dorm beds this time. Back out in the windy conditions, I climbed below the ropeway poles. Steep. Even the dirt roads beside were so technical that only land rover 4x4 jeeps would ply on them. Up to Colle Betta Forca. Asked for water and the sweet lady handed me a can of coke too. The climb to the col was over slate stones and rocky while descending. More climbing in this exposed region up to Bettolina (3100 m). Then down to a stunningly beautiful lake – Lac Bleu. Reminds me of Deepak Tal. Continued down parallel to the stream and a short climb to Resy beckons. I look for my friend and his dog who hosted me when I pitched a tent here. Didn’t stay more than a minute and scooted down. Overshot the switchback (did the same last year) and lost a few minutes. After a long climb, we’re back on the ski slopes of Cervina. Its dark and windy. I can’t make out if its rain or snow. They are like little sharp needles hitting the face. The eyes too, so I have to squint mostly. I had lost my cap somewhere. Eye protection would have definitely helped. Bent over and simply trudged ahead. Colle Cima Bianche was atop a long steep dirt road. Hands-on-knees were working better than poles, so didn’t bother taking them out. Finally. I tried belting it down. Hotel Stambecco was far in the distance and I knew every second gained running downhill counts. Utilize it. Focused on form and cadence and made it to Hotel Stambecco at midnight. Was deserted. Except for ever-smiling Tamara Nofri. Language is never a barrier with us. We have remained fast friends. She tended to every request of mine. I lied down in a corner with my feet raised on a chair. A caffe later, with my devices charged, I bade her goodbye. Back in the torrid conditions. I had company following me. Don’t remember who exactly. 21 km to the next stop. That’s a long way. One step at a time. The sun will be out, things will improve. I had only hope. Nothing else. Sometimes, that will suffice. The Cervino area ended and we’re back on single trails. All along ridges. A long traverse. Took a shit somewhere and this guy overtook me. There was still another light behind. Must be Erika. Ticked along marvelling at several lakes in the morning twilight. Oh, how could I forget Bivacco Duccio Manenti. A bivouac with the semi-circular dome roof. A tiny, cozy cabin. Most likely it was air-dropped. It can only accommodate two and I had spent a cold night inside once. With a candle for company. Carved on the wood “Rao was here” where others left their imprint. This time, I peered inside to find it desolate. Did not enter though. I got to race, so I continued. Next stop Perucca Vuillermoz. 08:37. Sat by for a while but I can’t remember what I ate. Small hut by a helipad. A dog in the corner. Spock I think its name was (white and black face) getting petted by everyone. I remembered the smart mountain guide in trekking pants. He did too. I dried my shoes and feet over the small blower. Ate some grub. Hoping for the sun to emerge. Not much luck. Headed out in crazy windy conditions. A kilometre above is the col Valcorniere – a tricky section. Plenty of ferratas here. More so on the 1000 m descent. Even after the half-way stage down. Veered off to the right and followed the water. Someone was behind me, so I kept up the pace. It was Michael and Nuno. Erika joined the pack too. Turning to the left past the river, we all enter rifugio Prayayer around the same time. The sun is out. I eat polenta and slyly put some in my ziplock. A busy rifugio with tourists moving in and out. I moved out. A long jog along the reservoir towards the dam. This turquoise – blue/ green water I have not seen anywhere in the world. So pleasing to the eye. Have to cross Mt. Gele before dark, I kept repeating in my head. That was two stages away. That’s when I learnt a lesson – one step at a time. Weather changes very rapidly in the mountains. I had learnt that in my first 100 miler – the Himalayan crossing, circa 2017. It got cloudy. Up the forests, there were some steep climbs too. Still confident that I’m leading a pack, probably ranking 25 overall. Then it started raining. There are huge Iron snow barriers. After that, at around 2300 m altitude, it starts snowing. The wind picks up fast and it’s an all-out storm. Visibility drops and it’s getting bad to worse. Below Crete Seche is a farm house. Even the humungous cows were sprinting down the slope towards their shelter there. What a sight! It was pandemonium. Climbing to Seche, I could barely see my hands. Snow is pin pricking me on the face. 17:54. Everything was white, getting whiter. I was shocked as I entered. The sweet girl and the young college chap from Oyace took care of me and brought me to my senses. Surely, they’re going to call it off. The rescue guide was reporting terrible conditions up at Mt. Gele. They were in talks with the RD as runners trickled in. 5 or 6 of them. We just had to wait. Enquired about the meteo and was told that things are only getting worse. Resigned, we eat and after a while, I go to sleep upstairs. The race is definitely over, was my last thought. The previous year too, weather was so bad that the alternate route was deployed (through Oyace) and we got that information beforehand at the earlier rifugios. We went straight down from the snow barriers. Here’s my bad luck this time. The pack ahead of me were so far ahead that they crossed Mt. Gele when it was ok (supposedly). I’m stuck here in Crete Seche having led a few others. Finally, around midnight, I peak outside and the rifugio’s deserted. All have left. The wind has decreased, but gentle snowfall ensued. The drama continues. During my blissful sleep, others are informed that the alternate route is to be taken (much longer and more elevation). Other runners by now have already received this information earlier and are going down directly bypassing this crete seche rifugio climb. A caffe later, I step out too. Back down to the cow farm in ankle-deep snow. Other packs of runners are spotted and I wait for an Italian cohort. My going is slow and I simply tag along behind this (also tired and slow) group. Oyace is visible. I pick up my pace over the roads. Seems never ending. Get in at 03:57 and see the 330 runners here. Like wounded soldiers from a battlefield, some lying motionless under blankets. Others trembling, clutching on to hot soup. I ate and stepped out following the new gpx on my watch. It’s unfair, I feel. Some runners get away while others run a different course (more distance, elevation, time) eventually all finishing (if so) and getting classified as one. I’m just whining for being slow, I realized. This climb to col Brison was over a 1000 m. Alone all the while till I come across Sebastian Shao. Chinese living in France. Along with his wife, they sell pashmina shawls in Paris. Interesting chat. He was whining. Lost. Broken a pole. Called emergency number even. Come with me, I assured him and slowed down my pace (he is eventually the last finisher, 6 minutes before cutoff). Long switchbacks through the forest and the weather’s bad again at twilight. We reach a clearing and smoke is spewing from (what was burning) wood. The snow has picked up and runners are huddling into a makeshift tent. Two girls run the show here. They don’t speak English. How’s the meteo up there, I enquire in between sips of broth. “There’s a finger in the snow” she replied. What?! I was perplexed. Another local dude came to the rescue stating that’s a common Italian phrase. Referring to a couple of inches probably a finger’s length. Got going in spite of the shitty weather. After the col, the route was confusing. Luckily, I followed a couple of runners in a pack. I was really feeling the cold here. Shivering. Placing my fingers often on my bum for heat. Gloves (not waterproof) should be better next time, I thought. Kept moving. We join the original route past Regondi. A long flattish traverse. Went ahead of the pack. Drank a can of coke and that gave me some boost. Champillon climb. I felt so strong. Without poles, hands on knees, on my toes, I overtook at least 15 runners. Mostly 330 guys. Focus on shoulder rotation. Step nimble. As if there are rocks on wet earth. Ever so often, I would glance at my vertical speed. It was 800-1000 m/ hour. On tired legs, that’s good, I was content. Reached rifugio Champillon around noon. It was so crowded, not even a place to sit. Placed my order and went to the loo. Even after my business, the food wasn’t ready. When it was, it was worth the wait. Vegetarian Lasagna and polenta. I stood outside and ate. The volontors here cheered me on, having remembered me. Off I go again in crappy weather. They gave me some plastic sheet to wrap around my gloves for insulation. Crossed the col and down to Ponteille Desot at 15:50. I don’t particularly like this place. Basically, a cow shed. Lot of meat cooking and pungent smells. I refilled coke and scooted. Got to focus. Previous year, I had collapsed asleep on the trail above. Steady climbing this time. Did not get lost at the stone caves at Plan Puitz. After the big tower, I knew the way. The weather was worsening. Now, I’m not exaggerating. It was so windy, so windy, I often had to kneel into a ball. Otherwise, I could have been blown away. I’m 58 kgs, mind you. Before Hotel Italia is visible on the left, we approach from the right trail. Gusts were so strong, boom, it would strike my face and I would often lose balance. Like being in a whirlpool, never have I been in such conditions. Entered the restaurant, dazed. Surely, they will call it off now, so I shall eat. Asked for a Pizza. I had waited for this moment for one year. Back home, only rich people eat pizza. Besides, I’m vegan with limited access to such delicacies. So, I really looked forward to this indulgence. So tasty, I asked for another one.

The storm ensued and more runners entered quite shocked. Had a philosophical chat with Swiss runner Quirk Thomas. “Remember why you signed up for this” he quoted. I stood up. He said he’ll rest and go later. That’s because he wanted to finish later in the day, not during the deserted wee hours. I can’t risk that, I thought. I met this strong Belgian, Renton Patrice departing too. Together? Yep. I may not match up to you, he said. Me neither, let’s see how it pans out, I replied. And a lovely bond we shared. Looking out for each other since the visibility was poor. We would be together almost till the finish. The storm picked up again at col St. Rhemy and col Ceingles (2809 m). Belted it heading into rifugio Frassati at midnight. It was packed. Carnage of runners. Such conditions outside. The elderly lady volontor was very kind here and tended to my requests. Reach col Malatra and you’re done, say a lot of TOR veterans. So, out we scoot. This time, Italian Mora Federico joins and we are a trio. Hauled myself up the ferratas at col Malatra. A blanket of snow. Wet chains. Every year I pause and reflect here looking down toward Courmayeur. What a journey! It might be over soon – are the overarching thoughts. Not this time. Getting down ASAP was the prudent thing to do. The usually brown landscape was packed white this time. Three of us ran down to Entre Deux Sauts. On the way to col Sapin, my main headlight conked out. It was on full brightness and the battery is a little old, I guess. Renton had the best headlight I’ve come across. An American brand with a yellowish tinge. Spare a battery, mate? Sure, he pulled one out of his jacket and offered it. That’s camaraderie. Swirling gusts of wind forced me to enter the tent at Tete Tronche while the other two continued. Downed some broth and headed out looking for my mates. Little did I realize; I was chasing some 330 runners, who took the short route going straight down. My feet got wet in the slush too. Walked back drudgingly up. Lost over an hour there. Sat down on a rocky shelter and instantly fell asleep. After a while of disturbed sleep, I walked out slowly up the 450 path. Alone for long. Sleepy, slow walking. I believe, we get majestic views of Monte Bianco (Mt. Blanc) here. Alas, it was dark. Snow had subsided but the wind chill was ubiquitous. Made it to Saxe (the last aid station) with thoughts of belting it. Give it all and finish with the tank empty. Glugged coke and set off. Overtook several 330 runners. Heavy breathing. Poor form due to my busted ankle. I don’t care if I trip and fall. Rooty forest switchbacks. Lights were visible in the distance. I signed up for this, I thought. Hit the roads into town. Thought of my entire year’s training. Radar like focus. All the struggles. All the sacrifices I made. Sacrifices others made for me. How daunting it seemed even to reach the start. This nut runner, a nobody from far away remote Indian Himalayas. Such a big deal for me, now culminating. 06:29. The main street was deserted. I tied my India flag on my pole. Up the ramp, under the finish arch. I wave my flag proudly. It’s the biggest thing I have ever done. It’s done.

Post race: A medal is given. Along with a beer, of course. Several photos clicked. The photographer is up all night, focussed. What a stellar, thankless job they must be doing, I wondered and high fived her. All finishers sign on the big banner. I sit down with Renton and we chat away below the heater. Wrapped in a blanket. He had finished a few minutes earlier. Along with the Italian Mora. Nuno Santos and Mike Hewitt are around. The eyes. There was a glint in everyone’s eyes. Hugs, stories exchanged. Laughs, tears. It doesn’t get any genuine than this. A week just passed by in the wilderness. Oblivious to what’s happening around the world. All we did was climb mountains. Up and down. Just movement. Probably, it’s a metaphor for life. The Aosta valley is truly special. Anything’s possible if you set your mind to it. There is no better feeling in the world. Did thoughts of quitting ever crop up, I was asked? Never. Ever.

Spent majority of the day at the Courmayeur sportivo hall sleeping. Katie arrived in the evening and we went to Courmayeur to witness the finish. The final hour. A carnival atmosphere. The Beuffon army marches down the street, jingling. The last finishers arrive in having endured so much. Some solo, some with families and dogs even. So emotional. The best part of any race. The entire town’s here cheering. Drinks flowing, aromas wafting, everyone happy. Those with medals around their neck get called by strangers bravo, bravissimo, complimenti, and the like. They understand. Katie hands over my luggage and heads back home. This wouldn’t have been possible without her. I sleep more. Wake up and have a leisurely dinner at night. Express my sincere thanks to Alessandra Nicoletti (race director) and team. A stellar job to pull off an event of such magnitude. Respect. The next day, the awards ceremony is without doubt, the best in the world. Every finisher is called by name on the stage. The atmosphere, unparalleled. All congregate for the photo wearing the finisher t-shirt. What an incredible journey of a lifetime. Everyone is a changed person. Grazie Mille.