Lizzy Hawker - Runner

RUNNER

This is for you.

Contents

There are many reasons why a book is written. Sometimes to teach, sometimes to inform, sometimes to impart knowledge, sometimes to persuade, sometimes to convince, sometimes to entertain, sometimes to amuse. I dont pretend to have any such ambitions.

This book is simply the telling of a story.

Running a long way has been part of my story, as has writing these words. And as you read these words, this story becomes part of your story too. There are common threads in everyones story. Whether or not you have ever, or will ever, run a long way.

The concept for this book was originally to write a semi-fictional account of a fictional race, an idea born after reading The Rider by Tim Krabb, a gift from Simon Turnbull, the journalist who interviewed me after the 2006 100km World Championships. The fictional race eventually took shape as the 2005 Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc and the anonymous runner became my 29-year-old self.

The story then evolved to encompass both my journey through life to even reach the start line and where it takes me beyond the finish line. It goes beyond just competing and far deeper than just running. It is an exploration of what running has come to mean for me, and what it (or something else) can give to you. It is the story of my long run a journey of discovery, of exploration, of rediscovery and realisation. A myriad of stories tied together with the tenuous threads of a miscellaneous assortment of thoughts.

This is my story, and I can only tell it as it is for me. The people who are part of my story will remember things differently and from their perspective because it is part of their story too. I hope I do justice to the truth as I know it.

This is not a how-to-manual. Neither is it a this-is-what-I-did and this-is-how-I-did-it. It is simply the telling of a story in the hope that it encourages you to go more deeply into your own story, to make your own opportunities and to have the courage to see where they might lead you.

So what was the race where this story starts? The Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc. It has now evolved to become a race of over 100 miles, climbing and descending over 9,500m, following the high mountain trails encircling Mont Blanc through France, Italy and Switzerland.

The church square at the centre of Chamonix. Where the race starts is where the race ends. There is no destination, the journey is all that matters.

But it is a long way.

Have you ever been curious to know how someone can run such a long way? Have you ever wondered what must go through their mind and emotions, what they must think about and feel for all those hours?

Whether you race or not, whether you run or not, you are also on a journey. This is your story too.

Come on, come with me, the race is about to start. The mountains are waiting for us.

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time

T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

The start line. The beginning of anything.
You, your journey and where it will take you.
Poised in the space between the known and the unknown.
Infinite possibility.

Im standing here scared witless and surrounded by a sea of people. The centre of Chamonix, the Triangle de lAmiti Square to be more exact, and it is shortly before 6.30 p.m. on a Friday evening in late August. Most people at home will be packing up to leave work with the anticipation of a long-awaited bank holiday weekend ahead. Maybe the queues will be starting on the roads. The trains will be in their normal chaos. No doubt there is rain forecast.

I am a world away from that bank holiday fervour. I am a world away from anything I have ever done before. But some things are the same everywhere. Rain, for example.

It woke me last night with its persistent pattering on my tent. I scarcely slept in the end. When day broke it revealed one of those grey, damp, misty dawns that leaves you wondering if a world exists beyond those low-lying clouds. I didnt think there was any chance they would lift, but things change quickly in the mountains. A few hours later and it could even have been considered hot, so much so that the shade from the trees by my tent was more than welcome. And now? Well, its dry at least, thank goodness. And really quite warm. And the skies are clear for the moment.

I feel tired though. I had barely any sleep last night, and there has been no chance to nap today, Im too on edge and nervous for that. Ahead of me now is the prospect of forty-six hours on my feet, running if Im lucky. Well, there will be time to sleep afterwards.

I am on the start line of the Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc. It is the third edition of this race and ahead of us is a long journey around Mont Blanc, which at 4,810m is the highest mountain in the Alps and Western Europe. Starting in Chamonix, the old alpine village which remains an eminent centre of alpinism, we will pass through Italy and Switzerland before reaching back over the border into France to arrive back here where we start.

Months ago now, I read an article about this race. Until then I didnt even realise that there were races like this. The idea of it caught my imagination and the thought of taking part slowly took a hold over me. Im not even sure now what the pull was perhaps it was as simple as the irresistible allure of making a long journey on foot through a beautiful alpine landscape. Or perhaps it was a curiosity to challenge myself in a way that I had never been challenged before. By March I had formed a plan. I was due to finish my PhD by the summer, so I reasoned with myself that if I registered for the race, then it would be a great excuse to plan a couple of weeks in the Alps to do some climbing. The race would be the last bit of fun before heading back to the UK to start my new job.

So I am here, standing in this church square in the centre of Chamonix.

Waiting for the start.

The minutes are ticking by. The people around me are unsettled. We are not quite sure how to fill these moments until the race starts at 7 p.m. Everything has been done that can be done. Race numbers have been collected and pinned on T-shirts. Kit has been checked. We have given in our drop bags for the support points in Courmayeur and Champex. Or at least most people have. Im not entirely sure what most people have sent in those bulging bags of extras. But my miscellaneous assortment of kit is a little bit sparse. The only spares I have are a clean pair of socks and a clean T-shirt. The only shoes I have are on my feet, and still relatively new. Bought in a sale, they were a random purchase made just before leaving the UK, my choice governed by economics rather than performance. A friend had suggested that trail shoes could be a good idea for a race that would be on mountain paths. Id not really thought about it. Ive left a change of clothes in another bag that stays here in Chamonix to await my hopeful return. What else is there to do?

There is an all-pervading sense of restlessness. We are penned into this square sandwiched by the church, a few cafs and the huge number of people lining the street to see us off. There is no escape, not even the chance of a final bolt to the loo. No. Nothing to distract from the challenge ahead.

So what is ahead? I dont really have any idea. I feel like Im in some sort of a dream. It has just struck me that in all honesty I have no concept of what Im about to do. I have nothing to gauge it against, no yardstick to mark it by: 155km around Mont Blanc with 8,500m of ascent and descent, it sounds quite impressive when you put it like that. That kind of distance is like running from Southampton to London, and