Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. – Lavaredo Ultra Trail 50km

There’s a rock, somewhere between Malga Travenanzes and Col dei Bos, and every time I pass it, I know that I am fully alive. I know because two years ago, at my lowest point running wise, I lay down on it and tried to give up. Why I thought lying on a rock in the baking midday sun was the solution to my problems is a mystery. Then a fellow Brit went past and told me to get up and get going, and it was a bit awkward. I was embarrassed for the guy because he seemed to think I could continue. Silly. But out of embarrassment for his misjudgment of the situation, I got up and continued climbing to the Col.

When I passed the same rock last year, tired but not yet beaten, it was the catalyst for me to push on and turn things around. So, when I stood shoulder to shoulder with my friend Toni on Corsa Italia and the horn went to signal the start of the race, I knew I would once again pass the rock and face the ghosts of Pete past. I hoped I’d do myself justice.

This was my third year coming out to Cortina d’Ampezzo for Lavaredo and it’s starting to feel like a big part of my running life. It’s hard to convey how magnificent the mountains here are. Sometimes, it’s hard to even understand it myself, and I’m still not sure that I’ve grasped it.

The poet Mary Oliver wrote, “Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.” The Dolomites are a place that always remind me to do just that; to see not just to look.

“Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.”
– Mary Oliver, Sometimes

When writing process goals before the race, I recalled that last year that my big focus was on laying to rest the demons of a rotten 2024. This year though I wanted to delight in being alive. I wanted to revel in the wild improbability that, in 300,000 years of human history, I get to live a life that would be unimaginable even a generation or two ago.

Mary Oliver, however, isn’t the only voice in my head, there’s also that of Coach Doug. He’d worked out where my splits should be based on my UTMB index. I remember looking at them and wondering at the first section–my instinct told me I would have to be fast to hit them. But then the rule remains; don’t go out too fast.

As we headed out of Cortina and along the valley I felt in good shape, adrenaline coarsing, ready to go get it, but we quickly hit the trails and bottlenecked. I tried not to get too frustrated but my inner fell runner always wants to find a better line and ignore the trail; I remind myself that this is a marked course and I must stick to it. At any opportunity I get, I surge past people to pick up places as the path climbs steeply upwards.

I pick up the pace on the flat section but am aware that I have a choice: I can get to the first timing point on pace, or I can get there with gas in the tank. I can’t do both. I choose the path of self control, I can make up time later if things are going well.

After the heat of the start it was a relief to turn up into the Valley of Death. It’s the strangest thing because when you beat the sun to Val Travenanzes, it’s green and pleasant in the shade. It’s still a long old climb, but you avoid the intense torture of coming through in the heat of the day. I passed the fateful rock moving well and smiling.

The descent from Col dei Bos is a whole vibe. Or at least, it is for me. Weirdly, no one else was flying down with their arms outstretched, belting out classic sing-a-long tunes. I’m not sure why, given how much fun it is. The fan zone at Col Gallina was reverberating with the sound of cheering and cowbells, and all was well in Eden.

I love the climb up to Rifugio Averau, particularly the first steep section where it feels you can make up places if you push hard. This was the only section I used poles on and I’m not sure I’d carry them again on the shorter distance, they encourage me to settle when on a race like this I need to surge.

A flood of encouraging notifications from the running club WhatsApp group arrived as I came over the col; a welcome boost as I headed to Passo Giau. At the third time of asking, I did what I should’ve done first time: I looked to my left. Oh my. A magnificent skyline of jagged peaks as far as the eye can see, rising in the distance as the road winds down toward the town. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

There’s a last steep climb after Passo Giau and, perhaps as divine retribution for me telling Sarina all the climbing was done last year, it seemed to kick up more fiercely than ever. I continued working my way up the field but, when I came over the Col, I felt my energy levels start to flag. My plan had been to run an aggressive race from here but the pace I wanted didn’t seem to come.

For the first time in the race it felt like I was having to fight to maintain my place rather than improve it. As I tried to summon the second wind I felt my ankle turn under me and fell headlong. A word was said. It will not be reprinted here, but I believe it’s one of the more commonly understood English words.

I’m not going to lie, it annoyed me that no one even asked if I was okay. I can’t see a scenario at a UK race where you fall and people overtake without checking on you. My immediate instinct was to fight to regain the positions, but sense prevailed. I didn’t think it was sprained but it did feel weakened and dull; I decided to ease off the accelerator for the rest of the race. There’s no point in risking the whole season for a race that’s not my main goal.

I crested Forcella Ambrizzola, looked at the serene beauty of Cortina beneath, and set off on the last downhill, making the best time I could without over working my ankle. It was still a beautiful day with the forest bathed in sunlight, the crunch of the trail beneath my feet and the satisfaction of being in the mountains.

As I ran down the Corsa Italia, spectators cheering and banging the hoardings, I reached out my arms and smiled. I figure if you can finish a race with a grin, you’re doing something right. Not the time on the clock I’d been hoping for but the time in the mountains that I needed all the same.

Lavaredo is my favourite race weekend of the year. I’ll most definitely be back.