There is no what might have been…
It all started with an invite to Jane’s birthday party. She moved to Switzerland, seemingly 50% for the skiing and 50% so she could send photos of mountains home to taunt the rest of us. So her party happens to be in the shadow of Mont Blanc: bit of a long way if we’re honest but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for friendship. I’m benevolent like that.
I start to look at flights and wonder if it wouldn’t be best to combine the trip with a little running. One thing leads to another, It’s UTMB week after the party and Chamonix starts to whisper my name. Could I really fly home only to sit in front of my laptop dot watching races and wishing I was there?
In spite of my conflicting feelings about their influence in the sport, every year it feels like everyone is at UTMB. Chamonix becomes the place the trail running world orbits around and my cynicism dissolves as I follow the live coverage and dream of the Alps.
So it was simple, I’d just stay on after the party and go watch UTMB.
Except, if I was going to watch, maybe they’d have space in one of the smaller races? And if I’m looking for smaller races and then realise my UTMB Index lets me enter the TDS, well, do I even have any choice in the matter? It’s almost involuntary compulsion.
I consulted a few friends. There was concerned head shaking. Not all of the comments affirmed my life choices. Some may have suggested that spectating was a better choice and questioned whether I could ever relax and enjoy the moment. Others said perhaps attempting the Bob Graham and the TDS in a single summer was too much. Another still suggested that running across the Alps isn’t a sensible direction for life to take.
I listened to their sage advice, considered the wisdom in it all, and registered anyway.
The intervening months have been eventful.
It’s hard sometimes not to think of what might have been. Towards the end of March I took a day off work to run the Yorkshire three peaks and sprained my ankle. At that point I was arguably the fittest I’ve ever been. I lost time, fitness and momentum. I got ill. It was hard to train again, and eventually I failed to get round the Bob Graham.
Then, working back into things afterwards, I started to build confidence, if not speed; I went to Monterosa Est as a training race and sprained my ankle again.
It just hasn’t been my year. But the thing is – it rarely is anyone’s year, is it? Adversity is the price we pay for pushing ourselves hard. There is no what might have been, only what is and that is a man ready to race again. Headed to the big mountains to see if they’ll give him the dance he so craves.
There’ll be few people on the start line whose preparation went perfectly. Injuries are common. As is bad luck; I was on the same flight as a guy doing Petite Trotte à Léon whose luggage got lost. He’s going to have to buy everything fresh in Chamonix tomorrow. There but for the grace of KLM go we.
A large part of the point of these big events in the mountains is challenge. While I may not be as fit as I could have been, the outcome of my race is unlikely to be decided on fitness alone. Both success and failure are possible with my fitness level.
When Conquest of Paradise plays us out of Courmayeur on Monday night, so many other things will decide our individual fates: the weather, nutrition, mental perseverance, how our bodies react to the course, our ability to keep food down, how we cope with sleep deprivation, and whether we can force our ‘heart and nerve and sinew to serve their turn long after they are gone’.
It’s one of those sports where simply being tough and stubborn and able to suffer can get you a long way. Fitness is most definitely needed, but it’s only one ingredient.
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
– If, Rudyard Kipling
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’’
I don’t know what next week has in store. But I’m looking forward to the atmosphere, to the sun rising over alpine passes, to a long day or two surrounded by the glorious amphitheatre that is the Alps. To bring present in that moment, wishing for no other.
I’m looking forward to seeing what my body can do, to understanding if I’ve taken lessons away from the Bob. To see if I’ve learned how to chisel a little bit more space inside my pain cave.
This is what I came for.
There’s a scene in Shakespeare’s Henry V where the eponymous king is approached by the French herald and asked to surrender. In a fit of defiant pique the king responds, “Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald. They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints, which, if they have, as I will leave ’em them, shall yield them little”. Or, in other words, “I’m going to win or destroy my body in the attempt”.
In my most determined moments I think of statements like that, and the swaggering bravado they evoke. But that’s not really how it works. I’m not Jim Walmsley, I can’t attack the race with relentless explosive energy. What I can do is go out into the mountains with many like minded people and make the most of an opportunity I’m lucky to have.
It’s less Henry V and more Scott Jurek, in a quote my inspiring ultra running friend Sarah shared with me post-Bob.
“You could carry your burdens lightly or with great effort. You could worry about tomorrow or not. You could imagine horrible fates or garland-filled tomorrows. None of it mattered as long as you moved, as long as you did something.”
– Scott Jurek
On Monday, the big dance begins. And I’m here for it, no matter what it gives me. Here to enjoy the experience and give it my best shot. Here to experience wonder and joy, to hold things as lightly as possible and just keep moving.
There is no what might have been, only what is. God willing, I’ll see you at the finish line in Chamonix.