It’s not every day that you get the opportunity to take on an adventure so far outside your comfort zone. As I’m approaching the sixth and final year of my PhD (which has been an adventure unto itself), I’m starting to think about the life that I want to live. Somewhat on a whim earlier this year, I decided to sign up for a six day long trail running trip, which covers the Tour du Mont Blanc, a 170km route (Figure 1) spanning three countries that surrounds the Mont Blanc mastiff. Despite several years of diligent training towards road running and racing marathons, the Tour du Mont Blanc presented a challenge like no other I had ever experienced, namely in the form of technical terrain and elevation gain. The whole route covers over 10,000 meters of vertical gain, with terrain ranging from forested trails with mud and roots to exposed and rocky ridges. As you can imagine, the act of signing up for such a trip scared me, but presented the challenge that I felt was appropriate for the beginning of the last year of my PhD.
I’m choosing to write about this experience because I believe I have a tendency to minimize when I do big things. In part, this is a way for me to remember the trip, and also a way to share the experience through writing.
Pre-trip
While road marathons were initially exciting, over the years training for them became dull- the same routes, with progressively increasing mileage, with the ultimate goal of seeing faster times on a clock. It's easy to imagine why those goals weren't as motivating anymore. More recently, I started keeping up with professional trail running, and UTMB was one of the races I followed. The determination of those athletes all with the picturesque backgrounds of the Alps had always inspired me, but this is the first year that I thought I would try something similar.
I was fully aware that training for such a trip played a critical role in ensuring that I was prepared for the challenge. I received a training guide with recommended distances and vertical gain estimates to be able to climb, but quickly adapted it because I believed I needed a stronger aerobic base (in retrospect, more downhill technical trail running would have been better). I also spent more time strength training than I’m used to, historically finding the gym to be an uninspiring place. By the end of the summer, I found some improved confidence in my ability to tackle the route, fully knowing there were challenges like weather, terrain, and altitude that I hadn’t prepared for. This brings me to my first conclusion of this experience: preparation is always limited by time, and the only way to test yourself is to dive into the unexpected. I couldn't have possibly been more provided because I didn't have any more time.
I flew to Geneva the day before the tour started, with one goal: to immerse myself in the challenges of the week, and be open to knowing others. I was part way through How to Know a Person, and I think reading this set me up to take a step outside the bubble I frequently find myself in during grad school. Upon arriving in Chamonix, I met the group of people I would do the tour with. The tour group consisted of 13 people from around the world, most of whom I knew nothing about. I do believe in retrospect that this group was somewhat self-selecting; most people traveled on their own, and most did not know each other in advance. Everyone was open to meeting and getting to know each other, and we sure had a lot of time to do so.
The night before the tour started, despite taking 10mg of melatonin, I woke up to thunderstorms and lightning at 2am. I was somewhat aware that this could happen, especially given the tough weather conditions for UTMB, which had finished a few hours earlier. I think these weather patterns are to be expected during this time of year, but the prospect of starting the tour during a thunderstorm with poor sleep was certainly daunting. A major benefit of doing this tour in a group with guides is that we didn't have to anticipate and adjust the route depending on weather conditions by ourselves.
Day 1: Les Houches → Les Contamines
The day started with a short train ride from Chamonix to Les Houches. As a fan of seamless public transportation experiences, I was already hooked. The route today was modified to accommodate the potential for bad weather, but throughout the run we got no more than slight rain. I should have known, but it surprised me that the tour passes through residential villages and towns. I was particularly surprised to see a lot of farmland with cows (note: the cows seem happier in the Alps, maybe that’s why the cheese is so good). The day ended in Les Contamines, a small village (that still manages to sell quivers for your trail running poles, they know their audience).
I was also struck by how easy it was to get to know the other tour group members. It’s tough to pinpoint exactly why this is. In my normal life, I categorize myself as fairly introverted, with a tendency to spend a lot of time alone. I’ll be honest- the thought of meeting so many new people and becoming comfortable spending all day was daunting, but my experience was anything but. My running hypothesis rests on the idea of “taking up space and making space simultaneously.” As David Brooks suggests, humans crave to be seen, but without giving other people the space to share their own stories, conversations quickly become one-sided. The group of people on this tour were particularly good at both sharing their stories and asking enough questions to make you feel like you were seen.
Every day on the tour consisted of somewhere between 4 and 8 hours of running starting at around 8am. That left plenty of time each evening to grab beers and chat about life before dinner, which quickly turned into one of my favorite times of day. I don't even normally drink after runs, but I found I had a particular affinity for light beers during this trip. On the first day we talked about each others’ professions, racing history, and quickly learned that several of us had a shared sense of humor. The day culminated with a dinner that consisted primarily of cheese over a discussion about the best trail running snack, sour patch kids.
Day 2: Les Contamines → Les Chapieaux
The second day began with weather forecasts of heavy rain, but promised views of historically significant sites and our first mid-hike stop at a mountain hut. Fully equipped with all my rain gear, extra sour patch kids, and a panini, we made our way towards the start of the first climb. Having trained mostly in northern California, which has trails that are relatively non-technical, I was surprised to experience a route that is mostly rocky that required both climbing and scrambling in several locations. I didn’t think that hiking poles would be particularly necessary, but today’s route proved that without these poles, I wouldn’t have made it.
Our group ranged in experience with trail running, but we all waited for each other at the top of cols or at mountain huts to take pictures or share a coffee (Figure 2). I’m particularly grateful for this habit, and it reaffirmed my belief that these adventures are much better spent with a group of people than alone.
The route on this particular day required a ridge traverse, something I had never done, in part due to a slight fear of heights. Either way, I was pulled along with constant affirmations from others in the group, and after a technical descent we made it to a small hut in Les Chapieaux. I know for future runs like this that my main weakness is running down rocky descents, mainly due to my tendency to fall. This is something I'll keep working on.
I started a habit of journaling on the trip, and looking back on the entries, one theme keeps recurring: gratitude, both for being able to take a trip like this and for the other people on the trip. It seems like such a coincidence, but I cannot overemphasize how kind and welcoming the others on the trip were. The Alps aside, their company was the best part of it all.
Day 3: Les Chapieux → Courmayeur
The third day crossed from France to Italy. I’ll be honest, I’ve never crossed so many borders on foot, but I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to. The borders are typically at the top of a col, which means they represent the end of a climb, an opportunity to regroup, and a chance to eat some food. In a change of pace, the forecast for the day was quite good, and we were in for a lovely route, with opportunities to stop at two mountain huts that famously had good cappuccinos.
The day started with running past some historically relevant sites. It’s been a long time since I took a history class, but our tour guides explained the utility of the valley we slept in during WWII. Because the valley was so steep, the strength of the troops was almost entirely determined by their ability to traverse the rocky terrain. It was a nice reminder that this route could be a lot more challenging than what I was experiencing.
The views as we climbed were stunning as expected. This was one of the first days that we had clear visibility, and we took the opportunity to take a minor photoshoot on one of the climbs (Figure 3). Once we reached the col, the full Mont Blanc mastiff came into view, and we were officially in Italy. In America, typically when I’m on the trails I’ll say “good morning” or the equivalent to everyone I pass. In France, I developed the habit of saying “bonjour”, but as I learned today, once we crossed the border, it had to be “ciao”. The descent into Italy led us to lunch at a mountain hut, where I ignored the Italian rule of cappuccinos only before noon.
After lunch, we climbed out of the valley and towards Courmayeur (Figure 4), which represents a little under halfway through the tour. We were on our own for dinner in Courmayeur, so naturally, the majority of the group still stuck together to find some pizza. I’ve been to Italy once, and I can still remember the pizza. This was no exception, and followed by some gelato, and a short walk around the city, I was satiated.
At this point, it seemed that everyone was aware that our final day was soon.
Day 4: Courmayeur → La Fouly
A minor wrinkle in this trip has been the amount of clothing I’ve gone through. We were told to bring about 4 pairs of base layers, and were ensured that we had the opportunity to do laundry in the larger cities such as Courmayeur. Desperate at this point, we relied on sink laundry, which did not dry overnight, and presented a new challenge in the form of wet (and still stinky) clothes for the day. I’ll just say it brought us closer as a group.
The day started with arguably the best breakfast I’ve had on the trip (though most breakfasts were excellent). The Italians really do it better. The eggs, cheese, bread, coffee, and even yogurt were outstanding. On most mornings at home, I typically eat oatmeal, but this was a feast, and even though I ate nearly double the quantity I typically do, it was for the better, since I got hungry very frequently.
The forecast for the day was quite bad, with high potential for thunderstorms and lightning. The hope is of course that you don’t get stuck on the top of a col during a storm. As a result, we took a transfer to the base of the first climb, in the hopes that we would make it over the climb and start our descent into Switzerland before the storm hit. By this point, I was certainly fatigued. The descents were often worse than the climbs because we were running, and trying to stabilize yourself over rocky and slippery terrain caused a lot of strain on the smaller muscle groups.
Eventually we crossed into Switzerland and made it to La Fouly, just in time for the thunderstorms to start. As was standard, several of us went to the nearby grocery store to pick up snacks (I tried my first Toblerone ice cream), and we debriefed the day. Going back through my journal, this was also the day I realized how close we were to the end of the trip. There is something so paradoxical about running for this long; in the moment, you just want to get to the next checkpoint, the next mountain hut, but by the end of the day, you realize that all of this is fleeting.
Day 5: La Fouly → Trient
The second-to-last day of the tour was scheduled to be one of our longest days, but we were promised a stop at a bakery Champex Lac. On long road runs, I typically don’t consume much food except the occasional donut, instead relying on gels. However, during this trip I developed an affinity for coke, alpine berries, and cappuccinos. I cannot say enough about the cappuccinos; as an avid coffee snob, the only conclusion I have is that the milk is better in Switzerland. Maybe because of happy cows.
The route today started fairly runnable, with a gradual descent into a residential valley. The landscape really reminded me of the Pacific northwest with evergreen trees and moss covering much of the rocks. A running joke on the trip was comparing the landscape to various portions of the United States (“It’s giving Wisconsin”, when referring to the mountains). Eventually the downhills must end, and we were back on a climb, this time towards Champex Lac. It’s no secret that my favorite dog breed is the Bernese Mountain Dog. Given that they originate from Switzerland I was particularly excited to find out that Champex Lac was referred to as the “Pays du St Bernard” (country of the St Bernard, a comparably fluffy mountain dog). Despite this, I regret to inform you that I saw no such dogs.
Regardless, Champex Lac had its merits. It reminds me of a richer, more European version of the community around Greenlake in Seattle. There’s plenty of opportunities to kayak, drink coffee, and take walks, but we were here for one reason and it is a particular berry tart (Figure 5). The cafe owners, having taken pity on us, also brought out a basket of plums, which resulted in a discussion over the definition of prunes and whether it was reasonable to consume high fiber fruit before continuing our run.
After two more climbs, we finally descended into Trient. This descent was not particularly enjoyable for me. For whatever reason, this portion of the TMB trail was quite busy with hikers; trail running on slippery surfaces while simultaneously apologizing and asking to move around hikers was tiring. If you have ever run with me, you also know that I am prone to falling. I’ve been told that the best way to run down hills is to not engage your quads to stop yourself, but in retrospect, this is all I was doing. I was relieved when we saw the characteristic pink church that signaled the end of today’s run.
At this point, it seemed that everyone was aware that our final day was soon. Today I decided to switch up the normal light beer for an aperol spritz upon the recommendation of our tour guide, and we ended the night by discussing which races to reunite at.
Day 6: Trient → Chamonix
The final day was upon us. The route today would lead us through our last alpine ascent, and two tricky descents into France. I was acutely aware that this was my last opportunity to take selfies, so my camera roll is littered with various low-quality images of sorts. To keep things interesting, the tour guides adapted the climb towards the border of Switzerland and France; instead of the more runnable route UTMB participants take, we decided to adopt a rockier one. As you can tell, this is certainly not my forte. I ended up in the back of the group, trying my very best to stay positive. After what seemed like hours of unsuccessfully hobbling over rocks and eventually crossing a herd of sheep, I make it to the border.
You’ll recall my earlier disappointment in not seeing a St. Bernard. At this moment, my spirits having been recently crushed by the climb, I was approached by what appeared to be the largest dog I’ve ever seen. I assumed this was a herding dog, and was warned by other members of the group not to touch it. But if a dog comes up to you, you have to pet it right? The result was a photograph taken by a very talented member of the group that I have decided will be framed in my apartment (Figure 6).
Spirits sufficiently restored, we continued forth. At this point I had become fairly used to the alpine descents, but my quads were shot. On one of the final descents into Chamonix, I fell reasonably hard off the side of the trail. Once we reached the edge of the city, I made the decision to take the train transfer back to the city center because of this. On that train ride, I remember just trying to convince myself that I had made the right decision. I knew it was correct when the second we got off the train, I saw my first Bernese Mountain dog.
Once in Chamonix, we had an hour to kill to wait for the rest of the group. The few of us that decided to take the train debriefed the tour over orange juice at a cafe. Eventually we met up with the remainder of the group and jogged the last bit to the church at Chamonix, a place where we had seen the UTMB finish line only a week earlier. We had done it. Unfortunately, our champagne celebration was upstaged by an actual wedding going on, but we managed to get several group pictures (Figure 7).
The only goal for the rest of the night was to celebrate after some well deserved showers. The rest of the night was filled with dinner, the hilariously accurate toast to our tour guides, lots of hugs, and promises to stay in touch.
Post-trip
The day after the trip started with some whiplash: what do you mean we didn't have to be ready at 8 to run? I ended up waking up early to see other people off, and chatting over the equivalent of three breakfasts. My own flight was scheduled such that I neither had to wake up early nor did I have time to continue exploring Chamonix. I've promised myself that I'll spend more time in the town when I do anything like this again. The journey back was really a battle with fatigue and a somewhat unstable knee. I eventually arrived back in San Francisco at 3am the next day, with all of my luggage, exhausted but grateful for a successful trip.
I am happy to report that at least three people in my department completed the Tour du Mont Blanc in September. Rather coincidentally, two professors finished their trips the week after I did, and hearing their stories and catching up was a particular treat. I seem to have gained a favorable reputation based on their impression of my trip. What can I say? I might be known for something other than my work.
It has now been nearly a month since I got back from the Alps, and it's taken me nearly as long to understand what the effect of this trip was. Immediately post-trip I noticed a sense of burnout when I returned to research. I can't remember the last time I took this long of a break, and the trip had me questioning what the meaning of my work was. I later came to the realization that my life is better when there is more than one distinct pursuit: research is the cognitive challenge that forces me to think creatively, and training allows me to build the mental clarity to exercise that creativity. Both are meaningful and valid pursuits, but they are less so when they are not done together. We love them because they are hard.
I am also more acutely aware of my increased self-confidence. I didn't anticipate at the beginning of this year that I would ever be able to do something this intense, let alone walk away from it uninjured. I've even been able to transition directly into training for a Fall marathon. I'm spending the rest of this quarter trying to channel this feeling into my research and my pursuits on the job market. I know there's a long way to go, but here's to the last year of school.
