Tor house of chains
![tor house of chains tor house of chains](https://i2.wp.com/www.tor.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/tor_Malazan5.jpg)
At one point several nights into sleep deprivation, one responded. Sometimes I thanked the cows as I passed. At some point I discovered butter, butter on everything, delicious butter that I imagined being made by the happiest cows in the world I would often pass high in the mountain meadows. Lasagna, pasta, polenta, bread, meat and cheese, an occasional pie, and even homemade gelato at Rifugio Bezzi. photo by Stefano JeantetĮvery 15-25 km, there was a mountain hut or Rifugio that served as aid station. The sun rose, and I settled into a strange rhythm of forward motion, eating, and occasional restless sleep. On the subsequent descent I finally got to use the light crampons that I’d lugged around for the last three years as part of the mandatory Tor gear as we encountered a wonderfully consolidated snowfield. I could create my own reality, and thus I decided that the ground was only five feet down. Just before dawn came our first real technical climb, Col Planaval, and as I clung to the fixed ropes while inching along a small ledge, I took some comfort that I could not see how much exposure was below me. After a short detour I got back on track and moved through the night thankful that I didn’t keep trudging towards France since I didn’t bring my passport, and I don’t speak any French. And then I realized I was going the wrong way. Over the first climb many of us stayed together in a large group as we eased into the task at hand, but as the night wore on the field slowly separated. We ran out of the Italian town of Courmayeur as the last light left Mount Blanc on a Friday evening, christened as Argonauts by the race organization and cheered on by the warmth of the Aosta community that fiercely loves the mountains and the Tor. All of which kept runners fully occupied and moving slowly forward for over a week as we passed iconic landmarks like Mont Blanc, Grand Paradiso, the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa. There were knife-edge ridges, Fourth and even some Fifth class scrambles complete with pseudo via ferrata sets of fixed lines, chains and ladders. I heard one racer aptly describe it as a 450km Skyrace. The terrain was challenging and at times, terrifying. I’m not even sure you could call this trail running as neither trails nor running were a consistent part of the experience. The course was completely unmarked, no flags, no signs, and often, no real trail. The two key differences in Glaciers, aside from the added length, were navigation and terrain. Yes, Tor des Glaciers, named not for the views but for my glacial “running” speed as I traversed the high mountain passes and scrambling, rambling descents. Sometimes my own speed was actually comical with my friends and family at home wondering if I was sleeping or moving, and sometimes I’m pretty sure I was doing both at the same time. Silly, silly hubris, and in hindsight only 40% of the field would finish. Racers had 190 hours to complete this new course, which at least on paper seemed generous especially with a pre-qualified field. All participants had to have completed Geants in 120 hours, and most, including myself, had at least a few prior finishes. By the numbers it was 450km completed in a single push with approximately 105,000 feet of climbing-around 120km longer with 30,000 more feet of climb and descent than the traditional Tor des Geants. Good thing round two was on the way.įor the tenth anniversary of Tor des Geants, the Italian race organization created an even longer event, the inaugural Tor des Glaciers. My daughter stared dumbfounded, although it had nothing to do with the race, only with the impossibly fast disappearance of the gallon of gelato that she had hoped to share. But my hunger wanted no part of this existential crap and snapped me out of these thoughts, challenging me to shovel in more post-race gelato.
![tor house of chains tor house of chains](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/da/26/f1/da26f16df5691eebb445cdebd9767ae2.jpg)
At this point the aches and pains were casual observations imbedded in the experience without consequence or meaning. Perhaps they had become accustomed to constant motion over the last 160 hours or perhaps they realized there was no more work to be done. My quads were swollen from the damage of constant steep descending, and legs seemed to have some difficulty just standing there. Face down in a pile of gelato, my body seemingly confirmed what my mind was having some difficulty understanding.