Denn es geht nie vorüber
Dieses alte Fieber
Das immer dann hochkommt
Wenn wir zusammen sind
[Die Toten Hosen – Altes Fieber]
Ardennes, Friday, 4 March. Snow has been falling for some time, the motorway is covered with it. We take an exit for Houffalize, aiming at Achouffe with the Legends Trails starting point Already at the local road, we take one turn too far but can still make it via a little detour. A snow-covered tiny road veers across the forest up and down steep hills and valleys. Finally we reach Achouffe. The descent is icy. I drive carefully but the understeer car's front suddenly wants to leave the road on a turn. Gas blip, second gear, a few slightest touches of the brake... made it. The race organiser Tim will later say – we got winter, we got snow, but luckily we got Polish drivers...
I was supposed to run this 250k carnage but (un)fortunately a sprained ankle in December made me take part in it as a volunteer. As if my body subconsciously decided to get injured, choosing a minor evil. We came with Wiktor, the only remaining Polish racer, picking a New Zealander Chloe and Neal from England in Dresden. They will also work as volunteers. Clint and Monika with their Malinois sheepdog Dante also came all the way from Poland to help the race. We stayed overnight at Stef's in Leuven and Friday morning left for the Ardennes.
Both race directors – Stef Schuermans and Tim de Vriendt – are already at the race start office in a local cafe, together with Stu Westfield, the safety coordinator. Runners and volunteers keep arriving. Soon Chloe, Neal and me are deployed to put some signs on a tricky section on the course at the cliff banks of river l'Ourthe. The racers will get there soon after the start, already after dark. Its an exception to the rule – normally except the permanent trail waymarks there are no extra signs and the participants can only rely on their 1:25000 maps and the GPS track.
The paths are full of mud and snow with steep climbs and breakneck downhills. This part is beautiful in its own way. If the whole course looks like that, I sympathise with the runners and envy them a wee bit at the same time.
We are back just before the 47 racers set off for the course at 6pm. Together with Florian, a French-speaking Belgian, we become the Legendary Safety Team 1 (LST1). In his 4x4 we quickly take off for the first intermediate checkpoint deep in the woods (CP0.1) to tick off the runners a few kms after the start. The field is already a bit stretched. The leader runs right through the forest several metres from the path, probably with his nose down at his GPS device. We call him back to the course. The rest follows the path properly.
We try to talk about our shared mountain and climbing passions but my French and Florian's English are limited to several words. When we move to the race HQ at Houffalize, we are therefore given new partners, as the communication can't be compromised when safety of the runners is at stake.
With Arend, a Dutch bloke, we share a similar self-distance, so we can afford some mutual taunting for fun. We take both our cars to CP1, which is in a football club at a village of Hotton. Our brave racers will get there following the first night's 64 km yomp. We're on standby, supposed to help anyone on the course if necessary.
In the meantime we talk to the checkpoint crew, carry the dropbags upstairs (up to 20 kilo per runner) and indulge in dot-watching. The latter will become the favourite activity of all volunteers while off-duty. Two dots that seemed to stop at a campsite for a longer time provoke some comments, like being dubbed 'Brokeback mountaineers' and so on. About 2am we manage to get some kip on Arend's bunk bed and my mattress.
Two hours later we are awaken by the first racers, already covered in mud and a bit tired. They all help themselves to spaghetti so I help do the dishes. Wiktor texts me he has pulled his groin and is retiring at CP1. I make sure he can make it on his own. Arend and me are deployed to an intermediate CP1.1 further up the course to welcome the competitors there.
There's already daylight and the falling snow immediately melts. Arend took on an impossible task of improving my almost nonexistent Dutch. I digest what he says in my brain for a couple seconds, try to answer him and have to switch to English mid-sentence for lack of vocabulary. Still better than nothing. Cheers for your patience, mate!
The second stage is easier with much less elevation gain. We tick off the racers approaching in little groups. Their spirits are high, having covered just over 80 km after all. Before noon another LST (Chloe and two Dutch blokes) replaces us and we can go to CP2 at Comblain-Fairon for some rest.
At the checkpoint in a riverside hostel I manage a 3 hour kip, while the tireless Arend picks three retiring racers from the course. Before taking a shower I get a green Dutch Army towel from him as I left mine at HQ. Use it with pride! – he says. At night we are deployed to Aywaille for the intermediate CP2.1. High up the trail above the town Dieter awaits us by a small campfire with a fourpack of La Chouffe beer. Having ticked several runners off and unsuccessfully attempted to rekindle the fire with damp wood we run back down to Aywaille. We buy some takeaway pizza, sharing it later with four racers. Among them is the first girl, Paula Ijzerman from the Netherlands. After 130 km and in the middle of the second night a pizza is a nice surprise for them.
More and more yompers cross the bridge over the river l'Ourthe. One of the Belgians is in two minds whether to quit here or make it to CP3, finally deciding to retire right now. He looks hypothermic so I give him my spare old Goretex jacket. One Norwegian female runner seems to be in Aywaille for some time judging by the position of her tracker but we can't find her anywhere. Later it turns out she is in the car of another LST taking her to CP3. Remske and Ernst Jan Vermeulen, the couple of Dutch veteran ultrarunners, doesn't waste time and bravely pushes on. They will finally cover 195 km, retiring between CP 3 and 4. Having ticked off all those remaining in the game, we leave Aywaille and after 2pm arrive at CP3 at La Reid (150 km).
The medical team takes care of sore legs and trench feet of the living dead, who are at the same time intaking great amounts of hot soup provided by the kitchen crew. Some runners kip down in the tent outside. The lonely Norwegian yomper Leif Abrahamsen gets full 3 hours of sleep in his bivvy bag protecting him from snow. Others snooze in the dining room with their heads on the table. Some decide to quit here, others put off the decision till the morning when they wake up. It's here that I manage to write my first report and send some pics for the Running Festival website before crashing out on the floor in one of the rooms upstairs. Now there are still 29 competitors remaining in the game, with 6 Belgians in the lead. This number will be largely depleted till the morning. Andre Lindekens, one of the leading pack, will drop out because of hypothermia.
Five-hour kip... priceless. Before noon I end up at the Houffalize HQ. Arend is already there. Time to bid farewell, he's going home. I learn that Wiktor, together with some other retired runners, has joined the volunteer crew and is out in the field. Brave guys. Stu deploys me to mark a section somewhere around 230 km where a ski slope has to be bypassed and the course is different than originally planned. Having reached the place I run down the slope filled with skiers and snowboarders and fix some signs along the new course. I try my best to make them clearly visible even for zombies in a stormy night.
Some rolling Belgian drunkard must have built this rolling Belgian road going through this winter wonderland. Snow keeps falling all the time. I put the signs all the way to the planned intermediate tent checkpoint, run back to the car and make a move to my next assignment – to take down the signs from the stretch we marked Friday afternoon. Another nice trip in difficult terrain, covered with more snow this time. Together with the night shift to come, all this adds to almost 20 km yomping this day.
– Still feeling fit? – I hear Stu's voice in my phone as I approach my car in the falling darkness. Yeah, I reckon, what's up? – We may need some help in the tent, where you've just put signs. – I'll do it no prob, just get me some warm grub please, I'm starving! A relaxing evening with a few beers has to be put off a couple hours. Somehow I still enjoy every minute of this game...
Stu Westfield is a safety coordinator of Legends Trails. It's no coincidence Stef and Tim have chosen him for this role. Each year he runs the safety teams at the 431 km Spine Race in northern England and his expertise is priceless. Under his supervision the whole system runs as smoothly as it can.
I get my warm plate from Ania, the HQ top chef herself. Without the kitchen crews, I get a thought, we safety team folks, and especially the racers, would just collapse like those bloody Energizer bunnies running out of steam. They stay out of spotlight but without them this race would just not exist.
An hour later we set off in my car with Jan, another Dutch guy who replaced Arend in LST1. Some lame attempts of conversation in Dutch follow from my side again. We take some hot tea, gas cartridges and my spare stove just in case. The tent has already been pitched in the forest and the crew of Wiktor and Dave, racers-turned-volunteers, is already there. Clint and Stef will bring two more buckets of soup later on. Some nasty accident happened under the motorway bridge just in front of them and they got scared it could be my car involved...
As expected, the second night took its toll and witnessed the most cases of DNF. Only 15 runners left CP4 at Farnières. They are stretched over a relatively short distance, so they all go through the CP4.1 tent within about four hours. Three of the morning's Belgian leading group – Dirk van Spitaels, Ivo Steyaert and Benny Keuppens – are still in front and leave the checkpoint just before our arrival. The remaining two have been overtaken in the meantime by the German Michael Frenz and another Belgian Joris Jacobs, pushing on together since 35th kilometer. We welcome them all in the tent with hot soup and tea.
Christophe Wislet and Claudy Jambon reach the CP less than an hour later. Just as the ones before, they lay down on the sleeping mats wrapping themselves up with blankets for a while and leave after a short rest, as the time is running low. Soon after, the Dutch trio arrives. They are all knackered. Peter Swager and Michiel Panhuysen are in the zombie mode. Paula Ijzerman, the only remaining lady, seems to be the most conscious of the three. She tells stories of her hallucinations – bears on the trail, safety cars and what not. She's not the only one I've heard of such experiences from during this race.
Soon after their departure calls Stu, who keeps watching the dots at HQ the whole time. He tells us of the only five remaining – the lone wolf Leif Abrahamsen and the Belgian-Dutch four (Geert Dewit, Marek Vis, Robin Kingsbergen and Hans Coolen) closing the field. Jan and me leave the tent and go ahead to meet them.
The Norwegian seems to be alright and is happy to see us. During the last hours he has been suffering from stomach upset but now claims to be feeling better. Jan sees him off to the tent and I run further down the path to intercept the rest. Soon I can see four vague lights ahead, blurred by falling snowflakes. I meet the racers, accompany them almost to the tent and return to take down the signs I placed a few hours ago.
It's good to have people with some idea of this sport in the Safety Teams. Sometimes in order to help the knackered racers it's good to know from one's own experience how one feels after so many miles and hours on the trail...
I run down the more and more snow-covered path. Snowflakes are blinking in the light of my headlamp. Some signs are covered in snow and I've got to take a good look to find them. When I'm back at the tent, all racers are gone and we can take it down.
Hot pizza and cold beer await us at HQ. Despite the tiredness we don't feel sleepy at all and keep dot-watching awaiting the winners. Michael Frenz and Joris Jacobs have got themselves in front...
After 3am, 57 hours and 21 minutes having passed since they started, two headlamps appear on the road in front of HQ. They both seem to be hanging on for grim death for a sprint finish. But it's the young Belgian showing great sportsmanship and letting Michael in front, thinking he deserves the victory more. They have pushed on together almost from the start but the seasoned German ultrarunner has been doing all the nav.
Just six minutes later we see Dirk, followed by other Belgians a couple dozen minutes between one another, with Benny at the end who lost some time due to a dead battery in his GPS device. Paula, the only lady finisher, shows up together with her two Dutch mates, closely followed by the lone Norwegian. The Belgian-Dutch four make it just before the passing of 62 hours, with the cutoff set at 62h20 reflecting the average speed of 4 km per hour. Tim and Stef hand the finishers beautiful medals and souvenir fourpacks of La Chouffe beer.
Full results can be found HERE and HERE
Very hard race – said the winner – especially the last 20 km in deep snow! At 237 km he and Joris caught up with the two leaders and then it was a fight. He gave it all he could. He mentioned that he started the race still tired from work and did not expect to win, only planning to finish it, and then was getting better and better. At CP3 they had 6.5 hours of good sleep and that was the main point, as the other guys did not sleep. In winter races you have to eat, drink and sleep – highlighted the four-time participant of The Spine. Legends Trails, although not as long and hard as the famous British race, was in one way harder to him, as here other racers didn't want to give up until the end.
Since 2014 Michael has been organising a race even longer than The Spine – the 661 km Montane Goldsteig Ultra Race in Bavaria, he hasn't however raced in it yet. In his pre-race workouts he admitted to running sometimes up to 200 km a week. His legendary companion Joris trains much less, his longest race so far having been just over 100 km, but on the other hand he does triathlon.
Dirk, third at the finish line, considered Legends Trails the toughest race in his life. Especially the weather and conditions were unbelievably hard. His previous longest race was just 100 km. Together with Ivo they tried to keep up with the later winners. Unsuccessfully, but it doesn't matter, as he said. He's finished and that's important. And how does the third Legend prepare for such challenges? I rest a lot! – said Dirk, laughing.
I didn't plan to win 'cos it's not a competition to me – summed up Paula – oh yeah, maybe it's a competition just against myself and the snow... I hate snow! Also for her it was the longest and hardest race so far. The first night was the worst, she kept falling and was not doing well and then the guys picked her up. She stayed with them, especially with Michiel. They worked really well together and she often also helped them keep a steady hiking pace of 6.5 km per hour. I asked if she liked the race. I'm not sure 'liking' is the right word... it was surely interesting, I'm very happy I've made it, I'm never gonna do it ever again, I'll be a volunteer next year! – declared the only lady who finished the Legends Trails, whose last name means... 'Iron Man'. Let's wait and see...
I have once managed to finish Łemkowyna Ultra Trail, one of the toughest races in Poland, a gruelling 150 km mudfest. When I think of the Legends Trails as the same plus extra 100 kilometres, I can't even imagine completing such a challenge. This is larger than life. This race has already become a Legend.
* * * * *
Germany, Tuesday, 8 March. We exit A4 for Dresden to leave Chloe and Neal there. Some local radio station plays a catchy tune. I haven't heard it before, can only recognise the band Die Toten Hosen. My German sucks just as badly as my Dutch but I can still make out enough of the lyrics to google them up later and translate.
Still flowing like a river, it's the same old fever, when we're together it rises up again... or something like that. That's what it comes down to, both in sport and in everyday life. We're in it not just for ourselves, but also for one another.
Kamil Weinberg