Race Report: Sierre-Zinal
Golden Trail World Series 2021
Photo by Jordi Sargossa
Sierre-Zinal was definitely my favourite all around race experience. From the care of the race directors and their obvious determination to put on a first class event, to the way that Sierre-Zinal is a permanent part of the town of Zinal; it was the most exciting race environment and build up I have ever had the privilege of being part of.
I moved into race accommodation on the Wednesday before the Saturday race, and spent the last three days enjoying spending hours each day catching up with other athletes at meals and easy runs. My room-mate Toni McCann was an awesome human to be around and became a fast friend, which alongside a few of the others I had gotten to know well such as Eli-Ann, Heidi and Zak had me really feeling a part of the community. This being my third race and third time meeting many of the Salomon athletes and media team meant I was much less overwhelmed and self-conscious and more able to really enjoy the company of others after such a long time alone. It was the final three days before the race that gave me back some of my confidence, and my body started to feel less fatigued and worn-out.
1.Pre-race elite invited runners photo; 2/3. Shakeout with other Salomon runners the day before the race; 4. Me and my awesome room-mate Toni McCann ; 5. Making new friends is always the best part of any adventure
On race day itself, I was in a weird place. I was so thankful to be there and wanted to make the most of the opportunity. But I know myself and my body extremely well, and I could tell that a big part of me was looking forward to the fact that the finish line marked the end of my trip and I would soon be on my way home rather than the race itself. I didn’t want to buy into that headspace, but there was no denying the fact that it was there and I was beyond tired, so fighting against it wasn’t going to come easy.
But me being me, fight against it I did. After a short warm up listening to music loud enough to drown out all my thoughts, I stood on the start line beaming from ear to ear and pinching myself, saying to Toni “We are on the actual start line of motherf$#king Sierre-Zinal!”. I have known the history and hype of this race for years, and of all the races this was my true '‘I am living my dream’ moment. I internally committed to expect nothing and give everything so as to not waste this opportunity, and took off full of all the usual hope and excitement I attack races with.
There is a difference between blind hope and true confidence though, and that became glaringly obvious after only 3km of climbing. I already had that empty feeling in my legs, the one where it feels like the muscles have been replaced by putty and coordination becomes a challenge. I battled for a bit, trying to will myself to run faster through it and keep pushing, but I knew I had two choices. I could keep pushing the whole way to the line, another 3 hours or so, and leave with a painful memory of the whole race hurting like hell; or I could allow myself to back it off a bit, enjoy the view, survive the climb and hope my legs came good on the descent. I rationally knew that with how I had been feeling the last two weeks and over 27km left, I would probably finish in a similar position either way. So I gave my legs a pep talk, thanked them for everything they had done for me the entire trip, and settled into a more comfortable rhythm.
The next 12km of racing involved multiple leap frogs with the women in front of me, with my legs being good on the flat and downhill sections where I would overtake a few, only to be caught again on the next climb. But this itself gave me confidence as I knew the last 16km I would be able to not just overtake but also get a gap on some of the women ahead. I was absolutely loving life though, because being in 4th gear allowed me to interact with the small bunches of spectators that were along the course, smile for the cameras, enjoy the SPECTACULAR views, and keep reminiscing on just how far I had come in life from the 18 year old overweight and depressed teenager that dreamed of stuff like this but never thought it would happen. The middle section of this race became an internal journey of gratitude, disbelief, and wonder.
My ‘well shit’ moments for the race were not over yet though. At around 15km we reached the higher points of the course, at 2400m, and a thunderstorm was rolling in. The altitude, paired with the thunderstorm, paired with the fact that in order to comply with Quartz Anti-Doping regulations I hadn’t taken my asthma preventer for 7 days or my reliever for 24 hours, meant that my breathing got scarily shallow, scarily fast. I don’t really know how to describe an asthma attack to anyone that hasn’t experienced it, but I went from breathing easy to feeling like I was running while trying to breathe through a straw in a matter of minutes. I almost panicked when I realised it wasn’t going away, and tears came to my eyes as I wrestled to keep myself calm. I have been here before many times, and know keeping calm is the most important part of keeping a full blown attack at bay, but damn was I scared for a minute there.
As I hit the next climb, I started walking up it more slowly, getting my breathing under control and assessing my options. I knew it was mostly downhill from here, which would be both easier running and lessen the effects of altitude. I could also feel that it was early enough that if I kept calm and kept my effort under wraps I could at least make it to the finish. I had always known a slow day may be at hand for me, but I never even thought that I might not make the finish line and I was determined to do that at least.
So in true me style I turned it into a mental game. I imagined myself as a water droplet flowing down the trail, while keeping my breathing at a 4 steps in/4 steps out rhythm. I kept this mindful breathing going for the next 13km, happy to find myself still passing people on the downhill as I ‘flowed’ along. It seemed to be working, although my breathing sounded ragged I could control it and as long as I could control it I felt safe to continue. I told myself I would just continue this until the finish line to be safe.
Then, I saw the 3km to go marker. The mental math began as I calculated how many minutes that would be on the steep downhill, and the competitor in me completely took over, deciding it was a short enough time to go all out and survive until the finish. I set my sights on anyone I could see in front of me and chased with everything I had for the first time in the race. It felt so good to get some momentum up and pass a few people, especially as I once again caught Caterina, the same woman I was battling with on the downhill of Dolomyths Run, and thought that maybe I would get one up on her this time. But I could hear my breathing getting worse and worse, so as I hit the road with 500m to go sounding like a freight train and feeling like I was putting more effort into breathing than moving my legs, she got away from me by a few seconds once again. As my form dwindled the line finally came, and it was such a sweet moment to cross and realise that not only was this race over, but my entire European season had reached it’s finish line.
The drama didn’t stop there though. As my body tried to catch up and I tried in vain to get my breathing back under control I collapsed into a chair 20m past the finish line. I would remain in that chair for the next 90mins or more, being tended to by the race doctor. The race doctor and race organisers were great with me, making sure I got my asthma meds as fast as possible as the doctor continuously assessed my wheeze, heart rate, and blood oxygen levels. Feeling faint with the slightest movement, struggling to talk at all, and with an initial pulse ox reading below 80%, I knew I had done a real number on myself and was in for a longer recovery than usual. But being a nurse and having been in this situation many times before I knew the drill. I narrowly escaped being taken to the hospital over an hours drive away by staying calm and between breaths or puffs from my inhaler explaining to the doctor that I felt like I would improve and would tell her if I felt a deterioration. I wasn’t sure I could afford a trip to the hospital and I know with stillness and mindfulness paired with my meds I could usually bring myself around.
After showing some improvement and finally being escorted the 100m to my hotel room where Toni was, I was instructed to stay in bed with the doctors mobile number sitting next to me, and she came and checked on me every half hour until my blood oxygen was staying around 97-98% and I was talking okay. It was not the most ideal way to spend the few hours after my last race, but I didn’t have many options. Eventually I got out for some hot chips with other athletes, before the main celebratory dinner in the athlete dining hall to finish what was an incredible day that I will remember for all it’s highs and lows. It was far from the Sierre-Zinal experience I dreamed of, with far less crowds, a tiny field of only 55 elite female runners, and my race going south early when this course would normally have suited me the best of the three races I did. But the uniqueness of the experience and the lessons I learned along the way have my brain ticking over with all the ways I can change my training to improve and come back stronger next time.
1.Pre-race breakfast with Toni ; 2. About half way up the VK at the start of the race ; 3. Later in the race trying to hold it together ; 4. Enjoying the downhill and trying to just take it all in ; 5 The majestic mountain tops of the Swiss Alps where we were running
Image 1, 2, 3 by Jordi Sargossa, Image 5 by Martina Valmassoi
THE RACE STATS
Strava file Here.
Distance: 31km
Elevation Gain: 2200m
Elevation Loss: 1100m
Time: 3:37:05
THE GEAR/NUTRITION
Shoes: Salomon Sense Pro 4
Watch: Suunto 9 Peak
Fuel: Tailwind, made up with 77g powder/L, total 1 Litre. 2 x Maurten Gel (3km & 6km)
Other: 1 x Revvies 100mg energy strips (15km)