“Courir la nuit, ça n’a rien à voir”
The Monts du Lyonnais have a special place in my heart. I’ve been heading back for the infamous Saintélyon on and off since 2008. This year was possibly my 6th edition and I think it was up there as the best edition to date!
For the uninitiated – the Saintélyon is a night time (it starts at midnight) ultramarathon from Saint-Etienne to Lyon in the bleak mid-winter. It varies slightly in length year on year, but is generally between 70 and 80km in length. The vast majority of the 13000 participants take on the full distance (which to me is utterly mind boggling), whereas mere mortals such as myself enjoy splitting it up into either a relay of 2, 3 or 4 runners.
This year Andy Davies, Tom Fleming and I took on a 78km course as a 3 – running 32km, 24km and 22km respectively.
We woke up in Lyon on the Saturday morning of the race feeling pretty damn groggy.
Having made our flight by mere seconds the night before, we had headed straight into town in search of food and water. Unfortunately, it took no more than one sip of a Belgian 8.4% Triple before we were knocking back the Rhum Framboise and rocking on the Rhone until the early hours.
And so, we made our way apprehensively down to the ‘race village’ in Lyon to pick up our bibs – the 3 Big Macs and 24 Chicken Nuggets sitting heavy in the stomach.
For anyone that has been involved in a French mass sporting event, you will know that they absolutely LOVE it. The events are invariably really well organised, incredibly well supported (even in the middle of the night!) and the technical equipment on sale is mind-blowing. They’ll soon be flogging in-race intravenous pumps that infuse the perfect blend of electrolytes, caffeine, ketones and camembert to get you to the finish line without breaking a sweat.
Thoroughly intimidated by the whole affair we returned to our hotel to try and get some shut-eye before the drive down to the start in St Etienne.
The atmosphere at the start was magical – a sea of bobbing French athletes, the sweet scent of tiger balm, U2 blaring from the speakers – and then the snow began to fall…
Soon Andy set off into the night amidst a clattering of cow bells and shouts of “allez, allez, allez!”.
It was left to Tom and I to make our way by car to the first check point in St Catherine. I had decided to ignore the explicit warning that access to the village would only be possible by official bus transfer.
The journey was difficult – firstly, the head-on snow blizzard made it feel like we were heading into hyperspace aboard the Millennium Falcon.
Secondly, when we were inevitably turned away 5km away from St Catherine, we took the wise option of attempting to bypass the French guards by heading up a vertical, snow-laden, dirt track in our brand-spanking new SUV hire car. It was highly unsuccessful and it’s a miracle that we didn’t end up upside down in a ditch by the side of the road. Sheepishly, we made our way back to the road block, pleaded relentless ignorance with the French policeman, and in a stroke of completely undeserved luck, were eventually let through. I don’t recommend this strategy in the future.
It’s very difficult to know how to prepare for a race start time somewhere between 4am and 6am in the morning. I was sat in the car, -4 degrees outside, debating whether I should stretch my legs, try and sleep, eat more bananas, or just continue rocking gently forwards and backwards in my seat. Next to me, I had Tom, who’s start was imminent, frantically trying to lather up his entire body with a tiny tube of Carmex lip balm. It was Tom’s first Saintélyon and the stress of the whole thing was really starting to get to him.
Having followed Andy’s progress on the live tracker we headed to the checkpoint to await his arrival. We watched as the snaking line of head torches came hurtling down the hill into ‘transition’…and then there he was! Miraculously still with the same broad smile he’d had when we saw him off at the start. “That was WILD!” – he mustered. 32km in the dead of night, 1200m of positive ascent and a blizzard for company. Chapeau mon grand.
We saw Tom off and headed back to the car for a much less eventful drive to the final checkpoint at Soucieu-en-Jarest. As Andy slowly came back to life in the car, I inhaled a final fistful of peanuts and blearily made my way to the transition zone to await Tom’s arrival. It was now approaching 5am.
Tom had made great time and before I knew it he had arrived. He had a slightly shocked look on his face – no doubt because instead of congratulating him on his monumental effort, I was frantically pointing at the timing chip around his ankle in a bid to get him to hand it over to me. I was clearly thoroughly overstimulated. Once I’d calmed down, we hugged it out and I swiftly took my leave and went.
The next two hours were an absolute delight. Now we were on lower ground, I had the benefit of more favourable running conditions and significantly less hills. I got into a nice rhythm and shuffled along through the night. I had invested in a PETZL Swift RL head torch (similar in quality to the Garmin 735XT) and boy did it make a difference. 900 lumens of unadulterated trail running magic.
Every time I would pass a ‘solo’ runner I would, however, feel slightly embarrassed. These guys had 50-60km in their legs and there I was, fresh as a daisy, having the cheek to lope on past them. I did my best to utter “je suis en relais” to highlight the fact I was in a relay team and not the fresh legged ultramarathon-running-oaf they must have initially thought I was.
At around 7.30am as the sun rose, 8 hours after we set off, I approached the finish line in Lyon. Tom and Andy were awaiting my arrival and I was pleased to round off a really great team effort.
Hats off to all those solo runners, and even more so to those nutcases that braved the inaugural 156km “LyonSainteLyon”. To put things into perspective, the winning solo time for the 78km was 5h56min and we completed the distance in 8h05min. Who’s going to take on the solo next year?? Not me.
