100 kilometers

So far, I was relatively happy with how my first full season in trail racing went: It started off with a 6th/28 place finish in the Trail du Grammont, a 50km long team-race I did together with Camille; a 3rd/44 place in the Glacier 3000 Run relay-race together with Nina; and finally an 12th/158 place finish in the Trail du Besso after a sleepless night in the nearest SAC hut from the starting line in Zinal—which was further away than I initially thought.

But the highlight of the season was yet to come: the Grand Raid Sherpa 100km trail running race proposed for the 10th anniversary of the Humani’trail. Since I share so much history with many sections of the itinerary, I signed up for this race last winter, hoping I would not regret it.

A brief look into the past

Actually, I am not quite new to this distance. In the final weeks of officer training with the Swiss army, we had to overcome a 100km march—after barely having slept and eaten for a week during the strenuous endurance exercise crowning the formation to a lieutenant. In what one of the commanders later confirmed to be the hardest march done in all officer schools of Switzerland, we walked from Lausanne to Bern in more or less a straight line, which involved a significant elevation change and a total distance of almost 103km.

We were given a time limit of 24h—a limit which would usually not be too hard to respect. However, we ended up just barely missing this target because of the unfavorable weather, medical problems, and group dynamics, and reached Bern only after 24h and a few minutes. Still, the memories that I built during this march were so great, that I had it in the back of my mind for a long time to retry such a distance. This time well below the 24h threshold.

The preparation

The preparation for this race was mediocre: the only time I went further than 50km was in the 59km long Trail du Besso. Still, considering the relatively small elevation change for this race—just short of 6’000m—I felt confident that I could finish the race with a reasonable time without pushing my body to its limit.

However, two days before the race, after having reduced the training to an absolute minimum for the two weeks leading up to the race, I started feeling a weird pain in my heel. The severity of the pain even when walking made me doubt even being able to show up to the starting line.

A very familiar loop

Happy that race-day had finally come, but worried about my heel, I lined up at the starting line at 5am in Gstaad. Cheered on my Timothée, who would run the 42km race in Les Diablerets, and my dad, who drove Timothée and me to the race, the start was went just like for the Glacier 3000 run earlier this summer, through the promenade.

We left the sleeping town Gstaad behind us and started climbing up the grassy slopes of the Wispile. This mountain brings up many memories from when I was competing in ski races there as a child. Still particularly clear before my inner eye is the day when my dad took me to a slalom race at the bottom of the Wispile, and measured a temperature of -24°C at the parking. It was the coldest day I have ever experienced. I can still remember how my feet, hands, and cheeks were hurting in the cold. The race then proceeded to take incredibly long: in the first run, they had to replace gates after almost every racer, as they easily broke due to the freezing cold. I remember that during the second run, I broke my poles in half.

Arrived at the summit of the Wispile, fond memories came to mind. Two years ago, we did a hike with VRE, an association we founded with some friends from the army with whom I served in the military airbase in Meiringen. To the amusement of many fellow hikers, we carried a Swiss flag all the way from the Wispile to the Lauenensee. Where we held the first general assembly of the association.

The first downhill on the backside of the Wispile did not feel nice. My heel was still hurting and my legs immediately felt sore. It was not looking good for the continuation of the race.

What helped was that I now entered the region which I know best in terms of trail running. The Lake Arnen and Diablerets region where I spent countless beautiful trail weekends with the UNIL/EPFL running group. There I met many great friends and learned how to become a good trail runner. In fact, I know this region so well that I was surprised when in the two weekends leading up to the race I still found some trails that I haven’t tried yet: the uphill from L’Etivaz to the Col du Séron I did with Federico during the EPFL Math PhD student retreat, and the ridge to the Arnenhorn I did with Giulia in the trail weekend.

However, this time, everything would be different: The lush alpine meadows around La Palette were covered by a 10cm layer of snow and mud. This posed a real challenge. With every step one risked slipping and hugging the ground. The mud-stained clothes of some of the other runners were quite a sight.

Luckily, I was careful enough and never swept off my feet and reached the first major aid station in Les Diablerets. I changed my shoes, resupplied with gels, and headed out on the remaining 58km.

I was now headed up towards the Col du Pillon, retracing the exact same path as I did for my first ever trail running race one year ago: the 42km long Takin race of the Humani’Trail 2024.

From the Col du Pillon, it was then not far until Reusch, where I took the relay from Nina in the Glacier 3000 run earlier this year. At the end of the descent, I was very happy to see my parents waiting in Gsteig for me to pass by.

Now, what felt like the toughest part of the race for me followed: I was going low on energy after having run the last 15km at a relatively fast pace.

At the end of my forces, I was happy to finally go for the long descent down to the Lauenensee, a place to which I associate the great memory of embarking on my first big adventure with Nina—a ski tour to the Arpelistock last winter.

On my loop around the lake I was cheered on by many accidental spectators of the race, and headed down the valley to Lauenen. To my big surprise, Nina and some of her family were waiting there for me with posters.

I sat down with my supporters for a long break and ate a cold Rösti, which I ended up regretting later on. The final big uphill was quick and easy. From here on, I was very familiar with the path. Just two weeks prior, I had done a small trail run with Nina and her sister, which included a sketchy scramble to an interesting geological feature: the Nasenspitz (nose tip).

This time, almost the entire trail along the west flank of the Wistätthore, which was the goal of my very first ski tour two years ago, was in the fog. But at the end of this section, the last sun rays of the peeked below the fog and produced some beautiful evening colors.

From here on, I started getting nostalgic. The last kilometers of the race coincided with a large section of the first trail run I ever did. I still remember how much worse I felt back then compared to now. I was cramping and completely exhausted, running with a big backpack constantly bouncing up and down my back. Fueling was an unknown concept to me. Incredible to see how much I have learned within 5 years.

Two last short uphills and a long descent in the dark down to Gstaad finally brought me to the finish line where I was met not only by Nina, her sister and my parents, but also my godfather, who—coincidentally—was also visiting my parents after I finished my first trail run in 2020.

Conclusion

The conditions made this race quite difficult, especially the snow and mud. Considering this and discounting the 30 min social break I took in Gsteig, I could have easily finished the race within my goal time of 15 hours. But to progress further, I will definitely need to practice taking in more gels. At multiple points in the race I felt low on energy, but was afraid to upset my stomach by taking too many gels.

I was happy with my strategy to change shoes after roughly half of the race. While it cost me some time, the dry shoes were both mentally and physically a game-changer. Further, I massively underestimate how quickly you get cold after stopping a long activity. Luckily, this was only the case at the finish line, but I am now more aware of bringing enough warm clothes for emergencies.