Grasping the Ungraspable.

At the end of May, I spent five days trail running in Chamonix, France. Home to the annual Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) race, it has always been my dream to make a pilgrimage towards this holy site of trail running. Beyond running however, the region is obviously mostly known for Europe’s highest mountain: the Mont Blanc. Nothing can prepare you for seeing the Mont Blanc for the first time as it suddenly looms over you like a massive wall of rock, ice, and snow. Known for its plateau-like summit, it doesn’t have a distinctive peak like for instance the Matterhorn but with its 4.806 meters it is very much the ceiling of the Alps. At the end of May, the higher sections of the massif are still considered off-limits due to yet unmelted snow and ice. Either way, my intention was not as much to explore the mountaineering side of trail running but rather to get closer to a different experience of running. One less marked by concrete jungles and traffic fumes and more by mountain air and forest smells.

Day 1: Acknowledgement

After the obligatory breakfast of warm oats and Antwerp’s finest coffee, we ventured towards the Lac Blanc on the other side of the Chamonix valley. This would give us a more open and direct view over the Mont Blanc massif. After running along some small creeks through mixed forests, we quickly made a steep ascent towards Grand Balcon Sud, commencing a total climb 1.581 meters with a distance of 22 kilometers. Whilst enjoying the shimmering white mountain tops between the dark green firs and the cheerful hum of chaffinches, my lungs worked hard to accommodate the crisp mountain air and high altitude. The uphill run gradually settled for something closer to a power hike. Once we reached the tree line, the sun started to burn more menacing as it reflected directly from the snow-covered hills around us. To cool down from the intense climbing, I grabbed a handful of coarse snow and smeared it over my face and arms, thereby removing the thin layer of sunscreen I would desperately need later on. The contrast between the winter-like landscape and the fact that we were running in shorts and t-shirts turned this into a dreamlike sequence where nothing is what it seems. We reached the highest point of our route by climbing the last hill on all fours through the snow and suddenly found ourselves in a crowd of other humans. Contracted by a sense of misanthropy, I wrote in my journal: Humans are inescapable. But must they always bring everything with them? Their loud, unacclimatised voices… Just as I wrote that, a large black bird with a yellow beak (not a blackbird) landed next to me. On the way up here, we made a steep climb through the snow. Everyone is taking pictures. But does anyone feel this place? I immediately realised that I pretended to experience this place in a more authentic way than others yet doing so made the experience escape from my grasp immediately.

Day 2: Resolution

On the second day, we decided to give our legs some rest after the strenuous first day. For runners rest means: running less. The route - unfortunately an out-and-back - would take us along the more accommodating Petit Balcon Sud. The weather was warm yet the trees provided some welcome shelter as I was recovering from a severe sunburn on my shoulders from the day before. The less demanding elevation allowed for more consistent running, which immediately calmed my mind. As we made our way along the winding trail, I silently noted the orchestra of life that buzzed all around me: firs, pines, birches, jays, finches, ants, flies, bees, … I took a break by a waterfall and quickly jotted down: I’m grateful for my body and its capacity to endure. This makes me feel most alive, like everything around me. When we reached a bench overlooking the Chamonix valley, we decided to have a rest before turning back to the trailhead. Next to me, a woman propped herself down on the bench and made an audible sigh of relief. Her backpack seemed rather large for a day trip yet I could not spot any camping gear and it was too early in the season to spend the night in a mountain hut. I realised that she was probably also making all kinds of calculations about our running gear - really, who goes to the mountains to.. run? - until she asked, in Dutch, whether we were there for the marathon. With all the hype around UTMB you would almost forget that Chamonix also hosts a “mere” marathon race at the end of June. Either way, it seems we all have our reasons for going into the mountains. However, as we push our bodies towards higher levels of elevation, those reasons suddenly seem far away and we are left with the mere drive to reach an arbitrary destination, like a bench overlooking the highest mountain on the European continent.

Day 3: Intermission

Who in their right mind would go to a running track in Chamonix? And yet, it is arguably one of the most scenic ones in the world. In order to take a break from the muscle-punishing elevation, I wanted to do a few laps on the track and experience the overwhelming experience of being surrounded by a 180 degree horizon of white mountain peaks. I had, in recent months, developed a keen appreciation of track running, something that the teenager in me had sworn to hate with a vengeance. Many runners eschew the track, considering it the most mind-numbing form of running. Whilst I would throw in running with headphones as a more suitable candidate for this experience, I appreciate that track running is an acquired taste. Yet there is something truly liberating in leaving the mind wide open and literally having no place to hide. At the same time, I could not escape into my internal experience when I was surrounded by hills covered in pines and peaks partially covered in smokey clouds. Trying to cling on to my aesthetic experience, I realised that the object of my appreciation seemed largely indifferent to my attempt to come to some sort of deeper understanding about it. Wherever you run in Chamonix, you are reminded of almost insignificant nature of your goals, aspirations and - ultimately - ego.

Day 4: Pursuance

After three days of mostly sun and solidly warm temperatures, the mountains proved once more that everything is always unpredictable. In attempt to not let the mild yet persistent showers spoil our enjoyment, we decided to follow the Petit Balcon Nord. After a steep incline along moss-covered boulders that reminded me of Colorado, we found a winding trail that traversed a quiet forest and a sleepy mountain town where the welcome committee consisted of two old Retrievers. Despite the less challenging nature of this route, the preceding days had started to demand their toll on my legs. Yet my mind somehow felt more focused by the quiet serenity of the rain drops dripping off the leaves and branches in the forest. I tried to use my back as shelter from the rain as I bent over my notebook and quickly scribbled down: Forest is covered in rain sounds. Clothes wet. I feel fresh and sharp, despite the tired legs. This is when I feel alive, no grasping. Just experience. There can be an other side to fatigue when the mind is slowly releasing its grasp on things and we come to experience things as they are, untouched by our need to pour everything into concepts. I had noticed how I had experienced these moments as those when I was most alive, when everything seems to come and go naturally without needing my interference. This is of course the reason why many people seek refuge in the mountain yet this seeking can become a contraction when we cling on to certain experiences. My legs were tired, my clothes were wet, and the rain was erasing the words on my page (Note to self: if you use a waterproof notebook, better bring along a waterproof pen too). Yet it was precisely this discomfort that made me aware this was a deeply embodied experience which directly connected me to the forest and mountains around me.

Day 5: Psalm

For our last day, we decided to once again seek higher altitude and headed towards Grand Balcon Nord and towards one of the peaks leading towards the Mont Blanc massif. The route started with a steep ascend that criss-crossed its way up through thick pine forests. As the tree density decreased, I felt the warm sun on my face. We suddenly reached a plateau of flat boulders overlooking the wide valley below from where I could see the snowy peaks where we had been gliding and climbing on day one. Whilst taking in the view, I suddenly noticed a Collie sitting a couple of meters away from me with its head fixed on a human carrying a large carton of eggs below. They were on their way up with supplies for Buvette des Mottets, a cute mountain hut with camping pods. On the other side of the mountain rim, we could see the Montenvers glacier with its stunning waterfalls. After drinking the best lemonade of my life, we continued our climb towards the summit, altering between power hiking and running where possible. Similarly to day one, we suddenly noticed that the trails had become more crowded. The answer was rather obvious this time around: a red mountain train that takes you from Chamonix to Montenvers at 1.913 meters. Quickly making our way through the mountain hub of restaurants, terraces, booming music, and obligatory selfie spots, we made our way further up yet at 1.988 meters, we hit a dead end: thick packs of unmelted snow had completely covered the track. Continuing the trail would be impossible without proper gear so we made the reluctant yet prudent decision to turn around and make our way back down. The steep trails down were completely covered in rocks and tree roots, which made running downhill even more strenuous than it already is. I described this experience afterwards as follows: Your mind can only do one thing. Nothing else. It’s tiring on a mental level but at the same time also liberating. We’ll be in town in a couple of kilometers. This place has given me a taste of what non-grasping feels like. Pure flow. What I didn’t include is that I had to slow down at some point as I started to feel tired from the intense concentration. After walking for a short while, I gained more energy and started to run again towards the trailhead. Arriving at the campsite tired and satisfied, I glanced up towards the Mont Blanc massif. There are many ways to describe how I felt, having spent only a couple of days exploring the lower regions of this immens geological formation. Yet I was not overcome by a desire to engage in such description which feels ironic now that I am writing down this meta-description of my lack of desire to describe. I thought about this problem of describing the indescribable as I traced a cloud that had suddenly covered the entire peak. I could not help but realise that, in light of this experience, it really doesn’t matter.

My first book.