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- Pink Floyd

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Chamonix

Jul 31, 2014

Exit vacation, enter running: How I ran the Mont Blanc Cross

A quiet family vacation turned into a running affair when an Indian decided to compete in the iconic Mont Blanc Cross Marathon in the adventure capital of the world.

WRITTEN BY

The Outdoor Journal

By Sanjay Suri

After a couple of inactive years, with no marathons, trail races or swim events, this year finally turned out to be spectacular. I did my first half Ironman in Taiwan and the short course at Abu Dhabi Triathlon and spent tons of time training – cycling down the Gurgaon-Faridabad road, training in open waters and running in Sanjay Van – all in and around Delhi. As you can anticipate, or just take my word for it, training for these sports really eats into family time – especially when one ends up planning logistics and training for 6-8 hrs over the weekend. Once these events were over, I told myself that I’ll resist the urge to do any more events for now and go into maintenance mode so I can spend more time with family. Things didn’t turn out like that though. We were in April and we had planned a road trip in France in the second half of June.

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I had no clue of the places we would visit, other than Disneyland of course which was high up on the agenda for my 5 yr old. So when it came to planning the trip, I just had one request to my wife and friend Bobby who planned the trip. I’d like to visit Chamonix, the adventure capital, even if it’s for a couple days. They obliged with two days at Chamonix fixed for June 27 – June 29th. The rest of the trip was planned around Bourdeau, the Riviera, Paris and of course Disney.

 

Great, now that the dates were fixed, there was no harm looking for events in Chamonix – I felt lucky since we were there over a weekend. Within spending 2 seconds on the Internet, I couldn’t believe my luck! The Mont Blanc Marathon, one of the most iconic trail run events, was to be held over the weekend of 27-29th June. There were a bunch of races scheduled:

Mont-Blanc 80K with an elevation of 6000m
Mont-Blanc Marathon with elevation gain of 2000m
Mont-Blanc Cross, 24K with elevation gain of 1454m (1,865m by my GPS)
Vertical KM, 3.8K with elevation gain of 1000m
Mont-Blanc 10 KM

I quickly went through the options and found The Cross to be eminently doable since “it was only 24K”. The Marathon would be too hard to train for in such a short time – just 45 days – and 80K was unthinkable – having never done an ultra. This was perfect – a world class event had aligned with our schedule and I had nothing to do with that. Just one big downer – these events had got sold out in Dec 2013, within 1 day of the start of registration. Heart broken, I signed up for the 10K which was still open (and thank God for that). The thought of a 10K was not exciting at all but there was nothing I could do about it. Soon there was hope.

The following weekend I happened to meet Gaël Couturier, Editorial Director of The Outdoor Journal. I made a simple connection, Gael is French, he’s an accomplished runner and a journalist. The Mont-Blanc is in France. Maybe Gael could speak to the folks at the Mont-Blanc races and magically get them to swap my 10K race bib for The Cross. I asked, he graciously pursued and the folks at Skyrunning who organize the event obliged. I was going to run The Cross – 24K and 1600m of climbing. The training had to begin.

My training was nothing special – 20K Sunday runs in Sanjay Van which is a forested area in Delhi over 4 weekends, followed by one long run in France a week before the event. That was the minimum I needed to do to survive the race. To really prepare well for a race like this though, one should do at least a few runs up in the Himalayas but I really could not take out the time for any of that.

Race day. As expected, one felt the excitement and the energy at the start line. Most runners were carrying a hydration backpack with nutrition, like gels and energy bars, as well as a thin waterproof shell. Some were better prepared with whistle, thermal blanket, torch and a warm layer as well. A wise thing to do since the weather could change quickly in the mountains. Also there were only 2 aid stations so one had to be well prepared with nutrition.France 157

There were about 1500 runners in all and it seemed like an even split between men and women. The Skyrunning world championship was also rolled into the same race so one saw elite participants as well as regular guys like me here.

This was an unassuming start. There was background music with rhythmic beats to get the excitement going but it was not overpowering the announcements. The announcements were both in French and English (American to be precise). The kick off was exactly at 7:30am as planned. Off we went.

Even though the distance was not much, I knew this race would be a long one. I thought, a single kilometer could take between 6-12 minutes depending on the elevation. And I was going to take it easy till 16K and only then decide to push hard if I still had leg and lung power. As it turned out, I never had to make that decision as the pace was determined by the fellow runners and we mostly had a single track so it was not easy to overtake or slow down the runners behind.

The first 3K went off very smooth. We had started where the valley was very wide, right where the paragliders land. From there the initial few kms took us on a wide path which was gently undulating. As I would find out later, this was the only time I would use the word gentle to describe anything about this race.

At the end of the first 3 K we came to the base of a climb. I found it surprising that it was a single person track with no room to overtake anyone, even if one had the will. Up till now, the relative position of the runners was the same as at the start. And going forward it would turn out to be the same. This was going to be one of the biggest lessons for me in this race. You need to calibrate your speed and then position yourself based on that at the start. That’s the only way you can run and finish at your optimum speed.

France 153The climb began and within seconds everyone was hiking up. It resembled a brisk walk at best and I did not spot anyone running. It was going to be like this for the most part of the run. The climb went on for about 2 K after which there was a steep descent followed by a gentle climb. This brought us to the first aid station with a variety of sweet and salty things to nibble and the usual drinks – water, energy drink and coke (with fizz!).

A bit of a descent from the first aid station, got us to a road crossing. Imagine the pain the organizers went through and investment into a temporary bridge to avoid inconvenience to commuters. It didn’t seem like a busy road to me. Couldn’t they have just done with a sign that said – ‘Expect delays, running championship in progress. Inconvenience regretted’. Things don’t work like this over here I guess, there is a clear difference in mindset.

Finally my GPS indicated that the finish should be near. We had left the second aid station and started this endless and very steep climb. With just 500mtrs from the end, I turned the final corner to see the final ascent to the finish. The final climb was about 400mts and seemed like a 45degree angle. I cannot imagine even the elite running it. It would be quite a sight seeing them finish – perhaps some of them can manage to run up?France 160

Finished!

I had at the start thought that I could take 4hrs. I finally took 4 1/2hrs.. a minute less I guess. I was happy to finish and headed down using the cable car service to Chamonix. What can I say – it’s a lovely thing to do. Your heart pounds so hard that you are left with no other thought other than can I do this? What am I doing this for? Is this good for my body? What is more resilient – heart, lungs or knees? Is this fun? I don’t know if it can be categorized as fun. I think all this falls in a different sphere way beyond words can explain. I would do it again every year if i can plan it!

Feature image © Gaetan Hangeard
Other images © Sanjay Suri

Sanjay Suri is a technology entrepreneur and a consultant/advisor to multiple startups. He has always been a runner and has now taken up triathlons and open water swimming seriously. He can be reached at sanjay.suri@gmail.com

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Focus

Oct 01, 2018

The Forbidden Zone: Mongols, to Your Horses

The rolling green hills, rocky passes, flower-laden meadows and clear streams of Gorkhi Terelj National Park in northern Mongolia is the birthplace of the Mongols. The Outdoor Journal spent a week on horseback with Stone Horse Expeditions in the heart of this country’s vast wilderness.

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WRITTEN BY

Apoorva Prasad

Tdrihe Khan Khentii mountains stretched before us, from one end of the azure sky to the other. Tegri, the Great Sky God, watched us with his infinite panorama. From here, I could see miles and miles into the distance. This was the “Forbidden Zone”, that unknown wilderness where Genghis Khan was born. As a child and then again much later on, he hunted here, his true home, on a horse, sheltered in a ger or under the blue sky. When he was a boy, exiled with his family into the cold and harsh wilderness of the northern Mongolian hills, his only friends were what these lands contained. After he built an empire and died, it became a sacred and taboo zone, left to the deer and wolves. For decades the area had been closed off. The Soviets enforced it as a Highly Restricted Area to allow them to do what they wished with it – from logging and military exercises, to also countering any potential rise of Mongolian nationalism around the great Khan. Despite those years, the Area remained wild.

No wonder the Mongols worshipped it.

A day before, we had crossed fresh bear tracks. There were no signs of human presence apart from our train of horses and riders. And now, this vista lay in front of us, green and yellow grassy hills, long valleys, meadows of flowers stretching to higher mountains all the way to Siberia, some still snow-dusted despite the summer sun. Burkhan Khaldun stood further behind higher peaks. And that incredible sky. No wonder the Mongols worshipped it. We all lived once under this blue infinity. As we’d ridden northwards away from Ulan Bator, the city’s pollution had faded away long ago, the gray curse had lifted and my eyes had once again accustomed themselves to what they had evolved to do – see long distances, look for hares, deer, bears, navigate passes and ford streams, climb rocks, and watch falcons circle on thermals above. And over the last few days, we had done all these things.

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The weary horseriders arrive in the ger to refresh themselves.

We had left our last camp around mid-morning, some hours ago. One half of the party broke away to ride into another valley out west, while Keith and I wanted to ride up and to the pass in the range of hills that separated the Gorkhi Terelj from the Khan Khentii. We skirted the granite mounds which punctuated the ends of this valley, forded a marshy grassland below the campsite, fought off the bloodsucking horseflies that made our horses’ lives miserable for a little while, eventually entering a tall forest of larch and birch. The ground began to rise as we entered a narrow rocky trail that started to wind uphill. Jerry, my sturdy, stubborn little Mongolian horse plodded on. This easy gait was infinitely more comfortable than the long trots of our previous days in the saddle. Keith Swenson, a taciturn, the 64 year-old owner of Stone Horse Expeditions along with his wife Sabine Schmidt, showed none of the wear I felt – my skin of my thighs were quite literally raw after 50 kilometers of riding and trotting in the wilderness. After a few days Keith opened up with wisecracks. “People ask what do you do, and I say I’m a rider”, says Keith, punning on his American accent. “They think I mean ‘writer’, “and they ask, what have you written?” “So I say, Blackie, Brownie, Ol Dirty Face…”, naming his horses.

These lands, however remote, are important.

Halfway up the trail was a shaman’s totem, poles placed on the ground to make a conical structure, wrapped with bits of fabric and ribbons. But at the base, and near a tree, we also found broken shards of glass, vodka bottles drunk and thrown by unknown travelers who no longer respected their old ways. We’d been riding for an hour or so and we stopped for a short break in the little opening in the forest. It was quite warm in the strong sun, perhaps 30C like every day of the summer, but cold at nights, often dipping below freezing.

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These Mongolian horses play a huge role in making a trip across the steppe easy and fun for riders. Each horse has a unique personality. Big Dirty Face pictured here loves coffee and will drink it straight from your cup if you let him.

The Mongols invented the modern world*

The old ways are important. These lands, however remote, are important. The Mongols invented the modern world*. When, at the age of 55, Genghis Khan rode out into Asia and Europe, he created the largest empire known to humanity, as well as its first international postal system, and the largest free-flowing network of ideas, trade and culture. But today, Mongolia feels relatively isolated and far away, landlocked in the Eurasian continent. And getting there turned out to be a greater adventure than we’d expected. Instead of flying, we took the famous Trans-Mongolian from Beijing to Ulan Bator. At 11pm, the train pulled into the last station on the China-Mongolia border to change the undercarriage (the railway gauge is different in Mongolia). Three hours later we got back on the train and waited patiently for the Chinese guards to hand us all our passports back. Our intern’s passport was returned ripped from its cover. Before anyone could make a move, the train entered Mongolia… where the Mongolian border guard insisted that the 18-year old girl get off the train because she wasn’t allowed to enter on an invalid passport. Twenty minutes of arguing later, at nearly three am, we got off and watched the train leave without us.

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Mongolian cuisine is typically meat and dairy products. Vegans beware.

Fifteen hours later, after many phone calls and emails to various embassies and important officials, she was finally allowed to enter the country. The Trans-Mongolian having long gone, we finagled an eight-hour taxi ride across the great steppes (on a second-hand car coming off a goods train) for $45. Welcome to Mongolia.

REAL MEN TROT

I did not have much riding experience, but I usually don’t let a little thing like that deter me from a trip. Keith, once also a climber, agreed that anyone up for adventure would be perfectly fine on a Mongolian horse. They were sturdy and forgiving. We all gathered at their staging camp an hour’s drive from Ulan Bator – a Singaporean couple on their second trip with Stone Horse, their friend from Hong Kong, a French diplomat from Swaziland, our team of three, Keith, Sabine and their crew – Nyamaa, Buyana and Jackson, the American intern. Soon, our team of 16 horses and Stinky the Mongolian Dog, a most genuine companion if there ever was one, were off towards the north. Day one went reasonably well, with a short four hour ride to our first campsite inside the Gorkhi Terelj National Park. The other experienced riders asked me various questions about how I felt and whether my horse had cantered or galloped, and I said I didn’t know, but the horse seemed to know what it was doing. Apparently, they have many gaits.

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Nomads Yadmaa and Tavaasurn inside their summer ger, just outside Gorkhi Terelj.

I learned what that meant the next day.

The morning begins easily and we move along a gentle valley. At a stream, the horses bend to drink. They’re herd animals, comfortable only in their own numbers. Suddenly, there’s a commotion as one of the pack horses spooks and bolts. We’re unprepared, and good old Jerry decides to follow the bolting horse too, suddenly turning 180 degrees and galloping wildly. I have to pull firmly on the reins to stop him, while the teamsters have to get the other fella back. He’s bucking around wildly, his unshod feet stamping, his grass-eating brain telling him that that bee sting he felt on his hind was a wolf’s nip. Stinky ignores the commotion, running ahead happily back in his favorite hunting grounds, chasing ground squirrels to their holes. We continue, entering a forest and then riding uphill to a pass. On the other side, a wide open valley, and our first real gallop. Now I feel the sensation, riding with the animal as one, gently cycling my feet in the stirrups and gripping with my knees, all of it coming naturally to me and I urge Jerry on, on, on. Chhoo, Jerry, Chhoo! We stop at a babbling brook in the valley below where we wash our faces. Are we in paradise?

And then the long trot begins. For a horse, it’s the most comfortable way to move. But it’s bouncy. I try to “post” like all the real riders. Watching me grimace in agony, Keith smiled and said, “real men trot,” as he rode along comfortably with that rolling ankle movement to compensate for the horse’s bumpy ride. “Trotting is how the Mongols moved such vast distances. If you make him gallop, you won’t get very far, you’ll kill the horse”.

a melting pot of humanity and ethnicities

But Mongolia changed the course of human history since long before the great Khan and his riders, the ultimate, self-sufficient soldiers. Apart from the Mongols, it is also the original homeland of the Huns and the Turks. It is a melting pot of humanity and ethnicities, where thousands of years ago two language families met and separated – the Indo-Europeans and the Altaics – and possibly where the wild horse was first tamed, thereby changing the course of history. When men on horses first raced out of Central Asia, first ancient Mesopotamia, then Egypt fell. Europe’s original ‘mother culture’ and India’s Harappan civilization disappeared. Humans, moving incredible distances on horses, spread across Asia, from the western end of Europe to Korea, all the way down to Arabia and India, creating nearly all the cultures we know today. Some of the languages they spoke evolved today into English, and others evolved into Japanese, but some of their words have become so intermingled that it’s hard to distinguish which came from which. Hindi is an Indo-European language, but today the common Hindi word for “home” is “ghar” (from the Sanskrit “grhá”) which is nearly identical to the Altaic Mongolian’s word for home, ger.

When the Hunnu (“Huns”) fought the Chinese Hans, the clans that lost fled towards Europe, creating Hungary, as well as leading to the downfall of the Western Roman Empire. Centuries later, the Turkics originally from the Mongolian steppes came hurtling into Constantinople, wiping out the Eastern Roman Empire.

We ride through rocky hills and rock formations, up and down defiles, over passes and across shallow streams, through meadows of flowers and knee-high grass. We ride all day, and every evening set up our traveling camp like the Mongols of old. We sleep in modern-day lightweight tents, under trees or under the stars, breathing cold clear air, drinking from fresh rain-fed streams, eating atop rocks while falcons circle above and the horses graze.

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The Stone Horse team from left to right – Jackson, Keith, Buyana, Nyamaa and Sabine.

The world has continued to change, but horses and men will forever ride together.

One day we stretched out the ride to reach a farther campsite, a Hunnu gravesite. We set up our tents atop 2000-year old graves, low mounds of stones marking the places where men, women, children and horses were laid to rest. “I believe that these people would have loved us to be here, living like they did,” said Keith. When they hear our horses, they’ll feel alive”. The next morning, I pulled my horse off to a side and to a vantage point to shoot the group riding further down the valley. Jerry stomped and neighed angrily as the herd passed him by, but I held him back. When the group disappeared into the distance, I quickly packed my camera gear back into the saddlebags. Then jumping back on, I let the horse fly as he wished, back to his herd. Jerry, the funny but tough little horse, galloped madly a mile north over the gently rising slope. Our hooves rang out in the valley, as two large round mounds, Hun graves, emerged in front on the mountainside. Neither Jerry nor I needed to veer, and we galloped directly over the centre of the mounds, the sound of our hoofbeats gladdening passed Hunnu souls. Their ancestors, our ancestors, had once tamed wild horses, and together changed the world. The world has continued to change, but horses and men will forever ride together.

Images by Madhuri chowdhury.

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