Aosta Valley, Italy

Getting to the race was nearly as exhausting as the race itself. After a day of planes, trains, and groggy transfers from Cyprus, I finally arrived in Aosta late on Saturday night to discover someone else had checked into my apartment. So, I spent an hour sitting on a bench outside a nightclub, watching Italian nightlife go by, waiting for the landlord to sort it out. Not ideal pre-race prep.

I woke the next morning with a blocked nose, sore throat, and cough — the holy trinity of pre-race panic. FUCK! Cue vitamin C loading: multivitamins, oranges, lemons. By the time race day came, I wasn’t sure if I’d cured a virus or just burned my insides out, but I’d convinced myself I was ready.

TOT Dret is the so-called “Baby Tor des Géants” — 130km, 12,000m of climb. A baby only a parent could love! The RD delivered a classic hype-train emotional speech about suffering, love, and mountains, and I lined up on the front row feeling optimistic.

The tape dropped, we ran unnecessarily hard for 2km, then hit the first climb — 1,400m straight up. By the top I was back in the top 8 after an initial start that felt way too quick, feeling OK but with rising concern. Halfway up the next climb, the wheels came off. No power, no climbing legs, just wheezing and laboured breathing like a broken accordion. I inhaled gels, water, and actual inhalers, but the engine stayed dead.

Three hours in, I was slowing quickly… I kept hoping it was an early race lull, that it would come right… do the smart things, eat, drink and hope. But hopes and prayers were having their usual effect on things — absolutely nothing. By Rifugio Cuney I was wheezing heavily, ate what I could, muttered something vaguely intelligible to legend John Kelly, and promptly passed out for 40 minutes with my head in my hands. When I woke, I hoped for a miracle. The sun was up! I am good… I was not.

I shuffled to Col de Vessonav (2,800m), lungs rasping, legs empty. I told myself I’d get to the life base at Oyace and then decide. Ten kilometres and 1,600m of downhill later, my lungs and legs were shot, and a bee stung me in the calf just to add some salt to my wounds!

At Oyace, the volunteers cheered me in, not realising I was done. I sat with the doctor, who hesitated to pull me, but my ego couldn’t take admitting defeat and I leant on him to call it. Soon after, I started coughing up blood. Good decision to stop! Pride more damaged than body.

I waited six hours for transport, sitting there watching Tor des Géants and TOT Dret runners stagger in, eat, sleep, and head back out toward glory. It was incredible to see how hard and far these people were pushing!

I didn’t get what I wanted from that race, but I got what I needed — inspiration! The runners, the course, the VolunTORs… fantastic!!

I need to see the end of the course, the views, the people, the finish line. I’ll be back.

David Ryan