A 15 km trail run to cure jet lag

A few days before departing New Zealand for a family holiday in France, I learned of an organised 15 km trail run at Quillan in the Pyrenees, southern France, our holiday destination. This was exciting news for me, as it was exactly the sort of thing I had been hoping for. The run was the morning after arrival at our destination, so I guessed I would not be in peak racing form. I’d give it my best, though.

I rocked up early at registration – thanks to jet lag, I’d been up for many hours already. I stumbled through some poor French at the registration. Bonjour, monsieur. I mean, bonjour, madam. ‘Are you English, by any chance?’ she said with an Irish accent. How did you guess? Is my French that bad? ‘No, your French is great’ she lied. ‘It was just something about the way you spoke made me wonder.’

There was no gun or hooter to signal the race start, just a call from someone that it was time to go. The leading pack jogged pretty sedately and I had to ease off to stay behind them. No way I want to be at the front – I don’t know this route or how it’s marked. I’m certainly not going to be the leader. But where are the naive young ones galloping off too fast? Where are the athletes and the try-hards? Why is no-one gunning it? I know what it would be like at an xterra race back home – a bunch of people would run really fast at the start in an attempt to be ahead of the pack at the first bottleneck. No such behaviour here.

Nice tracks. Along to La Forge then zigzag path up that small hill, on tracks I didn’t know. We got to Belvianne, then crossed the river Aude on the footbridge to Cavirac. About that stage I was starting to really get into my stride. The race is half over, I thought, and I am feeling strong. The second half is on territory that I know reasonably well. I can go up a gear and improve my placing. Going through Cavirac’s narrow streets I spotted the half-way drinks station in my peripheral vision, in a small private garden. For a second, I considered not stopping. After all, I had a little water with me and I felt I could probably get through to the finish without getting too thirsty. But I thought it wiser to grab a drink, just in case. I deviated to the drinks station, looking for a drink, then noticed this was not like every other running race drinks station that I had seen. The runners appeared to not be in any hurry at all. They stood around chatting, sipping on their drinks, shaking hands, slapping backs. It looked like what you would normally see after the finish line, but this was only half-way. I went for the Coca Cola and chocolate. I wanted to resume running but no-one else seemed to want to move. I couldn’t go on before the others, could I? Like in the first few hundred metres, I was determined to not be the leader. I had to wait for someone else to make a move.

I waited, drank more Coca Cola, ate more chocolate, took some photos on my cell phone, had another drink, ate some cracker biscuits. Eventually someone called ‘Allez! Allez! Allez!’ and a bunch of them headed off fast. I put my drink down and followed after them, burping from the Coca Cola.

It’s lovely country for trail running. We went up to the loop track around Bitrague, the sharp hill between Quillan and Laval. Unexpectedly for me, the route went right to the peak, which is pretty steep. I decided to stop briefly for a photo of the view. That pause allowed two runners to pass me. I chased them down the other side of the hill and passed them when they took a wrong turn. Ha! I know the way and you don’t! I pushed hard down to the finish in the town. There was no finish line, nor anyone to record placings or times.

It enjoyed the run and I think being active in the winter sunshine and seeing the views was a great way to help my body adjust to the local time. I had been wrong to assume this was a proper ‘race’; it was really just a fun run. Perfect for me.