Ham, Anyone???

Northern Chartreuse--May 2011

Recently, loads of work and English lessons on Saturdays has yielded little time for me in the high mountains.   While Grenoble's proximity to big glaciated peaks is probably unrivaled by any other comparable city, a single day (without a fat wallet) doesn't allow for too much exploration on high.

And though I do find myself looking at photos of Brad and Ian's most recent outing with pangs of envy, my new, stricter schedule has allowed me just enough time to begin to pursue a new activity: trail running.

To be fair, trail running isn't completely new to me: I had a short burst of interest and success two years ago in Keene Valley.  But until recently, it had been some time since I'd quickened the pace from a heavily burdened slog to a jog.

A few weeks ago, I convinced Brad to agree to sign up with me for a big race in the Chartreuse on June 24.  And since then, we've begun a casual training schedule involving short runs up the Bastille and occasional long circuits slightly further afield.  For Brad, this activity is primarily viewed as a great way to get in/stay in shape for this summer's alpine climbing.   It would be hard to pin down the primary motivation for me (an uncertainty which is likely the cause of my undisciplined training) but I'm currently content to explore some new turf and maintain fitness in a relatively low-risk environment.

Last weekend, while Brad and Ian struck off into the wilds of the Glacier Noir, I kept things closer to home, putting in a full work day on Saturday and intending to exercise on Sunday.  Because I already had a long run on the docket for Sunday, it didn't take much convincing for our friend Gaspard (who is a serious and accomplished runner) to persuade me to enter a race with him.   After a big pasta (and beer and tiramisu) dinner on Saturday, we agreed to meet at 7am Sunday to pick up another friend, and head up to Quaix-en-Chartreuse for the race.

Map of the race course with
 Chez Nous added for reference

This year was the second annual Trail des Balcons du Sud de Chartreuse with several circuits of differing lengths and climbs.  Gaspard and I signed up for the 25km/1400m vertical gain race, and found places among the 200+ other runners at the starting line.   Intimidated by a well equipped and very serious looking crowd that took of like rockets at the beginning of the race, I decided not to get too competitive, and just to look at it as a training run in which just finishing would count as a victory.

Chugging along with no watch to monitor my time or my rate, I ran at my own rhythm, picking up time on the steep uphills and getting smoked on the downhills and flats.  However, after being congratulated several times along the way as "la première femme!" I began to realize that my plodding along was a more competitive pace than I had anticipated.  I ran the rest of the race without trying to push too hard, but keeping in mind that there might be a band of tough chicks chomping at my heels at any minute.   I played leap frog with groups of men--passing them while climbing and being passed by them while descending--from whom I received enthusiastic encouragement.

On the podium buckling under the weight of my leg of ham

Gaspard (who finished 12 minutes before me) met me around the cornerfrom the end and escorted me as I mustered what was left of my energy for an all out sprint to the finish line.  Race volunteers thrust a congratulatory sausage into my hand for finishing and ushered me past the festive brass band, directing me toward the giant spread of post-race snacks.

I spent the next hour enthusiastically trying to eat and drink back the calories I burned running while waiting for the awards ceremony.

Please note 'Excaliber', the 12" chef's knife Julian
gave me for graduation--it gives a good sense of scale 

At that point I  knew that I had pulled off a total coup in sneaking ahead of the other female competitors, but for lack of a timepiece, I didn't know how long the course had taken me, nor how far ahead I was.   When I climbed up on the make-shift podium I learned that I'd finished in 2 hours and 43 minutes, with a significant margin.  I also learned that the prize for winning (along with a somewhat silly trophy) was an impressive 13 pound jamon serrano, or Spanish cured ham, a relative to Italy's prosciutto.

All told, the race experience was a very positive one, and I'm thankful that Gaspard convinced me to come out.  And if if the fun of running wasn't enough to encourage me to keep at it, the possibility of winning enough ham for a few months certainly upped my interest level.

In the mean time, I'd like to extend a formal invitation to our pork-eating blog readers to come on over and help us to eat our ham!

Until the next time, we'll be here, fat and happy.