Much has been said of Kilian's recent Matterhorn record but nothing comes close to the scale of this video. The speed of the ascent is impressive but the descent is absolutely nerve-wracking. Best athlete in the world, by a long ways.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Last I night I had the great pleasure of attending a sell-out screening of A Fine Line, part one of KilianJornet and Sebastien Montaz-Rosset's epic series, Summits Of My Life, at MK2 Paris. Kilian was in town for the weekend to run the Equipe10km for charity. A novel idea for an athlete who is more accustomed to 160km treks through rugged mountains. Kilian needs no introduction. Really. He is the first global superstar of the ultra-running world and people go nuts to get close to this modest, diminutive Catalan. He reminds me of a monk. Quietly spoken, wise, and with eyes that tell stories of things that most of us will never see. His physical prowess is beyond what most people can grasp and his pure love of the outdoors is like a conducting rod for runners the world over.
|A Fine Line equals a long line.|
I first found out about the screening ten days ago on social media and was quick to snap up a ticket. Wise move. Upon arrival (early) the queue already stretched the length of the promenade with a hefty aggregation of lithe, weather-beaten faces attired mostly in Salomon gear. I hopped in and waited. Eventually we were led to a screening room with a six hundred seat capacity. Spaces were few and I settled for a corner seat towards the back. Kilian and an emcee arrived half an hour before the film rolled. Kilian spoke of the experiences of shooting such a lofty project and how the death of his climbing partner, Stephane Brosse, left him wondering if indeed they would release the film at all. The crowd hung on his every word.
|Taking our places.|
|Kilian discusses his passions.|
|The signing, it was a long night for him.|
|Spot the mountain runner.|
|Running for Pearl.|
The screening itself was probably one of the most moving experiences I've had whilst sitting in a chair. The emotion, Seb's spectacular camera work, Kilian's incomprehensible prowess...... He is more than an athlete, he is an artist. I felt rejuvenated and without using the term tritely, inspired. I mean really inspired. To the point where one exits in a daze and sees everything in more detail, the sound of life being fine-tuned to block out the white-noise of traffic and chatter, my inner heartbeat the only auditory sensation. When it finished and Kilian reappeared, the applause accompanying our ten minute standing ovation was rapturous. He simply nodded and thanked the crowd repeatedly and said he was looking forward to returning south to his beloved mountains the next day. Having a seat at the back had its perks. When I exited I managed to get funneled into a line with four people in front of me for a book and DVD signing. Kilian took time to dedicate each item to his fans. After telling him how much his efforts were appreciated and recognised, he dedicated a message to Pearl and told me I was courageous for what I did for her. My respect for him could not be any higher. It is not because he is a running idol that he is so well liked, it is because he really is a wonderful person who loves what he does. Yes there may be sponsors and a crowd following him wherever he goes but you can tell he is the real deal just in the way he carries himself. I have met a few other “ultra-stars” in my time and they could do with taking a few lessons in humility from him. What I learned from that night is simple, life is A Fine Line. One minute you can be here and the next minute gone. The trappings of life and the excess baggage we feel we need to carry in order to be fulfilled or acknowledged is the surest way to never achieve anything lasting. Living in the moment with a purposeful stride that is aimed at a cherished goal must surely be the fuel to sustaining a simplistic and all encompassing happiness.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
In April 2010 I ran my first marathon, in Paris. The build up to it was a long and well trodden path of dark early mornings and wets evenings. It is often called the distance of truth because it is the perfect measure to pitch oneself against and define ones perceived boundaries. 26.2 miles. The dreaded number that instills equal parts fear, fascination and excitement. It is a long distance to travel on foot, whether you're a lithe Kenyan from the running-mecca Eldoret or an average Joe (or Josephine) who runs to permit themselves that extra scoop of ice cream on the weekend, twenty six miles is twenty six miles. The hardest distance to conquer though is a mere six inches, that's the distance between your ears, your own brain. It will tell you that you are insane, it cannot be done, walk a little, you've run far enough. As loud as that voice gets we have a fighter within us that quiets its sometimes thunderous roar. We are runners, and we are stronger than we, or anyone else realises.
Marathons unite people in a way that no other sporting event in the world can. Age, race, sex, creed, sexual orientation, none of it counts on the road. We are family. We are not just united on the day of the event, no, we have been united through all the training and the injuries along the way. When we get to the start line we see ourselves in the faces of everyone lined up, and we are genuinely happy. Our hearts are full with love. We have spent time away from our families to get to this starting line and most of our loved ones will be lining the course to cheer us on when it gets really tough, we love them for believing in us and supporting our crazy dreams. We feel the nerves in the air and talk amongst ourselves, we laugh and pat each other on the backs at the beginning, we pick each other up when we fall and we hug and cry together when we finish as we have run in the footsteps of the fastest men on earth. Where else does that happen? Where do elites and the likes of me get to play on the same pitch? Not the Tour de France, Wimbledon, Football, Swimming, Track, Golf. We run the same distance of truth and there is no difference between a 2:05 run and a 7:05 run, twenty six miles is twenty six miles. We do not want any of the fifty thousand runners to fail or lose out either, we are all one mass plodding through the city like a colourful parade of pain.
Runners are often said to be running away from something or toward something, I have a theory on why we run that is not that common. We like to run. Why? Who cares why. If it's fun and not harming anyone then get out there. Some don't get it of course which is fine, all the more room for me on the trails. I think to try and describe why we do it is like trying to quantify what being in love feels like. I run for the meditative time it allows me. Just last week I had a crazy busy day and managed an hour in between work appointments to get out on the road. It gave me everything I needed spiritually and created space where I had none. It's ironic but the faster I run, the slower life feels.
Spectators love to cheer us too. They do not rise early to catch a glimpse of the studs blazing through at incomprehensible speeds. No, they stand at the side of the road for hours cheering people they do not know. Because some of them will never run a marathon (and may secretly want to someday) we are carrying their dreams too. Just as we see ourselves in other runners, spectators see themselves in us. On April 7th I went to the 30km point of the Paris marathon and cheered the people sometimes called “The Street Sweepers” They are the back of the pack and sweep up all the crap that has accumulated from the people before them. In their faces I saw both agony and discovery. Every bead of sweat a testament to every foot-fall they had made, their eyes full of doubt as to whether they had 17km left in the tank. Heroes, every single one of them, most of them made it to the finish line.
Yesterday our world and community took a monumental hit. As I was texting messages of congratulations to my friend Tim in Boston after his incredible run, he replied shortly after to say there had been a massive explosion at the finish of the race. I jumped on the Internet immediately, the rest is a blur. The past 24 hours has seen an overload of twitter, facebook, news media and source after source of stories, photos and videos. I have avoided it all because I cannot think about it without breaking down completely. I cannot measure how I feel about an eight year old boy being murdered as he waits to cheer his father over the line, as my own eight year old son has done for me in the past. I do not know who bombed those innocent people killing three and injuring hundreds, or why they did it. But I will say this. You cowards have no idea who you are up against. WE ARE RUNNERS. We do not stop, EVER. When one falls we rush to pick them up, when you hurt members of our family we lock arms of a different kind. Our solidarity will be stronger than ever before and our light will shine brightly upon your hatred for all the world to see. We will not stop running, we will run faster, further, stronger, longer. We will not get tired and for us there is no finish line, when you are caught and brought to justice we will still be running through the streets at dawn, hiking up mountains freely, sprinting around a track on dusky nights, we will break world records and personal records. But most of all we will remember, with haunting pain, our fallen brothers and sisters, time will not dim that memory. Our marathons may have more security in the future but our love and camaraderie will triumph over fear and scepticism. We will move forward deliberately and purposefully with sincerity in hearts for the ones we have lost. God bless you all.