A 7 course meal and 12k trail run in 24 hours...because you only live once

It seems unthinkable that a few weeks ago I was milling around in a t-shirt at midday and feeling smug about not wearing a coat in January.

Corisca has not managed to evade the blast of freezing weather gripping Europe at moment. But with l’ospedale, just a stone’s throw from Porto Vecchio, visibly caked in a layer of fresh white snow, I was reluctant to turn down the opportunity to run in mountains and make the most of the cold weather.

But rather like buses, invites tend to come all at once. I was invited me to eat at a Corsican restaurant the evening before.

It certainly wasn’t a meal for vegetarians or anyone of a delicate meat-eating disposition. The Corsican proprietor proudly explained how they hunt and butcher a wild boar on Wednesday in preparation for opening the restaurant on Friday and Saturday evening.Course one was , pâté de tête, (brain pâté) followed by figatelli (liver sausages) then boudin,( near enough black pudding) followed by pork ribs, then lamb stew served with pasta...needless to say I was glad I had heeded my friend's advice.

I held onto that age-old cliché “You only live once” as several “digestifs” later, I returned home at 2.30am and set my alarm for 7.30am.

The sky was filled with drifting snowflakes as we arrived at the foot of Cartalavonu
, a track usually used for the downhill mountain biking. To our left, a group of camouflaged hunters crouched with their rifles in tow warming them by the fire.

Running in the winter feels a lot like putting your shoulders underneath the water; you know once you get underway you’ll be warm enough but its not much consolation. We started climbing the hill and sure enough ten minutes later my lungs were breathing heavily and my cheeks were glowing.

Whole-heartedly embracing some thigh-burning ascents was key, especially on 5 hours sleep and the very strong chestnut liquor still lingering in my the system. With my eyes focusing ahead, I concentrated on shortening my stride and distracted myself with the patchwork of scenery overlooking the gulf of Porto Vecchio.

An hour and a half later we were weaving through the heavily snow donned paths in a Narnia-like scene, cascades of snow tumbling from the pine needles as we brushed past.
The descent back took around an hour, I opted for bringing up the rear so that no-one would see me fall over, a wise move incidentally.

14km later and back home, I can honestly say I discovered a new level of tiredness. After recuperating with some pasta I crawled straight into bed.

Running through the forests of l’ospedale made for the perfect cold weather antidote; sunday would have otherwise been spent contemplating how much I ate the night before and considering when it would be acceptable to start eating meat again.

Le Trail Blanc de La Restonica

A hike in Corsica’s mountainous interior was the perfect anecdote to long winter evenings.
Set in the breathtaking backdrop of the Restonica Valley, this year marked the third “Trail Blanc de La Restonica” organised by the cancer charity “Le Marie Do”

Since I am new to the trail running scene and on a more serious note, I didn’t fancy the shame of a rescue party carrying me in an exhausted heap from a mountain, I opted out of the gruelling 14km run in favour of a more leisurely 8km hike.

We left Porto Vecchio before sunrise, my 30 litre backpack in tow with a fail-safe supply of tuna pasta, although not in the least bit appetizing at 6.30am. Poised between the breathtaking slopes, the early morning sunlight illuminated the grandiose buildings and narrow streets as we passed Corte, the snow donned mountains in the horizon.

We waited for the buses to take us up to the starting point, my British orderly queue-forming instincts left us ousted from the crowd piling onto buses. In a similarly unprepared vein, The “Be bold, go cold” mantra, which in normal situations avoids peeling off layers in a cold sweat 20 minutes later, soon left me shivering with no feeling in my feet. But with everyone in good spirits, an hour and half later we finally climbed onto the bus and made the ascent to the start.

The narrow and twisting road snaked upwards with mercilessly sheer drops to the river flowing hundreds of feet below. I felt my stomach turn as, with true Corsican motoring audacity, we sped across an unforgiving one way bridge. Suffice to say I bounded off the bus at first the available opportunity.

You couldn’t have asked for a more congenial start: nestled in the verdant pine forest, a hospitable fire and the smell of spuntinu. As the runners scaled the uncompromising steep road, the walk behind began and the feeling quickly returned to my feet.

The route took us along a meandering road etched through the forest and leading toward the shoulders of snow-fed mountains. A soul-warming Vin Chaud greeted us at the refuge an hour in; the perfect pit stop before another couple of hours of walking, passing a, glacial gorges carved into the granite cliffs.

No convivial occasion in Corsica would be complete without a good spread, a delicious array of Corsican sausages and cakes at the finish to recuperate.

Despite losing all feeling in my extremities for a good deal of the day, the kaleidoscope of sights and wonderful atmosphere left me with heart warming experience. And I might even run it next time.

Le cross de Lecci

Christmas has passed with the usual ritual of over eating, drinking and more eating again. It was impossible to bypass the kitchen without taking a mit-ful of roasted nuts or surreptitiously cutting a morsel of Christmas cake, usually justified by coming back for seconds.

So on my return to Corsica, there was definitely no excuse to not take part in a cross country in Lecci, just a short drive from Porto Vecchio.

I appreciate cross country may not be everybody’s cup of tea. Perhaps the memory of being frogmarched through knee-deep mud by sadistic P.E teachers is an unwelcome blast from the past enough to put anyone off willingly partaking. But it is a shame, cross country competitions in England have always been a jovial affair; the odd man down in the mud and the camaraderie that ensues restore your faith in human nature, not the mention the extremely generous spread of sandwiches and cakes which follow suit.

What’s more, the loneliness of a long distance runner does not apply to cross-country, it’s rarely about elbowing your way to the finish line. But perhaps the ultimate joy of cross-country running is the freedom to run off road and enjoy the beautiful trails and parks which are often otherwise unbeknown.

With Christmas having taken its toll and not feeling particularly “en forme”, I couldn’t have asked for a better race to ease back into the cross country season: a flat 4.8k, 2 laps on a bright, warm January day....and a distinctly mudless course. That said, it was a struggle to find a pace which I knew I could maintain, especially with gazelle-like runners in the front of you gliding effortlessly through the air. By the end of the first lap my lungs were breathing heavily and approaching the slightest incline was beginning to fill me with dread. I finished in a respectable position; certainly not the best run I’ve ever had, but the friendly atmosphere and clement weather made for an enjoyable debut in the Corsican cross country scene.

I even had my photograph taken in the local paper; although it’s a shame they couldn’t quite get my name right. Anne-Sophie Marechal the Belgium, whoever she may be, seems to have stolen my moment of fame!