Blog Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) 2024 (176.4km): 100 mile # 9

Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) 2024 (176.4km):
100 mile # 9

Categories:
100 Mile, Europe
Date:
August 30, 2024

I’m standing in front of the Eglise St Michel church in Chamonix, France shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of other Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) competitors. It’s Friday 5.55pm and for the last 30 minutes, I’ve been jammed in this one position as more athletes swarm into the starting area. My running friend, Dr Stanley had insisted we go to the start line early and I reluctantly agreed. I would’ve preferred to stay in our accommodation until the last safe moment away from all this hype. But for 30 minutes, I’ve been immersed in cheering, clapping, bells ringing, and French announcements over the loud speaker. Although it’s evening, it’s still incredibly hot (32 degrees Celsius) and there’s no hint of wind as more bodies cram around me. Some find this atmosphere exhilarating. But at this current moment, I find it draining. A huge challenge awaits me. 176km around Mt Blanc (the highest peak of the European Alps) whilst coursing through three countries (France, Italy, and Switzerland) with almost 10 000 metres elevation gain. I try to remain focused and calm but right now it’s a battle to maintain mental clarity and emotional neutrality. To top it all off, one of my water bottles I placed in the freezer overnight has sprung a new leak. As the ice melts in the heat of the day, a small puddle begins to pool around my leg. I hear two women exclaim something in a foreign language as they look me up and down. I make eye contact before turning back to stare at the sea of people in front of me. I know they think I’ve pissed my pants. But there’s nothing I can do. I can’t tip the ice out. And I don’t want to saturate the contents of my bag before night so I just let the ice melt onto me. As the Chariots of Fire song begins, there is more cheering and more jostling of bodies. Not long to go now. At exactly 6.01pm, the race begins. It’s like a multitude of corks has been simultaneously released from vigorously shaken champagne bottles as hundreds of athletes spill out onto the road. The bells and cheering is deafening. I’ve never experienced anything like it. This is UTMB.

At the packed start line with Dr Stanley (bottom right)

Ole, Ole, Ole. The cheering and bells only seem to get louder as we move through the town centre. Ole, Ole, Ole. More cheering and more shouting. Ole, Ole, Ole. I didn’t know what this meant but I knew its intention. The crowd wanted us to run fast and we were the evening rush hour. Hundreds of runners continue to pour out into the town at a frightening speed and I lose Dr Stanley in the rush. I look down at my watch. 6 minute kilometres. This is insane. I’m going way, way too fast. I try to slow down only for more wildly cheering supporters to surge me onwards. As I pass a pub near the outskirts of town, an overexuberant Frenchman reaches out and thrusts a beer in my direction. I recoil in shock. I gave up drinking a while ago. Three kilometres into UTMB didn’t seem like a good time to restart. Though the atmosphere was exhilarating, I knew I had to control my pace and slow down. I compelled myself to move over to the right hand side of the path and let faster runners whizz by me. By the time I reached the 6km mark, the runaway train of runners had finally moved through me and I was by myself. Finally, I could reset. Finally, I could get back to my all day pace. When I reached the first aid station at Les Houches, I switched out my leaking water bottle and filled up the spare one in my pack. The right side of my body was saturated but hopefully I’d dry before night. Problem one mitigated. A bit earlier than expected but resolved none the less. A few more stragglers pass me as I get going again. I knew I was well and truly at the back end of the field but I was unphased. At this point in the race, the most important thing was controlling my pace rather than worrying about my position in the field. The reality was, I had 46 hours and 30 minutes to complete this race so I had to remain disciplined. I was here for a long time, not a short (or good time) and I knew that. I sharpened my focus towards achieving the first cut off timing at St Gervais by 10pm. I needed to do 21.5km in 4 hours which worked out to be 11 minute kilometres. I can do 11 minute ks. After Les Houches, the gradient sharply increases and you tackle the first of ten significant climbs throughout the UTMB course. Back on pace and away from all the hustle and bustle, I eased into my work.

The UTMB course profile – 176.4km with 9915 metres elevation gain over 10 key climbs

I reached St Gervais at 9.41pm with 20 minutes to spare. Though some may find this too close for comfort, there are no prizes for going too fast through earlier cut offs if it compromises your ability to finish. I’ve entered races before where I’ve been within ‘minutes’ of making cut off times only to finish within ‘hours’ of the overall cut off time. Still, feeling some cut off pressure, I got what I needed and passed through. The next cut off timing was Saturday midnight at a French village called Les Contamines. As St Gervais is the lowest point of the course (826 metres), I knew a gradual incline towards Les Contamines awaited me. So far, my legs had experienced a quick flat start, a slow uphill hike, and a steady downhill jog. It was now time to shift to my slow trusty shuffle – a pace that’s quicker than a walk but for not much more energy expenditure. As I eased into my shuffle, for the first time in the race, I began to pass people with minimal effort. I made good progress in the dark and reached Les Contamines at 11.22pm, 40 minutes within the cut off time and happy with my pacing. Although I left Les Contamines in good spirits, this was quickly tempered by a mountain pass called Col du Bonhomme (high point 2479 metres). The Col du Bonhomme climb has the most amount of vertical in one continuous climb of any of the climbs in the UTMB course. Seemingly aware of what lay ahead, supporters at the foot of the pass waved lights and played music to spur us on and one group even had a large bonfire. As my watched ticked over 35km and I began climbing, for whatever reason, I decided to check my climbing profile. What greeted me was arguably the most devasting news any runner can receive after midnight – A climb of 880 metres over 4.9 kilometres. Worse still, the cover of darkness didn’t hide the enormity of the climb as a trail of headlamps could be seen working its way towards the top. It was a silent, slow procession through rocky terrain towards the top. The top of the pass was humbly marked by a small tent which volunteers intermittently poked their heads out of (presumably to check no one had died). It was a rather starless sky and without any rewarding view, I simply coursed over the top and got on with a controlled descent towards the next aid station at Les Chapieux. I arrived into the small village of Les Chapieux at 3.46am well within the cut off time of 5.15am. However, I also arrived with a large group of other descenders so the compulsory gear check stand was greeted by more competitors than gear checkers. It was like being at the start line again with more jostling to get to the front of the lines. Some runners simply went right through the gear check claiming to have been checked already (which I doubted as I recognised some who had entered around the same time as me). I patiently waited until I was asked to show three things – my wet weather jacket, mobile phone, and emergency blanket. I expected staff to record my race number or provide a token of compliance but there was none of the sorts (which may’ve explained why some just bypassed this exercise). A bit grumpy for the experience, I moved along only to wait in further lines to fill up my drink bottles and an even larger line for the only two male toilets at this location. All in all, I wasted about 30 minutes at this aid station which removed any buffer I’d earned to date. My mood wasn’t brightened any further with the knowledge that Col de la Seigne and nearby Col Pyramides lay ahead of me (the latter marking the highest altitude on the course of 2567 metres). I headed out into the night again and began the slow climb upwards. Already the course had an unrelenting feel to it.

Col du Bonhomme during daylight hours

The climb up Col de la Seigne FELT even longer than Col du Bonhomme. I coursed over the top of Col de la Seigne at 6.49am with the ensuing sunrise marking the end of the first night. Col de la Seigne also marked the border between France and Italy and I could see the Italian town of Courmayeur in the distance (which was about the half way point). Leaving France and stepping into Italy, I’d completed 62km of the course in just under 13 hours without any significant rest. And though the sunrise provided a much needed energy boost, this was soon drained by the rocky ascent up Col Pyramides Calcaires and the wild challenging descent. I’m sure on fresher legs this part of the course would have been ‘beautiful’. But on tired legs, it was simply ‘outrageous’. The rocky slate path resembled a jigsaw of ankle wobble boards and I was amazed at those who thundered past me with minimal care for ground stability. After negotiating the unstable rocky terrain of Pyramides Calcaires, I arrived at the Lac Combal aid station at 8.30am (cut off time here was 10am). With increasing tension in my legs, I decided to stop and have my first rest. I pulled out my reusable cup and spork and had hot noodles for breakfast to prepare for the day ahead. After a short 10 minute break, I set off and was back on task again. Though still early in the morning, the sun was already blaring so it didn’t take long before it became uncomfortably hot. I had to continually wet my hat in the nearby mountain streams to keep cool as I ascended the sharp Arete du Mt Favre climb before Courmayeur. The ensuing descent into Courmayeur was brutal and probably the steepest descent of the whole course. The trail through the forest was particularly dry and dusty and I began to appreciate why other runners were sporadically coughing as the dust built up in my throat. Though talk amongst competitors in the UTMB had been limited to date (the organisers recommended we attach a race bib to our packs with our names and nationalities to ‘facilitate dialogue’), I had a brief conversation with a runner from the UK whilst approaching Courmayeur. Although I’m sure he had no ill intentions, his mention of having a gelato waiting for him in Courmayeur did sink me a bit. I had a drop bag waiting for me at Courmayeur and nothing else. I’d told my cousin Paul to support my wife Courtney during her CCC race (100km) which meant I wouldn’t have support crew aid until Champex-Lac which was 50km (and 12 hours) away. I thought Courtney would’ve needed the aid more than me but in retrospect, I needed as much aid myself. I arrived into Courmayeur at 11.30am, well within the cut off time of 1.15pm but not in great shape. The vast majority of athletes seemed to have their own support crew so I sulked off looking for scarcely available seating and table space. I was tempted to curl into a ball in some far off distant corner but dutifully coerced myself to top up my drinks instead. It was uncomfortably hot and stuffy inside and I started to feel lightheaded. I began to crave icy water but there was no ice anywhere. No ice, no gelato, no pizza, no support crew. What a miserable place this was! I packed up my stuff and headed back outside into the ever increasing heat.

Post hitting the wall and running past Refuge Bertone

The climb out of Courmayeur towards Refuge Bertone is not for the faint hearted. It involves just under 800 metres of climbing over 5km (about 2.5 hours of continuous climbing). Throw in the European heat, sleep deprivation, 80km on my feet, and 18 hours on course, and I began to unravel. I hit my first wall and one of the biggest walls I’ve encountered in a while. I was hot, I was unsteady, my head was blurry, and I began the awful process of self-diagnosis. Do I have heat stroke? I was in trouble and I still had just under 100km to go. In an ultra, it’s not about where you think you should be, but where you are. I wanted to be in a better place but in reality, I was in deep shit. I had to accept my situation, stay calm, and problem solve. I’d been training in a New Zealand winter and wasn’t acclimatised for this European summer. I was sleep deprived and overheating. The LiveTrail app had predicted a 38-39 hour finishing time for me but this was becoming increasingly unlikely as I was just making cut off times. I realised that I had to do the hardest thing that any runner can do – slow down. The reality was, I was going too fast for the conditions. There was no viable way to cool myself other than slowing my pace. Going slow isn’t easy when you’re surrounded by ultra-competitive athletes. But I made the commitment to not pass anyone in a forced nature. And if someone tried to put pressure on me from behind, I’d simply step aside and let them pass rather than get caught up in these speed games. I also committed to simply finishing and put aside any time goals. I was still within cut offs so I was still in the game. There was no need to panic. I often pride myself in taking the run deep into the latter rounds and I needed to do this again. If I had to win by points decision in the 12th round then so be it. If I had to win ugly, then so be it. But I was determined to fight until the 12th round. I also narrowed my short term focus. I had 20 Euro in my bag for an emergency. This was an emergency. I had to get to the top of Refuge Bertone and buy some coke with ice. Simple. Coke and ice would be my saviour. Initially, I was easy pickings. The hyenas circled and some even attacked. A South African competitor bemoaned the state of NZ rugby as he left me in his wake. Half way up the climb, I encountered my French friend, Frank, sitting on a seat on the side of the track. “I have no energy” he exclaimed. I was gob struck. This guy had the cardiac engine of a Ferrari and last I heard he was way ahead of me. “C’mon. Come have a coke with me at Bertone. I’ve been feeling shit for the last couple of hours too. It’s just this heat. Just get to Bertone. And then if you can get to the night, you’ll feel much better once it cools”. I motioned for him to join me but he seemed stuck to his chair. Being in dire straits myself, I couldn’t and didn’t stop. I just had to keep going. As much as I felt for Frank’s misfortune, it did give me a wee lift. I also began to pass more stationary resting runners and I began to realise that there were others who were as bad, if not worse off than me. I arrived at Refuge Bertone at 1.45pm. I asked for a coke with ice. “No ice” the staff member retorted. I settled for just the coke and went back outside. All the tables and chairs were taken so I slumped to the ground next to a couple of dogs lying in the shade. A few people eyed me suspiciously but I was too tired to care. After 19 hours, 88km, and 5400 metres elevation gain, I was no longer human. I was as good as a dog for all I was concerned (and arguably the dogs looked better). I sprawled out on the shaded ground and drank my cold coke as I kept a look out for Frank. By the time I finished my coke, there was still no sign of Frank. I had to keep going. I extracted my carcass off the ground and went up and over the final climb at Bertone (2000 metres). As the gradient flattened, I felt myself lift off the ropes. I was back in the fight. I just had to stay in it now.

Making use of the flat ground past Refuge Bonatti

Descending towards the Arnouvaz aid station

Thankfully the next 13km of the course was undulating without any ‘horrific’ climbs. As the caffeine and glucose kicked in, I began to feel better. I remained disciplined around not forcing any passing and running at a speed I could handle during the heat of the day. I dipped my hat into every stream crossing and every waterfall provided a natural baptism of sorts. I stopped at the next refuge (Refuge Bonatti) and purchased a can of cold orange soda. I briskly downed its contents surrounded by awe-inspiring mountains but didn’t stop to admire them. I arrived at the next aid station at Arnouvaz at 4.30pm (total distance 101km, cut off time 6.15pm) well and truly back in the game and sufficiently recovered for Grand Col Ferret. Grand Col Ferret is the second highest point in the UTMB course at 2537 metres. It also marks the border between Italy and Switzerland. I’d had enough of Italy. It was time for the Switzerland experience. It was another tough climb (750 meters in 4.5 km) but I was happy to get up and over the mountain in relatively favourable conditions (i.e. no wind or snow) before sunset. After purchasing another cold coke at La Peule (a refuge in Switzerland), it was more steady downhill running towards La Fouly. I arrived in the small Swiss village of La Fouly just after Saturday 8pm (total distance of 115km over 26 hours). By now eating was getting challenging. I stuffed whatever could fit into my mouth (cheese, salami, pretzels, and water melon), prepared my head lamp, and kept going. Although it was a good 7km downhill gradient from La Fouly to Champex-Lac, the path was incredibly rocky which meant running was almost impossible in the dark. When the trail wasn’t rocky, it was dusty and I began to cough more often. Despite this, I seemed to feel much better as the conditions cooled during the night. And though the climb into Champex-Lac was pretty nasty (really steep with never ending switchbacks), I arrived at 11.20pm and well within the 2.30am cut off. I’d been looking forward to Champex-Lac as this was where I’d agreed to meet my cousin Paul, my sole UTMB support crew. After 130km and 29 hours on my feet, I was ready to receive some divine aid and a total body transformation. Only problem being, Paul wasn’t there. And I couldn’t find him anywhere! My hopes sunk. A bit numb, I headed towards the now familiar hot food selection. I filled up my reusable cup with pasta and left the stuffy tent and sat outside to contemplate the meaning of life what lay ahead of me. Another night. Another day. After eating in silence I went back into the tent to exit when low and behold, Paul was standing right in front of me! Talk about mixed emotions! He herded me to a table with chairs where he’d prepared noodles, hot chips with tomato sauce, and cold orange juice. After eating what I could, I sculled down some more orange juice and took some chips for the road. I kept the same running gear on but I changed into a new pair of socks (though neglected to lube my feet…). From the depths of despair, I’d just been given a massive lift. I left in high spirits buoyed for the next two significant climbs ahead of me.

Feeling the strain near the top of Grand Col Ferret

Leaving Trient around 4.30am on the second night

The twin climbs after Champex-Lac and Trient are the one two sucker punch that occupy most of your night (i.e. La Giete & Les Tseppes). These climbs are difficult enough on fresh legs but after more than 130km and 7 300 metres of total climbing, they occupy another stratosphere of suffering. The first climb is a by now, casual 700 metre climb over 5km which softens you up. I’m joined in this section by a runner called Kamil from the Czech Republic. I guess misery attracts company and although our communication was limited (by Kamil’s lack of English and my lack of Czech), we shared the same goal of moving swiftly through the night. A lot of this section is up rocky terrain with the sound of water falls in the background. When we finally reached the top, the blackened sky above smothered the scattered lights of the Swiss city of Martigny below. During the descent, we happened to bump into a Spanish runner who also had limited English. He’s completely stranded as he tries to explain that his spare battery for his head lamp won’t work and he asks us to guide his way to Trient. Presumably unsympathetic to the Spaniard’s cause and knowing that our compulsory gear included two working torches with spare cells/batteries for each torch to prepare for such contingencies, Kamil mutters “Leave him”. However, empathetic for the amount of suffering this poor guy has gone through to get to this point, I simply give him my spare head torch. When we do get to the next aid station at 2.45am which is a wool shed in the middle of nowhere, the Spaniard is there waiting for me. The gist of the ensuing conversation was that he really liked my head torch and wanted to keep it for the rest of the run. So for the next 5 minutes, I’m in a dark, dank wool shed attempting to exchange contact details with the Spaniard whom I come to know is called Gabriel. After leaving the woolshed, Gabriel merrily continues on his way whilst Kamil and I keep running together. We arrive into Trient just after 4am. It’s at this point we part. Kamil was keen to have a rest whereas I was keen to make up as much ground as possible during the night before the sweltering heat of the day. The second climb after Trient (Les Tseppes) is also about 700 metres but as it’s “only” over 4km (instead of the previous 5km), it feels so much steeper and before long, you’re back on the ropes again. I downed a Red Bull before the Les Tseppes climb hoping it would give me wings. But within minutes, I was dehorned and neutered. By now, any remnant of calf functioning was gone and I had to literally haul myself up using my trekking poles and upper body strength. As I climbed, it seemed like bodies were littered everywhere along the track akin to a silent massacre. Some held a thousand yard stare whilst most were in the fetal position sleeping having succumbed to the second night and overwhelming fatigue. Even the second sunrise didn’t energise me but only brought further trepidation as the cool of the night was replaced with instant heat. Another day. I managed an awkward descent along more rocky terrain and arrived in Vallorcine at Sunday 7.45am (well within the 11.15am cut off time). However after 160km and 8900 metres of climbing over 37 hours with no sleep, I was reduced to the lowest denominator and felt completely empty. I was also panicking and not thinking straight. Despite being well within the cut off time, I became paranoid that I wouldn’t make the finishing cut off time. All this suffering for nothing. I became angry at Paul for not having any coke. I became angry because my hot chips weren’t hot. In hindsight, I was so fatigued it was like I was drunk. And like a drunken sailor, I wasn’t making sound decisions. I left Vallorcine in such a flustered state that I didn’t even top up my water leaving me with barely 300mL to get to the next aid station 11km away (which by this stage of the race equated to at least 3 hours away). As I laboured my way through the course in the increasing heat, strongly finishing competitors began to pass me. I tried to keep up with them but soon realised I’d be out of water in no time so I backed off again. As the heat increased, my pace further decreased. I focused on getting to a particular waterfall that I’d encountered during an earlier training run. Only to discover, that it had completely dried up within a week leaving me further demoralised. I started to crave slushies and began to fantasize that either Paul or my wife Courtney would be at the top of the next hill to greet me with ice slushies. Alas, the only thing to greet me was more heat and despair.

The final climb at La Flegere

The final significant climb to the La Flegere ski area/gondola was completely exposed to the sun so I was particularly slow. I eventually arrived at 11.30am blurting out an “Oh my God” as I arrived at the aid station. I sculled back two water flasks in quick succession and made sure I left with topped up water bottles this time. From La Flegere, I had 7km left and 5 hours to do it in. I attempted the maths in my head and it became clear that this race was now mine to lose. Though 7km of downhill doesn’t seem like much, it was one of the hardest 7km of downhill I’ve done in my life. The downhill was particularly jarring and the rocky trail meant running didn’t come easy. I was incredibly tired and running was no longer automatic but forced. I really had to concentrate on each foot placement. I was also very conscious that I was only one ankle sprain away from stuffing this all up. By now, my feet also felt like sandpaper having neglected to lubricate them when I changed my socks back at Champex-Lac more than 12 hours earlier. Amongst all this suffering, I eventually settled for a pace and level of discomfort that I could tolerate and reframed it as ‘happiness’. As I near Chamonix again, the rapturous and boisterous cheering returns. I’m near empty but the cheering and encouragement is so powerful that I feel compelled to run. So I do. Despite all the struggle, difficulty, and despair, all I can do is smile. I see the finish line ahead and suddenly it’s more happiness than relief. Once again Dr Stanley has beaten me to the finish line and my wife Courtney is also waiting there having successfully completed her CCC (100km). 42 hours and 54 minutes after starting, I cross the finish line and I’m back in France again where it all started. 1 760 competitors finished UTMB. 1001 did not finish. Brutal but beautiful. Running is medicine.

The view from the top of La Flegere

Helpful tip
Take the run the full 12 rounds

Approaching the UTMB 2024 finish line