Written by Niall Corrigan

Four years previously I had arrived in Chamonix, on the last weekend in August, to meet up with my brother and a friend who were out doing a bit of climbing and flying. In the van up from Geneva the driver was telling me how busy the town was due to the big race. I had never heard of the UTMB. I wasn’t a trail runner; I wasn’t a runner full stop. But, something about the goings on that cold weekend sowed a seed, and here I was, a runner in the UTMB, on a very hot weekend, four years later.

I arrived on Tuesday into the chalet I was sharing with four other Irish runners, two of whom were doing the TDS, two the OCC and me in the UTMB. Lots of coming and goings throughout the week but it was good craic and a real buzz. I spent Tuesday afternoon around the market. I hiked Brevant and registered on Wednesday. Thursday my partner Jen came over and we did touristy stuff in the afternoon. Friday, relax and prepare. All my friends had finished their races by Friday morning and all had done well now it was my turn.

Man, it was hot. The struggle on Friday was to stay out of the heat. Jen and I left the chalet, to walk the twenty minutes or so to the start, just after four. I deposited my drop bag and found some shade and waited. Time passed and we moved closer to the start finding some more shade. Eventually I had to bite the bullet and join the throng. I said an emotional good bye to Jen and started squeezing up the side street opposite the tourist office. Full in the sun now but not long to go. You may have guessed by now that I don’t like the sun or at least I try to minimise my exposure to it and you’d be right.

Countdown, music, eagle, cheering, movement. We were off.

Nothing prepares you for the send off. No race I’ve ever done comes close to the sheer goodwill emanating from the packed pavements. I made a point of thanking any volunteers I passed. They make this possible. Out the road and as the crowds thinned I saw the three lads from the chalet standing on the tables outside the Vagabond with pints of cider in their hands. I gave a clenched fist salute as I trotted by, I couldn’t speak. It was awesome.

Down to business. My plan for this race was to take the first half very handy and see how I felt in the second.   A handy run down into Les Houches before starting the first climb to Col De Voza and the first timed checkpoint at Le Delevret. I was in 1968^th place at this stage although I had no idea of that at the time. I wasn’t last so it didn’t matter.

A long descent down in to St Gervais as the light declined and the head torches started to appear.

I really enjoyed the next section. A long steady, runable, climb up through the alpine countryside with immense support from spectators in all the towns and villages. At Notre Dame de la Gorge there was a full scale party in progress. Bonfires, beer and AC/DC at full blast. It was fantastic and the buzz kept me going for a long time as we climbed up to La Balme and Col du Bonhomme.

I say we and by that I mean myself and my fellow runners, but there is very little fellow feeling in this race. Being based in Ireland most of my ultra running experience has come in domestic and U.K races and I’m used to having a bit of craic and banter as we go along. This was my first continental race and the atmosphere was totally different. No one seemed interested in conversation or even interaction. And it wasn’t just me or a language issue, there was very little chat going on around me. Never mind, settle in and enjoy the journey in packed isolation.

The scenery was stunning. Although it was night we were moving under a full moon and clear skies. I think my favourite part of this whole journey was the climb up from Les Chapieux towards La Ville des Glaciers and thence, Col de la Seigne. The lower section is on a tarmac road up through a fabulous valley. I turned my torch off and walked/ran up along here with a full black shadow on the road in front of me. The landscape lit in monochrome, every feature fully discernable.

The climbing gets a bit tougher up to the col and I felt a slight touch of altitude on the approach to the high point. Just a slight headache but nothing to worry about. Just keep drinking. Over the top of the col then a brief descent before ascending again to the Col des Pyramides Calcaires.

This, I believe, is a newly added section to the route. I laughed at the hastily scribbled cardboard sign at the point where we left the TMB course and started the climb. The trail here reminded me of home mostly because it was grassy, wet and ill-defined. As we neared the top it became rocky and precipitous with the added bonus of lots of rusty barbed wire strewn along the side of the trail. A former frontier post no doubt.

The descent from the col is undoubtedly the most technical part of the UTMB. Steep ground with big rocks. A lot of care was needed to negotiate this section. But conditions improved as we headed towards Lac Combal. Dawn was breaking and in the eastern sky Jupiter was visible just above the ridge. Over the lake itself there was a blanket of mist that seemed to be glowing in the early light. It was stunning.

I was looking forward to Courmayer now. The psychological half way point, just short of actual half way. Here I would have access to my drop bag for a change of gear and some other stuff also Jen might be there. Jen was registered as an Accompanying Person and had the bus pass, but I had left it up to her own discretion as to where to come and meet me.

I arrived into Courmayeur feeling great and received three nice surprises. The first one was when I collected my drop bag and saw just how many were still left hanging; I had to be well up the field (716^th). Second, as I climbed the steps I heard my name and saw Tina and Lillian who were crewing for Tina’s husband Pat. I went over for hugs and a chat and I asked the time. 9 am. I wasn’t wearing a watch so I had no real idea but pre race guessing had put me here around 10 so the extra hour was a real boost. Thirdly, Jen was here and it was so good to see her.

In the hall I had to make an effort to calm down and get my act together. I had some jobs to do and I didn’t want to miss anything. Change clothes, socks etc. Re Vaseline feet and other parts. Sun cream. Replenish bag and dump some unnecessary stuff. Eat and drink. It was great to have Jen there to help and to talk to about the race so far. I was really buzzing and felt great. I had no major issues. I had always planned to take time here, around an hour, so I was happy to be up and moving again by 10:15. I was bursting to get out on the trail again.

A race of two halves. The casual observer could be forgiven for looking at my times for this race and thinking, fecking ejjit, buried himself in the first half and had nothing left for the second but, hand on heart, that’s not what happened. The first half took very little out of me. I had planned it that way. I had barely been out of breath in those fifteen hours. Anytime I felt the heart rate and breathing get laboured I had dialled it back, slowed it down, kept it aerobic.

Specificity is everything in training. There were a couple of specifics to this race I couldn’t cover, training in Ireland. Terrain, we just don’t have the mountains but you can improvise and adapt, and I’ve been a hill walker for a long time so I have the muscle memory and skills for most of what the Alps can throw at you. No major problems there.

Altitude. Completely arbitrary and random in its effects. I got a touch of it as I said earlier on the Col de la Seigne but it was short lived because I was descending again before it became an issue. Heat. I’m just not used to it and we had a crap summer at home. The heat fucked me.

Up and out of Courmayeur and still climbing well. I had dropped around 200 places during my sojourn in the hall. By Arnuva I had made up most of them again. The trip across between the Bertone and Bonatti Refuges had been spectacular. A really stunning part of the route. Massive mountains on your left. The Blanc, Mt Dolent, The Grand Jorasses. On your right beautiful alpine meadows, streams, flowers and forests. The ever present sound of cow bells and crickets. Magical.

In the checkpoint at Arnuva I filled up my water bottles and my platypus with a total of 3 litres of water for the coming climb up the Grand Col Ferret. But I didn’t actually drink that much whilst there. I had a slight touch of nausea and just didn’t feel like it. This was the point at which I sabotaged myself. Nausea is a symptom of de-hydration not its cause and this vital fact eluded my baked brain at this vital point. I was so focused on making sure I was carrying enough for the next section that I neglected to deal with the present issue.

It was 2pm now and I had been in the full glare of the sun for four hours now with another two at least to come on the climb. No amount of buff dunking was making much of a difference. It was hot and I was feeling it. But I was still moving and climbing well, still passing more than were passing me. About two thirds of the way up I stopped for the first time the whole race. Up to this point it had been “relentless forward progress” but I took a break for a few minutes. Stopped to see the view. About three quarters of the way up I stopped again and sat down this time. The nausea was very bad. As I went to stand up again the dam broke and I vomited into the grass. I immediately felt better and continued to the top of the col with no further problems.

At La Peule I refilled my two water bottles and drank a few cups, I also took advantage of the impromptu spay the two gentlemen manning the post had set up. A simple garden hose spraying a fine jet of water it was great. I was fine for most of the run down to La Fouly but on the outskirts of the town I had to take a detour into the ditch where I deposited pretty much everything I had drank since the top of the col. I was concerned now. If I couldn’t hold down water I was in trouble.

I went straight to the medics in La Fouly and the thoroughly checked me out, blood pressure, blood test, everything. I was ok just de-hydrated, drink water with salt and wait a while to recover. As I type these words it seems so bloody obvious but it wasn’t at the time. Brain well and truly cooked.

I gave it an hour. Drank lots of water with salt. Took the time to change socks and re Vaseline feet again. Not really necessary but something to do whilst I recovered a bit.

I also texted Jen to let her know I had hit a bit of a snag.

I really enjoyed the next section through the beautiful Swiss countryside. It was easy running territory with lots to see and enjoy. Plenty of water fountains along the way too, no shortage of good mountain water and I tried to get as much in to me as I could.

Night came again as I approached Champex Lac and so did the nausea. I really can’t explain why but by the checkpoint at Champex I was back in the hole deeper than ever. Intense nausea, waves of it. It was awful. I found a spot on a bench and lay back staring at the ceiling of the tent. This brought some relief so I sat up and contemplated eating and drinking. I saw an urn of tea and decided to try a cup with milk and sugar. It was great, it went down so well I decided to have another. Both of them came straight back up. Back to the bench for another spell of ceiling gazing. I sat up again and I was sitting there shivering when a volunteer came over and persuaded me to go to the medics again. I had been afraid to go, I felt so bad I thought they were going to pull me. But the medical teams on the UTMB are great. They seem to be focused on doing what’s needed to get you to continue. They were a great help. I was given a pill of some sort to settle my stomach and advised to rest a bit again and recover. It was now that Jen turned up again. We had been in text contact since La Fouly and she had jumped on a bus and made her way out to Champex to meet me. Again it was great to have her there if only to make suggestion as to what I could eat or drink to keep me going. Flat coke being an obvious one I had overlooked. They had no 7up.

Eventually after two and a half hours in Champex I felt ready to go again. It was 11:30pm and I was still a comfortable 3hours ahead of the dreaded cut off. If you are going to have a wobble in this race it’s possibly better to have it in the second half as the cut offs seem a little more generous.

I said goodbye to Jen just outside the checkpoint and headed off again in the dark accompanied by dark thoughts. I was feeling very sorry for myself. I still had over a marathon distance to go and three big climbs to boot. It would have been easy to give up at this stage but I trudged on. The first of the three climbs had a bad reputation but soon I was in the thick of it and moving ok. Again I was passing more than passed me but I couldn’t help thinking that these were slower runners who I should have been hours ahead of by now. We all have our battles in these long trips and I had no idea who those around me where or what they had gone through or were going through. To my dark mind they were all in my way. It’s hard to pass on the narrow slow single track and nobody really makes an effort to let faster runners by so sometimes you have to resort to, not exactly, barging but not far off. Earlier in the race, when the trail was an unbroken single file stretching out in both directions I had silently given out about the bargers who’s actions at the time seemed pointless in the context of a one hundred mile race but here I was doing the same thing although in different circumstances. It seemed to me that if you were at the front of a small group going up a steep single track than you were, ergo, the slowest person in that group and you should get out of the way. But that doesn’t seem to be the way here and in fact some seemed to take extraordinary measures to prevent you from passing.

I got to the top of the Bovine in ok shape and began the long flattish bit across the top before climbing again and eventually beginning the long descent into Trient. I stopped briefly at the little rest stop of La Giete. I must have looked worse than I felt because I was offered a bed. I declined because, although I felt I could do with a nap, I knew Jen would be waiting in Trient so I didn’t want to delay too much. I began the descent and the nausea came back. Not far from the end of the trail just above Col de la Forclaz I was in the ditch again. This time as I emptied my stomach again some of it went up or down my nose, I’m not sure which but either way my airway took exception to me trying to drown myself and promptly shut itself down. For a few hours (seconds) I couldn’t get a breath. All the scuba diving lectures I had received over the years, in a previous life, came back in to my head. I was going to dry drown right here on the side of a Swiss mountain. As I lay there making quite extraordinary animal noises as I struggled to breath I was surprised by the complete indifference of my fellow runners. I estimate between fifteen and twenty passed me at this stage all I got was one half-hearted Ca Va?

I wasn’t dying but I was making a good show of it. One of the supposed rules of this race is that you must render assistance to anyone in distress but it seems to be largely ignored out on the trail.

Eventually my airway opened again and I picked myself up and continued down to the road at Col de la Forclaz. I knew I wasn’t far from Trient but I didn’t know how far so I stopped and mixed a Dioralyte. There was a small knot of spectators here, and a young French lad came over to see if I was ok. We chatted for a while about my trials and his dads who was also struggling. He asked me if I was going to be able to finish. “I’m not going home without a fucking gilet” I replied. This got me a small cheer from the group and that became the mantra for the rest of the journey.

Trient was a noisy hell hole. I decided I needed a nap here and tried to get fifteen minutes while Jen looked after me but the vibe here was like a demented Eurovision. The lad in charge of the mike and the P.A. system seemed to fancy himself as a DJ and every nationality was treated to some ethnic music to make them feel at home. I was gifted with a couple of U2 numbers, Sunday, bloody Sunday indeed. Despite the cacophony I did sleep a bit maybe 20 minutes and after an hour in total I was up and out again.

Fat adaptation saved my race. Over the last year or so I’ve been slowly adapting to a low carb high fat diet and training my system to run on fat and more importantly on fat reserves. Since leaving Courmayeur approximately nineteen hours earlier I had eaten virtually noting and what I had eaten had mostly come back up again. But I was only eating because old habits die hard and the central governor still needed a bit of support, but lungs and legs were going well. I didn’t feel anything resembling the leg wobbling bonk at any stage in the race. The other factor was I didn’t have the stress of not being able to eat, it wasn’t weighing on my mind. I couldn’t eat but I still felt strong. Although how one can feel strong and shit at the same time is still a bit of a mystery. But all the worries about carb intake and all that other rubbish that used to preoccupy me in races was gone. I could move, I kept moving. At the back of my mind was a small voice saying there may be a price to pay for this down the line but that hasn’t transpired. My recovery has been easy.

I can’t remember much of the route between Trient and Vallorcine except the technical start to the descent and coming into the ski area I knew well around Tete de Balme.

In Vallorcine it was full day and Jen was here again to help out. I still didn’t feel great but I had broken the cycle of arriving in to checkpoints on my last legs. No real nausea at this stage but I still didn’t eat much, just didn’t feel the need.

The last big climb up La Tete aux Vents has a bad reputation and it deserves it. Now the sun was up again and it was getting hot. But I still managed to climb fairly strongly with only one or two stops for brief spells in the shade. At the top however there begins a long traverse in the full glare of the sun which I didn’t enjoy in the slightest. Along here though, it being Sunday morning, the trails were busy with families and groups out enjoying the trails and the support and encouragement was fantastic. Bravo, bravo, forza forza, all along the way. For the last forty hours or so I had been constantly mistaken for an Italian due to the similarity of our flags printed on our race bibs. I was still enjoying the reaction when I pointed out my actual nationality.

Eventually, eventually I reached La Flegere and the last checkpoint before the finish. They had apples here and a little quarter of apple was just what I needed at that stage.

Tentatively and still feeling sorry for myself I began the final descent. The trail starts out steep and gnarly with big rocks and tree roots and it was a struggle to lift the feet sufficiently to avoid going down in a painful heap. Gradually I got more into it and I was soon moving along at a reasonable rate. The lower we got the better the trail got and the running got easier. Through the beautiful Chalet Floria and on downwards. It was along here I met the “ticky tacky” girl for the second time. The first being over twenty four hours earlier somewhere around Arête du Mont-Farve. Here she was again giving her distinctive “ticky tacky” call of encouragement to passing runners. I had to stop and say “you again”. A great example of community buy in to this event.

Eventually the trail gave way to gravel road, then tarmac road, then actual streets. I had no idea where I was in relation to the finish but I was in Chamonix. I turned a corner and recognized the bridge near the sports hall and my pace quickened. Then I spotted Jen and Paul who had come out to meet me. The feeling was electric. I jogged along with Jen for a bit chatting but when she left me to cut the last few corners down by the casino. I decided to go for the all out sprint finish. It was no hardship, I had loads left in the tank and everything was functioning well. I concentrated on my form for a bit, chest up, pull from the hamstrings, rhythm. It was almost 12 noon and the streets and cafes were packed. I was on my own. The roaring from the crowd was something I had never experienced before it was exhilarating. I felt I was really running now in the final few hundred meters. At the back of my mind though was the thought that some would be looking at me coming in and wondering “what has this gobshite been doing for the last 42 hours”.

The last little drag up the hill and it was done. I turned on the line and squatted looking back down the street and back down the trail. It didn’t beat me. Jen was here now and there were lots of hugs and kisses. I had no idea what to do now. The throng behind the finish was hard to push through. Luckily Paul was there and he showed me where to pick up my gilet. I think I might have gone home without it if left to my own devices. We went back to the little shaded bank on the street opposite the tourist office and chilled out. Drank some water, took of my shoes and revelled in it. It was great.

I’m immensely proud of the finish and the manner in which it was achieved. I’m very happy with how the changes I made, over the last year especially, have made me a better runner. But I’m still making rookie mistakes. I’m so grateful to Jen for taking the bull by the horns and coming out to Champex and Trient to get me through the dark patches.

The one regret I have is the time. Try as I might I just can’t shake a feeling of embarrassment that this took me forty two hours. The time doesn’t reflect where I am as an athlete, it doesn’t reflect the work of the last year. It doesn't reflect the coaching plan I've been working under for the last six months with Rene Borg of Champions Everywhere. Perhaps my recovery, which has been relatively easy, is a better reflection. I had no DOMS, no muscle stiffness of any real account. Joints too were all in good condition with only a very slight reduction in mobility in the subsequent few days. On the Wednesday after the race I returned to one on my regular training runs on Camaderry in Glendalough. A 10k with 550m of ascent. I went well. A little out of breath on the ascent and a little leg heavy on the descent but overall not too bad. All this I put down to proper running technique, correct bio-mechanics, and good nutrition and for that I have to thank Rene, Jason and Barry of Primal3.

One of these days I’ll close out a big ultra not just get a finish. I had hoped the UTMB would be that race but it wasn’t to be. But I enjoyed every minute of the trip. Ever the bad bits were somehow tempered by the setting, the organisation, the sheer goodwill of the volunteers and spectators. I’m not sure if I’ll be back though. Other fish to fry.