Written by Jason Millward - http://www.traillife.co.uk

Salomon Ben Nevis Ultra CMD Arete
Coming into this race I felt great. Training had been going well and I was really looking for a good result. It would be the first time I had raced against such strong competition and I wanted to see how I would fare against some of the countries best ultra runners on what promised to be a very testing course.

The Salomon Ben Nevis Ultra™ journey includes remote runnable tracks, technical single track, airy trackless ridges and some connecting remote mountain roads. Truly, this course is for the boldest all-round ultra-runners.

73 miles across the Scottish Highlands and featuring the biggest climb in the UK. It proved to be a tough course

After an injury-free year, I somehow managed to pull my hamstring on Tuesday before the race on an easy run around Swinsty and Fewston reservoir with Victoria. A few days of frantic stretching and rolling seemed to cure the problem. This would turn out to be just temporary though.

We decided to stay in Fort Augustus the night before rather than having to get up at stupid o’clock for the bus from Kinlochleven to the start. After tea at The Lock Inn, which is highly recommended if you are ever in the area, we went back to the room where I sorted my stuff out for the day ahead and tried to get an early night.

Just before 6am we lined up in the dark on the edge of Loch Ness ready to face whatever the Scottish Highlands could throw at us. I had no real plans for the race other than to just go at my own pace and see what happened. In the back of my mind I was looking to finish top 5 but with such a strong field I knew this would be tough. Still, you can but try.

Start of the Salomon Ben Nevis Ultra with Kirk Hardwick. Photo Credit: Emma Hardwick


As expected Donnie Campbell shot off at the front and set the pace early on. I set off at a comfortable pace and settled into a good rhythm without pushing myself too hard. If it meant I could stay with the leaders then great, if not then I would just let them go and run my own race.

After a mile or so the route took a left turn and started the long climb up to Corrieyairack Pass. Someone had decided to wild camp right in the middle of the path so they must have got a bit of a rude awakening when 150 runners thundered past.

As the dawn started breaking the Scottish Highlands were revealed to us and the views were pretty spectacular, especially looking back over to Loch Ness and Fort Augustus. I was starting to relax and enjoy the running and was looking forward to the day ahead.

I checked the pace on my watch, it was quick but my breathing was good and I wasn’t gasping for air or pushing hard so just go with I thought.

On the last section of the climb up to the pass, eventual 2nd place finisher Casper Kaars Sijpesteijn and I fell into pace with each other and reached the pass together. One of three big climbs of the day in the bag. I was really enjoying myself at this stage and just loving being somewhere I had never been before.

Salomon Ben Nevis Ultra
Deep in the Highlands, not sure where exactly but running well at this point. Photo Credit: Lake District Images

The next section down to the first checkpoint at Melgrave was so much fun and really quick. There seemed to be endless long flowing switchbacks followed by a really nice fast straight. I was loving this section, it was so much fun all the way down to the first checkpoint.

From Melgrave there was a short section of decent path and then we were plunged into the first of the two bog sections.

The very wet summer had made the bogs extra boggy and it wasn’t long before I took my first waist deep plunge into Scotlands finest bog. I pulled myself out and set off squelching through the Scottish countryside. The course was certainly varied so far and living up to expectations of it being a tough race over varied terrain.

A few more waist deep bogs and river crossings and were back on a good track and off towards the first support point at Brae Roy. Donnie had long since disappeared but I could see Mike Jones up ahead pulling away slightly but not by much. Maybe I was running a bit quick!


I came into Brae Roy in 5th place I think, a quick stop to refill my bottles and I was off again. I was pleased with how I was running. Donnie, Mike and a few others had disappeared off into the distance by now but I resisted the temptation to try and chase after them. It was still a long way to go and I didn’t want to run out of steam before the finish.

Filling up at Brae Roy checkpoint. I’m hoping that’s a cheese and pickle sandwich in my mouth otherwise I think I need some dental work. Photo credit: Emma Hardwick

At Brae Roy the course doubles back on itself and you could see the other runners on the opposite side of the bank before we turned away from the river and started the climb up to Tom Mor pass. I made the decision to have a walking break to take on some food and just readjust a few things with my kit.

Casper caught and passed me at this point so once I sorted my stuff out I got moving again and spent the next few miles skipping through the bogs with Casper.

At one point we lost sight of the course markers and decided that it must cross the deep, fast flowing river in front of us only to cross the river and look back to see the markers heading up a banking on the other side of the river to a bridge crossing the river we had just waded through. Great!

Casper started to pull away after this and then I went over funny in one of the boggy sections and tweaked my hamstring. Bloody hell did it hurt. I was hoping I would be able to run it off otherwise it wasn’t going to be much fun for the next 50 miles.


I took a few moments to check myself out and carried on. Every time I lifted my leg I got a shooting pain through my hamstring and into my glutes. Not brilliant when you still have miles of Scottish bogs to negotiate.

Nothing else for it, you’re just going to have to try and forget about it until you get to Kinlochleven I thought. I hoped it might just ease off. My pace notes did say in big bold letters at the top ‘Ignore Pain’ and although this wasn’t the type of pain I was expecting to be ignoring it was pain nonetheless so I tried to ignore it as best I could and pushed on.

A few more miles of painful bog trotting and the checkpoint at Inverlair came into view down below. After a slippery descent through bracken, I was over the A86 and dibbing in at the checkpoint and off towards the Nevis Range where I would meet Victoria and my Dad who were supporting me and get a resupply of food and water.

The next section was difficult for me, just miles of forest fire road and farmers tracks. Sections like this are a big weak point for me and it’s something I need to work on in the offseason with Jayson Cavill. I get bored, my mind wanders and I forget that I’m in a race and don’t push on as hard as I should. Still, it was the same for everyone so I tried to stay focused and keep going.

My leg was really hurting now, especially on the uphills where I was struggling to push off with any sort of power. Thoughts turned to what lay ahead and I couldn’t help but think Ben Nevis wasn’t going to be a barrel of laughs for me today. I kept looking over my shoulder expecting people to start passing me but they didn’t so my pace must have been ok to that point.

I’m not usually one for painkillers at any time but I would have given anything for a packet of aspirin. I got my phone out and tried calling Victoria hoping she might be able to pick some up and get them to me at the Nevis Range range checkpoint. No answer so I sent her a text hoping she would get it in time.

I finished the last of my water in my bottles and was starting to get dehydrated. No problem I thought, there’s plenty of water about I’ll just fill up at the next stream. Problem was that the next stream was in a sheep field and I didn’t fancy a lump of sheep shit in my bottle so I carried on, thinking I would be able to fill up soon.

Each time I came across a stream I convinced myself it was too close to a house or livestock or it had been flowing for too long down the mountainside so could be contaminated. Maybe (definitely) I was being too cautious and should have just filled up, the dehydration was certainly slowing my pace but I just didn’t have the confidence in the water supplies not to give me something far worse. Probably shows my naivety more than anything. The water would probably have been the freshest and purest I could ever have drunk.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity I came round a corner in the woods to see the Nevis Range gondola rising up from the forest below. I gingerly tiptoed down the side of the Fort William Mountain Bike World Cup track and rolled up to the aid station where Victoria had quite a spread laid up for me.


“Did you get my message?”

“Yes, but we didn’t have time to pick any up so we’ll have to get you them for the next checkpoint” came the reply.

Not the answer I was hoping for but I didn’t exactly give them much time to sort anything.

“You’re doing great, 5th place at the moment and not too far behind 4th”

I was surprised that I was still within 15 – 20 mins of 4th place at this point. Maybe I wasn’t as slow on the last section as I thought. The problem was the next section was the climb up Ben Nevis and along the CMD Arete and I was struggling climbing on forest tracks so it wasn’t looking good for this section.


I had recced the course from this point onwards so knew what was coming. A couple of miles of forest tracks lead to the start of the climb up to the CMD Arete and the summit of Ben Nevis. I should have run this section but I decided to try and give my leg a rest and walked the majority of it. I had also drunk far too much water at the aid station and it was now sloshing around my stomach. Rookie mistake, I took a salt tablet hoping it would solve the problem.

I reached the deer fence and headed out onto the single track path towards the left fork that would take us back into another bog and up to the bit everyone was looking forward to The CMD Arete.

Starting the climb and I could see the 4th place runner a few hundred metres above me and maybe 15mins in front. I can have him I thought to myself, this is where I should be strong and make up time. I’m usually pretty good on the long drawn out climbs. I just get my head down and get on with it. Nothing else to do really but suffer it out as quickly as possible.

About 50 metres further up the climb that today just wasn’t going to be my day. I just couldn’t push with my left leg and I was getting shooting pains in my hamstring and into my glutes everytime it hit the floor or got pulled by the bogs. I might as well have hopped up to the summit of Ben Nevis for all the use my leg was.


The climb up to the Arete is really steep. It’s pretty boggy for the first half and it then gives way to a harder packed track which made going a bit easier but it’ rocky. Not ideal conditions for someone with a bum leg.

I looked back and could see another runner closing on me as I slowly made my way up through the bogs but I couldn’t do anything about it. My mind wanted to fight for the position but my body just wasn’t playing. My pace was soul destroying and as I climbed into clag I lost my first position of the day. Just keep going as best you can I kept telling myself. The temperature started to drop so I stopped and put my jacket and gloves. No point in getting hypothermia as well!

The temperature started to drop so I stopped and put on my jacket and gloves. No point in getting hypothermia as well!

Eventually, I came to the summit of Carn Morg Dearg, 1220m above sea level, and saw the checkpoint. As I approached a hand holding a dibber was thrust out of a tent and I dibbed in. The marshals throughout the event were great but those that spent the day and most of the night at the summit of the UK’s highest mountain deserve extra special respect. Without them these races just couldn’t go ahead so to spend so much time exposed to the elements is incredible.

In my recce just a few weeks earlier I had breezed up this climb without too much effort. Today was another story, I had to fight for every step and every metre of height gained. It wasn’t how I planned this section but as with all races plans and expectations, they can and will change so you just have to adapt and deal with the bad times and get on with it.

The Arete wasn’t much fun either. I was struggling to lift my leg to get over the rocks and boulders on the ridge and I fell a few times as a result. On the bright side, I didn’t trip and plummet off the side towards an almost certain death so I take that as a positive.

Salomon Ben Nevis Ultra CMD Arete
Salomon Ben Nevis Ultra CMD Arete. Photo Credit: Lake District Images

I did, however, fall and crack my right knee again. It’s becoming a common occurrence in races that I have to finish with my right knee covered in blood and hurting and boy did it hurt for a few minutes. I’m fairly certain I let out a scream as it smashed against the rock.

I went to see a physio after the race about my hamstring and his first comment upon seeing my scabby knee again was ‘You really don’t like that knee, do you? It’s only just healed from the last time you smashed it up’. Think out of fairness I’m going to have to start falling on my left knee in future or better yet stop falling over. That’s another thing to work on over the winter with Jayson. I’ve been doing some running and ladder drills in the last month or so and they are certainly helping but as with everything there’s room for more improvement.

CMD Arete with the climb in the background
Struggling with my leg at this point but the views more than made up for it. Photo Credit: Zac Poulton

Mia Rai and Andy McConnell came past me towards the end of the Arete which I wasn’t too happy about but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Just the rock scramble to go and I would be at the summit and then it was all downhill to the next checkpoint and a with any luck a handful of aspirin.

The rock scramble proved to be the sting in the tail of the climb and I just struggled. I couldn’t lift my leg to get up and over the rocks. It’s bloody steep and I just struggled to get up it at a good pace. On the plus side, the sun had made an appearance and it was turning into a lovely evening with great views. There were certainly worse places to be in the world and this took my mind off things for a while.

As I reached the summit of Ben Nevis and dibbed in one of the marshalls asked me how I was feeling, “Broken” I grunted back “Not really though are?” came the reply. I think I muttered something like “Not physically but mentally I am” and with that, I trotted off towards the long and rocky descent off Ben Nevis. Another thing to work on over the winter is my mental toughness. I can keep myself going forward but I need to be able to pull myself out of the dark times more effectively and get myself moving again.

Going down was just as painful as going up and I was making slow progress gingerly picking my way between the walkers and the rocks. It’s not the most technical descent but it is long and you have to concentrate not to make a mistake and tumble. My leg was making my progress much slower than I was hoping for and I was passed by a couple more people before the end. Still just look at those views, it was a beautiful evening to be on Ben Nevis.

Just as I was getting into the checkpoint I heard a shout “Come on Jason move your arse” It was Victoria and she wasn’t very happy about me losing all those places since I last saw her. I’ve always told her to be tough on me in these races and tough she is. I got some stern words whilst I sorted myself out ready for the final push to Kinlochleven. She told me afterwards that a couple had told her off for being too harsh on me which made me laugh. I’ve told her she should take up motivational speaking. She has no-nonsense, you wanted to do this so get your arse moving style which is exactly what you need.


I shoved a couple of aspirins down my throat and we walked out together towards the West Highland Way and the final 10 miles so she could give me a good a pep talk which basically amounted to “Just f**king run will you”.

There’s a fire road climb out of Glen Nevis onto the WHW and I walked this section hoping that by the time I reached the top the aspirins would have kicked in and I could run relatively pain-free to the finish. A few more runners came past on this section.

Nearing the top of the climb in the distance I saw a group of about 6 black kittens playing together. Bit weird them being out here but as I got closer it turned out to be an old car bumper that someone had left. Great, hallucinating as well I thought to myself.

At the top of the climb the aspirin had finally kicked in and for the first time in what seemed like forever I started running again at a reasonable pace.

The trail is quite undulating until the penultimate checkpoint at Lundavra with a few short sharp climbs but quite good fun. I was starting to enjoy myself again and pleased I was starting to make a little bit of forward progress.

Whatever you do don’t lose any more places I kept telling myself. I had no idea what place I was in but I knew I must have been out of the top 10 by now.

It wasn’t long after dibbing in at Lundavra that it started to get dark and I had to get my headtorch out. Thankfully I decided to pack my Petzl Nao rather than my Tikka which I originally planned to carry to save a few grams of weight confident that I would be finishing in daylight. A wise move it turned out.

After Lundavra the West Highland Way turns into a wider track although it is covered in loose rocks making foot placing important. It wasn’t long before, in my tired state, I stumbled a few times after misplacing my foot and the pain in my hamstring started to return. 5 minutes later and it was as though it never left and my progress slowed considerably.

Come on keep going I kept telling myself, you can’t have more than 4 – 5 miles to go. I had a look round and could see a headtorch about 5 minutes behind. I passed an old derelict farmhouse which I recognised from the recce and knew I was getting close to the finish and it was pretty much all downhill from there. I looked around again, the headtorch was definitely getting closer. Keep going I said to myself as I hobbled off into the darkness.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the course markers pointed us down the single track that would spit me out back in Kinlochleven and the finish line.

Halfway down I saw lights dancing around and bright red lines, almost like lazer beams, coming out from the trees in front of me. What the f**k is that I thought, I was either hallucinating again or was about to be abducted by aliens. As I got closer it turned out to be just a marshal taping up some of the course with reflective tape. Panic over, there would be no probing for me that night!

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity I came out of the woods onto the road just outside Kinlochleven, just another minute of running and I would be done.

Finish of Ben Nevis Ultra at Kinlochleven
Finally crossing the finish line at Kinlochleven in a time of 15:39:59 for 12th place.

Finally, I crossed the finish line in 12th place after 15hours 39minutes and 59seconds (full results here). Not the result I was hoping for but I’m very proud to have finished on what proved to be an incredibly tough course that beat a lot of better runners than me. The main thing is that I finished and I will now qualify for the Skyrunner series overall after finishing the required 3 out of 4 races required.

The course was incredibly tough and without a doubt, it was a great all round test of running ability. From fast runnable tracks to long sections of bogs and big long, steep climbs it definitely had it all. The more I look back and reflect the more I like the course. It was perhaps the toughest single day ultra course in the UK and really separated the men and women from the boys and girls.

I would be interested to hear what others thought about it now they have had time to mull things over.

Next year I’ll hopefully return to Scotland and take on the main event of the weekend The Glencoe Skyline.


Victoria for just being amazing and meeting me at the checkpoints and giving me the tough talk that I need when things got low.

My coach Jayson Cavill for getting me fit enough to tackle these events and for all the help and advice.

The marshalls who spent their day out in the Highlands of Scotlands. The race couldn’t have happened without you.

Shane Ohly and his team for putting the event on in the first place and providing an incredibly testing course.


Written by Christian Maleedy - https://runningchristian.wordpress.com

It is almost 4pm on Saturday and I have just arrived at Arnouvaz in  Valle d’Aosta in the Italian Alps. This is the 95.6km checkpoint in the UTMB. The last few muddy miles of descent have left me reeling. I know what is coming next – the ascent to the highest point on the course, Grand Col Ferrett at 2,529 meters. I have no idea how on earth I am going to manage it. As I walk into the Checkpoint, there is a desk marked as “abandonment”. I want more than anything to walk over to that desk, hand over my race number and declare “Oui, oui, oui, abandonment, s’il vous plait”. Within minutes I would be sitting, dozing on a warm minibus waiting to taken back to Chamonix. But something inside won’t let me do that. I may be cold, fatigued and achy but I’m not injured and I still have a reasonable margin on the cut offs. My family and I have sacrificed so much to put me on the start line of this race and to give me the opportunity to achieve my dream of completing the UTMB. Would I really throw that away now because I’m a bit cold and a bit sleepy?

Part one – France to Italy


A little over 22 hours earlier and I’m standing on the start line of the Ultra Trail Du Mont Blanc in Chamonix. This race has been joint top of my bucket list (along with Western States 100) for several years. Standing alongside 2,500 runners, I reflect back on the last few years of running and how each of my successes and failures has led me here to this. Every successful race has boosted my confidence enough to make me believe that I am good enough to be on the start line of the UTMB, and every failure has taught me a valuable lesson that I would need to reach the finish line.

Above us, the flags from the dozens of nations competing flutter gently in the alpine breeze like prayer flags on Everest.  A massive sense of excitement and expectation sits over the crowd; runners and spectators alike. My mouth is dry from the nerves and I take a swig of water from bottle. It doesn’t help in the slightest.

As has become tradition, the race always begins with Vangelis’ “Conquest of Paradise”. A hush falls over the waiting runners as the first few eerie bars of the piece drift from the speakers. Soon, the air is filled with the sound of Gregorian chanting. Just as Vangelis’ trademark synthesizers kick in and the track reaches its soaring crescendo, someone shouts “Go!” and we are off.

Running through the streets of Chamonix, I high-five as many of the cheering spectators as I can. The inspiring music and the cheers from the crowd form a heady mix and I know this moment will be one that I won’t ever forget. I wave to Caroline and the boys who are waiting in the crowd a few hundred metres from the start. All being well, I will see them the following day in Courmayeur.

The pace in these early couple of miles is frantic – probably close to 7 min/miles. For me this is suicide pace for anything other than a Saturday morning parkrun, let along a 100+ mile mountain race. However, I’m not too concerned for now.

I’d thought a lot about strategy prior to this race. The UTMB is 104 or so miles long, beginning in Chamonix and traversing the French, Italian and Swiss alps before returning to France and finishing in Chamonix.

UTMB map

I knew that (apart from injuries or something unforseen) there was only one thing that could realistically prevent me finishing this race and that was the cut-offs. There is an overall 46 hour limit to compete the 104 miles and there are many points along the way that have intermediate cut-off times. Miss these, even by a few seconds, and my race would be over. Being familiar with my own strengths and weaknesses as a runner, I knew my best bet would be to go out hard, try to build as much of a buffer against the early cut-offs as possible and then just hope that buffer is enough later on to get me to the finish when things get tough. The strategy is not without risk as, of course, there is the possibility of blow-ups late on, but it is the strategy that I have chosen and it’s what I’m going with.

The air is cool and at present, fairly ideal for running. Over the past week, there has been all kinds of speculation about the weather and whether any amendments to the “normal” route would be needed. The forecast is for snow and -9 degree temperatures above 2,000 metres. Eventually the organisers confirmed it would be the normal route but with two small amendments. I believe the difference is negligible in terms of actual distance but it is a little less climbing. The quid pro quo is that we have 30 minutes less in which to complete the route.

As we leave the paved streets of Chamonix behind, the advice of me good friend, Tim, rings in my ears “push up as far as you can until you see runners who are well out of your league”. I take a look around me; mission accomplished as far as that goes. The first few miles of the race are the only significant flat part of the course and I intend to make the most of them. I know that I will be hemorraging time later on the climbs. I may have a chance to make some time back on the descents depending on how technical they are – but that means that anything approximating “flat” needs to be run and run at a good pace, or I will be timed out of the race for sure.

Of course, this section is only “flat” by alpine standards and would be “undulating” in the UK. We are now on green woody trails and I’m surprised by how far spectators have come out from town to cheer us on. Below to my left, L’Arve continues its tumultuous flow through the Chamonix valley completely oblivious to the runners alongside it. For some reason the sound of the river reminds me of Enya’s “Orinoco Flow”, her great tribute to travelling and adventure. But I’m in an adventure of my own here. I look up, surprised by the deep sound of an Alphorn being played by a spectator in traditional alpine dress. It is in stark contrast to the tinkling sound of the cowbells that would be our almost constant companion throughout the race.

The course continues along narrow wooded trails before opening out onto a wide road into Les Houches. For a moment, the running on the wide roads with so many runners around takes me back to Comrades in South Africa. Comrades is an amazing experience but this race is something else again. Running through the centre of Les Houches, we pass our first drinks station. The fast start meant that I’d got through one of my water bottles which I refill here and sip some coke before continuing on my way. Before long, we leave the road and began the first real climb of the course.

UTMB profile

In my mind, UTMB is characterised by ten big climbs, with a cumulative elevation gain/loss of 10,000 metres. This is more than going from sea-level to the summit of Everest and back down again, whilst running four back to back marathons. I decide this analogy isn’t helping me. Instead I think of the race as 10 ascents of Snowdon. A few weeks previously I’d spent a weekend training on Snowdon, ascending and descending via the six main routes. Everest feels out of my league, but 10 Snowdons somehow feels more attainable!

This first climb up to Le Delevret is 820 metres of ascent, but on fresh legs feels reasonable. There is a crowd of us and the air is filed with the clickety sounds of hiking poles on the rocky terrain. My poles are still firmly attached to my back as I’d decided in advance to attempt the first climb without them. Instead, I lean forward, put my hands on my knees and push up the mountain.


This is a ski resort in winter and we climb beneath the chair lifts that would transport the skiers up the mountain in the winter. Before long, the incline begins to flatten. Could we be at the top? I round a corner and the bottom of another chair lift comes into view – nowhere near the top yet! As we ascend higher the fog and darkness begin to envelop us. On finally reaching the top, visibility is severely reduced. I get my headtorch out. However, in the thick fog, the beam of light only serves to light up the air particles and I can see very little beyond a metre or two.

The descent is initially on steep, wet grassy banks which I tackle tentatively at first. My fellow runners are flying past me on both sides and I decide to throw caution to the wind and pick up my pace. Before long, the steep grassy section ends and we are on much more runnable switch backs leading down into St Gervais. We are out of the clouds now and the lights of the town sparkle below us. We can hear the sounds of a street party in full swing below us, still a good couple of miles away.

Running into St Gervais, the roads are thronged with people who have come out to cheers us on. Cries of “allez, allez, allez” echo all along. Here is my first experience of a UTMB checkpoint. My usual experience of an ultra marathon aid station in the UK is a picnic table with a few sandwiches and cups of coke lined up. This is more like a food festival or farmers’ market with dozens of stalls set up offering all kinds of food and drink. I feel the first hunger pangs so I take some bread, cheese, salami and chocolate to eat as I walk out of St Gervais. A key part of successfully completing this race will be to continually eat throughout, ensuring there is a steady stream of calories going in.

The next section is undulating but reasonably runnable. I therefore stick to my strategy and run as much as I possibly can, only slowing to a hike for significant climbs. The food I ate at the last checkpoint isn’t sitting well and I start to feel slightly queasy. The thought of more cheese and salami during the race makes me feel ill – I will have a look what else is on offer at the next checkpoint. Some runners seem to be really suffering as I pass a few people throwing up by the side of the trail. Just another Friday night like back home in London town!

Les Contamines is the first major checkpoint where runners can have access to their crews. It’s also the first cut-off point along the race. The time is now 22.41 and the cut-off here is 00.30 – so far , so good. The Aid Station is set up as a massive marquee. Inside, it is absolutely rammed with runners and supporters. I find a spot on a bench to sit for a few minutes, before continuing on my way.

It has begun to rain and I put my jacket on, not wanting to get wet and cold so soon. Next is the first real test of the race; a climb of 1,342m up to Croix Du Bonhomme. As I begin the climb, I’m surprised again by the number of spectators who have also hiked up to watch. Bonfires, candles and oil lamps light the early section of this climb giving it a magical atmosphere, like something from Hans Christian Anderson. The flames hiss and splutter in the rain. Somewhere here out in the darkness is the baroque chapel of Notre Dame de la Gorge. However, it’s pitch dark and I can’t see it. Sightseeing will have to wait for another day.

We continue up the mountain. Far above me I can see the lights of the next checkpoint, La Balme. It doesn’t look very far but takes a while to get there. The main checkpoint is in a barn. My appetite for any more cheese and salami has completely gone but I gratefully slurp down two bowls of salty noodle soup. This would turn out to be a staple of every checkpoint and is probably the best thing I’ve ever had during a race. I take some chocolate to eat on the mountain and leave the checkpoint. “Ca va?” esquires one of the mountain rescue men who are ever present at the mountain checkpoints. I recall enough schoolboy French to be able to respond adequately and then continue on my way. Having a checkpoint half-way up the mountain really helps break the climb up.

However, whilst the first half passed quickly, the second half goes on and on. Several times, the trail begins to flatten and descend making me think that I’d reached the top, only for it to begin ascending again. I eventually forget about actually ever reaching the top and think of other things. At the top of the mountain, it is misty and cold and there is snow in the air. As we begin the descent, there is a volunteer checking our numbers and performing random checks of our compulsory kit. Thankfully (since it’s so cold) I’m not stopped and I continue along my way. The first part of the descent is on rutted, slippery  grassy slopes. Try as I might, I can’t get any momentum going here which is frustrating as other runners are flying past. However, like the last descent, the track soon turns to runnable switch backs opening up the valley below us. I can see and hear the next checkpoint at Les Chapieux from a long way away.

On entering the checkpoint, the race officials are checking we all have a phone with us (part of the mandatory kit). I show them my phone and am ushered into the checkpoint.


I’m now 50km into the race, one marathon done and three more to go. I sit and enjoy some more of the noodle soup. Just as I’m about to leave, I hear someone call my name. It’s Sam Robson. I’d met Sam a couple of days previously as he has been staying in Les Contamines with my friend Tim. Sam is a far better runner than me and the fact that we are together definitely confirms the idea in my mind that I’ve gone out fast and probably a little beyond my abilities. We pass the next few miles together and it’s nice to have some company. We  chat about people we know and races we’ve done and the first part of the climb passes quickly. After a while, Sam pushes on ahead and I continue up. I glance back and see a long stream of head torches proceeding in single file from Les Chapieux up the mountain side.

It is cold and snowy at the Col de la Seigne and I stop to put my gloves on. We have climbed another “Snowdon” since the last checkpoint and I am beginning to feel the effort in my legs. It’s almost 6am and I can see the first hint of morning light appear in the sky.

Ahead of me is the Col des Pyramides Calcaires. The first of the two route amendments for safety purposes means that we won’t be ascending this. I can’t say that I’m too devastated at the moment.

Italy to Switzerland

Somewhere on this dark mountain, I’ve crossed from France into Italy. As I begin my descent, the first rays of morning light illuminate the most incredible sight in front of me. A valley cut out of the mountains by glaciers many millions of years previously. Mountains that have been my companion for the last few hours in darkness, now revealed in all their splendour. Below me is Lac Combal the next checkpoint. This must be one of the most remote checkpoints in the race and I’m left wondering how they managed to transport all the supplies here. I sit and admire the views. Low lying clouds cover the nearby peaks – I’m reminded of the “tablecloth” that often covers Table Mountain in Cape Town.

As I’m sitting there, a volunteer holds up a pair of gloves – oh dear some poor runner has dropped their gloves. I touch my pocket where I’ve stashed mine only to realise they are gone. I gratefully retrieve them from the volunteer, it’s still cold and I’d be in trouble without them.

The course continues initially on a flat trail besides the remains of the lake before heading up towards the summit of Mt Favre. This climb is long and it is here that I start to feel the first real signs of fatigue. On eventually reaching the summit, I stop and lie on the grass for a few minutes, dozing a little and let the sun warm my face. We are now at an altitude of 2,434m. It is less than 10k to Courmayeur, the most significant checkpoint and the psychological “half-way” point in the race. However, it is also a descent of almost 1,500 metres to get there. The scenery here is stunning but I’m keen not to linger and enjoy it for too long. Around halfway between the Arrete Du Mont Fevre and Courmayeur is another checkpoint – a mountain refuge at Col Checrouit. It is marked on my course guide as simply a drinks point, but I’m delighted to see a lady outside serving pasta and tomato sauce from a giant pot – this is Italy after all!

After a brief stop here I continue down towards Courmayeur. The switch backs become steep and technical and snake through woods, teasing us with glimpses of the town below before we eventually arrive on the outskirts. I run through the streets, remembering to smile for the official photographer and arrive at the sports centre which serves as the checkpoint here. Carrie and the boys are waiting outside and I stop to talk to them briefly before continuing inside. It is one huge hall with an area for food, for sleeping, for changing clothes. After the solitude and quiet of the mountains, I feel a little overwhelmed by the noise and bustle. I take some more pasta and find a place to sit. Here we also get access to our drop bag, which I’d packed in advance with spare shoes, all kinds of clothes and food. In the end, I only change my t-shirt but leave all the other items in my drop bag untouched. It’s now 10.48am and time I was on my way.


I say goodbye to Carrie and the boys and find my way through the street of Courmayeur. The course goes upwards, first along busy roads, then a quiet country lane and eventually returning to the trails. We would now have to regain all the elevation we lost descending into Courmayeur. The climb is long and arduous and I’m thankful to eventually reach Refuge Bertone. The checkpoints on UTMB broadly fall into two categories – the large marquee style checkpoints with rows and rows of tables, benches and crew access and the smaller more intimate mountain refuges. These are mountain huts and are still open to the public during the race. The next section again constitutes a slightly “flatter” section of the course and I try to gain a little time on the runnable grassy ledge between Refuge Berone and Refuge Bonatti. By the time I reach Bonatti, the weather has turned and the warm sunshine has been replaced with a cold wind. After sitting for a few minutes outside Refuge Bonatti, it begins to rain. A cold icy rain. I rush into the Refuge itself in the hope of perhaps finding a quiet corner to sleep for a few minutes. I soon give up on that idea and instead change into my waterproofs.

The descent into Arnouvaz is long and muddy and I’m moving painfully slowly. Other runners are flying down here and ending up on their rear ends in the mud every few metres. Content to stay on my feet, I continue tentatively down. I can see the checkpoint from some way away and I can also see the minibuses behind ready to whisk away any runners who want to call it a day or who are timed out of the race. For the first time, my mind lingers on the idea of dropping from the race. We are well into the afternoon and fast approaching the Saturday night – my second night without sleep. In terms of the big climbs – I have done five but still have another five remaining. The next is the climb to the highest point on the course. It doesn’t seem possible that I can manage that let along another four after that. Surely I should just cut my losses now and save myself the pain? These were the thoughts occupying my mind as I approached the Arnouvaz checkpoint. My mind cannot fathom how I could possibly make it to the finish. But it occurs to me – I don’t need to worry about the finish, I only need to focus on reaching the next checkpoint. Then the one after that. And so on. Eventually the finish will take care of itself.

It takes a massive effort, but I walk past the “abandonment” desk and into the checkpoint proper. I look at the food on offer but nothing appeals so I sit on a bench, with my head on the table hoping for perhaps a few minutes of sleep. However the checkpoint is cold, my clothes are damp and I’m soon shivering. Fortunately, I know just the thing to warm me up, a 738m climb up to Grand Col Ferret! I pull out a packet of Harribo to eat on the way up; it’s about the only thing I can stomach at the moment.

This climb is tough, right from the start and the effort forces me to take regular breaks all the way up.  The higher I get the more frequent the breaks. My training for this race has left me in the best shape of my life so I’m initially a little perplexed by how this climb can be taking so much out of me. Then I realise – the vast majority of my training has taken place well below 500m. I had one weekend on Snowdon which goes to a little over 1,000m. Here I am at 2,500 meters and, whilst this isn’t much higher than a high altitude ski-run, my body is simply not prepared for exerting this sort of effort at this altitude. I feel slightly better that my frequent breaks (now practically after every switch back) are down to the altitude and not a lack of fitness.

Soon, we are in the clouds again and there is snow on the ground. The icy wind makes it feel very unpleasant. On the final approach to the pass, I sit down in the snow, completely out of breath. A woman passes by and encourages me to keep moving. She’s right, it’s not sensible to linger here in the cold. We were warned at the start not to rest on top of the mountains but instead to get down to lower altitudes as soon as possible.

On reaching the top, I peer down the other side and my mood lifts slightly. Against all odds, I’ve reached Switzerland.

Switzerland to France

The descent is less demanding than the previous one and I shuffle along listening to some music.

For a long time, I think I can hear the sounds of cow bells at the next checkpoint. I eventually decide that these are cowbells from actual cows grazing nearby as the next checkpoint takes a very long time to materialise. It is situated in the pretty little Swiss mountain town of La Foully. After a steep descent, I chat to another English runner as we approach the checkpoint in the failing light. On leaving, it’s now dark and raining. I put my head torch on which lights up the rain drops like millions of miniature shooting stars in the night sky.

The next section is through the town on roads. One moment, I’m shuffling along and the next I am asleep on my feet, crashing into a barrier on a bridge across a stream. If I’m like this on the mountain, the consequences could be severe! In the slightly surreal space between waking and sleeping, I’ve completely forgotten where I am and what I’m doing. For a moment, I think I’ve been sent out by Carrie to buy pizza for the boys – I wonder what type they would like? Wait no, that’s not right, there’s runners around me. Are we all going up the mountain to see our friend who lives in a house up there? No, that’s also not right. It is a monumental effort to remind myself that I am in fact in a mountain ultramarathon. This pattern repeats a few times as I struggle to stay awake. I think about stopping for a 10 minute doze under a hedge or something but it is pouring with rain so I continue on.

A little later I catch up to an English runner. I am not feeling sociable in the slightest but realise that some light conversation might be my best bet at staying wake.


The extreme sleepiness passes as we begin the climb up to Champax Lac. Although not a steep climb, this section goes on for a long time ascending through forest trails. Mentally, I hadn’t prepared for this being a difficult section and I find myself struggling. During the day on fresh legs, I’m sure it is a stunning hike. But late on Saturday night into my second night without sleep I find my enthusiasm waning. Eventually we reach Champex Lac where there is another checkpoint. It’s now 00:30 and the cut off here is 02:00. Could be worse. The checkpoint is close to the famous lake but between my sleepiness and the darkness, I can see very little of it.

The next section contains some enjoyable downhill running and some very moderate uphill. From the profile, I know we are due a big climb very shortly. We eventually reach the foot of the mountain  and I can see long trails of headtorches snaking far far above me into the inky black sky. There are some logs on the ground and a few runners have stopped to sit, fiddling with their kit, changing clothes or just mentally preparing themselves for what’s to come. I join them for a moment before beginning the ascent. Switch back after switch back, this section goes on and on. I recall talking to a few runners but I’ve no idea who or what I said. I have a vague recollection of talking to an Australian runner. Either that or I was listening to Men at Work’s “Down Under” on my ipod!

I eventually see what I have to believe is the final switch back leading to the top only to round a corner and see head torches continuing for what must be another mile above me.  Eventually arriving at the actual summit, I can see lights of a town far below me, this might be Trient and our next destination. There is a small checkpoint in an old mountain barn on the way down, really just to scan numbers. There is a sign saying that Trient is only 5km away. Some volunteers have lit a bonfire out back and are warming themselves beside it. For a moment I fantasize about sitting by that bonfire myself dozing in the warmth without a care in the world. Not today! Somewhere on this descent, night begins to give way to early morning and as I emerge from a forest trail, I can see a few buildings  ahead of me. It is completely silent but I have to believe that one of these is the Trient checkpoint. My spirits fall further when I realise the trail turns and continues down a farm track. Surely the checkpoint is just at the end of this track? We are directed off the track and onto another series of switch backs through some words. The checkpoint must be here somewhere just through the trees? After several switch backs, I eventually catch sight of the checkpoint, still a long way below me. That 5km sign further up the mountain was a horrible lie!

Dragging myself into the checkpoint, I study the profile of the remaining part of the course. The next mountain looks pretty much a carbon copy of the last one. I don’t have it in me to do another mountain like that last one. I decide that I need to find someone who is familiar with the course who can tell me that the profile is wrong and the next mountain is in fact much easier than the last one. There is an English UTMB official standing close by and I ask her this question. She looks at me and shakes her head sadly. However, she is keen to encourage me.

“It normally takes two hours to get from here to Vallorcine. That’s on fresh legs, However, you have four hours to do it in to make the cut-off at Vallorcine.”
Something in my mind clicks. Ok, if I can get to Vallorcine in three hours, that would give me an hour buffer against the cut-off at that point. With just one mountain left and less than 20km to the finish, I think that would be enough.

I jog out of the aid station feeling optimistic and begin the next climb. It’s now 07:15 on Sunday morning. As I start the climb up to Les Tseppes, I feel my confidence returning and I’m enjoying myself for the first time in nearly 24 hours. I start passing other runners on this climb. This makes a pleasant change as the race to date has been one long procession of people passing me. I think back to my training on Snowdon, running up and down the mountain; this is what I was preparing for though I probably didn’t even realise it at the time. For the first time the finish line, though still many hours away, becomes something tangible and attainable. I power my way to the top and rest for a moment or two, soaking in the views which are breathtaking.


I’m happy to invest a few moments resting here, but I can’t stay long. As much as I like to think of myself as a master tactician playing a game of “cut-off chess”, I realise that “cut-off Russian roulette” is a better analogy. I check my phone. Tim has sent me a message telling me that I can make the finish, but I need to keep moving. I take this advice to heart and begin the descent back down into France.

Return to Chamonix

I have made excellent time on the last ascent and I had hoped to capitalise on this with a fast descent into Vallorcine. However, this isn’t to be. The trail down hill is rutted grass and mud and, again, try as I might I just can’t get a decent pace going.

Eventually I arrive in Vallorcine, exactly on schedule three hours after having left Trient, with my one hour buffer against cut-off intact. I sit for a moment or two in the marquee as crew members rush around looking after their runners. A man announces in English over the PA system that anyone intending to continue in the race should think about leaving soon. I don’t need telling twice.

The next couple of miles are on a grassy trail beside a road. Cars pass by beeping their horns whilst the occupants yell encouragement at us. As I reach the car park at Col des Montets, top British ultra runner, Robbie Britton (who isn’t in the race but is supporting) comes up to me to offer encouragement and a few tips on tackling the next section of the course. I thank him gratefully and start the ascent up to La Flegere.

At this point, the course would ordinarily ascend Tete aux Vents directly, before dropping down into La Flegere. However, this is the second safety modification to the course and so we approach La Flegere slightly differently.


Having been very careful in treating the course with the respect that it deserves so far, at this point, I’m guilty of underestimating the next section. It’s a mistake that nearly costs me dearly. Earlier in the week, I had recce’d the final part of the course, from Chamonix to La Flegere and back down again. This had taken me around two hours and I had found very straight forward at the time. Clearly that was on fresh legs and we are now approaching the mountain from a different side, but I felt that my recce should provide a good benchmark of what to expect. I just need to nip up to La Flegere, then run back down to the finish in Chamonix and pick up my gilet and a cold beer. But the mountains aren’t done with me just yet.

We continue up and up. I recall La Flegere is a ski resort with a lift at the top. According to my calculations, it should be coming into view anytime now. A hiking sign appears for La Flegere directing hikers off to the right. But the race signage is clearly directing us to the left towards Argentiere. I don’t like this at all but there is no question that we are supposed to turn left here. The trail continues along before dropping down sharply. We lose most of the height that we have just climbed. If there’s one thing I recall about La Flegere it’s that it’s at the top of a mountain not the bottom – why are we descending? The trail continues along, traversing the side of the mountain before going up again.  I chat to an Irish lady. We trade war stories about the night just passed and rue the lack of large mountains back home in Ireland and the UK for us to train on. I look at my watch and work out how much time I have until the cut-off at La Flegere. Two hours becomes 90 minutes becomes one hour becomes 45 minutes – where on earth is La Flegere?!

At this point, my high spirits have gone. I’m sorry to say that my language turns the air blue though fortunately I don’t think that the grasp of English of my fellow runners is good enough to understand what I’m saying.

Eventually the forest trail opens out onto a wide ski run. I look around desperately searching for the checkpoint – it’s nowhere to be seen. All I can see is a long line of runners continuing up to the very top of the mountain. I completely lose it at this point and start ranting and raving at the nearest runner. A very confused German lady turns and says “Bitte?”. I repeat my rant a little more slowly for her. I state how totally and absolutely unreasonable it is for the organisers to send us on a convoluted route up the mountain. Do they not realise that we have been running up and down mountains for two straight days – all we now want is to go back to Chamonix and enjoy the finish line. The German lady smiles sympathetically and continues on her way.

Of course, I realise deep down that I am the one being unreasonable.  No-one has forced me to do this race, quite the opposite. And the route, even the amended one, was available for us to study in advance. I simply made an erroneous assumption about this final section. When a vast chasm emerged between the reality of this final section of the race and my expectation of it, my sleep deprived mind no longer had the tools to be able to deal with it rationally.

I finally reach the top, now only 30 minutes ahead of the cut off here. I look at the food table. This is the final checkpoint and anything I take here will need to last me to the finish. I swig some coke and take some chocolate for the descent. The initial descent on a wide piste must be a delight to ski in winter. Today it is sheer torture. The piste ends and we are on the final switch backs through woods that will lead us back to Chamonix. I’m on familiar ground now. Very rocky, uneven ground. A few days ago, the rocks had caused me no problems, as I sailed over them, laughing and jumping. Now, I can barely lift my feet a couple of inches off the ground. Each rock needs to be negotiated individually, requiring my full attention. I pass lots of hikers who congratulate and encourage me. I smile as best as I can and mumble “merci”.

A lady from Milton Keynes who is supporting other friends in the race jogs alongside me for a moment or two, offering encouragement, before disappearing up the mountain to find her friends. The trail is narrow in places and at one point leads directly across the terrace of a mountain restaurant. The terrace applauds as I pass by. The support is really touching and I can feel my bad mood from earlier melting away.

In my mind, I tick off the landmarks on this final section; the large wet rocks that need careful negotiating, the signpost directing us to Chamonix and finally the small stream crossing our path. A few hundred metres on, the trail gives way to asphalt and I am on the outskirts of Chamonix. An Italian runner is beside me and we congratulate each other in the few words we know of each others’ language before continuing on towards the finish separately. These outer streets are deserted as the whole of Chamonix has seemingly headed towards the finish. Ahead of me I see the metal barriers that will direct me home. Tim calls my name. He tells me that there is quite a reception waiting for me, just around the corner. I could hear the noise from the finish from some way away and it now gets steadily louder. I see Caroline and she thrusts a union jack into my hands. Sam, having finished earlier that day, is there too next to Tim’s family. Finishing the race with my family and friends, old and new, is very special. Putting the flag around my shoulders, the boys join me for the final few metres.  Jamie, seeing the chance to beat his daddy at running, sprints directly for the finish line, leaving me in his dust. Nice! I manage to grab hold of Alex’s hand before he gets similar ideas and we jog the last few metres together beneath the famous arch and across the line together.


It’s over. 45 hours, 41 minutes and 4 seconds after leaving Chamonix, I am back. Physically this race has taken me to places of wonder and beauty. Emotionally it has taken me to some places I don’t ever want to return to. As I make me way through the crowds, I try to process everything that’s happened. A lifetime of emotions squeezed into two days.

So the question – was it all worth it? The last two days have contained some of the best moments of my life and some of the most challenging. But as I look back, I realise that without those moments of despair and pain, I would never have felt the moments of elation so keenly. This race was perfect and I wouldn’t change a thing about it.

Written by Mick Farrar - https://runningoffthemadness.blogspot.fr

This one wasn't planned.  I had planned to run Albion Running's inaugural Race to the Farm 50-mile ultra, but it was pulled late in August due to low numbers.  So rather than putting my feet up for a month I scanned the local area and found the Butcombe Trail Ultramatathon on 2nd September.  48 miles around the Mendip hills, what could be better? 
The race probably has the smallest field of competitors I had competed in, with only 100 spaces available and with a few days to go there were only 63 starters including, my good friend from FAC OFF, Richard Corp.  In 2016 only 33 runners competed and they suffered torrential rain on a biblical scale.  The 15.5 hour cut off seems generous until you get out on the course and start to appreciate the climbs.
Keeping warm before the start with Richard Corp.

Richard's partner, Emma Flexon, was crewing him for the day and I was able to put my drop bag in the car to save carrying extra kit.  Just seeing a friendly face around the course can make a massive difference and Emma was able to map read her way to junctions for some of the longer sections between check points.  Always smiling, watching for tell-tale signs of fatigue and ready to supply whatever was needed.  Thank you, Emma.

The race starts at 7.30am from the Cider Barn in Drayton and the first mile is climb, just climb. We eyed the accent during the briefing, which was short and to the point, and then we crossed the busy road en masse moments before being released.  The breath-taking scenery started to open up behind us immediately as we begun to climb, 600 ft north east to the summit of the hill.
Climbing up away from Draycott with Nyland Hill in the middle distance.
At the summit, the route headed towards the west and straight into the awakening town of Cheddar, looping the reservoir and trying to locate the Strawberry Line cycle path, and then into sleepy Axbridge before hitting checkpoint 1, then joining the A38 Bridgewater road heading north at the 6-mile point.  We crossed the road and cut back into the woods, heading west for yet another big climb up to Wavering Down.  We stopped at the trig point and took in the scenery.  Further out to the west we could see the Bristol Channel and the white buildings of Minehead across the bay from Brean.
Looking back on the route and Cheddar reservoir.
We continued west to skirt the top of Cooke Peak before dropping rapidly down to Webbington and then crossing the M5 at 10 miles.  The contrast was stark, having been running for 2 hours already in blissful silence the sound of the motorway woke back to reality, it was a busy Saturday morning for many of these people.   We headed north west into Loxton and then on until we turned left into the loop.  Along the initial path leading into the western loop, the race leaders passed us on their way back, putting them about 4.5 miles in front.  Thankfully we saw no others!    We continued towards Bleadon, passing through checkpoint 2 and then started back east towards the M5 through the local golf course.

The temperature really started to rise as we eventually closed the loop and crossed back over the M5 at 18.5 miles, a running time of 3 hours 40 mins.  The pace was slower than we had wanted but we also knew that there were a few BIG hills climbs to come.  The field had already spread, Richard and I checked in with some marshals at Whitley Head and there was no-one in front or behind us at this point.  At this point we weren't lost.


Butcombe Trail marker (centre)
The route was mainly self-navigation, following the Butcombe Trail markers (pictured) around the Mendips, with alterations occasionally marked with red and white tape.  Sometimes the GPX route on my watch, the trail markers and the tape did not marry up, making the navigation interesting at times.  The trail markers are often on poles with overgrown weeds and bushes surrounding them ensuring a few are missed.  If you have time to recce this route I would suggest it is worth the investment, however, the route changes each year.

We worked our way east, trying to follow the course diversions until we passed through Sandford Batch, and then climb 256ft at 21 miles to Sandford Hill, pushing on to Star.  We had been running 5 hours now, still had the two biggest climbs in front of us and it was getting warmer but our spirits were high and neither of us had any niggles or injuries to worry about.

From Star we went west to Rowberrow and stopped briefly at checkpoint 3 at the Swan pub where Emma had procured us some ice-pops!!! Then, heading north and up to Dolebury Hill Fort and onwards, 369 ft upwards we climbed to Beacon Batch at 28 miles.  The highest point on the route.  Along the way we had picked up another runner, Dave, who had ran the Thames Path earlier in the year so I spent a lot of time extracting race information from him.

The usual spread of food for the runners at the checkpoints.
We descended east through Charterhouse, on to checkpoint 4 at Compton Martin's Ring O Bells pub and then on to West Harptree before finally reaching the eastern most edge, and checkpoint 5, of the route at Hinton Blewett at 37 miles.  From there we turned south west heading eventually towards Priddy, but not before climbing the second biggest hill of the day, a 2-mile climb to the top of Eaker Hill.

The route contains every type of running environment.  We encountered muddy tracks, technical downhill trails with roots and rocks, baked footpaths, knee high gorse and heather, and enough road to warrant a pair of shoes with some cushioning.

View near Hinton Blewett overlooking the Chew Valley Lake.
We worked our way through Buckley Wood, juggling the GPX, map and the Force to guide us through some changes to the route.  The route through the woods was soft underfoot, a massive relief after long periods of running on roads in trail shoes.

Emma was turning up on road sides between checkpoints, some of which were 8 and 9 miles apart and normally would not be an issue but in the heat, the extra chilled water and food were a complete Godsend.

Woodland route markers.

Buckley Wood
Leaving the woods we followed a well-trodden track, my GPX informed me that we would shortly need to turn but to the right, the direction we should be turning, there was only a climb covered in gorse, heather and coarse grass.  I scouted the area and eventually found the track sign pointing into this knee length undergrowth.  There was no path or any real signs of a track so we headed up the hill seeking the points of least restriction until we cleared it.  Although upon inspecting the map later it was only 1/4 mile, at the time it seemed a lot longer.

Just before entering the village of Priddy we managed to miss the trail marker. The path was waterlogged, muddy and very narrow, and with the fading light and tiredness, we missed the sign and with the help of the GPX we had to loop over half a mile to get back to the road.  By now we had been running for close to 12 hours and the stopping and starting began to affect my core temperature.  Richard told me to run ahead to the next checkpoint in the village of Priddy, my legs were not tired but I knew I had to keep moving.

I reached the checkpoint 6, quickly ate and topped up my bottles in time to see Richard and Dave come down the lane as I left with a local runner, Ivan Batchelor.  He led us out onto the fields again as the daylight slipped away and it wasn't long before we spotted some more head torches in front.  With a mile to go, we caught up.

There was a last climb before the steep descent back into Draycott and the group of 4 runners in front, and Ivan started to walk up the rocky incline.  I decided just to go and ran up and away from the others, using my GPX as a guide.  In daylight, the final descent would be fun, but hurtling down in the dark with only 200 lumens to light your way can be a little more sobering.  Down and down until at last there was a gate and then a track, that became a road.  I could hear the shouts now as people and torches came into sight and finally I crossed the finish line.  Officially I was 28th of 37 finishers (there had been 9 DNF's) and it had taken me 13:24, longer than I had hoped but I was still alive so that was nice.  With all the diversions and getting lost I had run 50 miles.

After being presented with my medal I quickly changed into warmer clothing, waiting for a while for Richard to finish.  But the cold and hunger were getting to me and I thanked Emma once more before heading back to Wiltshire.

Would I do it again?  Big maybe, loved the scenery.


A trip around the Butcombe Trail


Course elevation and temperature (blue)
My Strava for the race is here.

Kit & Fuel:  Altra Lone Peak 3 shoes, injinji toe socks and Dirty Girl gaiters.  I put my new Salomon Adv Skin3 12 set to a real test and it turned out to be the best purchase I have made to date.  I mainly fuelled on Tailwind, Torq gels and a few Cliff bars.

Written by Matt Armstrong - http://integralrunning.blogspot.fr

It is over a week now since I finished the Ultra Great Britain 200 mile race from Southport to Hornsea along the Trans-Pennine Trail and the afternoon naps have now finished.  66hrs 55mins and joint 8th place. Well chuffed.
I have learnt a lot and amazed myself that I have actually done it. 200 miles, I must be crazy. Can I dare call myself an ultra-runner yet? The training has paid off, I had resisted entering longer races (100mile) in the build up so to make the the jump from 50miles to 200miles and survive means there is more to come.

CP'S 1-6

These first 50-60miles were really about getting them ticked off, one by one. I set my watch to laps per mile and tried to keep an even pace. I was joined by Pete Harrison for a fair few miles and I enjoyed the company as the runners had really spread out after 33miles in and a number of quick fire CP's.
51 miles in - I had never run this far before - only 149miles to go!


  • Mountain Fuel - Night Fuel; Morning Fuel - before race and during (250ml) and ate like stodgy porridge; Extreme Energy drink - during race  -mixed to 750ml later on in race, I used this throughout although I had put some morning fuel in a drop bag by mistake so ran out on one section; Recovery Fuel (250ml) during race throughout. I found this worked well and could stomach it without any problems.
  • Hi-Jack - high calorie flapjack cut into small pieces and spread across drop bags (Contadino Atlete: https://www.facebook.com/Contadinoatlete/) I always found this was easy to eat no matter where in the race I was.
  • Real food where possible - baked beans on toast was a winner; lots of bananas, pots of Ambrosia creamed rice pudding; a few protein bars early on in race - first 50miles (Aldi - Hike - banana). I will never underestimate the power of beans on toast.



Adam Lomas met me at a mile or so before the Didsbury CP, I must say that the support I got from my running club 'Hyde Park Harriers' was really great. I had been struggling to really run for a few miles as my ankle was reminding me that I had twisted it a month or so before the race. The first drop bag was a welcome chance to refresh and a change of socks. I didn't stay to long at the CP and then on to the section I had recced and was very comfortable with the route, enough not to need the map or gps and just go by head torch to Broadbottom. I reached here well within the cut off of 24hrs at with 6 hours to spare, arriving just after midnight.  My plan had been to go straight on to Penistone but a sore ankle meant that rest was in order and a welcome plate of beans on toast. In trying to sleep on the floor I made a rookie mistake, I had left my sweaty t-shirt on and then lying down, started to shiver but was to tired to bother as there was no bag drop and didn't want to fuss about in my bag, quite a few others had the same experience. Needless to say that my sleep here was not good a couple of broken 20min naps and I paid the price for this later in the race.


After moving along with Wes Evans from Broadbottom for a while, he had to drop out I learnt later due to a fractured foot. Great guy. I pushed on to Penistone and caught up with some runners ahead. With Barry Rimmer flying up from behind looking real strong.

Penistone was the 103mile marker...in under 26hrs... this would be my first 100miles done. Some of the comments in the checkpoint were funny. 'How you doing?' 'I have sore feet'. 'What do you expect after 100miles - 'Sore feet' - 'Yep!' nothing like a dose of realism to focus the mind on the job at hand. Thanks Christopher Kay. Sitting down to change kit and sort feet out was great, getting up was hard and everyone looked and moved liked we had aged about 40years overnight. Getting moving again is the key from now on.


The marathon section from Penistone to Bentley was a long stretch and by the time we hit I was looking to refill my water and wished I had stopped at a café just a few miles back. Some strangers on bicycles who knew about the race stopped us and offered to get us some water, which turned into a cup of tea and then a plate of beans on toast. "Do you want cheese on top?" Of course.
Also thanks Phil Hammond for some awesome support running, after this and really getting moving again for a good number of miles I really started to believe I can do this 200 miles. He called out the mile split times, they could do with some improvement. In the afternoon (Sunday) the lack of seep kicked in and getting to Bentley was the order of the day. I was a couple of hours behind schedule now and missed my family at the CP but had an encouraging note once I arrived. I didn't stay there long, Barry and Peter were there when I arrived and got out in front of me which was the story of the rest of the race.

Later on in the race I posted on FB "Tired now! Random kindness from 'Neil' from North Ferriby ...coffee and jam sandwich."  He had pulled over in his car and just wanted to chat about the race, enthused by it, I was looking for a shop to get a drink -and he offered coffee, done deal. It meant a few hundred metres extra to the route but what is that in 200miles!


Getting to Sykehouse - after briefly stopping at Bentley CP, I pushed on with the plan to sleep at Sykehouse and with some possible tricky navigational sections I wanted to get this mostly done in the the daylight as it was a mainly road then a section along the canal.

I came to a small hamlet - full of large gated houses and as I turned the corner... a DOG, well a BARK! It gave me a fright and it was one of those barks that would tear you be pieces if it could. I couldn't tell if it was behind the gate or wall or what. I was tired and had come to a stop! Would my night be spent tip toeing past a dog, then retreating because I couldn't see, was this the end of the adventure? Darkness and tiredness had crept in and common sense needed to prevail, Bec is good at that... I just got on with it after a few minutes and eventually was past, the light of the head torch revealed a seriously well locked steel gate and the nose of a dog under the gate trying to get out! Well In was soon onto the left turn on the next section along the canal section, where I put my foot down and just wanted to get these miles done, they might have been my quickest of the last 100. It was eerie quiet with swans floating on the canal, the light ahead on the locks and crossing seemed to stay far ahead and I'm sure I saw someone hanging around on the lock which was of some concern, I then saw a security guard which made me feel better about this, it turned out to be a reflective sign on a wall, one was there. Welcome to 'Sykehouse!'

                                                                  Don't fear the dark. 

With 143miles done, blisters, sore feet and ankles! Oh yeah and knees I was offered some bacon butties I just said 3 or 4 thinking rashers, 4 sandwiches appeared a few minutes later and they were scoffed. Now some sleep - I asked to be woken at 4am, but was awake at 3am listening to the other runners getting ready. OK, I need to get up and get going! I might be somewhat competitive.
                                     Arriving                                                Leaving


After some well needed sleep at Sykehouse I set off at about 3:45am on the next section which was around 29miles, I hadn't managed to get out with a couple other runners who had left 20mins or so earlier having arrived at the CP before me. Franck didn't stay at the CP long and he left just before me and we chatted and walked our way into the new day. we were to finish the day together as well 57miles later.
Well on the way again .. ticked off 150 Currently heading towards Goole I stopped to enjoy the sunrise. The route took a diversion on the A614, I might never want to see that road again! I was met later by Steve Rhodes and Rob Howard who picked me up a coffee, which was wonderful and they did a great job at keeping me going, with Steve stoking up my competitive edge. however my feet really hurt every time I stopped now, so any pause was hard to get going again. I started using some sticks which really helped and the pace started to pick up, until we got in some good solid running miles and again faith in that I would reach the finish was there.
The grass banks along the river put a stop to the quicker pace as it was just so uneven and my ankle didn't like that. Some one stopped me just before the banks and wanted me to climb up a bank for picture, I politely declined. 


One of the features of the trail was the many rail crossings especially in the later stages. I was here for a good 5minutes waiting. As Steve and Rob ran with me to the next main turn and wished me well.
That Bridge! The Humber Bridge had appeared near Broomfleet but never seemed to get any closer. Once I reached this that would be 184 done only 16 to go! Meeting Franck at the Humber Bridge CP we decided to work together and get the finish... we were very tired and unloaded what we could of excess food to lighten the load.

Tactical discussions over coffee and biscuits


It was in a somewhat dream like state that I finished the race, pacing it out with Franck and with my friend Rick accompanying us on the final stretch. Neil Rutherford's words in the presentation at the registration event the night before the race regards the feeling of 'déjà vu' was spot on, I'm sure I've finished this race before! It was strangely comforting like a dream remembered or a distance memory. The path and the circumstances of the final 10miles into Hornsea felt familiar, the tiredness of the race with little under 3.5hrs sleep and an hour of that at Broadbottom being very broken had hit home, the dappled effect of rain on tarmac meant I was starting to see faces on the floor and imagine people in the bushes as the leaves and branches took on new forms and shapes.
Rick who had started to read me the football results from the weekend like a sports report brought me back to reality with an update on the Villa with a 4:2 win! Or was this also a dream? Anything would do to occupy the mind and keep the eyes awake.

With the president of the running club 'Hyde Park Harriers' with me to verify that I was wearing my HPH vest (wink) - I think the club 200mile record might just have gone.

Hornsea just never seemed to appear and the light glow of the horizon never opened up until the final few hundred metres. The end surely came, not a moment of euphoria as many said it might be but huge relief as I just wanted to sleep - which in a few moments after pictures and congratulations I was in the car - gone - sound asleep. The feelings of achievement have come over the last week as I have realised what a huge event this was, an epic challenge and it really was 200miles. It took me a couple of days to find all the messages of support from during the race... all were appreciated and really do help when you know people are behind you.
It was a pleasure to cross the line together with Franck Bugianesi - I love this about trail running and especially ultra's... competition fades into respect and camaraderie.


My feet were swollen and my big toe looked larger than usual when I took my socks off, I thought it was juts my toe  but a smaller blister had covered the whole toe by the end and it took me a while to drain the blister which is healing well now. I resisted taking a pic as it was not nice. My ankles were swollen and red and this took a few days to go down. Lots of ice and feet up. I didn't know what to expect from finishing such a long race and wanted to give my self time to recover. I'm ready to get back running soon and looking forward to the DT40 trail race in a few weeks, and I have now signed up for next years #RaceAcrossScotland  which is 212 miles of Southern Upland Way trail fun... a few more hills, so had better get back to training.
                                        The end of the Trans-Pennine Trail - Hornsea

Dementia UK

I was raising funds for Dementia UK to provide nursing care, you can still give if you wish: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/matt-armstrong-ultra2017


I can't thank the UGB team enough - thoroughly supportive and an excellent race as a whole. A race like this puts a lot of responsibility on the runner as always but the team certainly went out of their way to enable the runners to perform to their best. I would recommend their races. This is a truly epic event as well as team that support the race, from marshals to race director, the personal touch from entry to finish line. You won't regret being part of Ultra Great Britain.

Written by Mick Farrar - https://runningoffthemadness.blogspot.fr

Some races seem like a really good idea when you sign up for them.  In September 2016 a few hardy runners signed up for the GU36 race, it seemed we had a lifetime to prepare!!  Denise Ellis, Mark Aston and I were brave enough to step into the breach.

I had run 40 miles in the past and that hurt, without the cliff steps it hurt, but I knew I could run the distance.  It was to be my 5th ultramarathon in as many months and I knew it would be the hardest to date.

Suddenly it was May!! Days were ticking by very fast and there was only time to taper.  I had run 34 miles recently on the Vale of Glamorgan ultra and had kept up a good level of mileage and speed work up since then.  I could do this!!  I'm sure I could do this!  I'll wing it.

A week or so before I got a message from Tina Vivian, a serious legend in the running club although I know she hates the word, asking that if she can arrange things could she join us to Guernsey to cheer Denise on.  "Of course" I replied and was sworn to secrecy.  Within 24 hours Tina had arranged the ferry, an extra bed in Denise's room and entry to the race - that had been full for months!!

The morning of Friday 19th May I set off to pick up Tina, then on to collect Denise, with Tina hidden in the back seat.  After nearly giving Denise a heart attack we set off for the ferry port in Poole.  Once on the ferry Tina finally spilt the beans that she would be running with Denise during the race.

We arrived in St Peter Port at lunch time on Friday, dropped our bags at the hotel and set off around the island on a little sightseeing and race recce.  The roads are narrow and there are plenty of millionaires driving very big sports cars, buses seem to drive most of their route half on the pavement.
The first thing we noticed as we left the port was the rolling hills.  We drove a few miles and headed towards the cliff parking.  The view was stunning, the cliff steps a little less impressive.   After a few more stops we were fully aware of what was waiting for us on Sunday.
Hills and steps!!!

After a few more stops we headed back to unpack and then out for tea.  The island is impressive but the prices are not for the faint hearted!  Saturday was spent being tourists and doing a recce of the flatter stages of the route.  In the evening we met with Mandy & Mark Aston for the last supper.  Mandy, like Tina, had managed to get a last-minute entry into the race and would be joining Denise, Tina and Mark.


Last Supper

Sunday morning arrived.  The sky was clear and even at 5am the sun was starting to warm the air.  I checked in with Tina and Denise and we made our way down the 6 flights of stairs and headed to the start, about half a mile from the accommodation.
Early Start 

We booked in at the start around 6am and were handed our numbers, a few minutes later Mandy and Mark arrived.  We had a little time to chat before the race brief (keep the sea to your left), we lined up ready and then we were off at 7am on the dot!  A quick hug for good luck with Denise and we headed down the quayside towards the first climb, shaking out the runners on the half mile section.

The few first miles set the tone for the coming 8 miles, steep steps, tree cover and breathtaking views.  Every twist and turn presented new bays and hidden beaches.  It was already warm and heating up quickly.  By 8 miles I was sweated out, I needed to keep drinking to prevent dehydration and overheating as the tree cover cleared and the next 8 miles of cliff steps was under the climbing sun.  The water-only checkpoint at Petit Bot was ideally placed and I soon topped up and started the next climb.
The steps we're too steep and uneven to either run up (or down) at any pace at all so most runners walked the steps and ran to the next flight.  There seemed to be long sections of the climb and decent without looking around, just concentrating on the path ahead.  Finally, the lighthouse came into view meaning we were nearing the end of the cliffs!  Eventually, the path picked its way down, turned into a well-trod track and then onto the road, leading us off the last hill and down to checkpoint 2 at 16 miles near Portelet. 

I changed shoes, buff and vest before topping up my Tailwind and eating a few more tasty morsels.  I had run the cliffs with Beth, from Portsmouth, but she had left the CP while I was changing.  I checked everything over and set off along the long sweeping coastal path with no runners in front or behind.  After a few miles, I could see another runner and passed her as we entered a small housing estate.  For the next 4 or 5 miles I played catch up with other runners until, eventually, I caught up with Beth at around 18 miles and we then ran on together.  Beth's husband was crewing for her and met us with cold Coke between Checkpoint 2 & 3.
View from Checkpoint 2 along the sweeping coastline

I kept up my recent fuelling regime -Tailwind, Torq gels and a new addition, energy balls made by a friends daughter that hit the spot with taste and texture!

We passed long, empty sweeping beaches, acres of abandoned greenhouses and houses/mansions I can only dream about.  At around 25 miles we arrived at Checkpoint 3 and quickly refuelled bottles before heading back out again around Ladies Bay before reaching the smell of Mont Cuet landfill site!!!  On a hot May day the last thing we needed was the smell of rotting landfill, our pace quickened.  Around this point we also passed another runner who looked like an extra in the Living Dead films, somehow he was still moving but neither Beth nor I could work out how.

Entering Checkpoint 3 with Beth

We reached the furthest point North-East (Fort Doyle) before passing Beaucette Marina and heading inland around the Sea Farm and then back on the coastal path until we arrived in St. Sampson.  On the way out of the industrial area we found a small roadside cafe where we downed a bottle of cold water and soaked our heads from a water bowl, not sure what we looked like standing there splashing water over our heads.  We moved on and then was on the final stage, 3 miles of coastal path into Saint Peter Port.

At 34 miles I felt sick, very sick. I need to slow, reduce my heart rate and bring my body temperature down.  I told Beth to go on and watched her slowly disappear around the corner at Queen Elizabeth II Marina, she was on a mission.  After a few minutes of walking I picked up the pace again and before I knew it was passing the finish line.  Beth was waiting there with her husband, she had managed to make 10 minutes between our finish times in the last few miles.

I sat and was handed a cup of Prosecco.  After 3 cups of Prosecco, I no longer ached.  The living dead guy arrived, Beth and I looked at each other "no way!" "how the hell?" were muttered, but we went over to congratulate him.

with Beth at the finish

Also waiting at the end were Mark, who had pulled out at the end of the hill section (Checkpoint 2), and Mandy who pulled out at 26 miles (Checkpoint 3).  They decided to wait for Denise and Tina to finish so I made my way back to the hotel, on slightly wobbly legs, climbed the 6 flights of stairs again, showered, changed and headed back towards the finish.  I met Tina & Denise about half way to the finish, both gleaming and both tired.  We met again for a meal in the evening, however, many of the bars and restaurants were closed due to it being a Sunday in low season.

Monday arrived and our ferry was not due to leave until 5 pm so Tina, Denise and me set off for a recovery sightseeing walk around St Peter Port, stopping for rehydration, before catching the ferry and heading home.

Hydration Monday


Farewell Guernsey, It's been emotional.

A race of two halves!!

Would I do it again?  Hell yea!!  Needs saving up for though.

Below is a couple of excellent videos giving a little more justice to the scenery of the course.

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