Written by Sam Robson - http://constantforwardmotion.blogspot.fr/

For the past week I have been following various people on twitter showing off the fabulous weather around Chamonix; beautiful blue skies, glorious sunshine, temperatures above 30 degrees. It was therefore slightly disappointing to arrive in Chamonix on Thursday to cold weather, a lot of rain, and a massive bank of grey cloud where the mountains should have been. Yes, unfortunately the weather gods were not smiling on the UTMB for the third year in a row, and with rumours of another shorter route a la 2010, the disappointment was palpable.

Somewhere behind those clouds there's a mountain with my name on it!

I traveled over to Chamonix with James Elson, who unfortunately had suffered the UTMB curse on his previous trip in 2010. He was, understandably, not amused. We were kindly offered a lift by Richard Felton who was driving over with his girlfriend Kady. Somehow we managed to displace his parents, but they didn't seem to mind!



I did my best to ignore the worrying weather reports of snow, fog, zero visibility and mudslides, and instead soaked in some of the infamous atmosphere in Chamonix. The UTMB race weekend actually consists of 4 separate races: the UTMB (Ultra Trail de Mont Blanc, 166 km, 9,500 m ascent), the CCC (Courmayeur-Champex-Chamonix, 98 km, 5,600 m ascent), theTDS (sur les Traces des Ducs de Savoie, 109 km, 7,100 m ascent), and the PTL (Petit Tour de Leon, a whopping 300 km, 22,000 m ascent). But despite the rain, Chamonix was buzzing. Given the atmosphere at most ultras in Britain it was a huge difference, and more on par with a big city marathon. The locals take time out to come and support all of the runners, with shouts of "allez, allez!" being heard regularly throughout the weekend. There is a finishers chute that runs through the entire town, and the thought of running through the cheering crowd at the end of such an epic undertaking was an exciting prospect! But first we had to find out if we would be running at all...

The finishing chute in Chamonix. Fingers crossed when I head through it will be slightly drier

Given this amazing organisation, the race directors were surprisingly lax at actually informing us as to what was happening. In fact, I was getting most of my information from tweets from iRunFar and the guys at Ultra168 who were present at the press conference. I guess it makes sense that they would want a firm plan in place before announcing things, but I had seen the potential updated race course hours before we ever found out that the course was even being changed!

The upshot was that "the weather was bad, and was due to get badder" (the actual words of the RD Catherine Poletti). Essentially, the upshot was that the weather above about 1,700 meters was becoming highly dangerous, with high winds, snow, and low visibility from fog. Of course, this had been on the cards all week as far as I could tell, so quite why they were taken by surprise so much... 

The PTL runners had begun their epic quest on Wednesday, whilst the TDS runners had started a few hours before we arrived on Thursday afternoon. The news coming in from the TDS runners wasn't great. Many were coming into Chamonix (still to a cracking reception, despite the late time and terrible weather) with a glazed look in their eyes. 

The CCC began on the Friday morning, essentially running the second half of the UTMB from Cormayeur (plus a bit). But with the weather the decision was made to cut out two of the climbs (Tête de la Tronche and Tête aux Vents). Despite this, the majority of the course was as it should be. This left us all with hope that our race would go ahead with only minor alterations. 

Chamonix looks much better in the dry

Unfortunately, 7 hours before the race was due to start, I got a text:

"Start around 7pm. Weather conditions too difficult on the mountain pass. New course 100km France only. 4 layers of clothing required."

Sigh. So, after all of the race prep, and all of the build up, we were left with a much shorter course (103 km, 6,860 m ascent) with none of the mountains. Disappointing. 

But 100k is no walk in the park, and the ~7,000 meters of ascent we were expecting was an exciting prospect! So I tried to put the disappointment out of my mind and instead focus myself on what Luke Carmichael would later dub the mUTCV (Mini Ultra Tour of Chamonix Valley). 

I headed over to the start line with my room mate, Paul Wells, who was a very experienced mountain runner having run the Trans Alps several times before, as well as being an avid triathlete. We joined the throng about an hour before the kick off. The weather was... fine actually. A little cloudy, but there was no rain. Hmm. I would have preferred torrential floods to be honest, rather than feeling like we were missing out for nothing! I got chatting to a couple of English guys, Bill and Chris, while we waited. Both were of course a little annoyed at the changes, but were excited to get going. Chris actually came 28th last year, so we convinced him to go and use his fame to get up with the big dogs in the elite pen. The elites were noticeably thinner on the ground than expected, with several of the Salomon athletes being pulled out at the last minute for other races (such as Steamboat Run Rabbit Run, with its enticing $100,000 prize pot). 

Crammed into the starting pen an hour before the start. The weather didn't look so bad - pretty much how July looked in England

With only a few minutes to go, we were surprised to find that the CCC leader was making his way in - a first for the event. It was an excellent finish, with all of Chamonix and all of the "UTMB" runners on hand to cheer him in. I did wonder what would happen if 2,300 runners suddenly descended on whomever was coming in in second place...

But there was no time for such concerns. The countdown went down, the sounds of Vangelis' Conquest of Paradise played on the loudspeaker (that tune becomes very annoying after the fiftieth or sixtieth time), and we were off! Well, sort of. The pushing was immense, with thousands of runners pushing to squeeze through an annoyingly tight section. And nobody warned me about the step! Luckily there were so many people around me, I couldn't have fallen over if I'd tried, although I later found out that last year's third place finisher Sebastian Chaigneau had no such luck and had taken a pretty nasty spill, but was luckily okay. 

It took a while to get to anything resembling a run, but once I got going it was a great experience. Running out of Chamonix to the sounds of "Allez! Allez! Bravo!", a cornucopia of cow bells, whistles and horns, and high-fiving kids as we ran past was truly astounding. The first 10 km or so is all pretty much flat, with some smaller climbs through the woods of the Chamonix Valley through to Les Houches. At this point I was vey happy with my chosen attire - shorts and a t-shirt, with a thin base layer where I could roll the sleeves up easily. I was also wearing some calf guards for the first time ever as shorts were only allowed if you had something to cover your legs. A lovely German couple that were in the same chalet as Paul and me would later comment that they could recognise the Brits as they all had shorts on. I say that with a modicum of national pride, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't a complement!

This climb sucked. Like, seriously sucked. 10 km my arse!

My game plan had been the usual - run to how I felt, power hike the toughest climbs (I was determined to never get the "cheating sticks" out if I could help it - another British distinction apparently!), and don't waste times at the aid stations. Some water, a bit of coke, maybe some cheese and salami, but otherwise rely on a few gels I had in my bag. I figured that 15-16 hours was a realistic goal. I had my bag packed in such a way that i shouldn't have needed to ever take it off - waterproof in the front pocket, and an UltraSpire handheld bottle for water tucked into the bag that could be carried if I needed to put the waterproof on over the bag. Genius!

As we headed up the climb to Le Delevret, I passed a few familiar faces. Mark Collinson, who had won the SDW100 on my first 100 miler, was looking comfortable, and said that James and Robbie Briton had headed past not long ago. As I headed past, the rain started to come down, but in more of a drizzle than a torrent so I left the waterproof and carried on. I found James pulled over making the sensible decision to put his on, so decided that maybe I should follow suit. It was, after all, due to be wet all night. But aha! My cunning plan meant that I had no need to pull over. Oh no. I continued my hike and slipped the jacket on, smug in the knowledge that I hadn't lost those 10 seconds. Of course what I hadn't remembered was the effect that nighttime can have on your ability to see. As the day drew to a close, and it quickly became clear that the full moon was fighting a losing battle with the black rain clouds, I remembered that I needed to get my head torch. Which was in my bag. Which was under my jacket. Well no problems, I can just take one arm out, reach around, just about... Nope, wrong thing. Is that it? Aha! Gotcha! Now, if I can just close the bag. Bugger, can't get a purchase. Nghhh. Grrr! Can't do it. Shit. Going to need to get the other arm out. Crap, it's caught on my Garmin! Argh! It's all inside out and wet and.... Aaaaaarghh! 

Not my finest hour. Well, 5 minutes at any rate. Good going you idiot! With that little ordeal sorted I got back to the task at hand, vowing that if anything else needed to come out of the bag I would just pull over and do it the sensible way. What is it they say? Less haste, more speed?

Going down! Much nicer than the ascent, but could easily have been somewhere in England...

At this stage, we were still on the UTMB route, and would continue that way through St Gervais (where I was later very surprised to find that I came in only 23 seconds after Jez Bragg who had won two years earlier!), on to Les Contamines, down through Notre Dame de la Gorge, then back up to La Balme. After La Balme, we would begin to loop back on ourselves through an alternate route through to Les Contamines and Les Houches through the Chamonix Valley in a kind of figure-of-eight, meeting up with the latter part of the new CCC route at l'Argentierre, then back to Chamonix. The highest ascent would be below 2,000 meters, with the rest of the ascent made up of shorter (but steeper) climbs. I had heard that the start of the UTMB was a little uninspiring, with forest trails that could really be anywhere but after La Balme it opened out into more interesting mountain passes. Unfortunately, we would not be getting these awesome vistas and would instead be stuck with views that could have been on the North Downs Way a few weeks ago. 

Things were going well, and I was moving up the field nicely. My climbing was surprisingly good for a guy from Cambridge, and I was overtaking people even without using poles. But the downs were really where I was causing some damage. The trails were not too technical and it was quite easy to just let loose and really push the descents. It's much easier on the quads to avoid braking. But of course the danger is that the faster you go the less control you have, and the more likely you are to cause an injury (or, y'know, fall off a mountain...). But I was running at a speed at which I felt confident (watching real descenders like Killian Jornet is amazing, to see the speeds that they can get to whilst still maintaining control) and was able to push up the rankings. 

But then I started to feel hungry. My stomach was rumbling and just felt completely empty. I chucked a gel down, and waited to see if things would improve. They didn't. The climb up to La Balme was starting to feel tough as I just felt devoid of energy all of a sudden. And it was a looooong climb. I had to stop and "stretch" - kind of in the way tennis players check their strings when they miss a shot. I decided that I was going to sort myself out at the next aid station and try and fill my empty stomach. As I was doing one of my "stretches", James passed me, spotting the sideburns like a hairy beacon in the night. He offered to climb with me, but he was going strong and I didn't want to hold him up. By this point the aid station was visible so I knew it wasn't long to go.

The sun is up, and I'm feeling good! I can almost smell Chamonix.

I arrived at La Balme to be treated by a huge bonfire, and a small amount of snow. It was noticeably colder, and one of the aid station assistants told me I would have to put my trousers on before continuing. I was really worried at first as I didn't have any running tights, and tried to explain in broken French that the rules said it was okay to wear shorts as long as I had the calf guards on. However I soon realised I was being dense and they wanted me to put my waterproof trousers on, which was essential kit for the race. Doh!

I grabbed a LOT of food, and headed over to he bonfire to sort myself out. It was bloody cold having to stop here, and I started to shiver quite badly in trying to put clothes on to keep me warm. Oh the irony. I started to munch my way through my rather large picnic when somebody said my name. Once again, my sideburns had been recognised and I was introduced to Marcus Warner one of the Ultra168 guys. I have been following Marcus' ongoing review of the Salomon Sense quite keenly, hoping for something to crop up to put me off wanting a pair (they're on the expensive side). Unfortunately it still seems as if they may be the perfect shoe. Bugger. 

After a bit of a moan from me about my lack of energy (sorry Marcus!) he headed off for the next section. I, on the other hand, went back for seconds. And thirds. And must have been there for about 10-15 minutes scoffing. I have never had that issue before. Usually I hardly eat anything when I run, usually because I would go through expensive gels too quickly otherwise! But now it felt as if I was putting food into a black hole. Some people have suggested this may have been a result of the altitude, but whatever the reason - I was hungry!

A lovely family of supporters cheering us through the last 10 km into Chamonix. Needs more cowbell!

When I finally felt as if I couldn't fit anymore cheese in, I headed off. This section was a lot of fun, and was much more like the race I had expected. After a little bit of getting going (probably waddling from all that cheese), I felt reinvigorated! My running stride was back on track and the leg turnover increased once again. We were running over some quite open ground now, with the light snow being buffeted around us. Unfortunately it was pitch black, but it still felt more like a mountain race than the woods had. As I was following the track, a large group of runners appeared coming the other way shouting "non!". Apparently they had somehow all gone off course, and the lead runner had very nearly run off a cliff! I am not entirely sure how this could have happened as the markings were second to none, and there was a marker right where I was standing, yet somehow we had all managed to make the same mistake. Up in the distance we saw the lights of runners who seemed to know where they were going and a quick check of the course on my Garmin (which unfortunately wiped all of my data up to that point) confirmed it. We all climbed over the fence and headed up onto the (really quite obviously) correct path. Few! 

But I was still hungry. So again, rather than a quick refill and a fond "merci", I was force-feeding myself cheese, and noodle soup. This pattern of overtaking a number of people on the section, only for them to pass me as I scoffed, became a recurring feature through Les Contamines (retourne) and Bellevue. The route down from Bellevue was a hell of a lot of fun, slip-sliding my way down an incredibly steep mud chute. From then on, we were back into forest trail running territory and familiar ground as we once again went through Les Houches. 

Beautiful weather in Chamonix! Shame it was 24 hours too late...

One thing that was absolutely incredible to me throughout the race was that, even in the middle of nowhere, even 2,000 meters up, even in the middle of the night, and even in the pouring rain, there were people out cheering us on. Not just at the aid stations in the villages (which were bustling with activity throughout the night, and the spectators and volunteers were an absolute joy!), but along the route itself. So on my way into back down into Les Houches, on hearing the familiar ringing of cowbells I was most surprised to find that it was, in fact, just a cow. But I take the support where I can get it!

So I was having some stomach issues which weren't awful, and this was slowing me down a lot due to having to eat, but things were still going okay. My legs felt good, and my pacing felt consistent. After Les Houches we hit a particularly uninspiring section of the route - a 5 km climb up a road, to reach a car park. A lovely way to greet the new day. By this point the rain had stopped and the sun had come out, and it looked to be a relatively nice day. On the way up the hill I chatted to a French runner I met about various aspects of running in Europe compared to Britain. He didn't speak much English but I seemed to get on okay with my GCSE level French. I also bumped into a girl who was struggling with her knee. My attempts to explain the complex interactions between the Iliotibial Band and "runners knee" were not so successful, but I think that she got the gist and stopped to stretch in the way that I showed her. Hopefully that helped and she was able to finish. 

We got back into the woods and headed across the valley and passed Chamonix to the sounds of cheering and cow bells as others completed their journey - but we still had another 25 km or so to go, heading up towards l'Argentierre. I made up some time on a slightly technical section downhill through the valley, but when I got to the bottom I realised how hot I was. I stopped to take off my extra layers and got back to running in shorts and t-shirt. As I was fighting with my bag, I was caught up by Luke Carmichael who had the same idea of cutting down on the layers.

Prize giving in the sun

The climb to l'Argentierre was tough. Very tough. A winding, incredibly steep route up through the woods with no sign as to how much further we had to go. Each time we thought that we were nearly there, the route turned a corner where we would find more up. At one point we passed a sign for l'Argentierre saying "25 mins" (presumably to walk), so we assumed we were nearly there. But the route took a different path and it was another hour before we got to the summit. At which point we then had to drop back through the woods into the town.
This last section I had developed a new problem - chaffing. I had now reached the stage when walking was painful, so running had become a no go. Instead I had made the call to walk it in to he finish - a very annoying decision as up until now I had been looking okay (other than my stomach). I stopped briefly to phone Jen and let her know that the reason that it was now taking twice as long between checkpoints wasn't because I had fallen off of a mountain, when I was passed by Paul Bennett whom I had run with at the end of the SDW100 last year. I got back to the task at hand and completed my John Wayne walk into l'Argentierre. 

By this time I had hemorrhaged a few hundred places, and the aid station tent was jam packed. As I grabbed some noodle soup, I saw Marcus again. "We really must stop meeting like this" he said. As we were chatting, Bill came through as well. We headed out for the last 10 km; Bill and Marcus heading off at a good speed for the final push; me gritting my teeth and making my way slowly towards the finish. Along this section, I met a nice French chap called Jean who had also slowed down to a walk, and we had a nice chat as we made our way towards Chamonix. Despite the searing pain down below, and the fact that I had dropped massively off of my planned pace, I was feeling pretty happy. The sun was shining, there were lots of really supportive people out on the trail (and a lot of photographers ready to snap the runners in various states of suffering), and I had made peace with my poor performance long ago. So now I was just soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying the ride. Jean took off to try and get to the finish, and I just kept on moving. The final section was pretty flat and will have been a fantastic speedy session for the fast guys.

The sort of weather we could have expected on the higher peaks over the weekend?

The sound of cowbells in the distance heralded my arrival on the outskirts of Chamonix. I had been saving all of my "Allez"ing for this last section, as I knew that I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for walking through the crowds. I gritted my teeth, rearranged things as best as possible, and set off for one of the toughest kilometers of running of my life! But the cheering crowds, along with swerving to high five as many of the kids as possible, quickly made me forget the pain. I ran through the line that I had been picturing since I had arrived in 19:26:03 - about 4 hours later than I had hoped. And I felt great! A beer and some cheese to recover, and I headed back to the chalet for a shower. Ow... 

The men's race was won by Frenchman François d'Haene in 10:32:36 (the guy never even saw daylight!), with Swede Jonas Buud second in 11:03:19 and America's Mike Foote taking a fantastic third place finish in 11:19:00. The woman's race was won once again by the remarkable Lizzy Hawker for her fifth win (go Team GB!), with Italian Francesca Canepa taking second in 13:17:01, and Spain's Emma Roca taking third in 13:23:37.

The rest of the weekend was spent cheering people on, and generally soaking up the beautiful sunshine (bloody typical) that had graced us. I went up to l'Aguille du Midi, a mountain in the Mont Blanc massif with a summit at almost 4,000 m giving a great view of the surrounding Alps. It was pretty cold up there, about -10 degrees - I got some funny looks wearing my shorts. It was definitely harder to breathe up there, and I did get a little out of breath climbing the stairs, although I do wish we could have run at that altitude to see what would have happened. Oh well.

In the evening, I went along to an event organised by Centurion Running and Extreme Energy for the British runners that had taken part, and it was great fun hearing people's stories (and it was vindicating knowing that everybody thought that it was more than 10 km to l'Argentierre) and how they got on. It sounds as if everybody had done incredibly well, and nobody that I spoke with pulled out. I think about 80 % of us ran in shorts and without poles - "allez les rosbifs" indeed!

Stunning view from the top of l'Aguille du Midi

So overall, things didn't go to plan. But I had a fantastic time none the less. My food issues may have been a result of the altitude that I hadn't considered, and it is definitely something that I need to look into in the future. The chaffing is just one of those things. Usually I avoid it, but this time it became an issue. C'est la vie - can't win them all. In general I was happy with my climbing and more than happy with my descending. I can definitely benefit from adding some hills into my training, and this is something I will work at in the future. But hey, it doesn't always go to plan.

The race itself was incredibly well organised, especially given the last minute changes. It's easy to see why this is one of the top events on the race calendar. I have never seen so many race markings in a single event - frankly it seems impossible to get lost. To have done that over the new course in such a small amount of time was pretty astounding. The helpers throughout the weekend and at the aid stations were amazing, and were incredibly helpful despite my poor attempts at speaking their language. Of course I was very annoyed that I couldn't officially say that I had run the UTMB (particularly as I had essentially wasted my Lakeland entry to be there), but to be clear I wasn't annoyed with the organisers. They know the terrain much better than I do, and were doing what was best for the safety of us idiots. However, I suspect that something will have to change. This is now the third year when adverse weather conditions have affected the route. Hopefully a contingency plan can be developed that can be rolled out if necessary - 100 miles, same elevation, but none of the highest summits. I guess we'll have to wait until next year to see if this happens though. 

So would I come back? Most definitely! After all, I still have to cross the UTMB off my bucket list...

Written by Debbie Brupacher - http://macrunningadventures.blogspot.fr/

In the days before the race we have been asking each other why we came to do this race.  I wasn't quite sure but I think it is so many reasons.  I guess I wanted to do something special on my birthday.  I like to celebrate my birthday and wanted to find an experience I could do while doing it.  I searched for a race in November and came across the Nepal trail running site.  From there the manaslu trail race.  It looked amazing I my interest was quirked.   The thought of taking part wouldn't go away.  I thought the aspect of being in the Himalayas, a place I always want to go, was amazing and that I could take part in a run at the same time was the cherry on the top.  If i am honest with myself I think from the first time I read about the race I knew I was going to do it.  The only problem was that it was in the middle our busiest time at work ...budgets! Somehow I managed to convince my boss that I would be able to make it work and got the time off to participate.  

Stage 1 Arughat (600m) to Machha Khola (900m) – Distance : 25km   Time: 4:07

Our bags waiting to be transported by the porters

Nice clean shoes

 The start of the race was very unusual. It was Tihar,( also known as Diwali in India  and popularly known as the "festival of lights”) and the villagers wanted to bless us before we started.  A group of men from the village played music and all racers walked together behind them to the holy place.  Once there, each runner was blessed and given a scarf and a red dot or tika as it is called, which is a bright red mixture of rice, yoghurt and vermillion powder.   From there we walked back to start, one group photo and with a bang of the gong, we were off.  The run out of Arughat was relatively easy, flat runnable trail but it wasn't long before it turned more technical.   This was a shock to a number of people as they had not expected this type of terrain, for me it was very similar to the terrain of the Swiss Alps where I had done most of my training, so I felt at home and it was great to be running again after so many days travelling. 

The trail goes through amazing landscape, following the Budhi Gandaki River.  Although relatively flat the trail does have some small steep ascents and descents, it passes forests, a few waterfalls, crosses many suspension Bridges and in the horizon the beautiful Mount Shirangi/Sringi Himal  (7187 m) appears.    I ran through beautiful little villages where the whole village would be outside to cheer us on and the little kids would run with us, some for a good 1km or so.  Very often the kids could speak some English and I remember having wonderful conversations with them as we ran along the trail.  These were special fun moments!

Written by Sondre Amdahl - http://sondreamdahl.com/

I have dreamt of running the Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) since I read Born to Run in 2010. And I have slowly built up my milage and my confidence to be able to tackle the UTMB, the «Mother of all ultra trail races». I felt confident going into the race, but I had never imagined that I would finish 7th after a nearly perfect race, a race that was my first trail 100-miler. I will remember crossing the finish line for the rest of my life!  

A dream came true.

First of all, let me tell you a little bit about my self. I am a 42 years old ultra trail-runner from Norway, married to Ingvild and a dad to Ingrid and Mari (both eight years old). I am currently based in Gran Canaria in Spain. I have worked in sales and marketing for many years, but I have now put that «career» on hold for a while, in order to spend more time with my kids and also be able to focus more on my running. I have lived in Norway’s largest ski resort for a decade and done most of my winter running on snow and ice (on cross-country ski tracks or in the ski slopes). Here in Spain I do not have to worry about icy conditions, and I can run on smooth trails year round.

My first ultra race was Kepler Challenge in New Zealand in 2003, when I studied for my masters degree in Australia. Then, work and other commitments took most of my focus/free time, and it was not until 2011 that I did my second ultra,  the 50 mile long Ultima Frontera in Spain (1st place). Last year I finished second at the Pilgrim Challenge, fourth at the Transgrancanaria Advanced (85km) and 18th at Transvulcania. I finished off the 2013 race season with a tenth place at the CCC race in France/Italy (101km). This season started very well with a 6th place at Transgrancanaria in March and also a win at the Hoka Highland Fling in April (race report Highland Fling).

I had big plans for the Lavaredo Ultra Trail (120k) in the end of June, but I got sick a week before the race. After a two week period with no running, I got into training again, and I have had one focus since then  –  the UTMB!

The summer training has gone very well. I have done a lot of running with a lot of vertical, both in Norway and here in Spain, after we arrived in the middle of July. I spent a week in Tenerife and La Gomera in the end of July, which included some hilly long runs on some fantastic trails! In a three week training block in the end of July/beginning of August, I logged 510km running with 26000 meters of vertical gain.

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The three weeks before the UTMB, I slowly reduced my milage and had a nearly perfect taper. I finished the taper with a week long stay in Val Veny in Courmayeur, Italy. It was very nice for me to stay in Italy the week before the race, and escape the hectic atmosphere in Chamonix. I think I got a good adaption to the altitude by sleeping at 1900 meters above sea level for a week.

My race strategy for UTMB was to start fast, but not go all out. I wanted to be near the front, but was also very focused of doing my own race and let my body adapt to the terrain and the pace.  After Les Houches, I saw that I was running near by a lot of guys that I know are very experienced (Yeran Duray, Jez Bragg, Mike Foote, Timothy Olson and Hal Koerner), and therefore should be able to adjust their effort thru out the race. I decided to hold the same pace/effort that I had gotten used to, as I felt very comfortable on both the hike up and then the run downhill to Saint-Gervais (21km).

Full focus. This is just after La Contamine.

I got into a good rhythm after Saint-Gervais, and honestly just kept that rhythm all thru the night. I passed some runners, but I was also passed by a few. I have struggled on the downhills for the last couple years, but felt much more comfortable at this race. Luckily all my spesific downhill training the last months have paid dividends.

I got to Courmayeur after ten hours of running. I had a short chat with Bryan Powell from irunfar.com, and he said I looked strong. I did feel strong too, but we agreed that «The race hasn’t started yet». I saw my crew in Courmayeur, and they helped me with my gels and my drinks. My race nutrition is very simple: Tailwind Nutrition and some gels. I use gels when I can not get hold of Tailwind and have to rely on the energy drinks at the aid stations. I picked up some bars in La Contamine and in Courmayeur, but never ate them.

I have a lot to choose from, but normally just stick to Tailwind and a few gels (GU, Hammer Nutrition and Clif-shots).

After Courmayeur, Gediminas Grinius and Jason Schlarb passed me. Jason was soo fast that I didn’t even think about following him. I passed some runners during the night and into the morning, Mike Foote and Tony Krupicka was two of them. I was sixt at the aid station at Trient. I did the last part of the UTMB-course last year (at the CCC) and knew that if I could keep a good pace on the downhills, I had the chance of a top ten finish. I am normally strong on the uphills and knew that all the other guys had to be tired too, so I could not loose too much time hiking uphill. I heard reports that I had between 10 and 20 minutes down to the next runner, but did not believe to much in those reports, as things can change very fast at the end of a race as long as the UTMB.

So, there was no surprise when Andrew Tuckey from Australia reeled me in after the aid station in Vallorcine. But, he looked a bit tired too, so I decided to try to push as hard as I could up to the last aid station in La Flegere (8km to the finish). By doing that, I figured that we would keep the pace high enough to keep the 8th, 9th and 10th place behind us all the way to the finish. And that strategy worked! Andrew and I stayed together up to La Flegere, filled our bottles there and started running down to Chamonix. We stayed together until it was three kilometers to the finish. I don’t think Andrew increased the pace that much, it was just that I didn’t have the speed required to keep up with him on the steep downhill section just before the village.

Last hike up to La Flagere. I think Andrew Tuckey is just behind me.

The last part of the course was pretty muddy in some places.

Sondre Amdahl from Norway in 7th place.

I tried to soak up as much of the atmosphere as possible after I had crossed the finish line. The UTMB-organizers do such an incredible job in order to make all the finishers feel that they are the «winner». And I felt that I had actually won the 7th place last Saturday.

The price giving ceremony was another highlight for me. I had a humble feeling being around all the other elite racers, but they were all so nice and inclusive!

What’s next for me? After some easy days, I’ll start preparing for my next race, the Tenerife Bluetrail in October. After that race, I plan to take November off, before I start preparing for the spring season. Main targets for the spring/early summer of 2015 is Transgrancanaria, Transvulcania and hopefully the World Ultra Trail Championships in France in the end of May (if I qualify for the Norwegian team).

CEP leggings.

Shorts from Pearl Izumi.

Buff and caps.

Salomon T-shirts at daytime.

Long shirt from WAA from the start in Chamonix to the aid station in Champex-Lax (ca. 15 hours). This is a very nice piece of apparel. A long zipper to control the temperature and enough pockets to store gels, gloves and other stuff you need along the trail.

Jacket from The North Face.

Petzl Nao headlamp.

Salomon S-lab backpack and Salomon softbottles.

 

 

 

One of my taper runs in Val Veny the week before the race.

So, how can a dad to two kids and a full time worker (I have worked more than full time for the last ten years) end up playing with the big guys on such a big stage as the UTMB? This is what I have focused on the last three/four years in order to achieve the things that I have done:

 

I run a lot
There are no shortcuts. I run on average 120 to 130 km. per week, year round, most of it on trails with a lot of vertical. I do most of my long runs with a backpack similar to the one I use at Transgrancanaria or the UTMB.

 

 

I work with a coach/mentor
I have worked with Ian Sharman/Sharman Ultra for more than a year now. My running has improved a lot as a result of our cooperation. Ian has a lot of knowledge about ultrarunning, and it has been very helpful for me to discuss training, race nutrition, race strategy and long term planning of races and recovery. Ian is very friendly and easy to talk to. The training plans that he makes for me are very good, and I feel that they are customized for my needs and my life situation. As a mentor, Ian do not need to motivate me to train – it is more important that he reminds me to cut back when I am tired or feel fatigued.

Power-hiking up to Catogne.

I am very happy with my race strategy. I had no big low points, and could focus on a steady pace.

Top ten.

Towards La Fouly. Photo: irunfar.com

A great moment – prize giving ceremony in Chamonix on Sunday.

Hola amigos! 7th place overall and third in the V1 category. Iker Karera and Tofol Castaner tied for 1st place in V1.

Yaran Duray from Gran Canaria looked so strong before ha had to pull out of the race due to injury. I hope you recover fast, Yeran!

«This is the captain speaking. The temperature at Las Palmas airport is 28 degrees. Have a pleasant stay and welcome back to Air Europa». I am just so lucky to be able to call Gran Canaria HOME!

Written by David Ickringill - http://ibizaultrarunner.com/

Addiction sounds like a dirty word these days, conjuring up images of delinquents sat in a dingy crack den, so it’s time to come clean (no pun intended) I am an addict. Not of the crack pipe but a much better, higher high than ingested substances can provide, I’m talking of course about the endorphins and satisfaction we get from running. When we are not running, we crave a run, just a five minute stretch around the block; maybe just sit watching the common wealth games wearing our trainers as its taper time. Whatever the reason/ excuse, we need a fix; there is no other way to describe it.

Ok, now I am out about my addiction which started in January 2012, I can get around to describing what has to be one of the most memorable few days of my life, after a little more preamble… My dad was proper old school, never showed any emotion and set the bar higher than I could ever reach to gain his approval. Maybe finally I have done something physically challenging enough that he might have given me that single hug I sought all my life. My mum on the other hand would have thought I was the greatest, simply for running my first ever race the Brighton Half Marathon in February 2012 and absolutely forbade me from doing something as stupid as running a 100 miles..

The NDW100 was to be my second ultra, following on from a ‘just inside the cut-off’ 13:08 finish in the 2014 NDW50 which served as my qualifier for the NDW100. The training and build up to the NDW50 was poor due to many reasons not least of which were a three week trip to Disneyland not too long before race day! My hopes were high, but modestly placed that I had more to give this challenging 100 mile course across the beautiful North Downs. Why do we want to run a 100 miles in the first place? This is a question I and probably thousands of others would like an answer to, but without knowing why, my life would never be complete if I had never tried the distance. I blame Geoff Roes/ Anton Krupika/ Kilian Jornet and Hal Koerner for my obsession with the 100 mile distance. So I’m not only an addict, but a freak who is obsessed with running a 100 miles, my fantastic wife Shelley knows there is no stash of money anywhere, so quite why she puts up with me remains a mystery. Back to the point, yes a 100 mile obsession started by the movie “Unbreakable: The Western States 100”, quite simply if you haven’t seen this movie, give it a try, you will not be disappointed.

The idea of Shelley being my crew for the race was sold like a credit default swap, packaged up with a week-long trip to the UK staying in a nice hotel complete with a pool and all the extras. The in-laws need little encouragement to see our children, Harvey nine and Jemima five so agreed in a jiffy to come down and help out with child care and a crew stop at halfway. The team was taking shape, pacing came from Scott my old running partner who responded to my initial email far more eager than anticipated. Ideally I was hoping he would jump in at mile 50, but on reflection his decision to wait until mile 70 (72) was perfect.

After a couple of months of hard training and eating a bloody good diet I felt ready to give the North Downs my best shot. Living in Ibiza training over the summer has been tough, very tough in a summer without a single drop of rain for many months and morning temperatures over 30oC. Even being out of the door for 05:30 long runs in the hills mean there is no escape from the unforgiving mid-morning rays of the Balearic sunshine. Late night head torch runs are a battle with stifling humidity.

Training done and we are on the plane at 05:00 to land in a miserable, grey and very wet Gatwick at 06:10 on Wednesday pre-race. The next few days were blissfully spent with Shelley and the children, my final piece of work a 10k on the hotel treadmill and it felt good. On the eve of race day the journey from Farnborough to Farnham to register and collect bib number was wet, very wet, to the extent that by 10pm I was hoping to receive a race cancelled message from the race organisers.

My race plan had been to aim for a 12 hour first 50 miles, having gone over it a zillion times in my mind where to get 68 minutes from? I knew for sure I was stronger on hills and would gain time there and the latter seven miles would be much quicker. I was hopeful of getting halfway near to 12 hours. The plan was to go real slow and steady in the first 50, but the weather forecast scared me half to death and I wanted to bank enough time that I wouldn’t be fleeing from CP to CP in the nick of time in the anticipated mud.

Shelley had set her phone alarm as backup to mine not going off for any reason but failed to realise her phone was on Ibiza time so we were up and buzzing an hour ahead of schedule at 03:15. It’s fair to say nerves were an issue, I had not been this nervous since my first acting performance at Junior school when I was sick onstage! The morning turned out to be a gift from above, I actually looked skywards (not the only time this day) and said thank you. At Farnham school hall Shelley was in awe at the sight of so many ‘nutters’ as she now calls us, she got a real spine tingling buzz from the energy in the room listening to James ‘ race briefing. What did he say about the stretch of woods after mile 60, “it might not be obvious”, “oh f*ck I was going to get lost for sure!!” Navigation and a total lack of any kind of sense of direction is my Achilles heel. Walking to the trail head the weather was picture postcard material, freshness in the air from the heavy rain and lovely sunshine to warm the soul. Today I was going to start near the back and not get caught up in a frantic 9min mile pace at the start!

The first mile or two were a little bit stop/ start as people ahead where doing acrobatics to avoid the huge puddles stretching the width of the trail and avoiding the very overgrown brambles but this was a nice steady way to get warmed up. After a couple of miles the convoy started properly rolling and things felt good, the frequent beep of the Suunto indicating another passing mile seemed to fly by. The first aid station at the golf course was soon upon us, quick top up of water and off. It was great chatting to people along the way, a guy from Cumbria who did UTMB last year telling how vitally important it was to start slow, he was 2,200 at CP1 at UTMB and finished 1,110. I saw Tim Lambert and passed him without knowing for sure it was him, my first thoughts were that it couldn’t possibly be Tim as he did around 10:30 for NDW50 and I shouldn’t be anywhere near him. Chatted with an experienced 8 x 100 mile finisher from Sweden who said 100 mile races in his area were £10 and great fun, sounds like a plan J? Sadly I don’t think he finished. Conditions were near perfect, the rain had dampened the sandy parts of the course, which had become compacted from those in front making it nice underfoot. In places the mist created some amazing ethereal scenes from the warming sun. The one over-riding thought I could not shake was how good I felt, it didn’t seem real. A few times I took photo’s to try and slow myself down, it didn’t seem possible that I was going this good without a care in the world! Sometime after the second aid station I started chatting with Paul Haynes, we hit it off and seemed to be travelling at a similar pace. As he told me his running cv I thought I should not be running alongside such a good runner but felt great and was not going to slow down any more as we chatted the miles away easily. We saw Tim a few times and ran together for a few miles which was good, everyone was rooting for him to achieve his very public dreams and honour his promise to his good friend from the US. At Boxhill CP Tim informed Paul and I we were on for sub 11 hour 50, I was honestly shocked beyond belief it was right here I was getting concerned that implosion was going to come in spectacular style and the feel good was a barrier to inevitable meltdown. Boxhill came and went, I loved every step of that hill, the miles still ticked by with ease. At one point I said to Paul “You go on ahead I would hate to think I was slowing you down”, he replied “I was going to say the same, you are travelling the hills so well”. Probably the biggest compliment I ever received in my life!!! Botley Hill aid station was memorable as a lovely girl was hugging every runner atop the hill, great stuff from the volunteers. For the first time I felt something on my left ankle and knew immediately what it was, the aggravating tendon issue felt on my right foot during NDW50. Also I knew there was nothing on earth I could do once it started, initially it is discomfort rather than pain. We passed the dodgy cow fields without incident, Paul wisely suggesting “Let the guy up ahead run past the cows at speed see what mood they are in.”. After the cows I seem to remember we put the hammer down slightly, Paul shouted “Car behind” I squeezed into the hedge aside the road only for the in-laws and Jemima to pass on their way to the half way point with my bag of goodies and hopefully a load of moral support. It was at this time II knew some higher force was looking after me on this weekend for sure. We arrived at Knockholt knowing it was around 11 hours and sat down for feeding, today was a good day.

The halfway aid station at Knockholt is magical, lots of crews excitedly waiting for their runners, hot food and drinks being served in the kitchen, generally most people are still in decent shape. Personally I was full of beans inside the hall getting lots of calories on-board thanks to some lovely hot pasta in addition to all the usual goodies, even had time for a visit to the wc, pity I had brought no reading material.. It was around ten minutes before I emerged outside into the late afternoon sunshine and big hugs from Jemima and the in-laws, this was a special moment. Paul had met his wife at Riegate and then Knockholt when he had not expected to see her at all so he was especially buoyant as we rolled out of town together. It was at this stage I mentioned my legs felt leaden after the ten minute sit down, Paul assured me they would return. His experience was on the money again and soon we were moving nicely again along mainly residential streets, here is a big % of the roads that make up the 20% of the total. It was after a few miles of the unrelenting roads and pavements that my left ankle/ tendon started giving significantly more discomfort to the extent I was feeling it affect my gait. Several times I said to Paul, “You go ahead, I don’t want to slow you down”, each time he valiantly insisted the pace was good for him. I said it one more time and he knew I was not able to sustain what was a reasonable pace to this stage from Knockholt. Again the voice of reason said “Ok, I will get my music on, don’t spoil your race by doing too much at this stage”. I learned so much from running some really enjoyable miles with a good runner and good egg, more than books can teach us for sure. After half a mile I saw my new best mate again as my tendon ‘thing’ meant I could still travel smoothly UP the hills, I didn’t get his attention he soon left me again on the following flat section. The 60 mile aid station came up fairly quickly and I was still making time on my original plan so called Shelley to bring forward my meet with her and Scott from 01:00 to 23:00 / 23:30. It was here I saw Paul for the final time as he rolled out whilst I sagged in a chair enjoying the last of the daylight. As per every aid station the volunteers are amazing, refilling bottles, coffee/tea, nothing is too much trouble. It is only through other blogs I remembered the cow bell here, was like a film set “Runner coming” ring, clang, ring, happy times, treasured memories.

The first Gremlins struck leaving this CP, a single piece of tape made me unsure of the direction, I spent ten minutes wrestling the map and trying to figure if I went across the road or to the right before a group of runners said I should go right! The decline in spirits seemed to be working in unison with the fading daylight. Another mile down the road and another decision to make, straight on or turn right again, asking a woman who pulled in a mini up outside a quant cottage “Which way for North Down Way?”, she didn’t know but beckoned me into the ‘cottage’ which turned out to be a strange little pub! A local guy whose ear bore dozens of studs pointed me straight on “They all went that way he pointed”, phew. But the drama wasn’t over, a guy with a voice box in his neck chased after me hollering as much as a voice box will allow “No, no, no, this way” and he lead me down the right turn and pointed to a sign on a pole, an orange star labelled “DC”. “That’s not our sign, it must be the other way” I told him, and started back where ear ring man had pointed me. The other guy grabbed my arm and jogged with me down the road insisting this was the correct route, and lo and behold red tape. I shook the guys hand heartily, he had probably saved me many miles and a lot of pain, earing man meanwhile had tried to stitch me up. This was the first proper alone stretch, into the woods in the pitch black, only the rounded beam of my secondary head torch showing me the way. It was magical, like something we dream about all our lives, that totally at peace feeling, the sounds of the darkened woods felt as normal as my own heartbeat. I trudged and walked through the woods enjoying every minute whilst being aware of potentially ending up in here until dawn should I take a wrong turn, James’ warning popping into my head now again.. Another head torch caught me up at great speed “You pass me, I’m walking it out of the woods.” he seemed to want the company through the woods, strength in numbers etc. We moved on together in total silence, our head torch beams re-enacting scenes from star wars. Up to now my stomach had been 100%, a strange sickness feeling started at the latter stages of the woods and I became intensely aware of the very circular beam of the torch which seemed to be making me dizzy and sick. Holly Hill came and was a great explosion of fairy lights and crazy volunteers, my frazzled brain by this time didn’t make the connection between Holly and Christmas. My equally frazzled sense of humour cracking a poor joke about me slowing down so much it was now Christmas. I heard mention of dogging so I gave my thanks and left hurriedly, I had no energy for that sort of stuff!

In my mind the meeting with Shelley, Harvey and my pacer Scott was going to be at mile 70, on a road over the motorway, a location chosen for the street lighting. My watch told me I was at 70 miles and no road in sight, a few drops of rain had me unleashing my jacket for its maiden usage. The next couple of miles seemed long, and this was my first of many experiences of thinking I had done more miles than I had, it hurts like hell mentally. Eventually reaching the road over the motorway and no sign of my crew, a frantic phone call and some jogging from both parties and we were unified at mile 72.3! My feet were trashed by now, Shelley did a great job trying to repair them but it was too late, they were mincemeat. Addizero’s and holed socks were swapped for Leaadville 2010’s and new socks, a hot coffee was enjoyed and in all used at least half an hour where it should have been five minutes. This was a learning experience, my first 100 and Shelley’s first go at crewing, we both need some refining! Shelley was in shock at the sight of the many runners hobbling like crippled aliens over the road, she said “None of you look sane, I’m saying that honestly, I just don’t get it.”. Harvey seemed down in spirits seeing me in this now broken state but I knew the buckle was coming home bar an accident, I didn’t realise yet how misplaced my confidence was. Without yet realising it, my condition had taken a plunge from Holy Hill, I didn’t realise 99% of the next 30 miles would be painfully walked. Headtorch was changed for the Petzl daddy torch at this stage and no more head torch dizziness were encountered all night. Scott was in high spirits as we jogged/ shuffled a mile or two but I cried enough, I knew this was going to be a long slog from here, walking was a good few octaves less on the pain scale, I couldn’t handle the pain of running a whole lot more. The rain for the next few miles was relentless, yet my new Marmot dealt with the downpour with ease, it actually felt like I was cocooned safely inside a protective wrapper. The mind is weird when tired and frazzled but I could live with the safe cocoon feeling for now. Somewhere along this stretch we passed a guy who had given up the struggle in his own mind. We tried hard to convince him to walk it into the next aid station with us and re-group, we dropped our pace but as we did the guy dropped his pace. I felt a duty to get the guy to the aid station with us but my efforts seemed futile so we marched into Bluebell Hill where I told the volunteers of the guy that would be following us in and his likelihood of dropping. The guys took a mental note but told me there would be a whole lot more over the night. Shelley had wanted to see me at this aid station but sleep had taken hold whilst Harvey was snoring for England, we had a brief kiss before setting off down a long, dark, very steep and slippery slope which was no coincidence that I cannot remember much of this next stretch after descending the hill into hell. We were sort of lost in some woods until a guy with gps device said I think we go left. We marched up and down a lot of steps and trudged mercilessly on into the wet night. The saving grace of the wooded sections was the canopy slowing down the driving rain, it was very wet rather than very wet with a real sting. By now I was suffering pain at a level unknown previously, legs, ankles, feet, Jesus my feet were trashed. Scott was doing his best to keep me entertained and aware of my surroundings but I had just switched off from reality for a while.

Maybe the warm food or coffee revived me as memories from Deitling onwards are far more lucid, what a site it is that greets people entering the hall at mile 82, broken bodies everywhere, some seemingly in meditative state trying to summon the courage to go back out into the driving rain and darkness. Scott went and woke Shelley and sat with the sleeping Harvey whilst my best friend and wife of 16 years looked at me with sad eyes sat opposite me in the hall. She didn’t need to ask the question but I knew inside she was screaming at me “Why, why the f*ck are you doing this to yourself?” In equal measure I gave her my silent reply with my watery eyes “I don’t know, I just have to, you know that”. It was hard leaving this aid station, the clock said 04:20 we needed to get going, I wasn’t paying attention on the way out as the guy gave us directions, we took a right and chatted with a two times UTMB finisher who looked more broken than anyone I had seen all night. Half a mile later we knew this was the wrong way, wizened UTMB man had stopped higher up waiting for a signal that we had gone the right way before he started re-tracing steps back to the main road. Scott was full of energy and was brilliant at scouting ahead and saved me a mile at least on this occasion. Even now, I’m not sure we wouldn’t have been better continuing the wrong way from Deitling, what we encountered on the correct path was pure unadulterated nastiness, ankle deep mud, 50% gradient slopes, cambered slopes, steps, did I mentioned them. These next few miles brought out a first in me, I wanted to quit. The thought I had never had before, and always assumed I would never think this thought and there it was bold as brass, I wanted to sit down and wait for someone to get me off the course. Scott did a great job, reminding me of the potential look on Harvey’s face being told “Your daddy quit, he’s a quitter, a loser”. I responded by yelling more f*cks at trees, the trail, Scott, how on earth this made me feel better I have no idea but it did and I picked up the death march pace with gusto. We trudged on, and on and on, my watch had gone awol on distance and timing as I had stupidly paused without knowing at times. Along this stretch pacer Scott had played a trick on me, he took off his head torch and said it would not turn off and proceeded to carry it in whichever hand I was walking beside, I moved left, he swapped the torch, I dropped in behind and he put it on his head backwards. My inner demons telling me my pacer and friend was trying to make me quit. Enough, I asked Scot to put his fricking broken head torch in his pack, good it was out of sight. Five minutes later I could see it flashing through the fabric, so it was the torch all along, it wasn’t Scott. No worries, at the next aid station I would get it from the bag and drop a stone onto it’s miserable flashing head, ha see who was laughing then mr head torch. Of course by the time we reached the aid station other more interesting paranoid thoughts had occupied the vacant cavity in my head. The main one being “We are not going to make it in time”, sadly for Scott and myself, I let this thought take over, and the effect this had on my morale was dramatic.

The next few miles are a blur again, a lot of roads I think, Shelley phoned Scott had to take the call my mental faculties were not ready for phone conversations. Shelley wanted to wait outside the final aid station to check we were ok, or maybe that was Lenham, I really don’t know. From Dunn Street at mile 98 I started to believe we were going to make it in time but the pain levels were just silly by now but the death marching was on reasonable terrain until the final couple of miles across ploughed fields where I had my final tantrum and said I would not walk another step after Scott had duped me again on how far we had to go, one mile being two and a half. He tried to cheer me up by asking “Who is the bloke with the beard who started the Western States race?”, “I’m not telling you, why should I?” was my pathetic reply. Finally he managed to convince me this would be the most pathetic DNF they had ever seen, 400 yards from the finish…Eventually the fields gave way to a long stretch of nettles where I got soooo much pleasure seeing my pacer near to tears trying to get through the nettle patch. I’m saying to myself “He’s bothered about f*cking nettles is this a wind up, nettles, he’s winding me up the pussy”. I walked through and never felt a thing, my body was near to shut down and the barriers were down in my head and across the train tracks.. My buckle is waiting I thought smugly. Seeing Shelley and Harvey was a special moment in time, those final few minutes of the race are among my top ten ‘moments’ of my whole life. I received my buckle and place in the Western States ballot from Nici, gave her a bone crunching hug and cried.

Writte by Tremayne Dill Cowdry - http://dill-runs.blogspot.co.uk/

Having failed in 2014 to gain entry into Western States again I made other race bookings for the year. Everything was sorted until my entry for UTMB came up, I had got in through the lottery. I cancelled the LL100, the C2C and The UTMB became my "A" race.


Training for this was going well up until 4 weeks out when I suffered a minor burn out. Being so busy trying to run a business and training had taken its toll. I was working 7 days a week, doing 10 hours labour a day plus my hill training of an evening. I was knackered! I was getting up, working, training, eating and sleeping. I got a couple of heavy migraines 4 weeks out which is a sure sign I was run down then I picked up a cold and chest infection. With 3 weeks to go I missed my last long run and had to settle for shorter high intensity stuff. I actually worked 35 days on the bounce before finishing on the Sunday before the race so I had a few days to chill out before we flew out. All my planned visits to the Lakes and Brecons went by the way side and little did I know what an effect this would have on my race.


This race could be done cheaply I suppose but I didn't find it cheap at all. When you start totting up I probably spent £1.8k total for my wife and I although only I ran. There was race entry, hotel for 5 nights, flights, insurance (used dogtag for specialist insurance), transfers, eating out, new kit, spending money whilst out there, the list goes on and on. We treated it as our summer holiday so I'm not complaining.

My room with a view.

We flew out from Heathrow on Wednesday morning and had a nice enough journey using BA for flights and Cham express for our transfer. The weather had been awful on the Tuesday but as we arrived the sun was shining the beauty of the Alps became more apparent as we got closer to Chamonix. I was in awe as I stared out of the mini bus window at the gorgeous mountains passing us by. After an hour and a half transfer we were there dropped off right outside our hotel and checked in. After a lengthy wait we managed to get sorted and got to our room. No, no, no this room was not good enough, no window! I can't stay in the Alps and make do with skylight especially after all the money we paid. Back downstairs and kindly ask to be moved. "We only have one other room and its a bit noisy", fine we'll take it. It was lovely, a view of the station one side and Mt Blanc out the other.


I decided to get my kit checked in straight away so I was free on the Thursday. I chucked my kit together and headed for the check in. Below is everything used or carried during the race.


Raidlight  Endurance 14 ltr pack: After trying many packs in the run up I decided on my very old and faithful pack. I can't get on with vest type packs, doing a physical job means I haven't got a typical runners physique and they rarely do up across the chest especially when full. A lot of runners had small packs and some looked like there was no way they had the mandatory kit. Any way my pack was perfect for the job. Heavy but perfect.


Water supply: I used a standard bottle for water kept in the bottle holder of my pack and a slim-line bottle shoved in my pack for emergencies and to make up the mandatory water requirement. Worked fine and only had to crack into my small bottle a couple of times.

Hows that all going in that bag?

Mobile: Iphone that has to work in all countries all the time so I took an external battery aswell, Mandatory.


Personal cup: I bought the Salamon cup which is tiny so didn't use it. What I did is to get a beetroot juice carton and cut the top off, folded up and shoved in my pack. You do need something if you want coke or tea etc because there is no cups after about the 4th aid station. Worked perfect. Mandatory.


2 Torches with spare batteries: My main torch is a Silva Trail Runner 2 used with Lithium batteries. This torch works fine and is very comfy with a good light beam. My back up is a Silva Siju which is fine but only as a back up. Mandatory


Survival Blanket: I bought the cheapest, smallest conforming blanket available at the expo. Mandatory


Whistle: On pack. Mandatory


Bandage: I had a small roll of self adhesive bandage stuffed in my pack. I also carried 2 stretchy tubey grip bandages in case my knees packed up. The roll was mandatory but the tubey was not.


Food reserve: Carried Gu gels,a Snickers and an Eat Natural bar. Mandatory. I got this majorly wrong but more about that later.


Waterproof coat: I carried my Hagloffs LIM which I carry on every race. Has never let me down. I also carried a disposable poncho for the first time which went over me and my pack when faced with a shower. Worked brilliant and will defo use it again as it so much easier than unpacking and putting your coat on and off. Coat mandatory, poncho not.


Long trousers or over the knee shorts and long socks: This one was the hardest to decide on and I actually changed 10 minutes before leaving for the start. My final choice was to wear compression shorts and have full compression tights in the pack. This was the right choice as I wasn't cold and didn't need to change. Unless you wear tights in the UK you'll be fine in shorts. The long trousers were Mandatory.


Warm layer: I carried and wore an Ice breaker Merino wool base layer 260g. Merino wool is fantastic and in my eyes the best clothing you can have. You don't get cold or hot or smell like a urinal. Mandatory.


Cap or Bandana: I carried both and usually always do. Mandatory.


Warm Hat: Same Berghaus hat I've had for years. Mandatory


Warm and waterproof gloves: I carried fingerless gloves because they are my preference but for mandatory reasons I carried light weight silk glove liners and black marigolds.


Waterproof trousers: Berghaus Paclight Goretex trousers. Rarely get worn but in this case mandatory.


Passport: Mandatory


Poles: Black Diamond Ultra Z poles optional but one of the most important items I had. So important that I couldn't have finished without them.


Handwarmers: The teabag type. Not mandatory but I have a problem with cold hands so carried them just in case.


Scaps: My electrolytes.


Pro plus: My caffeine hit.


Gurney goo: Foot lube


Spare socks: Merino Wool.


I wore;


Inov-8 290 race ultras, t-shirt, compression shorts, salomon cap, buff on my wrist, drymax socks with Gurney goo, Rock tape on various bits and my Suunto.


My drop bag contained a change of clothes, shoes and gels etc. My crew/wife carried similar. 

Queue for Reg

I joined the back of a very large queue leading into a sports hall to get my kit checked and collect my number. It took a good hour to get into the sports hall and the front of the queue. I had to keep checking kit as I was so worried I'd forgotten something, too late now though I was called forward and handed over my passport. The lady tapped at her computer and looked at her screen quizzically, shit I thought what is wrong but within a few seconds a print out appeared and I was ushered on. On the print out I was asked to provide my long trousers, phone and water bottles. Kit checked passed and relax. My pack was tagged, my number handed over and the treasured wristband applied. I was out of there. I had a look around the very good expo and bumped into Peter Bowles, who was going to do the CCC. Our paths had crossed many times so it was finally good to have a chat and wish each other luck in our respective races. That evening we met some other UK runners and supporters for a few beers and a chat, we then headed back into town to watch some of the early TDS finishers come in.

Check in done

On the Thursday we did some sight seeing and went up on the biggest cable car in town. Not a great idea for someone as scared of heights as me. This thing was mental it virtually went vertical up the mountain but I just got on and didn't look down. The thing is, when this behemoth went over a ridge and crossed a pylon it started swinging. Oh my god what is going on, this is awful! I nearly passed out. Having said that it was a lovely trip after all and very beautiful indeed.

T minus 2 hours.

I had a great nights sleep and woke at 7ish on race morning, little did I know that would be the last sleep for at least the next 50 hours. We had breakfast and a walk around town trying to kill time but all I wanted was the start now. Town was slightly quieter as the CCC was under way, we grabbed a sandwich and headed back for me to get ready. The nerves were jangling but I just kept telling myself it was like repping Ben Nevis 10 times which somehow made the task seem a little less daunting. I was ready but just before leaving my room I decided to change from 3 quarter shorts to above the knee compression shorts. We walked down to the start line 2 hours early and there was plenty of room so I took a seat on a kerb and waited. Soon it was heaving and my wife had to walk away because it was just so manic. With an hour to go there was not a square inch around me but every so often someone would tip toe over everyone and squat into a non existent space. We had a few drops of rain which made some stand to don their coats which in turn made others surge forward, within seconds like a giant wave we were all forced to our feet and packed in like sardines. All the elite runners were now in the front pen and we all moved forward. I was so worried about this start as I thought if I lost a bottle or a stick I would never be able to stop and pick it up. As the music blared with minutes to go the sky opened up and it was lashing down. I took the decision to get my poncho out and get covered as everyone got packs off and rifled round for their coats. We were now down to the final minute and the Vangelis tune played, then the countdown and we were off. The start is manic, people jostle for position, crowds scream at you, and all the time you are careful not to fall.

Not long now.

The further out of town we got, the crowds dissipated and I was able to have a pee stop, two hours on the start line had taken its toll. The pace was fast as everyone wanted to crack on and the trail was easy. We soon reached Les Houches about 5 miles in and crossed the main road, before we knew it we were heading up our first climb. It was a steady climb up but by this time it was hammering down and my poncho was no longer cutting it and I was getting chilly so I stopped and put my coat on, after about an hour we reached the top. I felt good as we started to descend but it was steep, grassy and wet. My inov-8s were untested on this terrain so I took it steady thinking a fall would just end my race. The amount of people passing me was sickening, some were literally sprinting past me. We reached St Gervais and the party atmosphere was in full flow, screams of Allez,allez,allez filled my ears. This was amazing. I refilled water had some coke and onwards.

The first climb.

From St Gervais it was fairly runnable to Les Contamines then the climb to Col du Bonhomme. I was fast hiking all the way up passing lots of people and occasionally turning to marvel at the endless snake of headlamps behind. The higher we got the more aware of the altitude I was, getting slightly more breathless, very thirsty and sore headed. We passed the Col on to Croix du Bonhomme. We started another long descent into Les Chapieux, again I was getting pummeled on the descent, I just couldn't get any speed but I felt strong. I think it was Les Chapieux where I was ushered to a table for a kit check. Phone, coat and emergency blanket please. Be warned you will not get through this race if you try and blag it through without the correct kit.


The aid stations held water, coke, tea, coffee, and a salty chicken stock full of noodles. Food wise they had lumps of bread, cheese, salami, cheddar biscuit things and fruit. I was having a Gu gel every so often and a bowl of salty stock whenever it was on offer. In hindsight this was never going to see me through!


As we approached mile 30 I felt good, no sign of a bonk and the legs felt strong. I wasn't due to meet my wife till half way so pressed on. It was quite cold and about 1am so I stopped to strip off my soaked jacket and t-shirt and replaced it with my IceBreaker top, I soon warmed up. The rain had subsided but my feet were pretty mushy so I stopped again and took 5 to change my socks and reapply the Gurney Goo.

Happy to see the sun come up.

We followed a road for a while before ascending again and again I power hiked all the way before losing all my places on the next descent. There was becoming an every increasing pattern of climbs and descents with very little flat running. At this point my knee decided to start being awkward and I had sharp pain shooting through my leg so I got one of my tubey bandages out and strapped it up. This was hard going but doable, I felt ok. The climb up to Arete du Mont-Favre was steep and I felt quite lethargic for the first time. I also felt mentally tired so popped a pro plus and carried on forward. This was at roughly 40 mile, feeling slightly concerned at my tiredness I carried on. After another 6 mile of downhill we reached a plateau and as the daylight emerged I was treated to some beautiful views of the mountains. It was heaven and I had to stop to take some photos. We were just outside Courmayeur but the descent was near vertical switchbacks for at least 5k,  and my quads were feeling sore as we entered Courmayeur.

Plastic cow?

There was massive support in Courmayeur and a chance to get to my drop bag, meet my crew and generally sort myself out. You are allowed one crew member to meet you at designated aid stations and it was a boost to meet my wife and chat about the first half. I was about 14 hours in, 50 mile in and my 35 hr target seemed to be going to plan. I had a full change of clothes and reapplied the Goo to my feet. I moved through to the food hall and got a bowl of pasta with a dollop of tomato sauce. I went over to a table and joined a Brit whose name escapes me right now. I stood, as I have a saying "Beware the chair" which I stick too religiously. I once sat down after running London to Brighton and seized up totally, I never have or never will sit down during a race through fear of seizing up, although now it is a mental thing and signifies giving up in my head. Anyway the sauce on the pasta was horrid and I felt a bit sick so like a fool I slung it and wandered out. Now alarm bells should have been ringing as I had eaten very little apart from bowls of stock aka soup, a handful of gels and a few scaps.

Views to die for.

The climb out Courmayeur was hard and the Brit who I had ate with joined me I just managed to stay with him but energy levels were low, also my quads were hurting bad, the descent into the half way point had took its toll. My short lived partner pulled ahead and I carried on forward, shit, things had gone bad, this section was hell on my body. I was knackered and in pain. The lack of food meant a lack of energy and as we descended into Arnuva my quads were screaming and I was having serious doubts that I would be able to continue.  I spoke with another Brit on the massive ascent of Grand Col Ferret who informed me that we would be descending for about 10 miles from the top, the climbing I could cope with, the descent I wasn't so sure. Luckily I had a snickers in my bag as I was so hungry it was driving me to distraction. The descent was bad for sure, my legs were on the way out. My knee felt okay but my quads were blown, I pushed on to La Fouly. A lot of people passed me on the descent to La Fouly the feeling of wanting to pack it in was strong, had my wife agreed I would have dropped for sure but no she was having none of that. Basically it wasn't even considered by her. As I left the aid station her bus was leaving which she hopped on along with a wave of runners, people were walking in, quitting and jumping straight on the bus. It all seemed a little weird to me, there was no talking these guys round they were off. As I hobbled through the streets I took the time to stop and get my other tubey bandage out and strap up both painful quads. For the next few hours I hiked, hobbled, shuffled and jogged my way to Champex all the while trying to work out why do I do this sport? What is keeping me going? Why don't I just pack it in and go for a beer. My mental fortitude was being pushed to its limits. I stumbled into Champex and met my wife, and again my pleas to quit fell on deaf ears. I tend to get a bit wobbly when I'm totally shattered and was stumbling around the aid station, I was getting some looks from the medics but thought nothing of it. Only then did an American lady hold my arm and say to me "Don't come this far and get pulled from the race, they are looking at you and will pull you out" I tried hard to pull it together. Whilst in here  I tried to eat but couldn't face any of it, my occasional gel and chicken stock combo was just about keeping me ticking over. I told my wife if I was to carry on she would have to go buy me a sandwich, I had to have a sandwich! She agreed to get one and meet me at the next stop.

Hobbling along

I think I was about 25hours in as I left Champex and started to do some pretty incoherent maths on the race but my logic was, 3 peaks, 30 mile, 3hrs up, 2 hrs down each = 15 hours and I could do this! That did mean however I would be out there all night again. At this point I think I decided I would finish. After all it takes years to get in a position to earn the points for UTMB, it takes at least a year to gain those points, it took 2 years to get my entry and months of specific training to get here, now. I must finish this! As we approached the first of the three final climbs darkness started to fall again and the climb was hard, you look up and see lights in the sky and basically that is how high you will be going. As I neared the top there was a herd of cows getting rather rowdy and following us up the trail. They were making a lot of noise and generally being rather intimidating, I had to shout and clap my hands to get them to sod off. Just before the top I put my head torch on for the second night. There was a gate at the top and I leaned against it and thought, 1 down before shuffling towards the descent. This descent took my ages I could barely step down any more, each time I did I grunted and groaned with the pain. People ran past me as though I was stood still. Dozens of them! This went on for a good two hours. With the night also came the tiredness, just total mental fatigue. Just as I reached what I thought was the bottom we levelled out before dropping again even steeper, down massive steps each one bringing a tear of pain to eye. Before long I reached Trient I couldn't see my wife so was just about to leave as I was still rather wobbly when she ran in. She had just got off the bus with sandwich in hand. We chatted and I shoved the sandwich in my pack to eat en route. As I left I was pulled over by control. Another bloody bag check! Phone, coat and blanket. Bloody good job I had it, imagine a DQ at mile 86. I made a joke about having the most important bit of kit, my sandwich, before heading off again.

Kit Check. Again!

The second of my three climbs was as hard as any but my sandwich half way up helped me along. For some reason I was really struggling to breath on this ascent and kept having to stop to take deep breaths but my chest kept getting clogged up with phlegm and I was wheezing like a pensioner. How much more shit was this race going to give me! The descent was notably harder, at one point I tried to shuffle faster but tripped and fell flat on my face, on rocks and my pole flew over a wall of rock. Shit! I couldn't get up and double shit I couldn't climb over the wall and triple shit I wouldn't be able to finish without my pole! Luckily there was a runner right behind me. Great, I said can you help me, he ran on without a flinch. Fuck this I thought I have got to get my pole or I've had it, so I crawled over the wall on my stomach until my legs flopped over and was able to grab the stick. Then I had to climb back up and over the wall before righting myself on the trail. I'd done it.  The tiredness had hit hard and I was hallucinating quite strongly. Every stone had a face on it, people in bushes and trees with body parts. All pretty normal stuff. I was totally incoherent as I trudged into Vallorcine, shaking, hallucinating and struggling to think straight, all I knew is I'd better get straight out of  there before anyone noticed what an awful state I was in. I walked in filled my bottle had a coke and walked out, 1 climb to go.

Where am I?

As I left Vallorcine I walked for about 50 metres before stopping to ask directions. The path was clearly marked but I just couldn't work out where I was going or indeed where I was. As I walked up the clearly marked trail I thought I was lost, I had lost all concept of what was going on. I stopped to wait for some one to pass, they didn't, they stopped also. This was so confusing. I carried on trying to work out what was going on. At one point I was convinced we were all going to work, to build something, I even considered ringing my builders merchant! We approached a road and there was a line of lights reaching to the sky. I thought how does that road climb that high? Of course it wasn't cars it was head torches. I started the climb and had just about worked out we were in a race so that's what I kept telling myself. Quite often out loud! This did nothing to abate the hallucinations, they were rife everything had a face or wasn't as it seemed, I was completely out of it. In hindsight dangerously so. This climb was a brute, just never ending rocky switch backs. We climbed for hours, straight up. As soon as you thought you were there, you would see headlights even higher. Some of the path you literally had to climb to get through, we soon got into the clouds. We carried on climbing until we reached a rocky summit not dissimilar to Scafell Pike. We followed the markers across the boulder strewn summit for a couple of miles, this was just climbing up and over rock formations. On the bits I couldn't step down I had to slide on my arse, across the rock. This worked well until the rock pulled my shorts up and I slid bare bum down a rock. We had much joy after the race removing the rock from the cuts in my arse. This climb literally took hours in total and right at the top we popped out above the clouds a totally surreal moment for sure. The descent was okay to start, daylight had broken for the second time and the hallucinations had eased, the ascent seemed to have split the field and this was the first time I felt alone. It was nice to shuffle alone knowing I had almost done it, there was nothing could stop me now. During this descent to La Flegere an English voice piped up behind me, I turned and it was my pal Dan. We hadn't seen each other the whole week then finally bump into each other on the final descent. He was struggling with his quads, doing better than me but still struggling. We chatted the time away into the aid station, grabbed a final drink and struggled on. The downhill out of the aid station was steep and I was back to a snails pace. Dan went ahead and I shuffled ever downwards. I soon hit some nice switchbacks, rocky and painful but in the grand scheme of things nice. After another hour or so I reached civilization and things flattened out. I ran into town, literally battered and bruised. I started to feel very emotional but promised myself I'd keep a stiff upper lip. That shuffle was the finest mile or so I ran, I felt on top of the world. Ironically after running round Mt Blanc following a marked course the worse markings were in Chamonix town. I didn't have a clue where I was going but I didn't care, I'd get there eventually. As I rounded the town I saw Jacque and my pal Dave Bowen who handed me the union flag and I ran up the home straight with the flag above my head to screams of 'Go GB'. It was over. 40hrs 15mins. I collected the coveted gillet and went to sit down for first time in 40hrs. Dave asked what I wanted "Cold Diet Coke" my fave. That was the finest coke I've ever drunk. As I hobbled back to the room I couldn't help but laugh at the shit I put myself through for my sport.

OMG its over.

Without doubt that was the hardest thing I have ever done. Anyone inexperienced reading this be in no doubt this is a monster, a big vicious scary monster! I have run a hell of a lot and it took all of my experience to get this done, if you are considering it, consider the CCC first. You are either going vertically up or vertically down. My prep of constant hill rep sessions was laughable really. You need to train in that environment to do well in that environment. I'm glad I didn't drop as I never wanted to have to go back. Now if I do go back it will be because I want to, not because I have to. I have my finish, I have my gillet, it's done

. The time is irrelevant. I love to run but this is not really a running race unless you are elite then even then they must walk those ascents. It is a giant hiking contest. Having said that, it is a must do for all trail runners. The build up, the whole week is trail running heaven and the worlds best runners all congregating in one truly lovely place. Chamonix is gorgeous and so is the Mt Blanc massif.

Go GB

As usual I got my race wrong, I would have run a good CCC on my prep but it just didn't cut it for the big boy. Quads were blown badly too early, eating strategy was awful, running with verruca's is just wrong and even little altitude can affect you. I thought the key was to bust the ascents and cruise the descents but I was so wrong the Europeans walk the ups to conserve energy then bust the descents and blow you aside.
On the plus side it was an amazing atmosphere, Inov-8 290's are the mutts (they have almost wore out but great all the same), Gurney Goo for macerated feet is great, Drymax socks ain't all that. Merino wool socks are the way forward. 


Anyway I did it. Am I going back? 

The Gillet!

Written by Caroline Gilby - http://runningawayfromthebigc.wordpress.com/

Sometime around my birthday, the idea of running 50 miles in the year I turned 50 popped into my head.  I had actually attempted to walk 50 miles earlier that year on a scout challenge hike in February, and bailed at 34 miles.  Circumstances were against us that day, and I say us because it was a team challenge and no team, no finish.  I had spent the previous fortnight on antibiotics for a chest infection, my husband was in hospital on a drip, another team member was nursing a long term knee injury and then a broken head torch early in the night section finally did for us.  So definitely unfinished business.

I picked the Apocalypse 50 because it was in nice part of the country (the Shropshire Hills) and I thought May would be a good time of year to tackle an ultra.  I guess the name should have warned me – not the easiest 50 miler I could have chosen with 2,600m of climb on rough tracks and self navigation to deal with too.  Training did not go quite according to plan – long runs never went over 20 miles in spite of best laid plans – but I did manage several weeks of 50 to 60 miles until I crocked my calf muscle so badly I couldn’t run 50 metres, just 4 weeks before the big day.  I took this as my body’s way of telling me to taper and actually rested (well stopped running for a bit).  Milton Keynes Half on 5th May was decision time.  In spite of my doubts, I finished this in my third best ever time for a half marathon, setting a new age group club record (1.40.21), so it was time to book a B&B in Church Stretton.

For most people, a sunny weekend in May is a cause for celebration, and an excuse to burn meat on the BBQ, but I watched the weather forecast with increasing trepidation as Saturday 17th May drew nearer.  I’m northern and never did cope well with the heat, but one of the crap side effects of my cancer drugs is hot flushes, and ironically these are so much worse when it’s warm.    But as my husband pointed out this race would only be as long as I wanted to make it, so off we went to the start at Carding Valley Mill.

Just after 9 am, we set off on a stony slog up towards Shooting Box and then Polebank for the first check point.  Everyone else looked super fit and hard as nails, and I was sure I would be last, if I even made it.  It turns out that ultra runners are friendly breed and tend to be running slowly enough to chat on the way round, and even if it was the hottest day of the year so far, this meant the views were fantastic.  Corndon Hill was the next high point with a very steep drop off the side and my quads were already complaining.  The course was cleverly designed with loops for each of the four Horsemen ( though I was only running two of these) and it was a nice boost to see my husband at checkpoint 6 (19 miles) with homemade flapjack in hand.  Next came a ten mile stagger over the ankle twisting terrain of Stiperstones, but by now I had found myself running with a great guy called Andy, who happened to be running around my pace.  All those regular girly gossip runs I do came into their own – I always say that if you can’t talk and run you are going too fast. We met an Italian guy Camino hoping to do the 100 along this stretch but by Pulverbank, we were all struggling with heat and had drunk all our water.  We happened upon a handy pub, where the landlord greeted us with a hint of admiration, tinged with the clear belief that we were utterly bonkers. This kept us going until checkpoint 7, the Red Lion, at 30 miles came into sight.  First aid ( aka husband) repaired my blistered feet as best he could,  while I chugged down iced apple juice, more flapjack, banana and a double espresso.  I thought leaving the 30 mile checkpoint would be the turning point – if I set off on the next leg there was a good chance I would make it.  Mile 30 to 40 involved quite a bit of road work, plodding along quiet country lanes and across fields.  We made our first nav error on this bit as unhelpfully the route was marked in green on the course map – exactly the same shade as woodland.  Ten minutes later, we realised the road in front of us was too main and got ourselves back on course to face a steep climb up Earl’s hill, and then another quad-wrenching drop back down.  We thought we were only a mile or two from the pub for our next checkpoint – but what endless miles.  Only another 10 miles to go. Salty chips and couple of mouthfuls of cider fortified me this time, and Andy and I set off again with the aim of trying to get back to the finish in daylight.  Our next nav error cost us a few minutes while we tried to work out if “opposite field corner” meant diagonally across the field or straight on.   I persuaded Andy to retrace our steps rather than scramble over fences, ditches and brambles, and we were back on course.  By now it was a question of one foot in front of the other till we got there and our running pace had slowed to a shuffle, but we kept moving forward ( though I must admit my co-ordination with opening gates was failing) and the joint navigation effort helped us not get lost.  Back on the moorland, light was failing but rather than stop for head torches we actually picked up pace, hurtling down the steep rocky track back to Carding Valley Mill, trusting to luck as I really couldn’t see where my feet were going.  We crossed the finish in 12 hours and 44 minutes for joint 11th place, and even more to my surprise, I was handed the trophy for first female finisher. So 50 at 50 – done