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

Written by Jacqui Byrne - http://coppertop-runs-long.blogspot.co.uk/

Strange old week so far.  Black dog sitting by my side and a pair of horrendous looking legs the same width from toes to mid calves.  John Merrick would've said "get yer coat love you've pulled". Thankfully today the swelling is going down and the cloud is lifting, so what the feck was I up to to get into this state.  Well, on Saturday I completed the South Downs Way 50 and here's what happened (not that any of it will be factually accurate mind, but it's how I remember it). 

Met up with Ian in Victoria the day before and ended up having to rush for our train to Eastbourne after having a pre race hydration pint.  Once there we made our way to the hotel where I stayed in a compact and bijou single room with super shaggy fraggle floor to ceiling curtains.  Rock'n'roll lads, rock'n'roll. 

Unpacked and went out in search of food (Pizza Express) and then a pub to watch the Leicester match. And Holy God what a pub.  The language from the regulars at the bar was unreal! And for me to say that you know they were bad. They were effing and blinding and ***ting and b@starding to beat the band and would then end the sentence with something completely harmless and random so you didn't know if they were about to knife each other or were just having a friendly chat.  

Some aul wan went into the Ladies toilet which was situated just behind me.  10 minutes later she hadn't come out, I really needed to go but was worried about finding her unconscious or worse. Eventually I had to just bite the bullet.  Went in, she wasn't feckin there! I looked behind both toilet doors, there were no windows and no other way out. Got out of there quick sharp.  Told Ian and of course he dispelled all my fears and worries straightaway.  Like f*ck, he wound me up even more then continued watching the game. 

A while later yer wan walks past again, from the bar.  Not a ghost.  Thank Christ.  Creepy though. Bit like the woman in the bath in The Shining.  I won't be going back to that pub in a hurry! 

We were back in the hotel fairly early, around 10 I think.  Both decided to pack our kit for the morning and get to sleep. Which was fine until I checked my emails and saw I'd been shortlisted for the Trail Running Team.  Haven't a feckin hope of getting onto the final list but it made me hyper all over again all the same. Think I went to sleep around 2am. Up at 5 and out of the hotel at 6.15 to get the train to Brighton and then on to Worthing.  Once there we spotted some other runners and shared a taxi to the start. 

Great organisation at the HQ, kit check was quick and easy and involved showing jacket, gloves and something else, can't remember what, survival blanket maybe, I was just delighted not to have to unpack everything again.  Saw Paul Navesy, Sam Robson, Paul Ali etc, a bit like being on a marathon start and watching the Kenyans nearby.  Surreal but good.  Looked around lots to try and find some runners I knew, had a great chat with John, couldn't see Little Louna or Justin, but I said hello to Nick in the crowd at the start and then Andy came over to say hello.  A few minutes later we were off.  I was bursting to go off too fast, if I'd been on my own I definitely would have, but luckily Ian reminded me I'd 50 miles to go and would soon be blowing out my arse unless I paced it right.  Jackie said hi as we were jogging along the first bit, it was lovely to meet her at last.  

Uphill most of the way for about 6 miles until we finally got onto the SDW around Chanctonbury Ring. Beautiful place, saw loads of deer as well and it felt like the race proper was beginning. 

First CP was at 11 or so miles, got the bottles filled up, chatted to one of the volunteers about her nail varnish, Ian filled his face and we were off again.  There was a stretch of only about 4 or 5 miles till the next CP but for some reason mile 12 was one of my grimmest of the race. Still can't figure out what was going on there but I felt like shit already with nearly 40 to go. The hard stony surface wasn't great I have to admit. I've spent the winter running in mud and on trail, partly to avoid hammering the knee and partly because I mostly loathe road running, so I was feeling every bastard little stone and my soles were burning.  Good excuse to get more trail shoes though, a pair are winging their way to me now and hopefully I'll get them tomorrow to try over the weekend :-) 

Then we were back up on the Downs and all was good again. I think it was in this section that we ran into a crowd of walkers.  Around that Mill Hill mast thing maybe.  "What charity are you running for?" one of them squawked.  The funny answers only came to us after we'd run past.  All unprintable.  As was most of our conversation.  We degenerated into smut and profanities a lot sooner on this race than on others, must've been the hills. I just hope I don't have to visit a doctor anytime soon #noplasticnometal

Up around Devil's Dyke I almost ran completely past John and Luke. We'd just had to stop to cross a road, I was throwing evils at a car going too fast, then I saw someone with a camera and I thought oh fuck there's another lovely photo of me looking insane. Realised just in time it was the two lads so got a lovely hug there, it was a great lift to see them.

At Saddlescombe we refilled the water bottles, Ian filled his face (how many times will he let me get away with saying that I wonder? lol) and jogged on.  I can remember all of the aid stations and the lovely volunteers but not which was which in all cases, it's been a few days now and my brain's melted a bit and blurred it all together. Suffice it to say Centurion have the best aid stations, the best atmosphere, the best organisation and the best volunteers EVER.  I was eating hummus wraps, fuelling seemed to be going ok, I know I'm in trouble when I start chewing everything like a camel but so far I was doing ok and eating like a normal human. 

From Saddlescombe to the next CP was 10 miles and here the wheels came off a bit again. I felt like an absolute bag of shit, vomit wasn't far away and my head was pounding.  Took me probably a good 3 miles to realise this was due to overheating and not just my mind playing tricks on me.  Took off my Sonic smock and felt 100% better within a minute. Just goes to show, don't always assume it's your mind fucking you up, it might be something physical and easily fixable.  I think somewhere in this section, or maybe it was the next, Ian also had a rough patch. But we've run a few races together now and know the best thing is just to keep going, mention it if it's really bad and warrants slowing down or doing a run/walk for a bit, and the bad patch will eventually end. The same goes for negativity.  Chatting to other runners along the way is grand but if some fucker is being negative then I'm off.  If they're bleeding out of their eyes or limping or physically ill then of course I'll help but if it's just someone whinging and trying to drag me down then sorry but no, I'm not catching that disease. 

Had quite a nice run along there after I'd cooled down - good fresh clean air, loads of lovely soft cushiony grass, and the knowledge that Shawn Timmons was waiting at Housedean with a pack of salted crisps gave me a boost.  That last downhill bit we ran into the CP hammered my quads but I didn't give a shit.  My stomach was feeling a bit dodgy, but there'd been nowhere to go to the feckin loo, no shelter at all so the thought of those crisps kept me happy. Came into the CP, saw the lovely Shawn and had a bit of a chat and a swig of hot coffee from his flask, refilled the water etc, took delivery of my precious cargo and off we went. Thanks again Shawn :-) 

Housedean to Southease, 26.6 - 33.9 miles, hardest bit of my race without a doubt. There was a fairly long bugger of a hill up from Housedean, still needed the loo but there just wasn't anywhere to go. We got up this hill at a fair old rate all the same. Then we hit the concrete road. The fucking neverending bitch bastard from Hell concrete road.  That fucking thing needs blowing up.  In next year's race I'm giving it the finger bigtime. Fucker.  That was my lowest point of the whole day, it hurt, it looked like shit, it didn't end, it hurt, it was fucking horrid.  You couldn't run cos it hurt, you couldn't walk cos it hurt, so you zombie shuffled along cursing the day concrete was invented.  It hammered the fuck out of my knee, which had been so well behaved up until then, and with nigh on 20 miles to go you're thinking fuck this for a lark this isn't fun anymore.  

Then it ended :-)  

Southease CP took the longest time to get through, we'd been reasonably quick through the CPs till then, totally my fault but essential. I had to sit down and whack more tape on the knee, check the feet and whack a Compeed on a hotspot, and take some Solpadeine which thank Christ I'd brought along as an emergency measure.  Ian filled his face (sorry Ian, lol, you refuelled) while I was doing my first aid bit. Lovely lovely volunteers here as well. Maybe sombreros.  Or that might've been another one. The boost you get from these strangers who are standing here for hours, out in all sorts of weather, giving up their free time to fill your cranky water bottles, smile at your battered and weary being, tell you you're looking great when you look like pigsick and give you much needed encouragement really cannot be measured in words. To joke and laugh with people when you're feeling a bit wrecked lifts the spirits so so much.   Oh that reminds me, there was a pig farm on top of a hill somewhere. That was minging.  It was before this point of the story, but I've just remembered it.

And onwards we went.  The Solpadeine kicked in pretty quickly, please no comments about taking painkillers while running, it was necessary and I'm a big girl now. The next CP was going to be Alfriston at around 41 miles. I'd a few reasons for looking forward to reaching Alfriston.  It'd mark my official longest distance ever run, I'd been there a couple of times already and had had a great time navigating and running on the Downs around there and it always cheers me up to sing Alfriston in my head to the tune of Galveston oh Galveston.  

Once we got into Alfriston I knew the route from here to the finish so there was no need to think about where we were going, a nice chance to relax a bit.  Great cup of tea in the church hall, more lovely people wishing us well, I changed into my Minimus here and got my warmer hat on. A mad Northern Irishman saw us off with jokes and craic. Thank you whoever you were. Forgot about putting on our headtorches in the warmth though so we stopped by the river in the woody bit where there was a bit of shelter and got that done rather than having to stop on the exposed top later on. 

Dusk was falling as we were on the top bit heading towards Jevington.  God even as I'm typing this I'm wishing I was up there again now.  This was such a bloody brilliant race!!  We got through the woods, the churchyard and into the last CP.  A lovely American man gave us hot tea, I had some lovely flapjack thing his kids had made, Ian had some sandwiches and we got going. I took an emergency peanut butter sandwich as I was feeling a bit sick again, I think it was just general tiredness at this stage.  Oh the feeling of knowing you're nearly there and, barring absolute catastrophe, within cutoff.  Walking up the last part of Bourne Hill it was amazing to see flashlights and hear a cheery "hello runners, well done!!!"  Drew Sheffield and a lovely girl whose name I didn't catch then walked us up to the trig point, the path was nicely lit with glowsticks so no chance of taking a wrong turn, but it had eased my mind in the run up anyway to have done a recce.

Met another two volunteers on the chalk track down into Eastbourne, again what lovely people. The track was dark and steep and slippery as fuck, no way were we going to run it at that stage. I know people did, fair dues to them, but we just wanted to get to the end in one bit.  Once down in the 'burbs I went to take out my mobile to text my mother that I was nearly at the finish as I hadn't texted an update since Alfriston. Just that thought of home and something outside of the race made me start crying. Jesus. But my mobile was deep within my pack to protect it from the rain so I didn't text then after all. Finally ditched my safety blanket sandwich when I knew it was just minutes to the finish.  

Got into the stadium, ran 400 metres round the track, and crossed the finish line. 50 miles. Done. Fuckin hell. The lovely lovely Nici gave us hugs, James (he has a book out you know) Adams hung our medals around our necks, photos were taken and we went inside. Then I texted my Ma and sister.  Got our cold beers out from Ian's drop bag, had some wondrous chilli and hung out for a bit.  More hugs from Nici then we got a cab back to the hotel, showered and met up in the 24 hour lounge with the intention of drinking it dry.  Nobody else was in there so we just lay on sofas with our feet up drinking beer and chilling.  Next morning we got up, slowly, checked out of the hotel and went over to Brighton to see some of our mates running the marathon.  Eventually it was time for the train back to London and then goodbye to Ian as he went on to Leicester. Back to my flat for me, I hadn't told my flatmates about the race so there were no celebrations here, I think I fell asleep early for a couple of hours and then was awake for most of the night. 

At work the next day I'd only told one person so again there was nothing. I think I made a big mistake there. I'd been so so hyped up for weeks, as anyone who saw my FB posts will know, that to be in the office and not even mention such a huge experience was just too weird.  I went straight from elation and exhaustion and an awesome weekend to humdrum nothingness and it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I also read all the top guys' blogs and stupidly compared my own race with theirs and felt inadequate. What a womble.  It'll take time and much more experience to get to the top of my game.  Woohey :-) 

My mood is picking up again today though thank God. I just haven't really had the time or the desire to sit down and digest and look back, but now that I have I feel better, and, well, what can I end this essay with? 

Thank you to Ian for the planning and the looking forward and the build up and being such a funny running partner, no death crawl at Dukeries this year matey!,  to Kevin and Pete and Domi for their support, to my mother and sister for understanding the crankiness and lack of phone calls, to all of the volunteers, everyone who wished me well and joined in the excitement with me..... THE SDW50 IS FUCKING AWESOME AND I CAN'T WAIT TO DO IT AGAIN!!! 

Written by Andrew Kay - http://slightlyathletic.blog.co.uk/

We flew out to Chamonix for the TDS and I was not even sure if I was going to take part. I'd been having problems with my right knee for a couple of weeks and had only ran once in that time and that was only four miles. On Monday morning I went for a short run up toward the Mer de Glace and the knee seemed ok, slightly achy but ok so I decided I would start and just see how far I could get. With that attitude I was fairly relaxed and had a good nights sleep before getting up at 4.15 to get the 5.15 coach to Courmayer.
Due to my usual meticulous race preparations I had overlooked having breakfast so started the 119k race on empty.
After a little run around Courmayer the real hard work started with the climb up to the Arete du Monte-Favre. It was more of a brisk walk than a run up to the Arete, the trail was narrow with little opportunity to pass others but the views were spectacular,as they would go on to be throughout the race.
After the Arete it was a nice downhill section through a lovely valley to Lac Combal and the first checkpoint with food. I choose a couple of slices of orange and a couple of tuc biscuits for my first meal of the day, refilled my bottles and was off to tackle the steep zig zag climb up to the Col Chavannes, at 2603m the highest point of the race though not the biggest climb, that was still to come.
Once again from the Col the views were spectacular and from there it was a nice 9k steady downhill run to Alpetta.
I didn't realise it at the time but this section between Lac Combal and the Col du Petit St Bernard at 21ks was the longest between checkpoints and before we were 2/3rds of the way there I was almost out of water so I found myself drinking from a mountain stream for the first time in my life and I cant remember water ever tasting so good.
Just before the sharp climb up to the Col du Petit St.Bernard the run goes around the edge of Lac Verney and that is a magnificent sight with the backdrop of the mountains mirrored on its surface.
Despite the utter beauty of this race negative thoughts had started to creep into my head. I was almost wishing my knee would give out just to give me an excuse to drop out. It was the thought of the coming night that did not appeal to me, the thought of trudging up endless hills in the dark was losing its fascination for me.
I decided Cormet de Roselend which was just over halfway was were I would quit.
From St Bernard down to Bourg St Maurice was another nice runnable section. At the checkpoint I once again indulged in orange slices and tuc biscuits and also had a couple of chocolate chip cookies for dessert too.
Bourg St Maurice is a busy little town and the TDS takes you up through the narrow main shopping street so you have to dodge the shoppers and tourists, those who know the TDS is taking place stop and cheer you on which is really nice.
So, onwards and upwards and upwards etc, this felt like a climb without end, it was a long climb up to Fort de la Truc and that wasn't even halfway,a quick bottle refill here and onwards and upwards again. But all good things must end and the Passeur de Pralognan was reached and the views here were to die for, which to be fair I nearly did. Runners were lying around on the small summit in various states of exhaustion. I didn't stop, only because I didn't like the look of the downhill section here and it was starting to get dark, so it was over the edge and down the steep rocky escarpment. You know its steep when ropes are attached to the rock face to aid descent, this was the point when many runners realised why it's called the wild alternative. After the descent it was a fairly straightforward run to Cormet de Roselend. This was where I was going to quit but couldn't quite push myself into the quitters tent, promising myself I would now pull out at Col du Joly, Liar!
Minutes after leaving the checkpoint at Roselend I started to feel the cold so stopped and put on a warm mid layer and my waterproof jacket and began the climb to Col de la Sauce, I was back down to shirt and base layer before summiting. This night section of the race was for me psychologically the hardest part, with nothing to look at but the lights of runners far above me. There were a couple of memorable moments though, one was switching off my light to see the most amazing starlit sky framed by a dark jagged silhouette of mountains all around me, the other was running down what I believe was the Gorge de la Gittaz with the rocks overhanging above my head and the roar of the river below, oh and almost running into a cow in the dark was fun too.
Knowing it was now all downhill to Les Contamines and then just one more big hill after that, thoughts of quitting had gone by the time I reached Col du Joly.
There is that wonderful moment of realising that you can see the way ahead without artificial light that gives you a moment of euphoria knowing that you'd made it through the night, that moment came for me between Notre Dame de la Gorge and Les Contamines. Also knowing you have only 24ks to the finish gives one a spring in the step, mentally if not actually physically. So a bowl of soup,cola, yet more Tuc biscuits and cookies for breakfast and I was off to tackle the last major barrier, the Col de Tricot. Chatting to one of the volunteers at Les Contamines, he told me the first part up to Chalets du Truc was easy but then it was difficult up to the Col de Tricot, those words were echoing around my head as I struggled up the first hill. On reaching Chalets de Truc you can see the Col de Tricot standing between you and Les Houches. It's very easy to imagine falling to your knees at this point and banging your fists into the ground and crying WHY! WHY! WHY! But then you think of the options available and the only viable one is to get over it, quite literally, kicking, screaming on your hands and knees if necessary but get over the bloody thing.
Once again the views from the top were spectacular and made all the sweeter knowing you had summited the last big hill of the TDS.
Down to Les Houches via Bellevue was an enjoyable part with an interesting bouncy bridge crossing at Passerelle, a quick cola at Les Houches and then the flattish run into Chamonix.
It's really hard to describe the feeling of running into Chamonix and really hard to keep your emotions in check. Passers by and people sat in the cafes clap and cheer as you pass, children want to high five you and then you round the corner and that big UTMB arch is there waiting for you.
If you've done any of the UTMB races you don't need me to tell you the feeling of passing beneath that arch. Elation, exhaustion, relief are mixed with a sadness that the ordeal is over for you.

Physically the TDS is a hard race, there is a lot of technical ground to cover, the guys that do this race in 14 hours have my total admiration.
The TDS may not be the glamour race of the UTMB series or be the first choice of many including myself, like many I decided to do it as a consolation for not getting a UTMB place, but it is an incredible race, it is a race of raw and savage beauty and is an experience that is truly unforgettable. Its a race I was privileged to be able to take part in.

I had estimated my finishing time to be around 24hrs having finished the 95 mile WHW race last year in under 24hrs but I was way out finishing in 30hrs 10mins,despite being way out I was happy just to finish

Written by Gabrielle Yates - http://gabrielleyates.wordpress.com/

4am alarm and I am not feeling bright eyed.

The early start Occ in Orsiere

Early mornings have never been my forte, especially when they are enforced.

We’ve been told to get to the bus stop at 5am, after that a 1 hour drive or so to Orsiere.

The route is windy and I have a lot of my mind I focus on processing what I am about to do.

Masses of people stream out of the buses at Orsiere, looking wide eyed, all nervous anticipation and kitted in lycra from a whole host of brand names.

We are all here for the same thing though.  It’s a new race –  the OCC.  Orsiere,Champex and Chamonix.

During the week of the Ultra Trail Mont Blanc it is the smallest of the 5 races on offer.  With a distance of 52.4km and 3300metres ascent it is still not without it’s challenges.

At 8am we are lining up for the race in the gorgeous chocolate box Swiss town ofOrsiere.  I start to take stock, place myself at the back, take a moment and then the music plays.

It is then that the emotions come over me like a wave and I let them.

They are routed in a desire to do and to be part of something that challenges me.

There is a sadness which I do not ignore, I know it well.

The loss of my parents is always there, will never go away and it is this too that drives me, that makes me want to push myself and make them proud even if they can’t be here to watch me.

I want to run in their memory, take them on my journey in my heart and head.  So I let these mixed emotions wash over me, and prepare me.

Then smile through tears and think of how lucky I am to be here.

There are many people throughout my lilfe that have been part of my journey, I am thankful for each and everyone of them. I truley believe people come into your life for a reason and they leave it for a reason too.  Just as much as these people standing at the start they are part of my journey.

The bells have been sounded, the cow bells do not stop however, the first 2 miles there is a constant clanging as 1200 people steadily climb up the first ascent to Champex Lac.

This section is extremely busy and to be honest a tad frustrating.  It’s now I wish I had started further at the front.  The first section of 7.6kms with 580metre ascent takes me about 1hour 28 minutes.

Queues from Orsiere to Champex the first 7km

I eat a nakd bar and down a coke and get out of the aid stop quickly.

Beautiful flat section at Champex Lac

Fortunately you can make up the time on the next section as the route is flattish for 5km or so, though the numbers of people is still quite alot I am able to pick a few people off on the ascent up to La Giete.

Ascents I really enjoy, not that I run them, just stick to a strong hiking pace.  I know that the downhills have a tendency to wreck havoc with me on these sort of descents.

UK hills they are not, running up is hardly an option, running down is a challenge in itself and an art form.  Something that I am yet to master. But then this is also what it’s about, a way to learn.

Making sure you are aware of your strengths and playing to them is key I think to how well you cope mentally.  Focus on how bad you’re at something is just destructive.

Somewhere between Champex and Giete

From the first peak at Giete to Trient it’s a downhill 5km with about 600metres descent, knarly roots and smooth shiney thus slippery rock.

I never letting my mind think this is tricky, the aim is to pick the route focus a little ahead and do not waver, stay as strong as I can.

Trient is a welcome site, full of supporters from all over the world.  The queue for water is long, and takes around 10 minutes, which is an inconvenience but well that’s life sometimes, things slow you down and you deal with it.

Pretty and busy aid stop at Trient

It is at this point that I have some food, ½ banana, mini soreen malt loaf and coke as well as a sandwich I made, camembert. It’s so yummy and gives me the kick I need.

I chat briefly with a women crewing for a young girl called Rebecca, nice to hear English and I meet Rebecca and wish her luck.

After 25 minutes or so at Trient I am out and up the next climb 5.5kms with 820metres which is tough going, and you see a number of people sadly walking back down to Trient perhaps daunted by the prospect of another fierce climb.

The heat is quite intense today, but to be honest we are lucky as the weather 2 days ago was atroucious and the Friday night of the UTMB is even worse.

So the shade of the next part is a blessing for us.  Once we get above the tree line, the heat is still on, but our breaths are more taken away by the views which are sublime and awe inspiring.

I take the time to look, be inspired and of course take some photos.  It is moments like these that need to savoured.

There is no illusion held with me that I will win or even be close to being near the front.  These kind of events are for me about the journey, an experience.

Climb from Trient to Catogne

At this point I see Rebecca again and we chivvy each other along till the next check point at Catagone the highest point at 2009 metres.

She is stronger than she thinks and I sincerely hope that she didn’t mind me giving her a gentle tap and telling her that she can run as she starts to walk.

Having someone with you, all be it briefly, is often a great boost, so thank you Rebecca if you read this.  You were awesome.

The route down to Vallorcine with 5km and 940metres descent is another rutted, root laden downhill section. My quads are starting to complain and the tiredness sets in.

So once at Vallorcine I make sure I take on some more food, ½ bag of crisps, orange, coke and a mini soreen malt loaf.

The food is so important, sometimes just from the mental side.  The bag of crisps is just the boost I needed in all respects.

After a while the tiredness ebbs a bit, I force myself to eat another mini malt loaf as we wind our way around to Col des Montets no water just a check point where they scan you in and up to Flegere. 10km or so with over 900 metres.

Dipping my head in a few waterfalls along the way helps to ease the heat. Though I am sure I look like a drowned rat it is such a lovely feeling having ice cold water cover your head.

This section is actually quite tough as the route is really rutted with roots and a lot of rocky sections with big boulders to pass and squeeze around, in these routes there is no time to think about pain as is it is taken up by negotiating the route. Which in a way is a relief.

Onwards we climb, and numbers have definetely thinned out, though I still pass people on the way up I am aware that my pace has slowed quite a bit, I have not really been breathless but the muscles are starting to tighten almost everywhere. In other words it hurts now.

There is a light relief of a flattish section, a traverse across before another climb to Flegere.

This climb, which is not pleasant, is a rocky scree moraine field that I am sure looks lovely covered in snow but in summer daylight looks like a tired runners nightmare.

Again it is here that I focus on the fact I am stronger at climbing up, the poles have been such a bonus and though it’s my first time using them in a race and I sure some peoples calfs were a bit annoyed with me they were fab during the entire event.

Another 20 minutes or so at Flegere the final check point.  I take on some coke, eat a few more crisps. Make sure I have enough water. I start to get a bit cold so put on gloves, my hands have a tendancy to suffer from the cold.

The descent starts with a yuk 1km or so on what would be a ski route, basically a wide track that is loose and stoney and very much downhill.  My legs are screaming at me now.

Once we are in the trees and the route is more technical I can focus on that but a long descent it is, switch backs cutting into the forest where you can always see what is ahead.  A lot of people pass me.

As my legs start to protest. I try not to listen but it is really quite painful now.

There’s a great short section which goes past Chalet De La Floria Buvet a short traveres across the mountain side where you can strectch the legs a bit as it’s not too steep.

This is momentary and the descent continues.  From Flegere to Chamonix it is 8km with about 870metres of downhill.  The aim is to just get down.

Once you pass into Chamonix onto road, the sound of people cheering ‘Alez, go, go, super’ is such a boost.  Along the whole way I have tried to say Merci, thankyou or simply smile.

Here you cannot help but smile the encouragement is infectious and you want to do your best.  I join up with a guy from Paris, Francois,  for this last section and we push each other to the end, winding our way through the erupting cheers of supporters.

All sweat, fatigue and happiness that we are finishing.

I spot a few runners who I know from the UK, Mark and Glenn, grab one of their hands and I think I convey a message of complete elation as I don’t think words make any sense at that point.

The finish I am stunned.  I turn to look at the French guy who I ran the last 1km or so and give him a congratulatory hug.

At this point I also see Rebecca come in. Again words are pretty meaningless but I think we both appreciate the enormity of what we accomplished.

Stunned finish

We get guided out to applause and I sit for what seems like forever, as my brother wanders what the hell to do with me.

Though to be honest all I want is a bath and new legs.

Mark and Glenn have also come to offer congrats, which I appreciate, they can’t stay for a beer as tomorrow is race day for them, the UTMB.

Bigger and harder and something at this moment I am re-considering as more of long term goal.  The mountains are not to be looked at lightlely.

This race I have learned alot, that passion for running drives me, as does grief.

There is a desire to do well, but I am thankful just simply to be part of it. I always need to remember this if the wheels come off and the A game has gone out the window.

I need to work on my descents, and get even stronger on the ups.

Make sure I always have something that comforts me food wise.

And that support is invaluable but at the end of the day it is what’s in you that counts the most.

The only person that can push you to do your best is you.

 

Overall

The race is an amazing and perfect way to test yourself on the last part of the UTMB.

Well organised from start to finish.

Busy near the start so be prepared for queues or start near the front.

Use poles, they are invaluable even for tricky descents but learn how to use them properly.

Loads of supporters on route, cow bells and klaxons.

Wave at the helicopters and the photographers – (you might make it on the live TV).

We got a t-shirt at the registration and another at the finish-no medals.

In comparison to UK check points it’s actually a bit limited, cheese, sausage, banana, orange, chocolate, tea coffee, water and coke. No electrolytes or gels that I could find though maybe they did in the bigger races.

By no means is this poor for a 53km I just think the UK ultras I’ve been part of are very well supported.  So in this instance as I was glad to have my stuff.

I ate

2 nakd bars

2 mini soreen malt loafs (I wish I had more)

½ pack of salted crisps

1 camembert sandwich.

½ banana

¼ orange

I drank

4 electrolyte GU bru tablets making about 1.5 litres overall

4 litres of water (ish)

5 cups of coke

2 cups of tea

 

With 52.5kms 3332 metres ascent.

I finish in 11 hours 29 minutes and 16 seconds.

91% finished the race.

I was 761 out of 1109 runners who finished..

And was 154 out of 274 females.

There were I think at my count 52 UK runners.

Here’s the link if you are interested for the race results.

http://utmb.livetrail.net/classement.php?course=occ

Written by Dominic Rigby - http://hkhillrunner.blogspot.hk/

December 2012 having been injured for the best part of 20 months my only venture out in the hills were Sunday morning strolls up the morning trail to the peak for breakfast. Having seen a few people who couldn’t identify my issues, I was having a coffee at the peak one Sunday that December with someone I had met a few time previously. I was told ‘I know exactly what is wrong with you, can you come and visit me in the office next week?’

Written by Alex Collins - http://masteringdiabetes.wordpress.com/

“And I’ve got you to thank for getting me into ultra-marathons” I said to Phil at the start of the CCC on Friday morning. I quickly reconsidered, before adding: “actually I won’t say that until I’ve finished”.

[I apologise that this post is a little bit long. If you think reading about my run is hard work, you should try running it!!]

The CCC is the “little sister” of the famous UTMB. It is 101km long and included 6100m of climbing. Since taking up long distance running a year ago, I’ve now run the marathon distance a lot, but had only run one ultra before Friday – the 66km Brecon Beacons run last December. That was a walk in the park compared to the CCC.

I said in my last post that successful ultra-marathoning relies on successful eating. For me that meant taking exactly the right dose of long acting insulin (Lantus) in the morning of the race. I needed the insulin to bring down my blood sugar enough so that I could eat plenty of sugar for fuel, but not so much that I was at too great a risk of hypos. I know that my body gets more sensitive to insulin the more exercise I do, but I’d never run over 100km or over 7 hours without stopping. Lantus lasts in the body for about 24 hours. So I decided to split my usual 8 unit dose into 3u at 15:30 the day before the race and 5u in the morning of the race. This meant that the amount of insulin in my system would decline during the race so that if I became more sensitive to it after many hours of running, I wouldn’t be at so much risk of hypos.

One minute down, eight hundred and sixty six to go!

As the start gun went off in the Italian Alpine town of Courmayeur we all sprinted off up the road, vying for position among the switch-backs. It was a brutal starting pace. I was torn between not wanting to blow myself up on the very first climb and not wanting to get stuck behind slow runners as the track narrowed. When we were in the forest, I didn’t get too worried about being over-taken: those who moved past me were all breathing very hard. The CCC is quite literally an ultra-marathon and not a sprint so I was content to be a bit slower – I still felt I was heading uphill too quickly anyway, moving at a pace of 1100m an hour of height gain.

The first climb was therefore brutal, both for it’s speed and it’s length – about 1500m of climbing. The descent was pretty fun though. Fresh legs propelled us super fast back down into the beautiful Val Ferret valley with the South faces of the Grandes Jorasses looming above us in the clouds. I had loads of food in my pack and wanted to keep as light as possible so ran through the first two refreshment stations without filling my water bottles or eating – I had just enough time to gulp down two cups of water.

After seeing us off at the start, Emily had jumped in the car, driven up the valley and sprinted up the mountainside to the Rifugio Bonatti (Bonatti is my new mountaineering hero by the way) to cheer us as we went past. She told me I was in 67th place (1950 runners had entered) which I was pretty happy with.

Arriving at Rifugio Bonatti.

After descending to a party atmosphere at Arnuva, and being lifted by the sight of a huge Union Jack, and also words of encouragement from a hiker as she saw the British flag on my race number “Oh, you’re British. I say! Good show!”, I was feeling pretty good. This feeling was shattered by another monster ascent to the Grand Col Ferret separating Italy from Switzerland. It was tiring heading up, although at least the pace was less frenetic – we were only going at 900m an hour. The long descent on the other side was even worse. I had stomach cramps and every time I forced down the odd jelly baby I could feel my stomach cramp up around it. The vibrations going through my body as I ran downhill made it worse. I descended slower than I wanted to, just hoping it would pass, and that I wouldn’t be seeing my breakfast again.

On the flat ground afterwards, I didn’t feel any better, and was being passed by other runners who had obviously been a bit more sensible during the frenetic sprint at the start. I was just trying to get to the half-way mark, the beautiful Swiss lake-side resort of Champex-Lac. I knew Emily was waiting for me there and that was great motivation. I’d spent about 10km running with a Spanish guy – we’d been trading places the whole way up until then. But even though I really wanted to stay with him on the 500m climb to Champex he just left me for dust and I was overtaken by several runners.

Champex-Lac in the afternoon light.

It took me just over seven hours to reach Champex. That was the furthest I’d ever raced before (the Brecon ultra took me 7:10 to finish). My blood sugar had stayed high the whole way (between 6.5 and 10), maybe because I had carb loaded so much and my liver had loads of sugar to dispense into my system. Maybe because I didn’t have enough insulin on board. Whatever the cause, it was lucky because I couldn’t have eaten much anyway. Over that first seven hours I had eaten six jelly babies and a fig roll. A mere 150 calories to sustain me through about 5000 calories of effort. It was amazing I had any energy at all.

I’d written in my previous blog that maybe I didn’t have enough humility coming into this race, and I definitely felt like I was being taught a serious lesson by the mountains at this point. Amazingly, I had actually improved to 57th place by the time I arrived in Champex.

As I arrived in Champex I was greeted with a huge cheer from Emily and our friends Oli and Harry. It really gave me a huge lift and I was totally unprepared for how important it was for my morale to see them. The rest station in Champex was massive. I stayed there for fifteen minutes, ate two bowls of soup (it’s salty so great for hydration), some bread, nuts and sausage. I was desperate for water, and Emily mistakenly filled my bottles with some unknown sports drink. “I can’t drink this” I immediately said – I had no idea how much sugar it had in it. Emily just stood there staring at the bottles and I could tell she was gearing herself up to down 1.5 litres of liquid. Luckily I spotted a sink (which was pretty much under her nose) so she could dispose of the suspect drink and replace it with water. I also took three units of Lantus at the rest station – I was running on empty and I knew I had to start eating more sugar.

Blood test and soup. I was feeling worse than I looked at this point!

The transformative power of a rest stop like this is hard for a novice ultra-runner like me to comprehend. I had just run 56km with 3000m of height difference, and it turned out that my body hadn’t even got going. I left feeling strong and fit, and I wanted to take advantage of every minute of feeling like this, so I even ran up a hill that many others were hiking. I’d also rested long enough to allow some slower runners to pass me and so I was soon overtaking them which felt good.

I was up and over the next pass super fast, ascending at 1000m an hour. I was discovering though that my comparative advantage was on the flattish bits. I was hanging in there on the ascents and passing people as soon as the gradient softened enough to run. The views of the mountain ranges of the Swiss Valais were stunning as I rounded the corner at the top, moody and cloudy in the evening light.

I had a big grin on my face as I met Emily at Trient – 72km in. Despite feeling good, I had realised that resting is key, so I sat down and scoffed more sausage, soup and orange segments (the orange segments were definitely my favourite treat in the aid stations). The small boys who insisted on refilling my water bottles seemed delighted when I high-fived them, and I was off up the hill with a smile.

Running such a long race is a pretty lonely experience over-all. Most of the time one is by oneself. However there were a few runners who I kept passing (and being passed by of course) and I felt real joy every time I saw one of these old friends ahead of me. The exception was a lycra-clad bloke who I passed on the way up from Trient. He was listening to an iPod which lots of people do, but when running in such a stunning place, do you really need it?! Anyway, I passed him as he was looking broken.  He had a friend waiting for him as I overtook, and five minutes later he was passing me again with a crazed look on his face. Could he be on drugs?! Anyway, he was destroying himself as he sped out of sight up the hill.

Coming over the top and down to Vallorcine was a bit like coming home. It’s a great off-piste ski area that I know so well covered in snow, and so I loved running down the trail in the dusk. My aim was to arrive at Vallorcine before getting my head torch out. I overtook someone who could barely walk – the third such runner – and finally sped past the crazy drugs man.

Oli and Harry were in Vallorcine (80km in) with Emily and it was great to see them. I had a huge grin on my face. “I’m feeling great, I’m feeling strong!” I beamed. And I was! The drugs guy was sat next to me getting his legs massaged by his wife, looking in a world of pain. I was sad not to see my Spanish friend. More soup and orange segments were accompanied by loud disco music and the percussion of rain beating on the marquee roof – the rain of Biblical proportions that would make my last leg so horrific had started.

I left running fast uphill, still dressed in shorts and t-shirt in the rain. I was on the home straight and I’d run this section on Sunday so knew what to expect. It was pitch black by this stage and I was running into the cloud. I put my waterproof jacket on, zipped up the hood and struggled into my wool liner gloves. I didn’t have enough clothes on, but was still feeling strong so just decided to go as fast as possible and keep warm that way. The path on this section is composed of a load of boulders and slabs of rock, and had turned into a river such was the volume of water falling from the sky. Visibility was extremely limited and all I could really see was mist in the beam of my torch. I wondered if purgatory is like this. At a couple of points I ran past some lost looking souls staggering along the path in full on waterproofs.

I had been testing my blood sugar more frequently than once an hour for the entire race. First I was in disbelief at it staying so high for the first half of the race, despite me being unable to eat. After my lantus injection, I could eat about 40-50g of carbohydrate an hour. (Mainly jelly babies, with the odd cereal bar and fig roll thrown in.) However, in the raging downpour from Vallorcine onwards, there was no chance of testing my blood, and my watch had stopped, meaning it was hard to judge the pace at which I was eating. I got through all the easily accessible jelly babies and fig rolls I had to keep on the safe side (this turned out to be 150g of carbs over three hours).

The 7km from the top of the climb to the Flegere lift station seemed to go on for an eternity. I boosted my morale by thinking of Bonatti and his epic North face mid-winter climbs in the ’50s. I wasn’t anywhere near to discovering what suffering was compared to him. So I just slid over the boulders and splashed through the puddles thinking that apart from electric shock like pains shooting up my hamstrings, frozen fingers, no visibility and no idea what my blood sugar was, I was in relative comfort.

I didn’t notice Flegere lift station until I was literally outside it, and just ran straight through the food station without stopping – the finish 8km away and 800m lower was in sight, figuratively if not literally. By this stage my quads had pretty much had enough, so I was content to take it easy. I was aware of a head torch speeding down behind me, and I shouted “Allez, allez, allez!” in encouragement as he passed me. But I couldn’t believe it. It was the crazy, broken, drugs man! Pipping me at the post!

When I finally got back down to Chamonix, all that remained was a 1km loop round the town. I had been going for just over fourteen hours. My other ultra lasted just over seven, and I remember hobbling into the finish line. So I was pretty surprised that I still had loads in the tank on the flat, I sped through the streets of Chamonix, being cheered by supporters and late night revellers alike. And there was Emily to join me for the last sprint up the hill to the church. I ran over the finish line into a wall of cameras and flashes feeling like a superhero. (It turned out they were actually interested in the first placed woman who was finishing just behind me. My parents were outraged. “Didn’t they know they had a Guinness World Record holder crossing the line?!” they said!)

My moment of glory. Shared with thousands of other runners over the past five days.

After feeling awful for much of the first half, in the second 50km I had climbed from 57th place to 33rd place and had felt happy and strong the whole way. Even when clambering up a stream, inadequately dressed in the rain. How can the human body even do that?? To finish in 14 hours 27 minutes, and to do so well in an international field of runners was totally unexpected.

My experience of the race didn’t end there. I had a beer at the finish line and chatted with some of the other finishers. I went to bed at 1am and couldn’t sleep. Which was lucky because we were up again at 4am to see Phil finish.

Brrr! Just to finish me off after the soaking above Flegere – an ice bath at 1am!

Phil looking good at the finish line at 5.30am

We spent a lot of time in Chamonix in the days before and after the race. We clapped home finishers of the TDS – they had been running for 27 hours and 120km when we saw them. We clapped home finishers of my race – the CCC – hours after I had finished. We clapped home UTMB finishers. Runners finished hand-in-hand. Runners strolled over the finish line savouring the atmosphere – a few extra seconds is immaterial in the context of an entire day spent running. Runners finished holding hands with their children (and even grandchildren). Everyone was shouting “bravo”. The runners who won, came second, came tenth and who finished hours and hours behind the winners were all totally delighted to have finished. It was hugely emotional at the time and I’m getting pretty emotional just writing this.

I normally poo-poo race finishing prizes (I hate the colossal waste of all those medals that must be shipped over from China and eventually tipped into landfill), but I’ve been wearing my finishers gilet with pride around town for the past two days.

Chamonix this week really is a celebration of the human spirit and people overcoming their own weakness to accomplish their dreams.

I’d like to thank Phil for planting the ultra seed in my head a few years ago and being a great friend along the way. Harry and Oli, for being there to cheer me and Phil around the course. And particularly Emily for driving miles and miles, sprinting up hills, motivating me with her smile and carrying all my spare sugar (which I didn’t need!).

Phil storming up to Rifugio Bonatti

The finishers (in matching finishers’  gilets) admiring the Les Bossons glacier two days after the race.

Today we went for a walk to stretch out the muscles. “Was the pain really that bad?” said Phil. “Nah, shall we do another one?” I replied. “Yes”, said Phil, “Send me the deets of the Brecon Ultra this December!”