Written by Chris Rainbow - http://salebyjoggingcentre.blogspot.fr/

The Viking Way is a challenging 147 miles, from the banks of the Humber to the shores of Rutland Water. Apart from the Cathedral City of Lincoln, its route is almost entirely through thinly populated countryside, quiet villages and small market towns. It crosses an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, escarpments, fens, wolds and heathland on a meandering journey across Lincolnshire and Rutland.

Saturday 7th April, 147 miles

I'm barely holding it together as I reach Sewtern. Rounding a bend in the road, there's a small gathering of cars on a grass verge up ahead, and I guess it must be the Checkpoint. A couple of kids in bright coats run towards me, smiling and shouting. My superheroes. Joining me for the last hundred yards, Lightning walks beside me while Whirlwind holds my hand. Leon joins us with the words: 'You're doing great mate! Only 18 miles to go!'

A panic immediately ripples through me. 18 miles! I've convinced myself that the finish is 14 miles away. Hanging onto that thought. 14 miles. 3 hours.

'I thought it was 14 miles from here?' I ask. I'm pleading.

'No- bit more than that mate!' Leon replies.

Suddenly, I'm not holding it together so well.

I arrive at the Checkpoint to claps and cheers. But I'm sinking. The nausea I've been fighting on and off for the last 12 hours is pulling me under. People are talking, asking me questions, but the words are distorted, unclear, slow-motion. Someone hands me a plastic cup of coke. I take a sip and bend over double, dry-retching, my body rebelling. I rest my hands on my knees, try to be sick again. Tam's telling the superheroes to go back to the car - she doesn't want them seeing Dad like this.

I stay bent over for a while and then stand up straight. I take a few unsteady steps. Stop again. Leon's offering words of encouragement. I want to lie down. I'll lie down and everything will be alright. I can't lie down.

I start walking. Hardly a walk at all. Forward movement. One foot in front of the other.

I leave the road. Back on the track. 18 miles. I need to lie down.

One foot in front of the other. There's a desperation in my determination. But something else has entered the picture. A doubt. A small whisper of failure. For the first time since the start over 30 hours ago, I'm no longer sure I can make it to the finish.

I'd chanced upon The Viking Way Ultra in the middle of last year. My plan on tackling Lincolnshire's LDPs had started taking some shape, and as I'd spent an afternoon planning routes and a timetable for the year ahead, I'd stumbled upon the website. One part of me considered it didn't fit comfortably with my empty miling aspirations for the forthcoming year, but another part was immediately excited. At 147 miles it would be the longest single-stage race in the UK. Being the inaugral running of the event would also make it special. I'd met the Race Director, Mark Cockbain, a couple of times over the years and knew he'd put on a well-run, but gruelling, race. This wouldn't be one of the all-singing, all-dancing ultra fests put on by a big company, but a low-key, grass-roots event with serious athletes. It didn't take me long to decide to jump aboard.

I've never entered a race requiring you to fill out a 'CV' of your running experience before accepting you, but there's always a first. Entry would be limited to 30 competitors. Each one of those would have the experience to tackle the extreme distance, and be tough enough to be self-sufficent for 40 hours.

I listed my accomplishments. Although not a part of the ultra 'scene', I'd taken on several trips and challenges over the years and felt confident they'd show that I had the potential to hack it. A couple of days later, I received the e-mail confirming I'd been successful. I was in!

On logging back onto The Viking Way Ultra site, however, the excitement turned to trepidation. Looking through the list of entrants and their accomplishments humbled me. Every name was a stalwart of the UK ultra scene. Phrases like 'multi course record holder', 'UK representative' and 'double world-record holder' jumped from the screen. How would an unknown kid from Saleby measure up? There would be only one way to find out.

We arrive at the start area at 6.45am. Easter Saturday. I sup a last coffee, pose for photographs and listen to the pre-race briefing. I stand on the edge as 7.00am nears. Lively chatter runs through the assembled group. Everyone seems to know one another. I don't know anyone. I make a bit of polite conversation, check my pack, kiss Tam and the superheroes goodbye, and make for the start line in the shadow of the Humber Bridge. I'm about to embark on the longest journey of my life. I'm ready. The air-horn blows and we're gone.

I'd tinkered with a rough plan in the days before the race. Breaking the route into 3 equal stages, I aimed to start slow, reaching 50 miles in no faster than 10 hours. I'd incorporate walking from the start, hiking all the inclines and jogging everything else. I figured slowing over the next 2 sections would be inevitable. The 2nd 50 miles had little ascent, so I planned set periods of running and walking - 30 minutes on, 10 minutes off. I hoped the change of activity would help me maintain some sort of leg function, as well as breaking the distance into chunks that would be more manageable to tackle mentally. Having never run more than 100 miles in any one attempt, the 3rd section would be a complete unknown. My plan was just to keep moving. Hopefully I'd have the buffer from the 1st 2 sections to enable me to finish inside the cut-off of 40 hours. If I didn't, I told Tam, I'd hand in my race number and make my own way to the finish. Getting to Oakham library was the most concrete part of my plan. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd do it.

The early miles slip past effortlessly. I settle into a steady rhythm. Light feet, fast cadence. After starting well back, I'm gradually picking people off and I enter Barnetby, 14 miles in, just inside the top 10. Tam's parked by the roadside. I jog over to the fell wagon for one of Whirlwind's magic kisses before carrying on. The drizzly, overcast weather is condusive to running and I'm feeling great. The injuries I'd spent the last weeks obsessing over temporarily rear their heads, but then just disappear. I pass another 2 or 3 runners on the stretch to Caistor, and by the 2nd Checkpoint at Tealby, I know I'm in 3rd place. Amazing. Out of Tealby, I see the lead runners - Neil Bryant and Charlie Sharpe - a good half-mile in front. I make a vow to hang back, keep the pace easy. There's still a long way to go.

It's not for another half-hour until disaster strikes. Jogging along the road out of Ludford, I hear footfall behind me. Looking back, I see Neil and Charlie - they've overshot the turning, but are now back on track. Suddenly, I'm in the lead.

Throughout my running life, I've rarely led a race. It's a top feeling, don't get me wrong, but it comes with its drawbacks. Too much adrenaline leads to reckless decisions, a push in pace that can't be sustained, an early effort that throws previous careful plans to the wall. I'm determined not to let that happen.

We run as a three for a good few miles, before Charlie drops back slightly. Still sticking to my policy of walking the inclines, we travel efficiently through the hilly heartland of the Wolds. The pace seems easy. The company's good - Neil seems to share an outlook on running similar to my own and we pass the miles in conversation. All's fine - what could go wrong?

It's not long before we're almost at the 50 mile point, greeted by friends from the Club jogging alongside and shouting 'well dones.' I'd planned for a 20 minute stop at the 50 mile and 100 mile marks. These were the only points where we could get access to our drop bags. I'd make sure I changed into a dry base layer, pack my bag with gear for the cold of the forthcoming night stage, get a hot drink and scoff down my pre-prepared corned beef hash. All of these things would set me up for the next 50 miles.

But things don't work out. I sense Neil is keen to get off. I'm flustered. I can't squeeze all the kit I need into my bag. The hot coffee offered gets overlooked in the general busy-ness. I have no time to eat the food I know I need to. Before I know it, we're off. We run down the road for a few hundred yards before I know I've made a big mistake, and that I need to regain control of my own race or risk blowing-up and having to drop out. I tell Neil I need to sort my sack out - it's digging in uncomfortably at the base of my back - and encourage him to push on. He's looking composed and super-easy. It's a relief in many ways. I regain my run and make little effort to catch him. Coming into Horncastle, I know I need to get myself together. After the highs of only minutes ago, my rollercoaster has taken a real dip for the worst. I tell my assembled supporters that I have to let Neil go - he's a class above me, and by sticking with him, I risk losing it all. I walk a long section to the start of the Spa Trail, and now I'm back on it, determined to be sensible.

I settle into a routine of 30 minutes running, 10 minutes walking, and it isn't long before I'm through Bardney and heading into the night.

A few miles further on, as I jog towards Barlings Abbey, I notice a head-torch some way back. I'm being caught - that's for sure. Neil must be a good way ahead, I'm certain. As I run out of Fiskerton, I'm surprised to Tam waiting - we'd not arranged to meet here. With the time getting on - 9pm- I'd assumed she'd gone back home. When I pass, she tells me I'm the first through. Where's Neil? Maybe he got through before she'd parked up? But Tam informs me that she's been here for a couple of hours and there's no-one else gone past. Again, I'm in the lead.

I find out where Neil's gone a half-hour later as we're on the banks of the Witham, heading for the Lincoln Checkpoint. The head-torch that's been chasing me down for the last hour finally catches up, and it's him. He explains that he missed a turn, lost his bearings, but managed to see my torch in the distance and set off in that direction. We jog up the hill to the nearby Checkpoint - at 81 miles, just over half-way.

Although I've been eating little and often up till this point and have felt fine, a general queasiness creeps on me as I stand by the food table. I try and get a drink of tea down, but can't face any grub. This is not a good sign. As we get off, I tell Neil to go on and walk steadily towards the illuminated Cathedral, hoping the nausea will pass. Entering the outskirts of the city, I try a gel but am immediately sick. I cling to some railings near the Arboretum and puke my guts up. Afterwards, I feel a little better, but decide to walk through the city centre and restart my running/walking routine once I'm up South Common and out of Lincoln on the other side.

I know there's 3 people on my tail - we'd seen lights on the river bank at the last Checkpoint. Climbing up South Common, the lights come past. I don't know one of the guys, but recognise the other 2 as legends of the UK ultra scene - Pat Robbins, England representative for 24 hours and multi-record holder of the 145 mile Grand Union Canal race, and Mimi Anderson, a long distance phenomenon and world record holder for John O'Groats to Land's End. I wish all 3 good luck, feel some feelings of deflation, but buoy myself with the thought that being passed by runners of that calibre is no reason to be ashamed.

The miles to the 96 mile point pass in a blur. The nausea comes and goes and my pace ebbs and flows with it. My mood descends at one stage, but a phone call to Tam brings me back again.

I reach the Checkpoint with under 21 hours on the clock. I'm surprised to see the third runner of the passing group in the tent. 'My body's ok, but my head's gone,' he tells me. 'My head's ok, but my body's gone,' I tell him. I sit for a few minutes, sort maps and gear out for the final stretch and try, with only some success to get a No-Frills pot noodle down me. And then I'm up - shattered, sick, ready to go. I ask Cliff if he wants to come with me. He politely declines and I set off down the Ermine Road track, now in 4th place.

There's a meditative feeling about running in the dark. It's the small hours of Sunday morning. Gradually I'm jogging less, walking more, until I reach a point where my running action is slower than my walking action. I press on, hiking, the voices on my radio keeping me company, the head-torch giving me enough light, until the new day dawns.

With the light comes an uncomfortable feeling that I'm being chased down. Over the next 20 miles, it becomes an obsession. Every few minutes, I look over my shoulder, convinced that the pack is descending on me. Each time, there's no one in sight. But I'm prey for the hunters and I've no doubt I'll be captured soon.

A few miles further in and I'm walking along the banks of the infant Witham, near Marston. I'm feeling strong again, lost in concentration. The early morning stillness is broken by an excited shout. I look up and see a runner jogging towards me. Eventually I gather that it's Marvellous Mimi! By rights she should be miles in front of me by now. What's she doing here? We fall into step for a mile or so as she explains her nightmare of a morning. She'd gotten hopelessly lost and was on the phone to the Race Organiser asking for help, when I appeared. It's great to have a chat with a real person again after what seems like an eternity. I help her get her bearings on the map, point her in the right direction, and with much thanks she trots gingerly on towards the next village.

An hour later, as I leave Long Bennington and get onto the northern stretch of Sewstern Lane, I can still see Mimi up ahead. Even though I'm walking, I'm still moving fairly quickly. Part of me reasons that a big push over the last 30 miles might secure me 3rd place. Part of me tells myself I've got absolutely no resources left for any sort of a push, let alone a big one. More pressing, however, is the runner on my heels. Time and time again on the Sewstern Lane, I've looked back and seen the runner gaining on me. Dressed from head to toe in black, he's moving surprisingly quickly and sticking to the good, grassy ground in the middle of the 4x4 tracks. A mile from the A52 crossing, where I know Tam and the superheroes are waiting to greet me, I resolve not to look back again. I figure he'll pass me in no time.

Reaching the fell-wagon, it's so good to see my family again, but I can't let go of the thought of the 'ghost' runner catching me. I chat for a couple of minutes, say to Tam -'I'll just wait until the next guy runs through - he's been gaining on me for ages.' A few minutes later, he's still not through. I get off again, while Tam says she'll wait there until the runner comes through and meet me at the next road crossing.

Five miles later, we meet again. Tam tells me that they waited for 40 minutes and no one came past. I'm relieved in many ways, but also anxious. I saw that guy, not once, but every time I looked round. Am I going crazy?

Sewstern Lane is designed to break you. Coming at 110 miles into the route, it's an ancient road that has been decimated by 4x4 traffic, trail bikes and quads. Its steep inclines are rutted by tyre tracks and a thick layer of mud covers much of its length. Many parts are un-runnable. Some parts are hardly negotiable at all. It drains the rest of my strength and saps away any remaining positivity. By the time I reach Sewstern, the next Checkpoint, I'm barely holding it together.

In any good action movie, there's always a rope-bridge scene. The hero emerges from the jungle path, natives at his heels, to be confronted by a rickety bridge, suspended precariously thousands of feet above a raging river, hardly visible at the bottom of a sheer-sided gulley. He steps onto the bridge, breifly reassesses, then, looking back towards the advancing enemy, realises that if he's going to survive, he's got little option but to cross. As he clambers over, the camera goes to close-ups of ropes fraying. With each step, the framework of the bridge unravels. Until the hero takes one step too far. The fraying ropes snap, the bridge collapses, and the hero is left clinging to a solitary rung as he dangles by his fingertips against the walls of the cliff.

I'd stepped onto the rope-bridge as I'd entered Sewstern Lane, 20 miles ago. Even though I knew the rope was fraying, I had no alternative but to continue. The end always lays in front, not behind. Gradually, the bridge weakened. At Sewstern, it fell apart.

As I leave my family and friends at the Checkpoint, I'm dangling by one hand. But falling to the river below is something I dare not comprehend. Mustering unknown reserves of resolve, I continue. Between Sewstern and the banks of Rutland Water, I pull myself slowly to the top of the cliff. It takes an immense effort, but somehow I manage. At times I want to let go, fall in glorious flight to the water below. But I don't. I've come too far.

Finally, I'm waiting to crest the hill out of Exton where the sweeping panorama of Rutland Water will, no doubt, knock me for six. When I get there, there's a glimpse of water to the left, but it's hardly earth-shattering. I stand for a minute or two, force down a power bar and head down the hill, through the pub car-park, to the road.

Then something strange happens. I'm revived! There's a purpose in my step that i've not felt for hours. The finish is near. I'm almost done. I head out on the undulating path that leads to the Oakham road, and for the first time since the morning, I check my watch. Time has long since failed to be an issue - to finish inside 40 hours was my singular goal - but now I'm spurred on by the thought of finishing in under 35 hours. I push and push, and the minutes slip away.

Oakham awaits. Leon and Lightning meet me on a street corner and tell me the library is yards away. There's a small crowd gathered as I approach the finish. My family, Pat Robbins - the joint winner, Mark and his other half. I muster a final jog across the line and stop. I've arrived. The fourteenth footpath - the longest one- done and dusted.

* * * * *

The inaugral Viking Way Ultra saw 28 competitors set off from Barton. 75% of the field failed to reach the finish.

The race was won by Neil Bryant and Pat Robbins, running in together in an outstanding time of 29 hours 22 minutes.

Third place went to the incredible Mimi Anderson in 33 hours 52 minutes.

The other results were:
4th - Chris Rainbow, 35 hours
5th - Charlie Sharpe, 36 hours 23 minutes
6th - Paul Dickens, 37 hours 28 minutes
7th - Andy Horsley, 39 hours 45 minutes

Written by Neil Bryant - www.ultrarunninglife.com

Mark Cockbain first contacted me last year offering me a place on his first race he wasplanning to put on, theViking Way Ultra. I had heard rumours about this for a while and knew that it was going to be like a British Spartathlon. When I checked out the details I was impressed and had to reserve my place. I had never heard of the Viking Way footpath, but it seemed ideal for Marks purpose. Its length is 147 miles, starting at the Humber bridge and snaking it’s way south till it reaches the town of Oakham near Rutland water. There would be no support allowed. I like the sound of that! There would also only be 9 cp’s which would be 13-18 miles apart except the last two which would be 10 and 6 to finish. The cut-off at the 50 mile point is 12.8 hours and 28.5 hours at the 100 mile point. You would also have access to a drop bag at these two points if you wanted. The final cut-off time was 40 hours. This was set up to be a real beast. You would also have the extra concern of staying on the trail using the provided maps. Ace!

My target for this race was a sub 40 finish. I genuinely had no further target. The field wasvery strong and I really didn’t care about my position. This was a race against me. I saw it as a cross of a normal race and one of my long solo challenges with the no marking, recceing, support and map-reading. This was going to be one big brutal adventure. I couldn’t wait to get going! I hadn’t trained specifically for this, as I don’t really for anything now, but I was content with my fitness. A couple people had said to me that they fancied my chances of  winning due to my background, but I just dismissed it and focused on getting myself around in time. I also said to Drew that I thought that the race winning time would be around 32 hours. “no-one will drop below 30 hours this weekend” I confidently stated.

Charlie and I were running at a nice pace that I was happy with so we stayed together. There were two other chaps who pulled a little away with us from the rest of the field Riccardo and Paul Dickens. It was damp but I was warm now, even my hands which seem to have really poor circulation. I was only wearing my thin silk gloves so the temperature can’t have been too low!  Riccardo wore glasses but because of the light rain he didn’t have them on and could therefore not read his map. In fact he didn’t even have it out. He said he will follow people. “A recipe for disaster” I told him. My experience has told me that you should never rely on following others unless you know them well and are happy that their map reading skills are reliable. Even then I would like to follow my progress on my own map. It is just so easy to go off course and get confused while following others, pull your own map out but not have a clue where on it you are! Lots of frustration and wasted time. Exactly what you don’t need in a 147 mile race! 
 

 I stopped briefly to use a bush and watched everyone continue without me. Excellent, now I can do my own thing. I feel more in charge of my race destiny when alone. My pace is not affected by others around me so easily. Charlie seemed to be going well. I was interested to see how Charlie would get on at this distance. He has an incredible amount of speed, but was unproven at this distance. I got the impression that he’s mentally pretty tough which is what these things are all about. We’ll see. As we progressed the drizzle halted which improved my outlook on the whole thing immensely. I was starting to feel nicely warmed up now. The course was very runnable with lots of gentle slopes but nothing too testing. I was in my rhythm. It was now just me and Riccardo. We passed over a main road and dropped down into our first village, Barnetby Le Wold. It was here that Javed caught us up. I had seen Javeds name on many start lists but had never met him so it was good to finally chat. We missed the turn through the village but finally got through, spotting Charlie as we got back on the trail just 300 odd metres ahead. He looked strong. Riccardo, Javed and I were just cruising along chatting about running and kit (of course). We would soon be at the first cp at 15 miles. As we passed through a kissing gate, there it was across the road. There were a load of crew here as it was the first. Our time seemed quick but I pushed that thought out of my mind as I had faith in my pacing by feel.

I wear a Suunto Ambit watch (my new toy) which of course tells me everything I could ever wish to know and some, but I have never really raced to a pace plan. I just run for fun. If it feels right it often is. Over time my feel for the optimum pace has certainly improved with burn out due to too much speed rarely happening. I used to religiously use a heart rate monitor and stay within a particular range. I feel no need for this now as I think the years that I was doing this has honed my rate of perceived effort monitoring. I think this has added greatly to my enjoyment and feeling of liberation while I run now.

The cp table was well stocked with GU gels, 9Bars (which I had tonnes of in my bag!) cake, sarnies, sweets, crisps etc. It was a welcome sight as Mark had said that this was going to be largely self-sufficient. If they are all going to be this well stocked then that will be excellent. All I need is plenty of choice. I just get bored of absolutely everything no matter how great it is if I have to eat it all day, so the variety was great. Good work Mark. Drew topped up my bottles, and we were off again. I took a handful of malt loaf for the road. Fortunately we staright away started climbing so we begun walking making it easier to eat my chewy loaf. I can generally eat anything on the run, which I see as a real strength in this game! We kept getting sightings of Charlie up ahead. He didn’t seem to be going any faster than us. I was now running at the front of the three of us and could tell that the pace was possibly a little too quick for the other two. Sure enough, I slowly was pulling away. Everytime things like this were happening something in my head would ask my body whether I was at a sensible pace. Every time, my body would respond yes. This was sustainable… I think.

I soon caught Charlie as he stopped and was adjusting his kit. We now ran together again. We were moving at a comfortable pace as the miles were slowly ticking by. This was a long way though so I had to keep just focusing on the next cp not the whole task. Just keeping the immediate task in manageable chunks makes it all seem so much more achievable. It’s so easy to be pretty knackered at the 50 mile point and to get overwhelmed with the fact that there are nearly 100 miles left. break things down. Everyone has there own way of doing this. I keep things pretty simple by using cp’s. Though the gaps between cp’s was pretty large in this race.
Soon enough we were into another picturesque village, Tealby, and spotted the flags that signified the cp. There seemed to be quite a few people here. I wanted to be quick. I have so many times left a cp and realised that I forgot to top up my fluid, grab some food or picked up some more clothes, so now as I get close I talk through what I need to do to try and hammer it home. I needed to drop off some map that we had used, top up my bottles, put a gel or two in my bag and eat some of the lovely home made cake that was appearing at each cp! We were pretty quick and were off again crossing the footbridge over the ford at the bottom of the hill while stuffing some cake in my mouth. As we were leaving the cp, we saw Chris Rainbow entering. He looked smooth. I had never heard of Chris, but knew that he had ran JOGLE and had a Bob Graham round (This is slowly working it’s way to the top of my to-do-list at the moment), so he was pretty handy. He had obviously sped up to almost catch us so was expecting him to be with us soon. We were now working our way through the Wolds which was pretty, but nothing too dramatic i.e. difficult. It seemed to be a very gentle incline which carried on for half an hour or so. And which eventually had us walking up the final part which ramped up to a road.

We turned right before very quickly realising that we were supposed to going left! That could have been interesting. Never mind all was well. I was feeling the strain in my quads. Nothing unexpected though. It was nice knowing that the terrain didn’t seem to be pulling any surprise punches. It had been gentle rolling hills all the way so far. We had passed through a field that had a sign warning that there was a bull present. I was wearing a bright red top, but I wasn’t forced to sprint for the gate fortunately. We now ran down a quiet country road that was slowly winding it’s way down. I remember noting here that we had very good visibility from here. There didn’t seem to be any weather fronts coming in for a while. 

The weather over the last few weeks had ranged from the freakily warm to just-below-zero temperatures. It has been a very dry year so far, but there had been some very heavy rain the night before. There had been forecast temperatures as low as -6 at one point apparently. I hadn’t followed the forecast until the last week as anything longer than that is too inaccurate. There was light rain forecast later on, but I was quiet happy to enjoy the current clear spell. 

As we passed through the next village and came out the other end we realised that we must have passed the junction we needed to take. We stopped and checked our maps. We had literally only overshot it by about 30 metres, but this pause in our progress was enough for Chris Rainbow to catch us up, He turned straight down the road we had just realised was the correct way. He slowed a little to let us both catch up. We ran together for a few miles chatting a fair bit. Chris was local, and seemed to have a fantastic knowledge of the footpaths. He had set himself the incredible challenge of running the full length of every footpath that crosses through Lincolnshire during 2012. I can’t remember that stats, but it was something like 40-50 paths. The Viking Way being the longest, which was partly his reason for entering (If you read this Chris, get in contact, it would be good to hear how you get on).  

We were chatting and running down another quiet road. We didn’t see a single car. Just how it should be. After 20 minutes or so, Charlie stopped to hide behind a bush. We carried on running expecting him to catch us back up. This was the last I would see of Charlie who would put in a really strong effort for the full duration. Chris and I continued together. I felt like I was really finding my rhythm now. We were approaching 50 miles, the location of the first point we would have access to our drop bags. I needed my drop bag for three things. The next set of maps, bottles of Lucozade and a Ginsters pasty. I had put two pasties in my bag. One for the 50 mile and one for the 100 mile. Yes I really know how to treat myself don’t I! Chris had some friends and family who we kept seeing out on the course. This was a nice boost for me as well. They soon learnt my name and would wish me well too. As we crossed a field, I saw the yellow Viking Way t-shirt of Drew running towards us. He informed us that we were around a mile out from the cp. Next we saw Chris’ tribe. We all ran in to the village together before spotting the black gazebo that contained our bags. Everyone was really positive and in a good mood here. I was feeling pretty good. We had done the first 50 miles in 8.5hrs. This was faster than I imagined, but I told myself that it was ok. My pace felt good. Have faith. 

I ate a lot of the budget delights that were on offer, while sorting out the next 50 miles worth of maps, renewing my Lucozade and finally preparing the pasty for speedy eating. Chris had put his headtorch on already. I asked if he was ready to move and he starting preparing for the off. We said our goodbyes and slowly eased off down the road, with me cramming pasty into my mouth. I seemed to by staying on top of my hydration at the moment which is unusual for me! After a short while we were off the road and back into the fields. Chris had stopped to adjust his bag or something so I continued alone. Within 5 minutes I was presented with a fork in the path I was unsure of. I waited a minute for Chris to catch up, who confirmed my first choice, before continuing together again. I was now aware that Chris seemed to have stopped chatting. I got the impression that he was going through a bad patch. Slowly the elastic stretched until 30 minutes later he was no-where to be seen. I was now in the lead! Blimey, that wasn’t supposed to have happened! I kept checking on all the signals my body was transmitting and was as content as could be that I was still within my limits. I will continue with my same pace and adjust as necessary later on. The weather was perfect for running now and I was enjoying running alone at the head of a very strong field. I wasn’t sure how long it would last, but didn’t care as I was enjoying the run. With no-one in sight, I suddenly felt really good. I now passed through Honcastle and picked up the footpath that followed the river. After 15 minutes or so, I looked around but saw no runners. 

I crossed over a bridge and was then on the Spa trail which is a disused railway that is now a nice flat smooth footpath that would take me into Woodhall Spa. This was good to push out a few ‘speedy’ km’s. Also, Woodhall Spa was of course where I had stayed with work for a couple nights when I was unfortunately ill, so I would soon be on the only very short section of the Viking Way that I was familiar with, even though it was all on road. I’ll take every little positive I can get. 

It was actually really nice to be running through the town and to know where the turning would be, but within a heartbeat I was back on unknown trail. I had heard that this part could be tricky. Must stay focused! As it happened, this part seemed really easy. Maybe it was because I was obsessively following every little twist and hedge I was passing with the map. As I passed through a field I had to climb over a stile. Always a good test of what state your legs are in. The legs were really starting to feel the exertions of the day! I was a little stiff as I begun running again. After a little more road I turned a corner and saw Al from 9Bar madly waving one of the flags. I arrived at the Stixwould cp which is the 64 mile point. I topped up my bottles and chatted with the lovely crew while eating some of the lovely home baked lemon drizzle cake. Yum it was great! I tried to be as quick as possible. 

As I made my way through the village and beyond I came to a fork in the road. When I looked at the map I thought I should go right. After 5 minutes of running, I realised that things didn’t look right. When I looked at the map I got confused. Then I realised my error. Nearly all of the trail heads in a southerly direction. That is except for the section I was on now which heads back North to eventually take you through the heart of Lincoln, then South again. So I was getting confused with the fact that I was now heading in a different direction on the map! Idiot! I’ll blame that one on being tired. 

I was now back on the trail. I looked behind a few times but saw no-one even though I’d wasted 10 minutes in confusion. I saw that the sun was dropping out of the sky quickly now. There weren’t many clouds in the sky but what there was hid the sun. Just for a few minutes, I was awestruck with the beauty of the beams of sun that shone through the clouds over the patchwork fields below. Occasionally the joy of the run, the beauty surrounding me and the exhaustion, create moments of euphoria, and this was one of those times. I welled up feeling lucky with my life. I had put my headtorch on my head at the last cp so was ready to go. As the night drew in I found myself in a field full of inquisitive cows running towards me. What would they have done if they the electric fence wasn’t there? They seemed like a friendly bunch. I then turned my light on. I was roughly following a waterway and should soon come to a footbridge. I soon hit another waterway. Hmm this wasn’t right. The second I switched my light on, I get lost. I ran around trying to make sense of the situation before finally running back where I’d come to find the last Viking Way sign. I then saw the unmistakeable bouncing light of another runner. It didn’t look any further than a half km and was heading towards me. Was this Chris or had someone passed him? As I continued to head towards the light, it darted off to the left and disappeared. I guess it had just turned over the bridge I had missed. Sure enough, within 5 minutes I was there a the bridge with now familiar yellow sign signifying I was back on track. I guessed that this had cost me 20-30 minutes. Never mind. I was grateful that it hadn’t gone on any longer and that as far as I could tell, only one runner had passed.  

I guessed that the runner was Chris because I knew what torch he had, and it was a really powerful one. Occasionally, I kept thinking I was getting a flash of light ahead as though the runner ahead kept turning to see me. I also would turn looking for chasing lights bus saw nothing. We were soon on the long flat section of the North Delph drain. This seemed to carry on for longer than it actually was, and before we left it, I caught the new lead runner. It was indeed Chris. 

We then saw the glow sticks which the crew had put out for us to signify the point atwhich we left the path and headed towards the next cp just before entering Lincoln. This was the 81 mile point. There was a horrible damp rain that was getting a little heavier as we approached the Bright lights at the cp. Chris had dropped back a few hundred metres. I grazed all the party food at the cp and had my bottles topped up by Drew. James made me a cup of coffee. I added some cold water to it so I could drink it quicker and just before I left with Chris with a handful of jelly babies the crew pointed out two or three lights bouncing along on the path behind us. They told us that this was something like 15 minutes as they watched us approaching for ages. It was probably Cliff, Pat and Mimi. I knew it was just a matter of time before Pat would catch me and no doubt carry on at his metronomic pace that has served flawlessly for the Grand Union Canal Race. I drank my coffee really quickly and Chris told me to go on without him.  

Next up was the only other bit I was concerned about. Getting through Lincoln quickly and trouble free. Mark had given each of us a close up map of the city to help us through but I chose to attempt it without that just using the main OS maps. I headed towards the beautiful, lit up cathedral up the cobbled streets. It was the witching hour on a Saturday night. As I ran down the steep cobbled street I was obviously getting closer and closer to the madness of the nightlife. It’s always funny when you’ve been running for ages and you pass through busy areas with people who are unaware of what you are doing. 

After a few jeers from the revellers and a few twists and turns I was successfully through and was back on soft ground. Excellent! After an unusual bit of climbing on some really nice trail, I was back on a ridge. I followed this in the dark for quite a while and after passing through many kissing gates I passed though a village. 

I don’t normally hallucinate in races. In fact, I’ve never experienced this phenomenon. I was feeling pretty tired at this stage and had been living in the headlight bubble for a fair while now, so when I saw what looked like worms on the trail ahead of me, which there were many of, shrinking then disappearing like they had had a spell cast on them. I blinked and rubbed my sleepy eyes, but still they were there. After what seemed like an age of this, I worked it out. The little rascals were feeling the vibrations caused by my footfall, were rushing back to their holes and diving down giving the impression that they were shrinking. Awesome, so I still hadn’t hallucinated! 

After more robotic, ever stiffening running, I turned a corner and there exactly where the map said it would be was the 97 mile cp. I was there in 18 hr 20 mins. Christ, that’s loads faster than I expected. Mark and Alex helped me swap my maps around get two more Lucozade bottles from my bag and grab the second and last pasty out of the bag. I didn’t hang around too long, and pushed on. Only 50 miles to push! Only a complete disaster now would mean a DNF. Could I hold my place? Top three maybe? I tried not to think about it and just carried on at my own pace. My feet were really sore but never mind. 

The next cp was a tidy 16 miles. Easy! I was now in a bit of a tired daze. I kept watching the worms and focused as much as my tired mind allowed on keeping the pace up. I occasionally passed through villages, mostly deadly quiet, though occasionally passing the thumping bassline of a house party making the most of the bank holiday weekend. I was tiring a lot now, but knew that it was just that time of day. Soon there would be signs of daylight, and with it a renewed energy, though admittedly little and short lived. It was also pretty amazing to have passed the 100 mile point. The miles were just passing by now and I was still managing to sustain a reasonable pace. I spilled out of a field and there was the next cp. It was chilly and the van windows were steamed up as the crew were inside sleeping. I didn’t want to wake them, but I needed more water, so I tapped lightly on the window which caused them to jump out of their skins anyway. They jumped into action and really helped me as much as possible. I felt touched by their generosity. I ate more cake and moved on shuffling down the road. It was now that I spotted a bouncing headlight of another runner. No mistake here. Who was it? Chris, Pat? Yes surely it must be Pat…? Maybe it was Charlie? What about Mimi? Never forget Mimi. I will just continue at the same pace. There were well over 30 miles left so no need to bolt. I had removed my light at the cp and was feeling good. I was half glad that someone was about to catch me as it is pretty tense at the front. Who was it though? 

As I slid across a really muddy field where my shoes seemed to collect half a tonne of mud on each one, I turned and got a sighting of the runner. I still couldn’t tell who it was. I kept going and entered a village trying to keep my pace sensible. There was now a little more road. I didn’t see the runner for a little bit. Then a long straight came up. There he was. He had me in his sights and appeared to be catching me pretty rapidly. Soon enough he was there. It was unsurprisingly, Pat Robbins. It was actually good to be caught for the company. We hadn’t spoke before so it was good to get to know each other. We were chatting about what he knew about the situation behind. I learnt that Cliff had pulled at the 97-mile point. Mimi was still going strong but was probably a fair way behind. After running and chatting together for around 30 minutes, the topic of race tactics came up. The simple question, was do we work together or not. If we worked together, we would finish together. Of course, if we raced each other we would possibly go slower and maybe third place would enter the mix. I was happy to work together. If we could work as a fairly well matched team then we would be difficult to catch, and Pat checked his Garmin saying that a sub 30 was on the cards if we could keep the pressure on. 

So, with a new target, some fine company, and the prospect of winning this thing,there was a new sense of urgency about me. But then we turned a corner in the path and hell presented itself to us. We were on a pretty wide section of path, and it had obviously been used by loads of 4X4 vehicles, as the trail was totally torn up and was very wet and muddy. Often when trails are like this you can find a slither of runnable trail down the middle or on the edge, but these guys had done a fine job of eliminating all runnable and often walkable sections and transforming them into muddy, incredibly slippery, slicks that were really frustrating. Especially as you would look ahead and see the hell continuing ahead as far as the eye could see. Then when you finally made it to a corner in the path and could see another long section , your heart would sink as you could just see plenty more of the muddy mess. Just to make things even more frustrating, on the right was a bush, but the other side was a field that looked just amazing to be running on! So near yet so far! 

Fortunately for us, we were staying together, and we agreed that had we been covering this section alone, there would most likely have been a sense of humour failure. We were working well together as a team. The sub 30 looked possible before the hellish mud, but now it looked like we would make it by the skin of our teeth or fail. How much more of this mud would we have to deal with? Neither of us knew, so we would just push and hope that it would ease off soon. There was probably about 5 miles worth of this mud, but we got through it without losing too much time because of our team work. My feet were really sore now and Pat said his felt pretty badly blisters. All the sliding around can’t have helped matters!  

We both then had a moment that is uncommon for us. We saw a tarmaced road up ahead that we would soon be running on and were happy about it! It would be good to get some speedier miles under our belts, and get that bit closer to the end.  

The next cp should be here we both agreed as we scanned our maps. We kept running around the corner. “There are the flags Pat” I said as I saw them fluttering in the morning breeze around the kink in the road. What a sight for sore eyes. After this there was only one cp left, and it was only 10 miles away. From there the end in Oakham was just under 10 km! We were fairly quick at the cp making sure that we did all the essentials, before creakily taking off down the trail in the beautiful morning. We were back in the fields now. Hopefully that would be the last of the hell. Unfortunately we had a little more of a slightly different hell. We crossed a field and instead of the wet slippery variety of mud, we now had the sticky clumping mud, and within just a few strides it looked as though we had moon boots on due to the masses of mud stuck to our feet! This of course turned our light weight trainers into lead divers boots, which on our tired limbs was difficult to keep moving. Fortunately this was no-where near the same length as the last hell. It was bliss to exit hell part two and scrape the tonnes of mud off of our feet and for a few seconds have the effect of having light feet! 

As we came over the top of a hill and begun heading downwards, we sighted Rutland water for the first time. What a sight! We painfully jogged down the hill. My knee was sore as well now, but ok. We approached the final mini cp which had a little crowd surrounding it. Everyone told us we had a big lead, but we were determined to leave asap as the sub 30 was still on! They looked a little surprised when we told them our aim. But within 5 minutes we were off, threading our way through the footpaths through Rutland water. There were many hills, but we knew that once we were through this part, we would be on a main road into Oakham that we could hopefully run all the way in on. Sure enough once we had got through the woodland and were out on the road, we calculated the remaining distance and how much time was left before 30 hrs ticked by. We had ages! Awesome. We ran most of the final distance though I wanted a little walk just before the end, before our final dash together across the line. The mayor was there as well as a number of the crew. I felt great, but awful. Pat seemed to be really chatty, but I just needed to get off my feet. After a little while, with the help of Drew I made the small walk back to my hotel and checked in. As I was earlier than I ever imagined, my room wasn’t ready. Fortunately they quickly sorted it out and then I was straight into my shower, before passing out on the luxurious four-poster bed. 

Suunto download

The carnage behind was proof alone of what a tough race it had been. There were a mere seven finishers out of 28 starters. That’s a perfect 75% drop-out rate! Considering that this was a selected field, really shows the difficulty. Mark and Alex really have created something awesome here. I get the impression that it is almost exactly as Mark wanted it. Well done Mark, it was a fantastic event and I look forward to any future plans. 

As of my performance. Well, over a week later as I write this, I still am a little dumbstruck with it all. I keep thinking that it would have been slower without Pat there and if he wanted to go it alone then I’m not sure I would have been able to race him. But then I remind myself that the time was really good (better than I thought possible at the start!) and I was out at the front for the whole thing. I had a good day to say the least. I’m overjoyed and I had a great weekend meeting up with some great people of new and old. The race organisation was basic, and amazing. Just how I like it. I was sad to be leaving it all, but happy that I will probably see everyone again, in the middle of nowhere for some other silly race. 

Next up is the Fellsman in a few weeks. I don’t plan on doing too much between now and then as I have to keep reminding myself about my main target this year, Trans-Europe. I believe I have the fitness for it already, so as long as I hold onto that till August all will be good. The other races I’m doing are just fun things leading up to it. Not to say that I’ll just be bumbling around of course! 

Well I should really finish with this one as I have possibly beaten my own wordcount record! 

I’ll try and get another kit review out before the next post.  

Happy running. 

Written by Steve Skedgell - http://skedge.wordpress.com/

Start time: 07:00 Weds 28th August 2013
Distance: 119km
Positive: height gain 7,250m
Time limit: 33 hours

If you want the race Blog, ignore the first 5 paragraphs! It’s written for me to remember as much as it is for others to read. Sorry, but there are photos at the end!

I haven’t written a Blog for a few years and thought it was about time, especially as I have taken part in the hardest race I have ever attempted. I completed the UTMB 2012 although expecting 160k and 9,600m of ascent, due to bad weather at altitude, this was reduced to 110km and 5,600m of ascent. For the record, last year, I came 661st of 1618 finishers (2,400 started) in a time of 22:58:16 and the second longest time on my feet.

I Arrived in Chamonix with running mates Andy Miles (Centurion Grand Slammer 2012) and Ray Hasler (29:34 completed of Centurion Runnings’ North Down Way 100 miler, 17 days prior to this race!) on Sunday and before long we had wandered the streets, had photos at the UTMB start line and TDS finish line, plus decided to go to my favourite bar that evening, Micro Brasserie de Chamonix. Ray is a raw vegan, so finding a suitable meal for him is always difficult, especially when the restaurant is renowned for its burgers. Anyway he munched on his salad while we devoured our burgers!

Monday we put our running kit on and joined a Japanese lady, Miki, who was staying in our hostel. We walked to the cable car station at 7am to then go up to 3,842 metres to the viewpoint Aiguille du Midi to see Mont Blanc and the surrounding area, way above the clouds and, of course, Chamonix in the valley below. A cable car down and we said our goodbyes to Miki, then it was a first run for Ray in a fortnight and the first use of poles for Andy. They were ‘blown away’ by the route along the Grand Balcony to Montenvers Mer de Glacé (a hotel, restaurant, viewpoint of a glacier and location for a train ride down to Chamonix). A technical route but not very hilly and one that I did last year, 2 days after completing the UTMB. After a discussion about staying for lunch, it was decided to move on down towards Chamonix and this section was difficult to run fast, not that we wanted to, the guys had been saying how much concentration was needed to avoid falling, compared to what they are used to in England. It was 2/3rds of the way down when Andy needed to have an excuse for a coffee break and we found it in a beautiful Chalet beside the trail. Teas and coffees ordered and a beautiful French lady twisted our arm to have chocolate cake, she recommended we sprinkle sea salt over it. A superb and tasty idea and I will definitely be visiting there again, maybe next year. Whilst relaxing in the comfy chairs, a runner came down the trail who I recognised, I said ‘Hello, Joe isn’t it?’. It was Joe Grant who was crewing for Anton Krupicka and who I wanted to win the UTMB this year. We had a chat and a photo and he went skipping on down the trail like a Springbok, because he’s a great runner and not because of our conversation!

Tuesday was a day of relaxing after a fair few beers the previous evening, including watching Man Utd v Chelsea, and Registration that opened at 1pm. We were determined to get it all over early and joined a tiny queue half hour before and we were glad we did as there were a couple hundred people lined up when we left. The day before a race I like to eat a good lunch and dinner so I found a good priced Italian restaurant and had 3 courses. Later in the evening we went back to the Micro Brewery for another meal and I was the only one who dared have a couple of beers. A relatively early night as the alarm was set for a 4am rise to catch the 5:15 bus to Courmayeur, Italy and the start of the race………..

The awkward thing about being bused to the start of a race, is breakfast. When should I eat, what food is available when we get there, etc. I took 4 bananas and a box of nuts, seeds and grapes for my breakfast which I suppose is different to many. I ate most of this on the coach and then kept a few bananas to avoid being hungry before the 7am start. My usual breakfast consists of a 3 egg omelette and that wasn’t going to happen today. We waited inside a sports venue for about an hour and just assumed this was the right place to wait. It was. 15 minutes before the start everyone started to walk into the town centre and this is where our drop bags were to be left and would be taken to Cormet de Roseland 66.6km (41.625m) Aid Station. Mine was full of a change of clothes, trainers, plenty of food, etc. In addition to the UTMB kit list requirements of full body waterproofs, leggings, wind proof, long sleeved top, hat, whistle, survival blanket, emergency food, etc to be carried in our backpacks. It gives me peace of mind should anything be required and the weather is unpredictable in the mountains. It’s amazing that I put little actual thought about what the 75 miles and 7,250m ascent would be like, I felt I’d just see what happens. 7am and the Start….

The race starts with a gentle run through the streets of Courmayeur and plenty of supporters. A downhill stretch which warmed us up so much that we took our jackets off and realised that we were near the back of the field! No so bad as I didn’t want to go too fast too early as there was so many miles to be completed and plenty of huge mountains to climb. We started the ascent, all using poles, and quickly Ray was left behind and we were wondering how he would manage having recently completed a 100 mile race with 26 minutes to spare, within the deadline. We kept moving up the mountain path likes ants to its nest and eventually arrived at the first aid station with no sign of Ray behind us. There was a blockage here with so many people and one tiny trail to get to. I grabbed some salami and cheese and started to move on. Whilst I wanted to eat from the aid stations I also did not want to lose too much time in case I needed it later, watching cutoff times. According to official figures gained after the race, I was 1403rd from 1525 starters. We had completed 736 metres ascent with a further 479 metres to the summit, an initial climb of 1,215 metres. For a comparison, the highest peak in England is Scafell Pike (978m), Wales is Snowdon (1,085m) and Scotland is Ben Nevis (1,344m). Somehow I had moved up to 1329th at this point, although I didn’t know this at the time. We hadn’t even done 7 miles and it took 2:38 to get there! We knew it was going to be a long day.

Heading down to a checkpoint it was a case of follow the leader for a while but a few people were taking it very easy, Andy fell once and also twisted his ankle again but seemed ok. It was along this stretch that cowbells were heard and lots of them. The cows were straight-lining it across our switchback paths and didn’t seem to want to stop, causing confusion between runners. We made it down to a level path and still found it strange running on the flat to the checkpoint. It was noticeable that it was ‘dog eat dog’ at these aid stations as different nationalities, but mainly French, just barged in for water or food. When in Rome………and that’s how I dealt with it.

What a surprise another ascent, 1,195m of climb. What we hadn’t thought about the time taken from aid stations to aid station, especially for food, as 16k to the next station doesn’t sound far and checkpoints do not always have water so I will be more careful in future. The next ascent was slow but about 75 minutes and then a beautiful sight of a long downhill path. I had been warned by Mark Brooks, an experience Ultra-Marathon runner that there were a couple of these ‘but don’t go too fast or you will hurt you quads’, which will be needed later. Took it fairly easy down but still I expected a water stop and it wasn’t forthcoming. I had to fill my water bottle in an ice cold stream in order to have enough before the next aid station. The 16k (10miles) took near 4 hours and at least the food was plentiful when we arrived at Col du Petit St Bernard. We had been there 10 minutes eating, salami, cheese, bread, noodle soup (always a must for salt replacement en route), bananas, raisins, biscuits, etc when Ray wanders in. A brilliant surprise as we had expected him to be quite a way back. It turns out he loved the downhill and caught is up.

We all left the checkpoint together and set for another downhill to Bourg St Maurice of 15k (nearly 10 miles). I led, Ray followed and Andy somewhere near. Quite amazed how many people walked this stretch or long parts of it, somehow I moved up 70 more places to 1,073rd when I arrived. I grabbed coke and water to start with, then the usual noodle soup, Salami, Cheese and bread. I sat down to eat and Ray arrived saying how he’d been following me for a while and then got lost and would have been ahead of me. He should have followed me closer! With that, Andy’s shouting as he leaves the aid station! What’s going on? Brilliant though. He’s between me and the exit and its here that I realise there is a kit inspection before we are allowed to leave. I’m all for making sure everyone has everything stipulated on the kit list but it’s infuriating when you want to move on. The guy wanted to see both head torches, leggings, long sleeved top and waterproof. Of course, the 2nd head torch was buried at the bottom of my bag and then I spilled other items on the table and the floor. Anyway, onwards and UPWARDS.

The next climb was 1,754 metres in 11km (6.875 miles) = Massive. It had turned into a hot day and as I left the checkpoint I had Mark Brooks calling me. He was amazed we were all together and that we were already well into the race (31 miles of 75miles in 9:35). The next 44 miles were going to be tougher and mostly through the night. Confidence boost that we were doing well and going up the ‘Leaderboard’ was just the job before the massive climb ahead.

We started by running through a narrow street and within a minute onto a climb slowly and upwards towards Passeur Pralognan. I just kept following the feet of the person in front and before long Andy was sat in the hedge with a newly found friend. A quick chat and I was not in the mood to stay. It was sunny but I was desperate to finish this climb knowing there was a downhill and I hoped to be running it before dark. It was still a hot day but by continuing slowly but steadily was the best course of action for me. Stop start on these hills were not good for me. One foot in front the other, just watching the feet of the person in front. At this time I got talking to a Frenchman, however I cannot remember his name but he did mention a nice race he’d done but I cannot remember that either! Plodding on, he let me pass and after 1,200m climb we came to Fort de la Platte which I thought was a checkpoint but turns out to be an overgrown fort and there were plenty of people taking a rest and also other people coming down after withdrawing at the next checkpoint. No wonder I was climbing up the ‘leaderboard’! A further 372m climb took me to a checkpoint where I saw coke, fanta and other lovely drinks only to find that these we for sale my some local entrepreneur and our water was provided by a hosepipe! 2 hours 23 minutes of climbing and more to come! A slight incline saw me walking fast using poles and overtaking people only to be surprised by a technical downhill where hands were required to jump down safely. Another steep climb to the summit that took a total of 4 hours 2 minutes to conquer and according to later figures I gained 249 places. Astonishing. Up to 834th place.

It was now 8:30pm and light was fading. Time to put waterproof jacket, warm hat and head torch on. There was a little fog but that was nothing to worry about because, as I went to run down the other side of the mountain, I was confronted with a steel bar attached to wall of rock. This was to enable a descent between jagged rocks that weaves down the mountain. There had either been rain or damp in the air and meant I had to be careful with my footing. I knew I was about an hour from my drop bag and copious amounts of food! This section was probably the worse of the course, maybe because I was hoping for a run down to the checkpoint or because it was plainly a nasty track that stopped any thought of running, especially in the dark.

I arrived at the 66km (41.625miles). I took me 5 1/4 hours to do the 11 miles from the bottom of the valley to a welcoming food station. I had thought that was going to be the hardest part and I had already completed 4,500 metres ascent with ONLY 2,750 metres to go in the 33 miles left. I grabbed my bag that was full to the brim and delved inside and all I took was a Icebreaker Merino to replace the existing t-shirt, put on waterproof trousers (as these are cooler than leggings) and a few gels and Clif shot blocks. I would rather have a choice of clothes, food and trainers in case I needed them than not at all. Another great choice in the checkpoints were Overstims chocolate wafer biscuits, orange biscuits and some other that seemed to work for me. Noodle soup time, plus the usual. I sat down and focus on the task ahead and a further 8 hours of darkness. Probably spent 20 minutes there in total and had been on the go for 15 hours to this point.

I do not remember much of the next section but it took me 5 1/2 hours and saw me arrive at Col Joly at 03:14 covering less than a half marathon! I was tiring and I’m convinced I was falling asleep on the previous climb and saw people lying on beds with blankets and wondered about a power nap, but thought these people needed the bed more than me (later I found out a guy in my hostel utilised a bed and then went on to overtake the people he had been with!). I made sure it was coffee with sugar and coke to increase the caffeine intake and help my concentration. I left this aid station in 669th position and alone. The next checkpoint was downhill, yes, downhill for 9k and 819m descent. The problem here is…….where there’s a down there’s an up! The trouble with this type of course is that it is technical and a down means be wary of slippery mud, tree roots in the wood, etc add the fact that it was dark, it meant slow progress. A mixture of walking and running was good, plus I spoke to a French guy called Laurent, who, I think, had problems with his camelbak earlier in the day and, unless lost in translation, he had an hour massage on his thighs in Bourg St Maurice, at 51k. He said he had been in the Top 200 in the morning and now he was at my level and walking to the finish. He did not finish last year and wanted to just arrive in Chamonix this year within the time limit of 33 hours. My goal was 29 hours which was midday Thursday.

I arrived at Les Contamines aid station, which last year was extremely busy as it was used twice on the UTMB route, but it also meant extra noodle soup in quick succession! I needed to use the toilet on arrival and popped my head inside the doors but couldn’t find one. Eventually I realised you have to squat and poo in a hole! Bizarre and difficult having been on my feet for 23 hours! Leaving here was the start of the toughest part of the race. A long climb, a short down and a ridiculously steep climb. I started on up and quickly realised I was going really slowly and struggling to put one foot in front of the other. It was a steep start. I decided to sit down and have a energy gel with caffeine which included caffeine, I only had 3 energy gels throughout the race as the checkpoints were stocked with food I loved. This gel got my mental and physical motivation and I started up the 551m ascent. I started to catch people but the sun was rising and so was the temperature. Off came the layers and waterproof trousers and I was ready for the final push to the finish. I continued weaving through the woods to the top and then enjoyed the run/walk down. A wonderful view of a road got be excited as I thought there was a easy part, but NO, the steepest most stupendous hill was in front of me. A 401m climb, considering 6,380m achieved, might not seem much but there was tight switchback after switchback where plenty of breathers were required. I tried not to stop as it seems its the best way for me to climb. I was warned of a hard climb near the finish but didn’t expect it so steep. It had taken me 2 hours 27 minutes to complete 7km (4.375 miles) but I had overtaken people on the climb and moved to 578th! Now there was 289m ascent left (peanuts) and some runnable sections ahead (I had done the last 14km of this route on last years re-routed UTMB course, so confidence was high). The down from here was not easy, I started to run but needed use of poles as the mud was a little slippery and had many rocks which always seems right in the way of my foot placement. A few hand rails had to be used for more technical areas avoid falling down a drop and eventually arrived at Bellevue some 3 1/2 hours after leaving the last aid station. I removed my water bottle from my backpack only to find there were no food or drinks, just a guy scanning me at the checkpoint. I knew from last year that the next section was downhill with woods and then a road to a plentiful aid station called Les Houches. It was a foot deep in mud last year so I was pleased to be able to run this section all the way. I was told that the final section was flat by a few people around me but after 70 miles any hill will take its toll. I quickly gulped some coke and had a coffee with added cold water. Gulped that down with 2 pieces of cherry fruit cake and refilled a water bottle. I did not hang around as I thought I might be able to finish before 11am and overtake plenty of others en route! Up to 546th position.

7.9km (5miles) to go to the finish. I walked this last year but was determined to run and reel in as many people as possible, however I did not bargain for a few hills that I just could not manage and soon realised that 11am wasn’t going to happen. Power walking was the name of the game and I was getting plenty of looks from those I overtook on the way. Astonishment that I had the energy to continue on. It did seem to take a long time to complete these few miles but I was getting more and more cheers as I neared the outskirts of Chamonix. I had saved my iPhone battery during the race in order to make a call to my Swedish friend, Daniel who had the only key to our room, and say that I was the first of 3 of us and I was nearly there. As I passed the Welcome to Chamonix sign, I overtook 3 guys and I thought I’d better keep running the incline as I was certain they wanted to re-take their positions. I dug in as I was aware of 3 further place gains and found it harder now I was hitting tarmac. I had a sneaky peak over my shoulder to see no one in sight and at this point I was yards from my hostel and only 500 metres from the finish. With a police assisted road crossing I was into the Main Street of Chamonix and this is where the atmosphere was sensational. Clapping, cheering my name (Steve is printed on my running number) and High 5’s too. It felt so amazing as I had been out on my own for hours and hours and so glad to finish within my goal and see the welcoming face of Daniel. The race is sponsored by The North Face and instead of a medal, you get a TDS Finisher Gilet, this year in red. Not my favourite colour but within hours I was wearing it with pride around the streets of Chamonix and at finish line clapping in others.

My final time was 28:17:33 and 518th position of 1525 starters. I had hoped to be in the Top 1,000 so I was delighted with my result. I progressed up the ‘leaderboard’ at every checkpoint and I am proud to have completed what many say is tougher than the UTMB.

Aftermath

From the finish I walked back to my hostel to power up my phone, check on Andy and Ray’s position and ‘jump’ in the shower. Andy was still a few hours away and Ray was cutting it fine to make it. After all my efforts, I needed a sleep so set my alarm for 90 minutes later. I woke before the alarm, which is crazy! A quick check on Andy showed he couldn’t be far away and, as usual, he didn’t answerhis phone. Changed and made sure gilet was on. Walked to the finish and had a call from Andy saying he had just come in and I was still a few minutes away. I couldn’t find him as he was bending the ears of The North Face sponsors! Eventually I found him and then had to assist him back to the hostel as he had bad blisters and he was still using poles to get back. He informed me that Ray had stopped with only 10 miles to go but massive respect to him getting that far and covering over 7,000m ascent, especially at age 62, that after completing a 100 miler just 17 days prior. There was so much talk of ‘that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done’, ‘I would never do that course again’, etc. having reflected over the last week, and shown brilliant recovery (including a 20 minute recovery run through the streets of Chamonix the next morning), I would enter the race again but first I have to consider whether to enter UTMB
or the shorter race CCC.

Chamonix is the ultimate in Ultra-running ‘Festival’, gathering 5,000+ runners together in such as scenic location is simply The Best and I hope I get to go again next year and see familiar faces once again.

Written by Debs Martin-Consani - http://www.debsonrunning.blogspot.fr/

"The Consani Double".  We heard that a few times in the weeks leading up the Montane Lakeland 100.  The pressure was on.  But pressure is a privilege, right?   well, that's what I told myself.  At least the double was more conceivable than the "will you run together?" question. Pah!  He was up that hill like a rat up a pipe.

It wasn't a race that was going to be possible for either of us, but when the World 24 in June was cancelled, I was glad to have the opportunity to go back and give it another bash.  Call it a silver lining.  Last year I had a good race, but still felt I had more to give.  And I managed to convince Sonic to give it a go.  Even though he wanted to do the West Highland Way - again!

Picture pinched from Nick Ham

I wasn't nervous about the race.  I was scared last year, but knowing I survived, ran well and didn't get lost, meant I was quite comfortable about the prospect.  Of course, I'd forgotten all the nasty bits too, which always help.   But the weather wasn't in keeping of the English fells.  And it certainly wasn't in my favour.   It was hot.  And it was going to be 105 miles of hot. 

Standing at the pre-race briefing,
there were beads of sweat rolling down the inside of my T-shirt.  That didn't bode well.  Mike said the temperature in his car had registered 33 degrees.  I think it may have dropped to slightly more manageable (emphasis on the slightly) 27 when we lined up for the 6pm start.  

The nasty:  That was pretty much everything from Coniston until Wasdale - the first 20 miles to checkpoint 3.  No amount of hot yoga classes and midday training was going to prepare me for that.  I was burst.  I really wanted to pull out.  I mean really, really.  I must have looked like such a crabbit bitch, but I felt like the life had been sucked out of me.

My stomach was gurgling, but even trying to eat something as simple as bread and butter was a struggle.  I eventually fed that to the birds.  Like last year, I spent far too long here - approximately 20 minutes.  I had to change my bra, as the clip had been slowly grating on my back since the race started.  I was trying to be subtle about the change, but I guess it was an epic fail.  I also changed my shoes.  Then thought they were a bit neat, so changed them back again.  

Dragging a dead weight:  The coffee was not a great idea, as it threatened to return for most of the journey to Howtown.  I was really overheating and using every stream to soak myself and a buff, which I placed attractively ears.   The water dripping from the buff gave slight relief, but also attracted some funny glances from walkers.  I think the retching and stumbling also added to the look. In hindsight I probably looked like some kind of rabid animal.

Leaving Howtown I was actually looking forward to "the big climb" over to Mardale Head.  The ascent was good and enjoyed the descent down to the water.  Last year I hit a massive low along the waterside, which I put down to dehydration.  Readers may remember this is where I head butted a tree.  This time I managed to avoid any collisions (bonus!), but still experienced the same effects.  Heading into the checkpoint, I could barely muster a jog on the flat.  Of course it was just perfect to see Ian Corless pointing his MASSIVE camera at me.  Just what you want pictures of ;-)

The hard slog:  Not quite high-kicking

I zig-zagged my way in the checkpoint and downed four cups of coke.  I grab half a sandwich - the first bit of solid food I managed to chew since starting the race 75 miles ago - to eat on the climb.

I knew I would come out of the other side when I got to the top.  And I did.  Life was returning and I enjoyed the journey to Kentmere. I saved my iPod for this bit, so my fave gals Taylor Swift and Amy Macdonald (don't judge me!)  had a little party in my head.

It was lovely to see the Montane crew at the Kentmere checkpoint - for the brief moment I was there.  Fellow Montane athlete Jenn Gaskell informed me that Sonic was well in the lead, by over an hour at that point.  I was in and out as swiftly as I could, as it looked far too comfy in there to hang about.  Funnily enough, on paper it looks like I was passed lots of runners, but I was only picking my way through the field because everyone was using the checkpoints like a coffee morning.

It was mid-morning by now and really heating up.  I was joined on the climb by Alan, Chris and Simon.  We chatted for a bit, but I think I left my social skills in Coniston.  Sorry, guys.  Usually my chat it brilliant as well ;-)

I was looking at my Garmin for the time.  Well, it was the Crazy German's Garmin, as I was using his for the second half of the race.   More so to the record the race for future reference than for real time guidance.  I still hadn't looked at my race splits, but given how I felt for the majority of the race I was confused as to why I had so much time to play with. How could I possibly be ahead of last year's time?  Last year I felt good and this year was a bit of a car crash.  I was convinced the Crazy German's watch was on German time and was a hour ahead.  Hey, I was 88 miles down and my brain was completely frazzled.

I got my iPod out the check the time on that.  It was right.  I was on for a PB.  I couldn't quite believe it, but it gave me something positive to focus on and put a little spring in my step. 

I arrived at Trout Beck to see the lovely Adrian Stott enjoying an ice cream on a bench.  He was in the Lakes looking for fresh meat for the GB trail team.  He made me laugh with stories of William Sichel's (the currect) running adventure,which involves running in circles in temperatures of 30+ and covering at least 100k for about a million days.  I think he was trying to help.

Running through Ambleside was great, as you're pretty much forced to pull yourself together.  The rabid animal act certainly was appropriate for the family-friendly trekkers town.

I tried to get in and out the checkpoint as quickly as possible but 1) the stairs up to the parish hall were a challenge and 2) the opportunity to use an actual real toilet and wash my hands was too good to pass up on. The lovely Lindley took my hat and buff and dunked it in a barrell of cold water, soaked me and then sent me packing.

Just happy to be there.  16 miles to go...and things were looking up.  Not just because I was nearing the end, but mentally I'd finally found my good place.  The cloud cover helped me physically, as an overdue relief from the sun was almost invigorating.

As with most of the race, I didn't try over think things or focus on the bigger picture.  I wasn't thinking about a PB, being first lady or my position overall.  I just focused on forward motion and ticking off my little mini sections in my head.  I knew Beth was close, as I was getting information from checkpoints, but unless I could see her then I wasn't overly concerned about it.  It was fruitless looking back anyway.

Like last year, I was having major problems with chaffing on my back.  The sting was unbelievable. I had cut off the clip of my Tshirt bra at Dalemain, but the damage had already been done.

I kept waiting for someone from the Lakeland 50 to pass me.  This year the race was the British Trail Championship and I expected to be passed by someone running at the rate of knots like Ben Aberdour did last year.  I suppose bring 30 minutes up on last year's time made the difference. 

But there was still no sign of anyone when I arrived at final checkpoint in Tiberthwaite.  Adrian was there again and being his usual chatty self.  I'm not sure whether I was spaced out or just really content, but Adrian had to practically push me out of the checkpoint.  With a small bag of tangerines handed to me by the lovely lady manning goodies.  I may have been a bit over zealous with my appreciation, but those little orange segments were the best thing I've every tasted.

So, there it was.  Just 3.5 miles to go.  One big feck off hill to climb between me and Coniston, but that was fine.  I felt like the job was done and this was my time to enjoy it.  Andy Cole taught me not to get angry or impatient in the last section, but to use the time to reflect on your achievement.  As much as I wanted to tap into my inner hippy, all I could think about was the stinging on my back.  I could walk fine, but any juddering movement was not exactly ticklish.

I could barely run down the hill, because of my back.  So just gritted my teeth, held my breath and took short sprints.  But I was happy and content and even sat on a rock and cheered on Kim Collinson (Lakeland 50 winner) as he  flew down the hill.

As per last year, the welcome in Coniston was amazing.  Except this year I wasn't the bridesmaid.  I did it. It wasn't my dream race, but it meant everything to me.  And even better that we didn't disappoint with the "Consani Double".    Thankfully, or it could have been an awkward journey home.

And I got that PB.  Bettering last year's time by 34 minutes to finish in 25:28.   Full results here.

See me.  See ladylike.

Thanks to all the wonderful dream makers: Marc, Terry, Clare and all the great marshalls. Thanks to Ian Corless and the //www.flickr.com/photos/35938782@N08/sets/72157645963089346/" style="color: rgb(102, 153, 204);">Crazy German for the amazing pictures.  Thanks to my lovely friend Karen for making the trip to come and see me finish and my Centurion Running team mates for their support of the weekend.

Sonic ran a blinder and finished in 21:14, with Charlie Sharpe in second in 22:47 and Lee Knight 3rd in 23:21.  I'd also like to say a huge congratulations to Beth who gave me a good run for my money and was hot on my heels in 25:44.  She's definitely one to watch.  It was lovely to see Nicky Taylor - who I shared a few miles with - take 3rd in 29:37.

The prize giving was amazing.  And not just because of the obvious.  I loved all the "special" awards for people's daftness on the course.  I can empathise with that.  The celebration of the newly engaged couple was magical.

Marc ended our presentation of awards with: "Can you imagine entering the race as a mixed team and then seeing the Consanis on the entry list"  Don't worry, folks.  That will never happen. One would finish and the other would be in a ravine.

Written by Stuart Blofeld - http://ultradiscostu.blogspot.fr/

It's taken me until now to find the energy and will to return to the Alps and write this race report. A week to let the dust settle and get my head around the whole UTMB experience (and then another week to write it!). And what an experience it was! The highs and the lows both figuratively speaking and in ascent were some of the most contrasting I have ever experienced. Whether I can reflect the magnitude of this event in the next few (too many) pages is doubtful. So much has been written about this race and there are already some good blogs out there from the 2013 race including front runner and fellow Buff team member Anton Krupicka, as well as a fellow Brit Simon James whom I ran the whole of the second half of the race with. So check them out (but read mine first ;-) This is my reflection on my race, how it went for me, my thoughts and emotions including the hallucinations! All I would say here and now is that the only way of really knowing what the UTMB is all about is not to read about it but to get your name in the ballot and give it ago yourself... Go on you know you want to!! Why would you be reading this otherwise!?

Lili and Jasper with Pluto!

Isn't she a stunner!

Nick and I all set to go!

The start in Chamonix!!

Climb up from Les Houches (Dino in red just behind)

Coming into Les Contamines aid station at mile 19

The views made even the toughest climbs a joy (honest!!)

New Flash: Ultra Disco Stu finds a flat section of UTMB

James and I on the climb up to Grand Col Ferret (but didn't see any!)

The long descent to La Fouly

About to get "chicked" on the descent to La Flegere

The end in sight and a little more cheery!

Nick and I sporting our matching finishers UTMB gillets (and shorts!)

This next bit is going to sound like an Oscars awards speech but I have to thank my wife and family for their unwavering support not just this year but in all the years that I have run, trained and dreamt of completing this race (and others including Western). I’m looking forward to not getting up at 4am for my Saturday morning long runs. At least for now anyway ;-) There is always something else around the corner as us ultra-runners know only too well, but for now Western States and UTMB in the same year is not something that can easily be topped. And so with that I think I'm going to savour this feeling and reflect back on one hell of a year for the months to come.

Post-race recovery at Passi lake south of Chamonix!

Written by Timmy Olson - http://www.timothyallenolson.com/

Darkness deserves gratitude. It is the alleluia point at which we learn to understand that all growth does not take place in the sunlight. ~Joan Chittister

Climb up too Col de la Seigne. Photo: Damiano Levati

I’ve never wanted to quit a race so bad, not because of injury – even though my left calf could not function for 3/4 of the race – but because I was so mentally and emotionally broken. During the death march from La Fouly (108k) to Champex-Lac (140k) I questioned everything. I hurt immensely, I cried, I had a conversation with a cow, I was broken beyond repair. I kept telling myself, the alleluia point would come, transcendence would ascend my crippled spirit and I would start to fly; it never came to be, but the perseverance to continue on, made the journey and finish very special.

Having the race play out smoothly and feel strong would have been ideal, but what fun is that. The experience I had soldiering around the UTMB trail was incredible; I learned more about myself, I fell more in love with my family and became even more grateful for my body and life. Winning could have been fun, but everyone who made the trip around the mountain, achieved all they needed out there. I’m very content and satisfied with the effort it took to circle Mont Blanc, climb 33000ft and end up back in beautiful Chamonix to celebrate the journey.

Starting in Chamonix at 4:30pm, the town was electric, I wandered down from my home at four trying to stay calm as the crowds and runners vibrated with excitement. We took off as the town roared with cheers from every corner, the streets were lined with spectators high-fiving and encouraging us on. We passed a bar where a guy was handing out cups of beer, I passed this aid station, but appreciated the joy and ambiance of the town. I was already in about 25th place and comfortable with a nice mellow start to start the journey, I knew there’d be plenty of time to race as the day and night progressed.

We were in Les Houches (8k) lickedy-split and heading up the first climb of the day. I was stoked with my legs as the climb felt effortless and in no time a crew of us reached the top and we’re bombing down hill. I took the descents easy as I wanted to save my quads and also be cautious of a bum ankle I sprained on a Mont Blanc trip the week before.

We ticked off kilometers quickly as we continued down. I eventually felt someone running extremely close to my side and some kids shouting in french to me. I thought to myself that the person to my right was almost going to trip me; I turned to my right and started to move out of the way, when I realized that the close “runners” were not people but 3 goats grinding out 5min k’s. These goats meant business and apparently train in the Alps a lot. Their bellies weighed and jiggled more than our packs and their feet were quicker too as they passed myself, Vagin Armstrong and Miguel Heras who eventually had an amazing 2nd place finish. I laughed out loud as thee others were startled by the goats, it looked as if the goats might beat us all!

The goat race was heating up; I thought they would tire, but then 20 minutes passed by, with them still side by side. Arriving on 30 minutes they were looking worn, they stopped to regain their composure at a bridge blocking my way. I encouraged and scooted them on and they found a second wind! I passed them just a moment before we entered the streets of Saint-Gervais (21k) to a generous applause from the crowds; the goats got a standing ovation! I however pulled away and they were the last goats I would race with on this trip.

Les Contamines. Photo: Irunfar It was fairly flat as I cruised the 10k over to Les Contamines (31k 1170m) to see my crew for the first time. I did have a tiny low patch in this stretch as I felt a little dehydrated from the quickish start. So I tried to hydrate more when I arrived to my crew. I came into the aid station calm and focused on getting all I needed as I would not see my crew again till Courmayer 77k in.

I slammed some kombucha green tea, it was delicious, I drank some other green tea, I drank some coke, I wanted to be good and caffeinated as I started my run through the night. I felt solid and ready to take on the night, I kissed my wife and was out remembering everything I needed but my extra 400ml of Coke; crap I thought as I could not turn back now.

Photo: Christophe Aubonnet

I continued on in my own rhythm moving at a decent pace as the night started to creep in. The next few aid stations you could smell a ways away with the smoke from their fires glowing and drawing me in and through Notre Dame de la Gorge (35k 1215m). The crowds cheered as the fires blazed, I was focused as I hiked upwards to our first real climb of the day to the top of Croix du Bonhomme at 2443 meters high and 44k into the race. I moved well to this spot, but was already starting to feel the creeping feeling of stiffness in my calf that would progress throughout the night.

I crested Croix du Bonhomme and started my sluggish decent down, it was full on dark, I was not very trusting of my bum ankle and it was fairly technical for me on this section. It went from grassy slopes with ankle busting divots and meandering washed out out animal trails everywhere. Other sections had wet slick rock that was always slanted in a manor that would not gift an actual foot placement and push off, leaving me timid and embarrassingly slow as I wanted to keep my ankle happy for at least the first half of the race. I was passed quickly by Anton – who had a great race and might of won without the achilles and hamstring issue – I wished him good luck and to keep flying and that I was hoping to see him again down the road. Jonah Budd also sped by as they both could navigate the trail much quicker. They easily gapped me, leaving me to embrace the night running my own race which I was very content with. Crossing river from Les Chapieux.

Photo: Damiano Levati

I entered Les Chapieux (49k 1549m) to our first gear check of the night. They showed me pictures of the gear and I pulled out my tightly wrapped and never used gear to prove I had the mandatory accessories. I briefly saw Anton as he moved out and I took a moment to drink some coke and put on another head torch, feeling good but wanting to not have the leaders gap me too much.

The next section was way more douche-grade road than I anticipated. I tried to run this section at a decent clip, trying to keep the leaders lights in sight and before the higher altitude and steepness decreased my running to a hike. As we finally retreated from the road and started moving the switch backs up to Col de la Seigne (60k and 2516meters), I could see some head torches cruzing up the hill and after I neared the top I turned around to see the zig-zags of lights swerving below for as far as I could see. It was insane to look at the string of head torches behind, very cool to race with so many like-minded people.

Hiking hard up the climbs I was grasping for a solid breath. My lamp would catch many a cows eyes; I stopped to absorb the moment, the Big Dipper lit up the sky to my left, the stars were luminous and glorious. Night running under star-light is the bomb! Mentally I was in a good spot, but I was not moving as fast as I would have liked, I told myself this was good as there was plenty of running left.

Descending to Lac Combal (64k) came and went, I did not see a lake. I grunted up to Arête du Mont-Favre (68k 2435m) tired and sore, but excited to push on. Nothing spectacular but the stars, the mountains were hiding, getting their beauty sleep to give us strength in the morning. For me there was not much sleep, I’d lost my beauty and had many kilometers to go. Uff da.

It was a steep decent into Courmayeur (77k 1200m) and I took it down hard. The altitude and calf were cramping my style in the ups so I tried to do my best to catch up on the downs. Not very successful as I was 30 minutes back from the leaders and was feeling worn from the first half of the day. I tried to regroup, get inspiration from seeing my wife, fuel up properly and restock supplies for the rest of the night. I drank more kombucha, green tea, and some more coke while my wife changed the batteries in my head lamp. I tried to prepare myself for the battle ahead but not sure how I was going to gain that much ground on them.

I was finally on the part of the course I was familiar with from reconning this section with my wife and Joe weeks ago. I knew the rest of the course well and knew I needed to run a bit on the road before a steep hike up to Refuge Bertone (82k 1989m). I was feeling ok at first, but just destroyed within minutes of starting the climb. I was mentally exhausted at the idea of trying to catch up, I was disappointed with myself, I was frustrated with my calf; so I took a poop. This was the start of a low patch that continued on for much of the race.

Recon above Grand Col Ferret. Photo: Joe Grant

I entered Bertone defeated, delirious, deflated and destroyed. I laughed out load as I sat on the table as a bench, shaking my head and not knowing my next move. I thanked the volunteers for their support, I carried on figuring I was out of the race but could at least enjoy running in the Alps. So that’s what I did, I ate a tasty Justin’s nut butter and contemplated life, I took a VFuel gel in for good measure. I swayed with the wind and marched like a drunken sailor. I told myself, this is what I came here for, to be broken, to not know the way out, but to have faith that this was just a low moment with good times soon to follow. Oh the humor.

It finally leveled out and I started to run ever so slowly. I could see head torches closing in on me from behind. I think I ran a little faster. I entered Refuge Bonatti (89k 2010m) with a guy from Spain, I looked up and saw Lizzy Hawker, I told her I was broken with a smile; she laughed and told me to keep going. The aid station guy told me that I couldn’t take coke out of the aid station, I told him that was not true, I took a sip and some to go. I’m dying here, damnit, let me have some bloody coke, is what I wanted to say, but I just smiled and went on my way, coke in toe. Then I continued to climb. The night fog.

Photo: Ian Corless

The next part of the trail went decently smooth, just some sweet single track that I could run fairly well and enjoy the night. Arnuva (94k 1769m) came pretty quick after a few descending switch backs, I could see the leaders on the next big climb, figuring they had about an hour on me, and so it goes. I took my time trough the aid station and started the big climb that would bring me to the highest part of the day and into Switzerland.

I hiked with intention, but could just not push off well; I was perturbed with my calf issues but tried to just focus on the next ribbon ahead. It’s all I could do, 20 meters, ribbon, 20 more, ribbon, like a treasure hunt to the top. As I progressed to the top it started getting foggier and windy, I thought of putting on my verto jacket to block the chill, but was basically just too lazy to get it out. I pushed on, munched on some gel and eventually reached the top of Grand Col Ferret (99k 2537m), I said hi to volunteers, had my bib scanned and with cold joints creaked my way down.

By this point of the night I was pretty much done, I didn’t see much need to continue on, I was almost positive my gastrocnemius was going to explode out of its sheath; it didn’t but it was pretty pissed off. All I wanted to do was stumble my way to my crew and go back to Chamonix and drink some vin. That was the plan which seamed reasonable, I just needed to get off the mean-ass mountain.

With nothing better to do I continued to run down, down and down. Out of the fog and many a switch backs, finally hitting the pavement leading to La Fouly (108k 1598m). I stopped in the middle of the road to pee, at least I was hydrated. I came to the aid hoping to see someone I knew and drop out. Man was this place packed with good people, friendly volunteers to deliver coke, Killian and Emile were there to encourage, so were Bryon (Irunfar) and Ian (TalkUltra) to snap some shots. Lots of my North Face family were there too, one of the sweetest people in the world, Lisa was there to encourage me and tell me my family was excited and ready to see me at Champe-Lac; it was all enormously encouraging but I still wanted to quit.

Photo: Christophe Aubonnet

I couldn’t form the words, “I quit”, so I marched on; figured I would suffer and contemplate life just a little more. This next section of the course was one of the longest stretches of my life, to be honest it’s a little foggy; I was doubly blocking it out and also just bumbling around mumbling to myself. In the mist of my gloom I somehow rolled through Praz de Fort (117k 1151m) and was on my way through the mushroom forest trail climbing to Champex-Lac (122k 1477m), to see my crew and end the day and go home.

My blurry eyes could not focus much, I remember a TV crew following me up the climb and asking how I felt, I had other words to tell the camera but I responded with “I was crushed but enjoying the beauty”, I was mostly just crushed. Saying that out-loud hit a nerve and I finally hit the final wall. I made it maybe another kilometer before I rested my head against a tree and cried for a moment, my mind was shattered and my will broken. After a good moment with the tree I proceeded to laugh at my weak self and stumbled on.

I came upon some cows grazing in a field with the backdrop of glowing, newly sunrise lit mountains; three of the cows turned their heads and I believed to have asked me “what the hell was I doing”? I agreed, I did not know, but I sure as hell wasn’t quitting. I finished the climb and entered the aid station focusing on no one, but my loving wife.

I sat down to drink some random things and complain to her about my night. She listened and told me it wasn’t much farther. She suggested meeting up 10 miles down the road at the next crew point and I agreed. As we were restocking my pack and getting a seconds rest, my North Face teammate and friend Mike Foote entered the station looking tired from the night as well. I believe we were in 6th and 7th respectively and I was stoked to see a familiar face.

Champex-Lac. Photo: Irunfar

I left the station a little early than him knowing the next section was flat and rolling before a steep climb up to Bovine 132k (1987m). I moved with purpose, knowing each minute was closer to finishing this exhausting task, I still doubted I would finish, but I was considering the notion; this was a good sign.

After the rolling section I retreated to power-hike mode and climbed one of the last three big climbs to Chamonix. Reaching the top I had the duty of navigating a handful of huge horned bull-like cows blocking the trail. I asked politely if they’d move, yelling and gingerly maneuvering around hoping to not get kicked, they obliged and let me through with Mike clipping at my heals and finally a vision of another runner 10 minutes in the distance.

We all moved at about the same speed to Trient 139k (1300m), not really getting glimpses of each other, but aware we were all close. At Trient aid station I believed to have seen a bunch of people but not really sure; I tried to move somewhat quick, drink kombucha, green tea and some coke. To my surprise Anton was in there sitting down, I encouraged him, but unfortunately his legs were more than bothersome at that time and he’d have to call it a day. Huge bummer as he was really having a strong race, I’m sure he’ll be back to finish what he started next year.

This next section I’ve run twice before and the last time being the Saturday before the race. I knew it well, was dreading the final climb and decent but excited to be so close to making the finish a reality. I said hi to my crew, got some updates of the leaders from my good buddy Martin Gaffuri and took off. The climb came quick and I powered up at a reasonable clip, Foote was catching up quick and by the top of Catogne (144k 2027m) he had caught up and we were able to chit-chat about our time in the mountains. It felt so good to run with someone. Velocrine.

Photo: iRunFar

We talked some and also both mentioned there might not be much talking but a lot of grunting as we painfully started the long down hill into Vallocrine (149k 1260m), we laughed some too. I was enjoying running with someone, but as the real decent started and down was the only chance my calf felt good I decided to push the last few kilometers. I bounced down good and upon entering Vallorcine, Martin let me know I was only a few minutes back of Julien and 4th place. I ran through the aid making sure I had every last item needed and a good luck hug and kiss from my inspiration to finish, Krista and Tristan. I told them I would see them soon and took off like rocket, a slow broken rocket, but non-the-less moving.

I tried to move quick and block out the pain and as I came close to Col des Montets (153k 1451m) I saw Julien. Tired and not being able to say much, I said good job and kept running with anything I had left. It was getting warm out and there was one hard climb left. Knowing two really good climbers – Julien and Foote – were on my tail, I pushed the last climb up to La Tete aux Vent (157k 2130m) with all I had. I was completely in my own world and struggling with every step. I vaguely remember seeing Killian and Emilie again enjoying the sunshine and cheering for me to keep moving. It was good to see all the smiling faces, but the steep grunt took every last drop of courage left.

I reached La Flegere (160k 1860m) and only had 8k of decent to the finish. I painfully tumbled my way down just wishing and hoping for the end to be near. Finally popping out to the road I was cheered in by Guillaume filming the finish and enjoyed the last kilometer to relax and soak in the fact I was actually going to finish. I never thought I was going to accomplish this one, not for over half the race; I’ve never had so much doubt in myself as I struggled again and again to make peace with how the day was unfolding. I’m extremely happy to have finished, end up in 4th and overcome adversity to cross the line in beautiful Chamonix. It was a satisfying run to say the least and one amazing trip for my first time in Europe.

Photo: iRunFar

I’m so grateful for all the love showered over me from family (Tristan, Krista, Debbie and Bob), friends (Martin and Anna), and everyone else cheering me on all day and night long. But more than anything, I’m grateful for the selfless love of my wife who spent our 5 year wedding anniversary crewing me all night, when she should have been taken out to a nice restaurant and given diamonds to let her know how much she means to me. Instead she spent the day and night sleep deprived, taking care of me and our son and smiling and loving being in the mountains and catching glimpses of me around the way. Thank you so much for all you are.

Photo: iRunFar

Photo: Fabrice Van De Cauter

Read more at timothyallenolson.com: UTMB 2013 http://wp.me/p46SvM-lA