Written by Michael Jones - https://michaeljamesjones.wordpress.com
I first heard of the UTMB several years ago when a biking friend confessed it was on his bucket list of events to complete. I knew nothing about running at the time but thought it seemed a bit mad to run so far, nonstop. Funny how things work out. I didn’t get in last year so when I missed the slim window of opportunity to enter this year’s Lakeland 100, UTMB quickly became my goal for the season. Almost a year ago I decided to put my career on hold and left my cushy office job as a design engineer at Siemens to throw some caution to the wind and spend some savings fulfilling my childhood dream of being a full-time athlete for a year. My two build-up events to this (Trans Gran Canaria in March and the Chamonix 80km in June) had both gone diabolically wrong, so the stakes were high for me to put in a solid run and justify my ballsy life choice.
4.2. This was the number I had to beat. 4.2mph average would get me round in under 26 hours and considering I managed the Lakeland 100 (105miles, 6900m+) last year in under 24 in my first 100, I thought this was realistic. I’d prepared much better too. My fitness was at an all time high since my mountain bike racing days, verified by a recent VO2 max test and I’d been around the route twice, over two three-day recces, managing some long days (38miles) at 4.2 with a heavy pack on. I’d shed a few spare pounds, been obsessive over my race kit and nutrition and confidence levels were high.
During the days before the race I was surprisingly calm and on the start line I was just ready to get stuck in and not nervous at all, despite a few espressos! I started in road shoes to save my feet a bit and over the first 10 miles ran well, keeping a close eye on my heart rate, not playing with those faster than me. ‘My race, my pace’ I told myself. ‘Be the predator, not the prey’ Tim told me, wise words indeed. I was feeling great up the first climb, chatting to Charlie Sharpe and Davide Grazielli, an Italian who I’d had a battle royale with at last year’s Lakeland 100 and lost. I’d settled into the race well, working my way up through the field but still feeling relaxed and eating regularly.
All smiles early on.
I arrive at Les Contamines (31km, 1153m+) to see Rich, a great guy who I’d met at the Chamonix 80km a couple of months before and was living the VW T5 dream for the Summer in Chamonix. He would be supporting me around the course and gave me my trail shoes to change into. I grab my food and get going, spirits high in anticipation of the night ahead.
Notre Dame De La Gorge
I move well up to Col du Bonhomme, passing many runners as I open up my long, rangy power hiking stride and am closing in on the top 50, right where I want to be. Over the top I catch Joe Grant, who I met while running at Trans Gran Canaria earlier in the year and we get chatting, both agreeing that there would be a lot of casualties later on in the race. I check my average speed at 5.7 and am very happy, this means I have a large buffer to slow down and still get around at the necessary 4.2. Little did I realise at the time this was a false figure.
I make my stop at Les Chapieux (49km, 2823m+) as swift as I can and after the compulsory kit check I walk through the marquee without stopping for any food, I’d been eating plenty so far so why stop for more? A possible mistake in light of what was to come.
Ascending Col de la Seigne I realised I hadn’t eaten much for a while now, since I didn’t hang around at the last aid station to eat. I tried to nibble a Nakd bar but I just couldn’t get it down, I started to worry a little and hoped things would turn around soon, as they have done when this has happened in other races and training. I make it over the col in 50th and we descend together before beginning a newly added section which seemed somewhat contrived, but I quite enjoyed how technical it was underfoot, reminding me of some of the trails in my Lakeland homeland. My first cup of coke at the top and we descend down to the Lac Combal station (66km, 4052m+). I decide to ditch my 500ml flask of energy gel here. I’m not going to need that extra weight now! I eat what noodle soup I can and fill a flask with coke and we press on. I find it very hard to stay in contention up Arete du Mont-Favre but once the trail flattens out we find a good rhythm and chat away. ‘Maybe this is a blessing in disguise?’ I think. Maybe tomorrow my appetite will return and I’ll be able to push again and have more strength for later on?
We arrive at Courmayeur and there is a delay while the marshal’s find my drop bag, bit frustrating but I manage to find it myself and tuck into the only food I find appetising: a couple of pots of pear puree. I don’t bother changing my socks and press off in pursuit of Joe who left a while earlier.
I catch him before the steep climb to Refuge Bertone, (84km, 5336m+) which marks the half way point in terms of both distance and elevation, though I try not to think about this! We stop and sit with a couple of other runners as the light begins to pick up and down sweet tea, though I stop after two cups as I start to wretch a little. It was after here I looked at my watch and realised the average speed way very wrong as it said I’d covered over 70 miles! The frustration was immense as it’s not the first time it’s happened in a race. I adjusted my mindset and pressed on, feeling somewhat deflated.
My energy levels ran low again and despite catching several runners, I let them go again as I struggled to maintain a run on the undulations. I decide to let Joe go after Refuge Bonatti, accepting it may be the last I see of him. Shortly after, Italian Davide passes me and would go on to run strong to finish 27th in 26:03. I struggle to come to terms with how things are playing out. After such perfect preparation, my body has betrayed me when it mattered most. I’d put a lot of eggs into my basket during my preparation for this race and as the hours slip by I slowly accept the fact that today will not be the day I come to see my dreams hatch into fruition. For factors out of my control, once again my potential will not be realised. I look at my environment, the early morning light catching the south face of the Mont Blanc massif and I feel extremely privileged. So my race isn’t going as planned but I still have eyes and legs that work, I still have a love for the mountains and I still have a passion for pursuit that has lead me here. Here I am, running UTMB! I will make it to the finish before the end of the day.
The tired eyes of a broken man.
I make my way into Arnurva and stop to lie down for over half an hour. I think I slept briefly once a marshal covered me in a foil blanket. It was difficult to comprehend leaving but I sit up and eat what more food I can, mainly the juice of oranges and noodle soup.
Embracing the struggle with Mum, just like old times.
I leave feeling a new man with my blood sugars raised and ascend Grand Col Ferret with haste, passing several runners. I look at my Mothers wedding ring swaying side to side on my necklace, wonder what she’d make of all of this and laugh to myself. Giving up was never an option for her and so I push onward and upwards and am told at the top I’m around 70th. I grin and say ‘a long way still to go, top 50 maybe’… My enthusiasm is short lived as my energy levels bomb again after the next descent and I walk long sections towards the next aid station at La Fouly. Again, I eat what I can and lie down for half an hour, ‘just keep going, one aid station at a time and the end will come, you’ve chosen this path and everything will be ok’ I tell myself again, closing my eyes.
Shuffling down to La Fouly
Eventually I get going and begin the long undulating section to Praz de Fort, which I run most of in the strong heat. I take my time up the ascent to Champex Lac (124km), where Rich awaits, stopping once at a water fountain to nibble some crystallised ginger. I don’t feel as bad now and stay maybe 15 minutes, after eating what I can.
The next climb to Bovine was cruel. The organisers had chosen a steep, technical footpath in favour of the TMB route which I’d recced. I make up a few places though as steep ascents are something I revel in. Cresting the top we dodge docile cows and begin the long descent to Trient (141km). My quads are very sore now but I run well considering. Just before the aid station I realise I didn’t pay attention to my sums and from here it’s actually 18 miles to Chamonix, not 12! It’s almost enough to make me crack, knowing for sure now that I’ll finish after dark, but I accept it and adjust my mindset accordingly.
Again, Rich welcomes me into the marquee and we sit and chat while I nibble away at what I can. I don’t stay long as I’m keen to get home now. The next section was undoubtedly the most testing of the event. I’d climbed the next climb before with relative ease during training but now I was spent, running totally on empty. My breathing was shallow and laboured and I crawled along, hunched over my poles. I think I stopped to sit at the side of the trail about 4 times over 3km. The top finally came but I was spent and couldn’t even run any flat sections. I was at my lowest ebb. I could only go up from here but the pain of not knowing when was almost unbearable ‘could it really be like this, even if only for 15 miles more?’ 15 miles is a long way to walk in such a state but I tried not to think about it, took in the scenery and kept putting one foot in front of the other. I notice my watch says 24:30, the longest I’ve ever been on two feet so far…
It was shamefully embarrassing but I walked all the way down into the last main aid station at Vallorcine (150km, 8922m+), the pain in my quads combined with my state of mind too severe to permit running. Spectators offer sympathetic claps and cheers of support but I couldn’t care. I hadn’t even the energy to smile now. I slumped down on the table with Rich, staring into space, aware of others arriving and leaving quickly, perhaps having prepared for a stronger finish. I ate what I could. The supporters of another runner offer me some left over chips and I eat a few and put them back down. Hang on, they were nice! I grab them again and wolf them down. ‘Wow, something appetising at last!’ I stay maybe 10 minutes before walking out, just 12 miles left and the start of a second night.
I walk all the way to Col des Montets, a gradual gradient but not worth running now, before beginning the long, winding ascent up onto the Aiguille Rouge, a beautiful area of the valley but one now shrouded in darkness. I start to feel ok, then good! The pain in my quads has magically disappeared and I feel full of energy. The chips have worked wonders! I pass a few others with relative ease and my confidence builds. Headlight on and I see more ahead. Yes! I feel good! I feel normal at last! I push on, catching more and passing them quickly. More lights ahead, great! I feed the hunger with each person I pass and am running well. I use my poles to descend from La Tete aux Vents well, passing groups of runners and grinning to myself as I whiz by. How could this be? I’m gobsmacked and once again amazed at the subconscious minds control over the body. The brakes are well and truly off now and I have nothing to lose: I decide with conviction to leave everything I have on these next ten miles or so. I move as fast as I can, I can even push the ups without walking.
I pass maybe 20 people and leave them all standing but one isn’t having it and decides to give chase. Nice try sucker, as I wind it up again and put some distance into him. I rush through La Flegere (162km, 9789m+) and grab a quick cup of coke, drinking it on the move as he chases me down the fire road and into the final singletrack. I push as hard as I can, bouncing off rocks and roots with my poles, adrenaline coursing through my veins but still see his light above me. The descent seems to go on for far longer than I remember, switchback after switchback, down, down, down but I still feel strong. Finally La Floria arrives and the trail opens up, the last final fire road down to Chamonix itself. I hurl myself down with reckless abandon and open my gait, passing two more runners and nearly stacking it completely on the loose surface.
Finally the streetlights of Chamonix arrive and I hit the tarmac and push again. I see one of my best friends from school, Andy, who lives and works in Geneva and had come out to see me finish. I notice his camera flash first but once I recognise it’s him we shout ‘BROW! ROPE! HURGH!’ to each other (an in-joke that would take way too long to explain and probably isn’t even funny). The end of the course weaves its way through town and I’m running well, really well. I clap outstretched hands and can’t stop grinning, thoroughly glad it’s all coming to an end now. I cross the line in just over 29 hours for 70th. I’m more than happy to take that considering and it’s all smiles and hugs when Andy finds me. The MC wants to talk to me and I explain I’m from the beautiful Lake District. He asks if I know the singer Mike Jones and I stupidly say yes, but manage to fumble my way out of singing one of his songs with him.
The finish I thought at times may never come. 
Love you like a brother Harle.
I slump down for a while and catch up with the messages of encouragement, still unsure how the hell I managed to run so well over the last 10 miles. I crave ice cream, I have been all day so we get some on the way back to the camp site I’m staying at, shower and settle down for the night. I slept like a log and was surprised to be walking ok the next day, with my appetite well and truly back.
I write this 10 days after the event and am surprised how quickly I am recovering compared to my last 100, perhaps a sign that my energy issues didn’t allow me to dig as deep as I otherwise could have. I’m still questioning why things went so wrong. Was it the salt and pepper cashews? Did I eat too much early on? Did my mind just not want to play ball after what’s been a turbulent year for me personally? It would explain the lack of nerves before the start. I’ve lived in five places the last 12 months, left my job, left my girlfriend and am often worried about what things hold for the future and my currently unsustainable way of life.
My favourite place: Goat’s Water from Dow Crag 
Drying off after a waterfall shower to cleanse the mind.
Yesterday I went for my first run off road, just the usual eight miles around Coniston Old Man and Dow Crag and felt fine, running well uphill. After I went for a swim in the lake to jump off the same rocks I did as a child and looked at the Coniston range, that same view I’ve looked at all my life which never tires of being special and thought of all the obstacles I’ve overcome in the past three years since I started running and what other challenges I’ll face in the next year, as I embark on 12 more months of travel and adventure and take a step back from racing.
Ivy Crag, looking towards Langdale where I lived last winter. Soul food.
I won’t keep it a secret that I’d one day like to make that same journey around Mont Blanc in under a day, to feel complete as an athlete who realised their full potential and performed perfectly, right when it mattered, just once. A dream maybe but I know I’m still a young pretender in a sport that rewards experience. Who knows where I’ll be after another three years of athletic growth as a runner. Until this dog has his day I must remain patient and ensure I drip-feed my competitive appetite slowly over the coming years…
‘Without patience you will never conquer endurance’ – Yiannis Kuoros
Movescount data from the race here. Think I need a new watch!