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“Never again, never bloody again will I ever ever run the UTMB.”
For 38 hours or so I don’t know how many times that I uttered that one sentence. And yet but a day or two after the event I find myself asking:
For 38 hours or so I don’t know how many times that I uttered that one sentence. And yet but a day or two after the event I find myself asking:
well just where could I have saved time? Where in that hellish event could I have upped the pace and got home sooner? So I guess at the outset what I am saying is never say never.
Make no mistake this event was indeed hellish but I guess amidst all the discomfort and pain there was a privilege, a prestige in having the opportunity to participate in this great event. In running terms the UTMB must be pretty unique. Sure there are countless big city marathons scattered across major cities with tremendous atmospheres but the UTMB offers an experience which is exceptional.
Friday evening the main square in Chamonix was absolutely pulsating with thousands crammed together, the UTMB anthem thundering to a crescendo, with cheering crowds and the ubiquitous ringing of the bells. This scene is echoed in countless hamlets and villages as the race picks its way ever upward. Saint Gervais at around 20k has to be a highlight. Darkness has fallen by this point as the runners literally drop into the town from the ascending “Montivon”. An absolutely pure mad mental crowd lines the gantry as you spill your way through town, ringing the bells, dancing to the bands as they beat out a range of rhythms, with hundreds of kids lining the road highfiving the runners. In the town centre runners stop for a pit stop at one of the many tables piled high with oranges, cheese, cold meats, bread, biscuits, chocolate, soups, teas, cola…… I could go on for this is such a common scene where clearly your endeavour is greatly appreciated.
But I am ahead of myself, Friday night and the 2,300 runners made a slow progression out of Chamonix. I had my two older kids, Dawn and Conor across and it was a huge boost to see them lean from a street light cheering me on. Out to Les Houches I spent time with Ritchie Cunningham and Ian Ridgeway, West Highland Way (WHW) runners and we enjoyed having a laugh about Jim Drummond when I passed comment that no doubt the auld get will be at the front of the field.
When suddenly a shout went up, “Well ah’m in front of you lot !” And yes there was Jim, near enough the first Scot into Les Houches. He later chastised us for starting too far at the back.
Thereafter the familiar pattern of climbing and descending was established. The initial 20k across to Saint Gervais was enjoyable, but increasingly there was a sense that the race was truly beginning. A fine summers evening, darkness encroaching, the dusk cutting sharp silhouettes with the mountains. The first run down from Montivon was really steep and fast, mostly on grass with lots of runners opening up although I chose to go more cautiously. Thereafter it was winding out to Los Contamines and more enjoyable mayhem with the crowds.
The ensuing hours were tough but manageable. Coix du Bonhomme, Col de la Seigne, Arete du Mont Favre are names that will not mean that much to many but this was the sequence of 8000 footers that the trail crossed. Last year in crossing Ferret I had been fine and so I was taken by surprise at how much the altitude impacted. I was wheezing for breath, throat raw, trying to go cautiously, saving strength, just trying to reach the pass to descend and to breath easier. This was tough going. But tough as it was I was moving okay. I had set a target of around 7.30am for Courmayer. On leaving Refuge Elizabeth it was surprising at how cold it became. A longish flat stretch here before the lighted beacon of Col Checrouit but very atmospheric as daylight was beginning to break. Across the valley, 1k or so another light high on the mountain, a shelf of snow and a glimmer of a cave, I assume refuge to some climbers in bivvy.
I had a pleasant enough run down to Courmayer but it was steep in stretches sore on the quads. Time 8.20am sat (14hours run) a touch out time wise. Change of socks and into shorts, some food and out in 20 or so minutes. My guess is that this was a distinguishing feature of the WHW runners; I would assume most did very quick turnarounds at the checkpoints. I had had a bit of confidence crisis in being late into Courmayer but a chat with Mary by mobile restored some confidence and I was now ready for the familiarity of valley Ferret.
Up, up and up again to Refuge Bertone. The climb out of the way the valley is generally runnable in long sections and I had mentioned this to Ritchie C who flew along this stretch. Saturday morning and it was excruciatingly hot. As I edged along the valley I took the opportunity to cool in the streams – you had to. Apparently some 800 people pulled out over Saturday where the heat, the fatigue and the climbs took a toll.
Little did I know it but later that afternoon Jim D would be at Arnuva where he would stop; bodies had been falling by the wayside for much of Saturday and for Jim it made sense to stop before Col Ferret. Before he did stop can I say he checked out with a marshall about the finishers prize and on being told it was a gillet he looked disconsolate. “Well ah think ah’ll jist stop then, ah got one of your gillets last year and I’ve still not used it !” In spite of stopping I know Jim well enough to say he had an enjoyable time at UTMB. He caught up with a number of his endurance pals and was able to monitor their progress – Mike Mason and Stewart Bondi and over and above this he was only in two fights with Italian bus drivers who refused to take him back to Chamonix !
At Refuge Bonatti I sought shade, feeling a bit jaded and I phoned Big cameron who had run this section last year; his lad Neil answered and quickly sussed “your needing a bit of a pep talk” and he was right. Within a minute Big Cameron was on the phone – him in darkest Dunfermline and me in sunny Italia – but it was someone who knew where I was at, a lifting of the spirits and it worked wonders. Round to Arnuva, Col Ferret and the Italia/Swiss border at over 8000 feet. Still incredibly hot with dozens of families and supporters out for a picnic at the base of Ferret, snow and glaciers stretching down to the stream along the valley, the towering pinnacles of the mountains and a steady flow of runners working a line up Ferret. Quite awesome.
Again on the climb I struck cautious, stopping for salt, water, a minute or so rest. In time I reached the top and the run down to la Puele went well and I remember striking the checkpoint at 3pm Sat (22 half hours in) leaving me 3 hours to reach Champex 20k along the Swiss valley.
What happened next I struggle to account for – other than fatigue and tiredness taking a toll. La Peule to La Fouly is manageable, a 6k traverse along a valley and yet I could not motivate myself to run any of this section. I don’t know how long it took me. A donkey could have gone faster. At La Fouly I was suddenly very low – that low where you are telling yourself that you are never going to make it. I had a couple of strong coffees and some salted crisps. I was in danger of losing it. There were quite a few dozen runners in situ. I was easily two hours out of my target time : I had to do better than this. As quickly as the depression had hit me I made an effort to snap out of it. Quite simply I had done crap : I was better than that, these legs were bloody good legs. I shouted all these things and more. The few who were about gave me some strange or was it wary looks but psyched up I got my arse out of that station and I ran, running all the way through Praz de Fort beyond that to the woods leading to Champex. I gained about 70 places and felt damned good about it. Sure I would not be able to sustain that level of performance but I had got over the low point of the race. I would finish.
On the climb up to Champex I had the good fortune to introduce myself to Jason French a young guy from the Plymouth area. We had our initial difficulties as Jason struggled to understand the Scots burr and he did pass comment about me speaking French quite fluently! Nevertheless we stayed together from that point dragging each other over the remaining three mountain passes. 10 to 15 minutes in Champex – no more, a scrap of food, change of socks more coffee and onto Bovine. The path to Bovine as with most of the UTMB trails wound its way ever upward, a horrid rock laden path that would have been manageable in daylight but made for slow progress in the dark. The descent to Trient was little better, strewn with rocks and tree roots. Trient was relatively quiet for a Saturday night 11.35pm (29 hours in) last year it was jumping. Again in for but a few minutes, coffee and out again: France beckoned. From Trient you were immediately onto the climb towards Catogne and the Swiss/French border. After Bovine this pass was comfortable. I actually felt quite good; it was helpful to have someone to share the burden and I did not give Jason much peace although he did struggle in understanding what I was saying ! In the darkness we stumbled down, Vallorcine and France 4am Sunday morning (34 hours in. I have not went into much detail of this terrain – if you want a fuller description read the 2007 CCC report).
One final climb left (La Felegre) and I was close to rejoicing only I did not know just how challenging that final checkpoint would be. Days earlier I had recced this, albeit from a distance when I was up the opposite mountain with the kids – it had looked manageable then. In darkness we climbed and clamboured over a boulder field for what seemed like kilometres using headtorches to pick out a reflective marker but stumbling abjectly in the darkness little knowing what lay in the void between as you inched your way forward. After much scrambling about Jason and I reached the checkpoint and I was not a happy laddie to be told we had 10k to clear before Chamonix. With 2 to 3 hours of this I definetly lost the competitive edge in fact it might have been the will to live! Daylight was breaking through for a second day, two full nights out and still going. But with the morning what a captivating sight across to the glacier at Argentiere and the Mont Blanc range. Chamonix was a long way down in the valley but with La Felegre behind us we wound down the long path which snaked all the way down to town.
So how best to describe the sensation of that run through the streets of Chamonix where Dawn and Conor were waiting. Running on tired legs with feet that were torn and bruised but run we did, Jason and I, heads held high and damned proud, to the finish in the square with poles held aloft accepting the acclaim of those gathered. 38 hours on the go with minimal stops - it had been an ordeal but it was done.
That Sunday morning I actually felt quite lucid, it was only on stopping that I felt the tiredness come over me. Ushered home by the kids I slept for a few hours and then caught up with Jim who had a saga to tell me about his bus escapades. On one of the buses at Courmayer it was only Jim and some auld buddy on the bus with Jim trying his best Italian to tell the driver
“I go to Chamonix…yes… you understand me.”
“Yes I go to Chamonix,” says the driver……… “tomorrow morning at nine!”
No need to state the obvious in saying that mad or not he was able to engineer his way home on another bus. And this is where it ends folks. UTMB 2008.
Don’t let this entry put anyone off what is a great event. But clearly you need to go into this knowing exactly what you are getting yourself into.
Make no mistake this event was indeed hellish but I guess amidst all the discomfort and pain there was a privilege, a prestige in having the opportunity to participate in this great event. In running terms the UTMB must be pretty unique. Sure there are countless big city marathons scattered across major cities with tremendous atmospheres but the UTMB offers an experience which is exceptional.
Friday evening the main square in Chamonix was absolutely pulsating with thousands crammed together, the UTMB anthem thundering to a crescendo, with cheering crowds and the ubiquitous ringing of the bells. This scene is echoed in countless hamlets and villages as the race picks its way ever upward. Saint Gervais at around 20k has to be a highlight. Darkness has fallen by this point as the runners literally drop into the town from the ascending “Montivon”. An absolutely pure mad mental crowd lines the gantry as you spill your way through town, ringing the bells, dancing to the bands as they beat out a range of rhythms, with hundreds of kids lining the road highfiving the runners. In the town centre runners stop for a pit stop at one of the many tables piled high with oranges, cheese, cold meats, bread, biscuits, chocolate, soups, teas, cola…… I could go on for this is such a common scene where clearly your endeavour is greatly appreciated.
But I am ahead of myself, Friday night and the 2,300 runners made a slow progression out of Chamonix. I had my two older kids, Dawn and Conor across and it was a huge boost to see them lean from a street light cheering me on. Out to Les Houches I spent time with Ritchie Cunningham and Ian Ridgeway, West Highland Way (WHW) runners and we enjoyed having a laugh about Jim Drummond when I passed comment that no doubt the auld get will be at the front of the field.
When suddenly a shout went up, “Well ah’m in front of you lot !” And yes there was Jim, near enough the first Scot into Les Houches. He later chastised us for starting too far at the back.
Thereafter the familiar pattern of climbing and descending was established. The initial 20k across to Saint Gervais was enjoyable, but increasingly there was a sense that the race was truly beginning. A fine summers evening, darkness encroaching, the dusk cutting sharp silhouettes with the mountains. The first run down from Montivon was really steep and fast, mostly on grass with lots of runners opening up although I chose to go more cautiously. Thereafter it was winding out to Los Contamines and more enjoyable mayhem with the crowds.
The ensuing hours were tough but manageable. Coix du Bonhomme, Col de la Seigne, Arete du Mont Favre are names that will not mean that much to many but this was the sequence of 8000 footers that the trail crossed. Last year in crossing Ferret I had been fine and so I was taken by surprise at how much the altitude impacted. I was wheezing for breath, throat raw, trying to go cautiously, saving strength, just trying to reach the pass to descend and to breath easier. This was tough going. But tough as it was I was moving okay. I had set a target of around 7.30am for Courmayer. On leaving Refuge Elizabeth it was surprising at how cold it became. A longish flat stretch here before the lighted beacon of Col Checrouit but very atmospheric as daylight was beginning to break. Across the valley, 1k or so another light high on the mountain, a shelf of snow and a glimmer of a cave, I assume refuge to some climbers in bivvy.
I had a pleasant enough run down to Courmayer but it was steep in stretches sore on the quads. Time 8.20am sat (14hours run) a touch out time wise. Change of socks and into shorts, some food and out in 20 or so minutes. My guess is that this was a distinguishing feature of the WHW runners; I would assume most did very quick turnarounds at the checkpoints. I had had a bit of confidence crisis in being late into Courmayer but a chat with Mary by mobile restored some confidence and I was now ready for the familiarity of valley Ferret.
Up, up and up again to Refuge Bertone. The climb out of the way the valley is generally runnable in long sections and I had mentioned this to Ritchie C who flew along this stretch. Saturday morning and it was excruciatingly hot. As I edged along the valley I took the opportunity to cool in the streams – you had to. Apparently some 800 people pulled out over Saturday where the heat, the fatigue and the climbs took a toll.
Little did I know it but later that afternoon Jim D would be at Arnuva where he would stop; bodies had been falling by the wayside for much of Saturday and for Jim it made sense to stop before Col Ferret. Before he did stop can I say he checked out with a marshall about the finishers prize and on being told it was a gillet he looked disconsolate. “Well ah think ah’ll jist stop then, ah got one of your gillets last year and I’ve still not used it !” In spite of stopping I know Jim well enough to say he had an enjoyable time at UTMB. He caught up with a number of his endurance pals and was able to monitor their progress – Mike Mason and Stewart Bondi and over and above this he was only in two fights with Italian bus drivers who refused to take him back to Chamonix !
At Refuge Bonatti I sought shade, feeling a bit jaded and I phoned Big cameron who had run this section last year; his lad Neil answered and quickly sussed “your needing a bit of a pep talk” and he was right. Within a minute Big Cameron was on the phone – him in darkest Dunfermline and me in sunny Italia – but it was someone who knew where I was at, a lifting of the spirits and it worked wonders. Round to Arnuva, Col Ferret and the Italia/Swiss border at over 8000 feet. Still incredibly hot with dozens of families and supporters out for a picnic at the base of Ferret, snow and glaciers stretching down to the stream along the valley, the towering pinnacles of the mountains and a steady flow of runners working a line up Ferret. Quite awesome.
Again on the climb I struck cautious, stopping for salt, water, a minute or so rest. In time I reached the top and the run down to la Puele went well and I remember striking the checkpoint at 3pm Sat (22 half hours in) leaving me 3 hours to reach Champex 20k along the Swiss valley.
What happened next I struggle to account for – other than fatigue and tiredness taking a toll. La Peule to La Fouly is manageable, a 6k traverse along a valley and yet I could not motivate myself to run any of this section. I don’t know how long it took me. A donkey could have gone faster. At La Fouly I was suddenly very low – that low where you are telling yourself that you are never going to make it. I had a couple of strong coffees and some salted crisps. I was in danger of losing it. There were quite a few dozen runners in situ. I was easily two hours out of my target time : I had to do better than this. As quickly as the depression had hit me I made an effort to snap out of it. Quite simply I had done crap : I was better than that, these legs were bloody good legs. I shouted all these things and more. The few who were about gave me some strange or was it wary looks but psyched up I got my arse out of that station and I ran, running all the way through Praz de Fort beyond that to the woods leading to Champex. I gained about 70 places and felt damned good about it. Sure I would not be able to sustain that level of performance but I had got over the low point of the race. I would finish.
On the climb up to Champex I had the good fortune to introduce myself to Jason French a young guy from the Plymouth area. We had our initial difficulties as Jason struggled to understand the Scots burr and he did pass comment about me speaking French quite fluently! Nevertheless we stayed together from that point dragging each other over the remaining three mountain passes. 10 to 15 minutes in Champex – no more, a scrap of food, change of socks more coffee and onto Bovine. The path to Bovine as with most of the UTMB trails wound its way ever upward, a horrid rock laden path that would have been manageable in daylight but made for slow progress in the dark. The descent to Trient was little better, strewn with rocks and tree roots. Trient was relatively quiet for a Saturday night 11.35pm (29 hours in) last year it was jumping. Again in for but a few minutes, coffee and out again: France beckoned. From Trient you were immediately onto the climb towards Catogne and the Swiss/French border. After Bovine this pass was comfortable. I actually felt quite good; it was helpful to have someone to share the burden and I did not give Jason much peace although he did struggle in understanding what I was saying ! In the darkness we stumbled down, Vallorcine and France 4am Sunday morning (34 hours in. I have not went into much detail of this terrain – if you want a fuller description read the 2007 CCC report).
One final climb left (La Felegre) and I was close to rejoicing only I did not know just how challenging that final checkpoint would be. Days earlier I had recced this, albeit from a distance when I was up the opposite mountain with the kids – it had looked manageable then. In darkness we climbed and clamboured over a boulder field for what seemed like kilometres using headtorches to pick out a reflective marker but stumbling abjectly in the darkness little knowing what lay in the void between as you inched your way forward. After much scrambling about Jason and I reached the checkpoint and I was not a happy laddie to be told we had 10k to clear before Chamonix. With 2 to 3 hours of this I definetly lost the competitive edge in fact it might have been the will to live! Daylight was breaking through for a second day, two full nights out and still going. But with the morning what a captivating sight across to the glacier at Argentiere and the Mont Blanc range. Chamonix was a long way down in the valley but with La Felegre behind us we wound down the long path which snaked all the way down to town.
So how best to describe the sensation of that run through the streets of Chamonix where Dawn and Conor were waiting. Running on tired legs with feet that were torn and bruised but run we did, Jason and I, heads held high and damned proud, to the finish in the square with poles held aloft accepting the acclaim of those gathered. 38 hours on the go with minimal stops - it had been an ordeal but it was done.
That Sunday morning I actually felt quite lucid, it was only on stopping that I felt the tiredness come over me. Ushered home by the kids I slept for a few hours and then caught up with Jim who had a saga to tell me about his bus escapades. On one of the buses at Courmayer it was only Jim and some auld buddy on the bus with Jim trying his best Italian to tell the driver
“I go to Chamonix…yes… you understand me.”
“Yes I go to Chamonix,” says the driver……… “tomorrow morning at nine!”
No need to state the obvious in saying that mad or not he was able to engineer his way home on another bus. And this is where it ends folks. UTMB 2008.
Don’t let this entry put anyone off what is a great event. But clearly you need to go into this knowing exactly what you are getting yourself into.
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