2022-08-26
The Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) is a 172 kilometer (106 mile) trail race with 10000m (33000 feet) of climbing, mostly following the gorgeous Tour du Mont Blanc trekking route. It starts in Chamonix-Mont-Blanc, France and circles Mont Blanc, passing through Italy and Switzerland before returning. I'd wanted to run it for years, eventually qualifying by finishing the 2021 VDA.
Part of the experience of ultrarunning is moving though the inevitable mental and physical highs and lows. This race, though, presented a new wrinkle: the low point was the start. This was not at all what I had expected or planned for. Usually by the time you're in the crowd waiting to run, you're excited and your legs are coiled springs after a couple of weeks of tapering. The problem is usually to try to contain your excitement and not go out too fast.
The weather was perfect - 10-20 C everywhere with very scattered rain. My training peak race (the SwissAlps 50k) two weeks before had gone well. I was rested, and I was at the start of a race I'd wanted to run for a long time, minutes before the Friday 6pm starting gun. I should have been at a near-record high.
But no. About three days previously, on Tuesday night, I had come home after a long day at work and quickly grabbed dinner of leftovers from the fridge. I remarked how low energy I seemed on Wednesday, but figured maybe my body was cunningly conserving energy for the race. After lunch on Wednesday, I started feeling ill, and went home early after vomiting. I vomited again and spent until Thursday morning in bed. Eventually I pieced together that I'd eaten some ancient hummus on Tuesday and had food poisoning. I was glad that this, and not a stomach virus, was the explanation, as food poisoning is over quickly and my (exceptionally good-looking) partner wasn't at risk - she had already done so much to support me in training for and running this race that it would have been pretty uncool to infect her and then leave her for days to take care of our 22-month old.
I didn't feel great, but was eating and drinking somewhat normally around midday on Thursday when I took the train to Chamonix.
My mom was visiting Europe, and she and my aunt from nearby in France would come to support me, which was really nice. They'd booked a fantastic hotel which was very conveniently located - in fact a bit too convenient as you could actually see, and therefore hear, the start line from the balcony! Looking down, I spied Jim Walmsley being interviewed in an adjacent courtyard.
I still just felt flat, though. No energy, no enthusiasm, no special appetite. I felt thirsty, with a dry mouth, no matter how much I drank.
Not to be too graphic, but my stomach was rumbling and the last "visit" before the race was a six. This maybe explained the feelings of dehydration.
So there I was, at the start of the UTMB as I'd seen portrayed so many times, in the crowd at the Place du Triangle de l'Amitié, flags and music and people leaning out of balconies, sitting on the ground while they announced the elite runners. I was probably 20% of the way back, which was where I had wanted to run at the start. I was not thinking very clearly and didn't have the energy to deviate from the plan, though barring some miracle where running made me less tired, that plan seemed unachievable.
It was so loud that I was glad that all the other, standing people dampened the noise with their bodies. About 10 minutes before the start, I stood up. I couldn't believe how un-psyched I was. We did the thing you always see in the videos with everyone clapping over their heads. Ugh. With two minutes left, Conquest of Paradise stirred me the tiniest bit (I mean come on) but mainly my head was full of negativity, with despairing narratives. "This was your one chance to run this race, you have perfect conditions, and you screwed it up by eating things without even looking at them." "You told everyone you know about this and you're never going to finish." "You've lost touch with your mountaineering roots, spraying before you send like a douchebag". "You're going to have to suffer a lot here to save face, before you inevitably have to stop".
In the previous 100-miler, the low point had come well after 24 hours and 100 kilometers. This really got me down - if the baseline, when I was in the best physical shape, was this crap, what chance did I have once things got worse, which they surely would?
Anyway, we were off! I just went with the flow. Huge crowds as we took the roads and then wide trails to Les Houches. Some guy with a piece of cardboard reading "Chamonix hates UTMB". Lots of adorable kids getting low fives. People partying by the side of the trail, cheering you on. Reading your bib and screaming "Allez PaTRIQUE!". A guy jumped out to congratulate me on having the same shoes as him. I would estimate there were 750 pairs of Speedgoats in the race so this probably provided a lot of entertainment.
"UTMB", written several times on the road in chalk, each instance surrounded by a penis.
I can't say I had any particularly severe symptoms, in retrospect, but just felt bad - my stomach not really settled, eating and drinking not having the desired effect, no energy. I moped my way up and down the first major climb, out of Les Houches and down to St. Gervais.
The section of the course after St. Gervais is a long, gentle uphill. (As an aside, I feel honor bound to not do what everyone does, which is say things like that and imply that it's all uphill or all gentle, or that "downhill" sections are all downhill. There are usually frequent "small" ups and downs in mountain races, and "all downhill" is a lie, 99% of the time.)
At some point I stopped trying to keep up with the crowd and moved into alternating walking and jogging, even on almost flat parts. A young teen cheered people in French, but when I passed, walking an easy part, she turned sour and called me "zzlow". It was a bit humid after the afternoon's rain, I was sweating a lot, and started thinking about where I was going to bail. I figured that even though it would be no fun, I would have to go quite a way before I could quit without deeply regretting it later, and by that point I would probably want to walk it in to Courmayeur at 80k, which is the premier bailing-on-UTMB spot, with a bus back to Chamonix through the tunnel.
Speaking of not spraying before you send, that phrase was in mind because I'd spent much of the previous week reading posts from Eric Gilbertson. In particular, just weeks prior, he had pulled one of the more impressive examples of that ethos, climbing K2 and telling only the absolute minimum number of people about it beforehand. Those stories really helped get me through. I thought something like "If he can decide to climb above 8000m, with no oxygen tank and only a bottle of Gatorade for calories for 24 hours, because anything else would get thrown up, I can certainly decide to keep going on one of the best travelled backpacking trails in Europe, surrounded by hundreds of people and aid stations, despite being miserable and having a sore tummy."
I felt my head moving back toward the right place once I accepted my fate. I was disappointed that my goal time (32 hours, optimistic) seemed totally out of the question, but the phrase that stuck was "play the hand you're dealt." The game was now to be super smart and finish the race with slow consistency.
Loud noises and crowds aren't fun when you're feeling ill, and "loud noises and crowds" is the theme of the first part of UTMB. For hours, you're running in a dense crowd with spectators yelling, ringing cowbells , blasting music, etc. It's like the Tour de France but you can't get away as fast. St. Gervais was like freaking Mardi Gras. The Les Contamines aid station was like a nightclub - shoulder-to shoulder people inside and a DJ outside blasting "Gangnam Style". This all culminated at Notre Dame de La Gorge with a nightmarish Hoka-themed LED display. Then things really shifted. It got quiet. No moon, stars overhead. No sounds but steps and breathing and trickling streams. A light breeze. Magic.
Things settled down a bit. We got into a good rhythm on immaculate hiking trails, evenly graded and perfect for steady uphill progress. We became part of an endless river of headlamps in both directions. Up and up we climbed to the Col du Bonhomme, false summit after false summit.
The descent to Les Chapieux was probably the first "fun" part. This part of the course had the most amazingly smooth trails.
There is reliable space for very little in my head, and the one thing I was trying to remember on this race was "eat the hot food". Not doing that at Bourg St. Maurice had been my biggest mistake at TDS the year prior. Les Chapieux was the first aid station that promised hot food, and I planned to eat it here and and at every other aid station that offered it.
After this was a wonderful ascent on a road, no headlamp required. This was a tough section of the course in terms of distance and elevation change between aid stations, climbing up to the Col de la Seigne, followed by another, shorter, descent and climb. It was indeed difficult to get to the Col de la Seigne into Italy, but the next section over the Col des Pyramids Calcaires was very enjoyable, as this section becomes a jumble of talus and passing people in the conga line didn't seem productive. So, I got to take it slow and recover, chatting to a nearby American. My head had cleared greatly by this point.
There were lots of Americans in the race, and the American flag on the bib provides an excuse to chat. I'd later learn that one of these Americans at about my pace was being crewed by my friend Wouter!
I was feeling great descending to Lac Combal, as the first glimmers of sunrise appeared. I went through the aid station quickly. I try to know exactly what I want to get at each aid station, pick it up, and be out, usually walking and eating, as fast as I possibly can. No sitting, no taking the pack off. Here I didn't need water as I'd filled up at a fountain on the way down the last hill (maybe this is risky outside of Switzerland - I talked to a guy afterwards who said he got sick during the race from drinking from an Italian fountain), so I just crammed a few snacks in my mouth and drank some coke. I'm not a fast runner, so this is an effective way get a lower race time.
The climb up to Arete du Mont Favre was smooth, and I did actually pass a couple of people, which is rare. From Lac Combal to Courmayeur was one of only a couple of sections of the course I'd been on before, as it reverses the start of the TDS.
We had the unbelievable luck to arrive at the Arete du Mont Favre exactly as the sun rose, a few minutes after 7. I was glad I'd decided I would take some photos on this route, and my new pack had ample pocket space to keep the phone handy (ha).
The descent was long, as I knew well from having climbed it. I was having fun trying to be efficient, in particular because I observed a lot of "dancing" in front of me, where someone would be running downhill at exactly the same speed that I was walking. Especially when legs are tired, it often seems to be a good idea to just smoothly walk down sections with roots or rocks.
I was impressed by the efficient drop bag distribution on the way into the gym at Courmayeur. There are racks, arranged by bib number, as you go in, so no time wasted in picking it up. My headlamp really eats batteries and was dimming a lot, so I wanted to swap in the extra extra set I had in the drop bag, as well as the restock on gels. I was through quickly and was then very happy to meet Wouter outside!
It was now morning, and I started walking towards one of my more feared sections of the course, the climb out of Courmayeur to Refuge Bertone. This is about 5 km with 800m of climbing and promised to be hot, as it's relatively low elevation and it was now day. It was indeed quite challenging, especially the parts which were exposed to the sun, and I was suffering at the top with the heat. The next section has lots of very runnable parts during a rolling traverse, but I was not feeling strong enough to run very much of it.
I trickled very slowly into Arnouvaz, feeling hot and defeated. Here, I knew I needed a big reset to get more calories and to cool down before the big climb that followed up to the psychologically important Grand Col Ferret. I stayed for 30 minutes, trying to eat and drink a lot, and dozing off for a couple of minutes with my head on the table. I didn't feel great as I left, but certainly better, and I was happy to see that some clouds had appeared and it wasn't so sunny as when I'd entered. Once again, Wouter appeared, this time with a telephoto lens!
The climb up to the Grand Col Ferret was as brutal as promised. One of the many great things about the UTMB course is the sheer variation in ways to climb up huge hills. The Col du Bonhomme was perfect, smooth switchbacks. This was steep trails up a grassy slope. Later, we'd get jumbles of rocks and roots, and later (the best) steep rough granite steps.
I felt some blisters on my toes starting down the other side into Switzerland, and wasted time trying to apply some duct tape. I don't think this helped that much, and I ended up with blisters on several toes anyway. Blisters aren't usually an issue for me but I probably pushed it too far wearing gritty old cheapo Decathlon compression socks.
The next section felt long, even though it's an easier part of the course. It was the hottest part of the day, which I never do very well in, and I wasn't eating enough, I don't think. I don't remember a lot from this part, other than I was very surprised at the number of American/Canadian sounding supporters sitting along the trail on the valley floor. I think it might even have been the majority of people who cheered as we passed were from North America - maybe this little Swiss valley is a popular place to rent a house for vacations.
Down down down (and non-trivial ups, don't forget) to Issert, and then the climb (4 left!) to Champex-Lac. I could tell by various grumbling around me that I was not the only one who found this climb interminable. You think you can see where the lake is, but you're wrong. It's above that.
The section after Champex-Lac was another one I'd (correctly) predicted would be very hard, so I'd planned a longer stop here, as it was one of the big aid stations guaranteed to have hot food. The rice and soup here didn't go down as well as it had in Le Chapieux, and I didn't want to get too cold, so I left after about 15 minutes, with my mid layer and beanie on. It was now evening.
A downhill fire road section featured the only rain during the race - I got the jacket out in case it got worse, but it was almost light enough to not have bothered. The rain did make the next section worse, though, as things were muddy and humid. If it hadn't have been for the start, this would have been the low point. My stomach wasn't feeling good as we started the uphill, which featured a lot of steep, muddy rocks through the forest, humid after the rain. I realized that I had not managed my food reserves well, and was now down to only the most caffeinated gels (40mg per). I ate one anyway but suffered with the increasingly upset stomach. (Unloading my pack after the race, I found more normal gels tucked away - whoops).
The climb seemed endless. For a lot of it, I was in the company of three guys having an animated conversation in a language I couldn't identify. It sounded somehow slavic, but I definitely heard a lot of romance words - people afterwards told me that likely means Romanian. At one point I came around the corner to find one of the three with his pants down, casually applying anti-chafe cream for all to see, not breaking the conversation.
The steep rocky section before Bovine was the hardest part, before things flattened out a bit. I was very thankful to reach the gate at the top of the climb, beginning the descent (again, not all downhill) through La Giète. I felt very slow going down, not able to make much speed on the fairly technical trail with my weakening quads and my dimming headlamp. The last very steep section down to Trient (about 142km and 8200m of climbing in) was tough, and by the time I arrived at the aid station I was feeling very low and didn't see how I was going to do two more up-and-downs like that to finish the race.
I used the bathroom and was just convincing myself that all I needed to do was go, eat, and reset. Then there was Wouter again! He was very encouraging, said I was doing great, and that the next section would only take two hours. I hit the aid station and ate well - I made sure to get some cheese and other "real" stuff to try and settle my stomach, and the best was ramen-style noodles and broth, which went down amazingly.
I was feeling hugely better by the time I got up and chatted to Wouter and his friend again and headed out. Luckily, the next up-and-down was much more straight forward - an easier trail - still very steep but dry. My right heel, which often gets tight, and calf were feeling strained, though, due to the steep angle (without many steps). I had my head in the right place, doing a great job of not anticipating the top - some quick math told me that it would require at least an hour and a half, so there was no point in even thinking about finishing the climb - I just had to focus on maintaining an efficient motion. This worked so well that I was surprised how little climbing remained, according to the sign at the intermediate station at Les Tscheppes. The next section was very nice trail (would have been quite runnable if I hadn't been so tired), traversing around, and then down down down to Vallorcine. A portion descending a ski resort snow cat road was brutal, an even slope just steep enough to burn the quads.
The approach to the Vallorcine aid station was so convoluted as to seem like a joke. I really think that I travelled much more than 360 degrees around it before arriving there. Once again, Wouter was outside! He seemed really psyched that I had only taken about two and a half hours to get there. I didn't stay long, as I felt pretty good and was eager to finish the thing.
I walked the gentle uphill section to the Col des Montets as fast as I could. I lost some time to a bathroom break that I should have just taken care of at the aid station (stomach doing better, but not that much better..).
I got the first wave of real sleepiness at a bad moment, approaching the only real road crossing of the route, at the Col des Montets. They have lots of lights and staff there, but cars scare me a lot more than mountains, so at this point I decided to get back on the caffeine train by hitting the electrolyte drink tabs. By this point I think I'd eaten enough real food that it was fine.
The last climb was a dream. It was still hard, of course, but I was armed with my "be patient" which had worked so well on the previous climb, combined with the knowledge that I didn't have to be that patient - this was the last big uphill. Plus, this terrain was in my wheelhouse - lots of beautiful granite steps. Again I amused myself trying to be methodical and efficient, imagining myself plodding inexorably up some endless snow slope in crampons. I realized that I had likely been here before, on a backpacking trip with my sister and brother-and-law! Certain scrambling moves seemed very familiar (but my brain wasn't exactly trustworthy at this point).
"You have done it. Did you know you are a hero?" said the guy at the la Tete aux Vents checkpoint. Very admirably, he admitted that although this is the top of the last big climb, yes there is still more climbing before you get to La Flegere. It was still slow going to get there, on very rocky trails, but the technical terrain was engaging, and I felt surges of strength at some points, passing a few people. Still lots of deja vu. I drank a last coke at the aid station - I think I drank 1-2 small cups of coke at every single one. Interestingly, in French the magic word is "Coca" but in (Swiss) German it's "Cola".
The first part of the descent was another run down a cat track slope at the quad-burning angle. Checking my speed on my watch, I gave up on the idea of sub-36. Things got easier and easier as we descended (though I was beginning to worry about my headlamp dying). I heard a guy in front of me wipe out, but he was uninjured. I was thrilled to hit the gentle traversing trail angling back towards Chamonix, taking it through La Floria. I was tempted to go faster but with my dim light and exhausted state I was also quite wary of the slope to my left. The trail turned into a fire road, at times was gentle enough to not burn. I felt like I was running 4 minute miles, but I think it was more like 12. Soon, back onto the paved road, then across some lawns and the temporary scaffolding bridge to join the 1.5 km victory run through Chamonix. I'd walked up and down this section many times already, as it connected the hotel and the gyms with the drop bags and bibs. It was 6 am, so quite peaceful, though a handful of people were still there to cheer.
I felt elated and a little choked up jogging through the streets, as I'd seen so many people do while walking around town. Unbelievable! I'd heard about the race a very long time ago, from my aunt who lives nearby and has a friend who ran the race many times near the beginning - I still have a 2006 UTMB shirt that she gave me. At the time I didn't even understand what it was - they hike the whole backpacking route in 2 days because they barely sleep? Lunatics! And now I had done the route myself in 1.5 days.
Soon I was running up the chute, and I was done! My mom and that very same aunt were there to meet me and again, Wouter!
I finished in 36:10, 498th place, which was about my "I'd be pretty darn happy with that" time. Given that I started the race quite firmly believing I wouldn't even finish, I'm thrilled with it, and am proud that I ran smart after resetting - from looking at the race tracking, I dropped to 1114th at Les Contamines, the Gangnam Style nightmare zone, and then slowly moved up. This must have happened almost entirely by taking shorter stops at aid stations (especially Courmayeur), and the fact that some runners ahead of me didn't finish.
In starting the training I'd thought that if everything went perfectly, I could do 32 hours. I still think that was realistic, but things did not go perfectly - I didn't get the originally-hoped training volume (new job, illness, moving, etc.), and of course the bad start to the race.
I'm so thankful for all the friends and family who supported and encouraged me in training for and running the race, especially my partner, who went above and beyond in indulging some idiot who wanted to go in a big circle for the fun of it. Special thanks to my mom and aunt for coming out to Chamonix to support, and to Wouter for the surprise encouragement out on the course!
Once again, the mantras basically worked. Efficiency, Eat, Reset.