By Bob Allison
This epic race started in Chamonix, France, with 2369 runners attempting to traverse 106 miles around the Mont Blanc massif, passing through Italy, Switzerland and then back to Chamonix via multiple high alpine passes, totalling approximately 9,700 meters of ascent and 9,700 meters of descent.
The UTMB is considered to be one of the most difficult and gruelling non-stop mountain trail races in the world.
In the days before the race, it became clear that foul weather would affect the 2011 UTMB. In particular, a strong and fast-moving cold front would pass over Mont Blanc late Friday afternoon and evening.
The race organization postponed the start for five hours, hoping that the worst weather would pass before runners tackled the 2,500m passes at Col du Bonhomme and Col de la Seigne.
Amid an emotive musical fanfare, huge crowd support and the constant thunderous downpour, the race started at 11:28 pm on Friday 26th August with the runners showing great enthusiasm to be finally on the move.
It wasn’t long, however, before the temperature plummeted on the early climbs, and every item of mandatory safety clothing was put on.
With temperatures well below freezing on the passes and snow covering the grass, the ground froze hard once the skies cleared.
Exposed mountainsides were horrifically windy with marshals at the 2435 meter Arete du Mont-Favre estimating 50+ miles per hour winds while it snowed.
Runners moved silently through the darkness, amid the rain, trying to establish a comfortable pace. The early miles of undulating forest trails are negotiated, and soon, Saint Gervais and Les Contamines are reassuringly behind us. The organizers have reduced these cut-off times for safety.
Some early descents are awash with deep mud and the sight and sound of runners sliding down provides a humorous respite.
It’s 5:50am. There’s a large bonfire at La Balme where many find comfort, and a few look to be ready to drop out.
Daylight slowly arrives as we continue on and climb towards the Refuge Croix du Bonhomme at 2443 metres. The jagged mountain ridge surrounding us looks stunningly beautiful. I look back and see a long line of runners behind me. There’s snow on the ground, and the bitterly cold, dry air is biting my fingers and burning my lungs. The Eurosport helicopter filming us hovers low.
I take a moment, then proceed onwards over the mountain.
After another very steep, long and slippery descent, the Les Chapieux aid station is next. It’s another chance to fuel up on more chocolate chip cookies and fruit cake with the assistance of some of the 1900 volunteers. Their enthusiasm and good cheer help make this event such a memorable experience.
All runners now have a kit check to show their obligatory mobile phone before being allowed to continue up and over the Col de La Seigne to Italy.
It’s 8:20am. I see the sky closing in and get prepared for more sleet, winds and the brutal cold.
This is a brilliantly organized race, and the regular checkpoints along the route are a welcome sight and a tangible mark of progress. Runner’s numbers are scanned and recorded then the task of refilling food and fluid supplies begins for the next section.
The wind and rain buffets competitors as they pass Lac Combal but clears by the time the Arête du Mont-Favre is crossed.
The scenery is spectacular, with the glaciers of the Mont Blanc massif intermittently on view as mind and body try to maintain a one-two, one-two forward motion.
Crowd support is evident along much of the route with even the remotest sections having some hardy souls. They applaud and shout the now familiar…”allez, allez!” and “bon courage!”...and cheer your name which is clearly printed on the number. I express my appreciation with a selection of merci, grazie, thank you and an accompanying smile.
I try and eat some Pasta at the Col Checrouit refuge and talk to an American runner. For a moment it feels just like a holiday.
Descending a dusty switchback to Courmayeur sports centre (mile 48) about 2:20pm on the Saturday, the sun has thankfully came out and it felt nice and warm. This is the symbolic midpoint in the race … though, in reality, it is still well before mid-race.
Runners have a drop bag here containing whatever they think they may need. I slap on sun screen, load up more electrolyte tablets and gels, change socks, add more clothes to my carry bag and eat more food.
Courmayer is a beautiful town. It’s friendly, comfortable and in danger of becoming a permanent place of rest! It’s time to return my drop bag to the marshals and begin the very steep, zig-zag climb up through the trees towards refuge Bertone.
After spending the last three hours in pleasant weather with incredibly stunning views of the mountains, the sun now fades, the wind chill is evident and the weather generally deteriorates.
I am also increasingly aware that my minimalist trail shoes are too tight, and my toes are protesting loudly at the brutal treatment they’ve endured over the last 50-plus miles. To make things worse, the familiar but very unpleasant waves of nausea began to sweep through my body earlier than I’d expected.
Leaving the comfort of Arnuva checkpoint, the long climb to the 2577-metre summit of the Grand Col Ferret and Switzerland begins.
The sleet is falling, and it’s getting colder and colder.
I’m now wearing all my 5 layers of clothing but the cold is making breathing difficult and sapping what energy I have.
Halfway up, and it’s now pitch black.
Even with thick gloves on, my hands are too cold to get the head torch out of my bag, so I plod on, one-two, one-two, towards the summit. I’m using the lamps of others around me for guidance. I can sense they’re concerned that I have no lamp. I push on regardless. Arriving at the wind-blasted, freezing and fogged summit checkpoint at 9:15 pm.
I now enlist the help of a marshal to get my head torch out of my bag. I then plunge as best I can down the other side, searching for the reflective route markers and desperate to generate warmth.
The descent continues relentlessly for many miles. I’m part of a long conga chain led by a young Spanish couple who are continuously chatting. They’re probably “wired” from all the checkpoint caffeinated cola, as I am, but I’m just talking to myself.
I eventually step to the side to get some food out of my bag. There’s now no one around, but I see a long flowing line of white lights descending from the sky in the blackness behind me.
I’ve no idea where I am. Whether the route is now up, down, flat or even what aid station is next. I feel disorientated. My lamp illuminates another race marker; my legs lead me to it, and the challenge continues.
A Swiss family have set up a log fire outside their house in the deathly quiet Praz de Fort village. They are serving hot lemon tea and snacks to passing runners at 2:00 am.
It’s a very welcoming kindness and a sign of the respect many have for “les Trailers”
After climbing another steep, rocky and claustrophobic forest trail I arrive in Champex-lac, a major aid station and checkpoint.
It’s bitterly cold at 4:00 am.
I look to my right and see a runner lying down, hooked up to a drip...it somehow looks inviting. I feel chilled and depressed. Would I be able to finish this challenge? After all this suffering, I somehow had to finish. Many runners have their families here. They look on from the support area. Their ashen faces show the sleep deprivation and concern for their loved ones who are suffering. It’s a gloomy, terminal atmosphere. I enjoy a few moments of comfort with my salty noodle soup, then head off into the darkness.
A real feeling of déjà vu sweeps over me for the next few miles. I try and figure out when I’ve been along this way before.
Cold air drifting from the high alpine lake cuts through me and I’m glad when the route turns off the town street and into another forest.
It’s eerily quiet.
I’m now running alone and having trouble with my head torch. Deciding I have to change batteries, I prepare for this “complicated” process. Luckily another runner arrives and shines his torch on my bag. I’m soon on my way.
The wandering beam of my head torch now illuminates stripes of fluorescent material on the clothing of people sitting under the trees. I verbally apologise for disturbing them with my light.
I then observe a rather large spider with fluorescent arms and legs moving across my path, but this time, it talks to me...a mountain biker pushing his bike over the very rocky path going somewhere in the dead of night.
“Maybe my torch batteries were OK but the lights in my head were going dim? ”
More miles passed with the constant routine of keeping moving, eating and drinking becoming increasingly difficulty.
I’m now trying various salty foods at the aid stations such as cheese and salami with biscuits. These are washed down with sparkling mineral water which I’ve newly acquired a taste for.
Dawn began to break and the sun’s welcoming promise gave a renewed optimism to push onto wherever. I’ve no idea how many hills are left as the organizers had text a change to the route after Friday’s storm obliterated a mountain aid station. All I knew was more climb and distance had been added. With my body and mind crumbling rapidly by the minute I looked for the route markers, followed others and continued on my adventure.
It’s Sunday, 8:00 am and I arrive in the Martigny aid station. I don’t realise this and somehow I think this is Vallorcine and I’ll soon be down the valley to Chamonix in a couple of hours.
I try to phone my wife to tell her but there’s no answer. The sun’s rising so I remove some layers, put my carbon poles in my bag and get my sunglasses on. I feel great!
My eye now catches sight of many runners heading up a steep, meandering road on the opposite side of the river. I’m confused and have no real idea where I am or what’s still ahead.
“Well if that’s where we’re going I’ll just have to get on with it and follow the others… “ I mumbled to myself through gritted teeth.
The next mountain sections which passed through checkpoints Triente and Catogne are a confusing, mysterious blur.
I climbed the Col de la Forclaz at some point via a near vertical path which was skirted by chalets, fields and the main road.
I also climbed up and over another enormous hill, zig-zagging under trees, breathing so badly that some Americans wanted to get me medical attention. I smiled to myself and assured them I was just fine and thanked them for their concern.
Shortly after this, an Australian walker told me what I thought was the summit was not the real summit and even worse… our checkpoint was way over the back of the hill! My smile wavered and I began to wonder how much of my almost 4 hour cut-off cushion I now had left?
After much toil and effort I eventually reached the checkpoint. I guzzled some coke, ate a gel and began another long painful descent down to somewhere.
Bewilderingly, I never even thought about asking anyone where I was.
Continuing on, I grimaced my way down on autopilot and “landed” amongst another large number of vocal supporters in full party swing. It was Vallorcine checkpoint at mile 96.
It’s 2:20 pm, and I now think the race finished. I leave the marquee aid station, wander a short distance in the sunshine and phone my wife. I ask what the best route to Chamonix is. Or better still, do you guys have the chalet minibus? She thinks I sound like I’ve had a stroke. Then I looked down and saw my attached race number and remembered the finish is in Chamonix, still over 9 miles to go.
My friend George comes on the phone.
“Keep it together, just get yourself back on the route, there’s still loads of time”
Panic! I’m pointed in the right direction by an understanding marshal, and off I go, doing the painful ultra shuffle. I now have a determined awareness and an intense focus. It’s as if I’ve been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water and slapped about the head. Run, walk, run, keep moving as fast as possible.
The afternoon sun’s hot and I feel my face burning. The frequent crowd support offering encouragement is immensely helpful and drive’s me along the rocky path to the village of Argentiere.
My number’s scanned for the final time at 3:33 pm and I’m now into the last agonizing miles to Chamonix. More large boulders and tree roots hinder my progress as I climb the final hill.
I’m now descending and wincing with pain as my swollen feet and smashed toes hammer into boulder after boulder. Sporadically I hear individuals encouragingly shout, ”it’s only 20 minutes to town now,” and “only 500 meters to town”.
Suddenly I break out from the woodland trail onto tarmac and the beginning of the end.
The massive cheering crowds are amazing. Their enthusiasm is overwhelming and emotional. Continuing on into the town centre and I’m thrown a Saltire flag from friends.
I’m now running in a wonderful euphoric daze past the vibrant cafes and bars towards the finish. I finally cross the line to the triumphal sound of “Conquest of Paradise” by Vangelis.
It’s over.
I had successfully finished the epic Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc non-stop mountain trail race in a time of 41 hours and 49 minutes placing 613th out of 1126 who made it all the way.
Over 1200 didn’t finish. (The final cut-off time allowed was 45 hours).
My thanks to the race organisation, the 1900 helpers and marshals, the sponsors and everyone else who is involved in planning and staging this spectacular and rewarding event.
And to all the “random Scottish & English punters” who shared this incredible experience and made it very special, I thank you.
“For those about to run, we salute you”,… as Richie would say.
You can watch a short video clip of my finish here.
Check out the race website for more information and entry details.