Unpacking UTMB 2024

In the bus to Annecy I’m listening to Tower by Carina Round and the Beta Machine, she sings “If time turned to water, you’d go on and on for ever. Just sailing around forever, ‘til the wind stopped blowing”. I’m reflecting on my UTMB experience, as I have been four the past few days since my DNF. Turns out I’d caught a bug somewhere during my travels from Munich through to Chamonix. Continuing stomach pain, nausea and in time the inability to eat or drink culminated in the decision to hit cancel on my dream.

Regardless of the need to withdraw at the 115km mark, at La Fouly in the Swiss Alps, UTMB was super surreal. Watching race coverage, looking at photos and hearing the first-hand accounts don’t prepare you for the enormity of the experience.

My “Chamonix” Spotify playlist is 4 hours 35 minutes in length. Just long enough to make it through two revolutions during a full night of running. Tower was the last song I added to the playlist during a careful curation process that takes me a few months. The creation of a playlist for my longer runs has become something of a ritualistic undertaking as my training progresses. It’s a product of my blood, sweat and tears as my runs take me further and further afield and become increasingly challenging. These 73 songs tell the tale of 26 weeks of preparation for UTMB.

I signed up for my first Ultra in 2018 after my brother suggested I join him for a lap at the Northburn100. Isaac Walker was running the 100 mile distance and I figured 50k was a good place for me to start. Plenty of riding and a little running saw me make it to to the start line, and then the finish within a respectable time. What a fantastic experience, but it left me wondering what was it like to run further. I set my sights on the miler in two year’s time.

Fast forward a few years and I completed that miler at Northburn, and another for good measure plus a dozen other Ultra’s. Somewhere along the way UTMB started to appear in my sights. Whilst the idea of flying halfway around the world to run the biggest Ultramarathon going, through the French, Italian and Swiss alps seemed like a pipe dream, it was my pipe dream. With focus, hard work and the support of my family I was able to make my way to Chamonix for the 2024 Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc World Series Final.

The start of UTMB is a bit like the car park after a fireworks display on a clear night. Everyone is keen to get going but there is bugger-all room to move, eventually some gaps start to open up and you’re able to get going a bit more freely. The thousands of people shouting “Allez allez, super!” started to give way to families of supporters in the hills leading toward Les Houches, and then onto the the giant party that is raging throughout Saint Gervais and continues on to Les Contamines. I remember thinking this race is a big party and the runners are the entertainment!

The excitement of the first few hours certainly helped to take my mind off my gradually declining state of health, which included stomach pain that was exacerbated by running. Whilst expected, the mountainous climbs were fantastically long and steep. Looking back to see a snake consisting of hundreds of headlamps was incredible but looking up hundreds of metres to see the same snake going up was intimidating.

Given the heavy proportion of French and European runners I wasn’t able to spark up regular conversations with fellow runners as I typically would. On the odd occasion I would spot an Aussie or even a Kiwi flag on another runner’s bib and I made sure to take the opportunity to have a chat. Stuart Heighway was one of the few Kiwi’s I ran into a few times and we were able to run together periodically. Interestingly, after a few hours we discovered that we’d actually met at a previous event in Christchurch.

The terrain was technical, incredibly rocky and loose all the way up to Col de la Seigne at near 2600 metres. On the descent to Lac Combal the sun started to emerge from its slumber beyond the horizon. From Les Chapieux to Lac Combal is a huge haul between aid stations, the biggest in the race, and the 19.3km distance took me 4 hours to complete. Another 12km over Arête du Mt Favre, and a massive 1200m descent eventually bought the UTMB hoard of runners into Courmayeur. The descents are no less punishing than the ascents and this is one of the two largest in the event.

Courmayeur is the most significant aid station during UTMB and close to the half-way point at 82.6km. It’s fair to say by this stage I was suffering after 15 hours of deteriorating health, hot weather that was starting to bake me and the usual fatigue expected at this stage in a race of this distance. As this is the only aid station on the course that you can pick up supplies from a drop bag, I made the most of my stash. A new t-shirt and socks, fresh lube in all the right places and a good brush of my furry-feeling teeth. Whilst there was a literal smorgasboard of french food on display I was unable to make the most of it. My appetite was severly lacking, the nausea hadn’t abated and all I could manage was chicken noodle soup. I searched out the rest area, closed my eyes and took a 20 minute nap.

The route out of Courmeyeur to Refuge Bertone was seriously steep, hot and frankly confusing. Of course I don’t know the neighbourhood, so I followed the other runners and we shared grimaces and smiles of discomfort and determination as we made our way up switch-backs and large steps in the dirt trail. I watched the UTMB supply helicopter fly overhead with supplies of water for the remote aid stations as I made my way up to the next aid station at just under 2000m.

My wife and family had agreed to meet me at La Fouly which is the 115km mark. My intention had been to arrive here around lunchtime but I was lagging far behind that schedule. I remember thinking to myself that I started this race for me but I would finish it for my kids. Whilst my determination was top notch, my physical condition continued to decline. By this stage I was gagging at any attempt to eat. Drinking water was causing stomach distress and pain at every sip. The 12.8km journey to Arnouvaz took me three hours over an undulating route past Refuge Bonatti toward the Swiss border.

I caught up with Stu again in Arnouvaz where we exchanged tales of woe and suffering. I managed to consume a bit more soup and filled a bag with Naak energy bars to eat later (note: I reached La Fouly with this bag untouched). Stu was nice enough to jam a Maurteen bar in my dirty, sweaty hands as a kind gesture to help me eat something slightly more significant.

The climb out of Arnouvaz to Grand Col Ferret was significant, very steep and extremely hot. I neglected to bring enough water and ran out before reaching the peak of the climb, where they did not have water on hand. Thankfully a few hundred metres on there was a stream with clean and cold water into which I quicky dipped my empty flasks. There was a 900m descent down into La Fouly and I took this time, without the encumberment of my running poles, to nibble on my donated Maurteen bar.

The final part of my run into La Fouly felt immensely long. Around every corner there seemed to be another stretch of trail, and with every stretch of trail a few more people passed me by. I had been running for 24 hours by the time I reached the town and had only managed eat that Mauteen bar in the last 6 hours. The flasks I had refilled near Grand Col Ferret weren’t empty, but should have been. By this stage I had come to the conclusion that if I couldn’t eat and drink then I couldn’t go on. I decided to meet Trudie Scott-Walker , Torran and Eden at La Fouly and take some steps to recover.

La Fouly is a tiny Swiss town in the Alps and by the time I had arrived, 6 hours late, my family had undertaken some extensive exploring and shopping at the single little supermarket. I chugged down a chocolate milk, which is something that I always seem to have the ability to consume, and tried for a nap. Sleep didn’t come and Trudie watched as I lay grimacing on the grass at the side of the road. I looked at my shoes and realised that the outsoles were starting to delaminate and flapping against the midsole. I think that was the final straw.

Walking to the aid station to withdraw was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I’m confident I could have finished UTMB but am certain that I would have been near hospitalisation and past the cutoff time. As it was I spent the next three weeks unwell and it became very apparent that I had a Covid-like virus.

In 2024 just over 1000 people withdrew from UTMB. This is one of the highest DNF rates to date. The fastest time was 19:53, which Frenchman Vincent Bouillard achieved as an unsponsored athlete. An incredible time and huge effort across the mountainous 176km course. Stu completed the event in 40:37, an immense effort as he pushed hard through another night after passing through La Fouly the same time as me. Trudie, the kids and I made it to the finish line to see Stu finish the next day. It was fantastic to see him complete UTMB and I’m sure my screaming caused Torran and Eden some embarrasment.

Four weeks on and I’ve sifted through and consolidated the memories of my UTMB. I have mixed feelings about my DNF. I’m still disappointed about not experiencing the finish line but console myself with the fact that I made the hard choice to look after myself.

I never stay down for long and I’ve now signed up for the Northburn 100 miler again. Trudie has also agreed that it would be reasonable to give UTMB another go in a few years but a visit to Turkey and Croatia needs to be in the mix…