Results and Rewards

Last Sunday I ran the Amsterdam Marathon with my son John. He's a fit young man and can burn me off easily in a half marathon or anything shorter, but this was his first brush with the full distance and his aim, in his own words, was to "just get round in one piece". So we conservatively arranged ourselves in the 4 to 4,5 hours pen at the start in the Olympic Stadium under a cloudless sky. The morning was chill enough for us to keep on our raggedy old throwaway tops until the last minute, then we were off, half a lap of the track and out into the streets, a 10k loop to warm up past the Rijksmuseum and through the Vondelspark, then out into the second major loop to complete the 42k.

It's a fine course, hardly any of the soulless residential areas and industrial estates that make up the miles in many big-city marathons; the low October sun was in our eyes as we turned southwards along the River Amstel but the day was warming up into perfect running conditions. We allowed the crowds to keep our speed down, just overtaking when it was easy, chatting to each other and to others occasionally, half a mile or so with a girl from Rochdale "long way to come to run with your neighbours!" (John lives in Manchester), and cruised easily through halfway in 1-55.  Same strategy through to the end, walking a bit to eat and drink something every 10k, you need to enjoy your first marathon although it will always be tough, 26 miles on the road is still a long way. Back to the stadium, round the track to the finishing arch, John clenching fists and raising arms as we crossed the line in 3 hours 51 minutes, done it! In no time we were back with our ladies for hugs, hot coffee, the warm glow of elation that comes at these times and a lazy lunch.

Two years ago on similar clear, crisp day in November I ran the New York marathon with my daughter Julia, on that occasion her first experience too of the distance. She found it hard at times but was helped round by a big enough supply of jelly babies and the matchless support and enthusiasm of the folk of the five boroughs (if you only ever run one marathon in your life, this has to be it). Just after the finish one of the medical checkers (who look into your eyes to see if there is still a soul connected to them) saw her and announced to everyone in earshot "Look at that smile, that's how the rest of you guys should be looking!"

I'm quite proud of my marathon PB, achieved earlier this year at an age when I should probably be doing something more sensible in my spare time. But the run in which I got it has already faded almost completely from my mind, while the details of those two golden autumn mornings in Amsterdam and New York will stay with me for many years to come.  Because although the results and medals are nice enough momentos, the real rewards that we get from what we do are the experiences that we share with our friends, our families, and the people that we meet along the way, that carry us into the future.

Ultras and Ultras

I recently read John K's account of his experience in the Hardmoors 110 mile ultra (link at the side of the page if you haven't seen it - it's a good read). Now compared with me John's a class act, you don't get a couple of sub-20-hour West Highland Ways unless you can cut it and he trains and plans his events very thoroughly.In the Hardmoors however he had a real struggle, missing his expectations by quite a way (although with considerable resolve he made it to the finish!).  His conclusion, that he shouldn't have attempted two "hundred mile" races in a year, set me thinking - for the past two years I have run the WHW in reasonable style then failed a couple of months later in the UTMB.  Yet some runners complete several such races in a year, not just "getting round" but turning in good performances each time, so what are they doing right? If you're interested in some theories stick with me, at least you can argue at the end!
I think there are two key factors at work here, how hard is the race and how do you approach it.

For sure not all races are equal, but what makes one "harder" than another? Some interesting stuff on the WHW forum on this but not crystallised into whole arguments yet. For me there are three elements that determine how much challenge you face in a given event:
1. The length. No need to say much here, this has to be the single most important element - we all know that 50 miles is further than a marathon, but with a bit of application you'll get by. 100 miles is much, much further. The CCC is pretty tough for 50-odd miles, but does it compare with setting out from Milngavie with 95 ahead of you?  It certainly didn't for me.
2. The height gain. The cumulative gain is important, but so is the way that it hits you. Long slow hills that you can run or walk quickly have much less impact than the in-your-face one-or-two-miles-an-hour jobs that just wear you down. On paper the UTMB has only(!) twice the height gain of the WHW but ask anyone who has done both if that's what it feels like.
3. The ground underfoot. The advantage of running or walking (even uphill) on a good surface is that you can get a rythm going which is both faster and less tiring than if you have to select each individual footfall separately. Here neither WHW nor UTMB can compare remotely with the sort of technical ground faced on (eg) the Bob Graham or Paddy Buckley rounds.
There is other stuff of course like altitude, start time, how much is in the dark, how much navigation you have to do, how much kit you choose or are obliged to carry and so on, but I think the three I've pulled out are the most important. So (for some examples) the WHW is a long race with moderate climbing and good ground, the Lakeland 100 is a long race with tough climbing and technical ground, and the UTMB is a long race with massive climbing and good ground. I don't know the Hardmoors, but my impression from the reports is that the climbing is tough and the extra miles are telling.

But where does all this get us? The bottom line of course is that the "harder" any or all of these three factors gets, the longer the race will take any individual runner - ie "hardness" ultimately equates to time on your feet.  If you compare performances in the WHW and the UTMB, most runners who have completed both take between 50% and 90% longer to complete the UTMB, so a competitor with a 24 hour WHW is likely to take somewhere between 36 and 46 hours on the UTMB. What is interesting is that the slower runners in the WHW tend to suffer a less dramatic slowdown - runners taking up to 30 hours or more on the WHW often get inside the 46 hour UTMB cut-off (around WHW time plus 50%) whereas the faster guys rarely get better than their WHW time plus 75%. There are exceptions of course but this is the trend.  Although there is less available data, you can see similar trends when comparing the WHW with both the Hardmoors and the Lakeland 100 (all of this data is available on the event websites if you want more detail to play with). Part of the reason is that the WHW is a very "runnable" course favouring faster runners whereas the others have a more levelling effect on the field, but I suspect that how competitors approach their events has some effect also.

After we have done a few, I suspect most of us approach a 50 mile race without too much concern. You start after breakfast and you know you're going to be done by sometime in the afternoon. If it hurts a bit you keep going and you're soon counting down, manageable numbers that you can always deal with - you can always do that last 15, 20 miles. It's not exactly "go out hard and hang on" but subconsciously once you're halfway you know that a bit of willpower will get you there. And to a certain extent I think you can carry that attitude into a race like the WHW, depending on what time you think you will finish in. If you're shooting for 24 hours or less, the first night is over in a couple of hours after the start and you know you're going to be in bed for most of the next one. 12 hours will see you well over half way and you just need to keep it togther to the finish. Don't get me wrong, I think the WHW is a brilliant event and I'll keep turning up at Milngavie every year for as long as they let me in, but in terms of hundred mile ultras it's just not one of the toughest.

When you take on something bigger and are going to be out for 30 hours or more, things are different. Going into the second night knowing that you'll probably still be going the next morning with all that entails in terms of sleep deprivation and gradually depleting resources; realising that halfway is now just another  landmark, you're not going to "hang on" for 15 hours or more; understanding that overall speed is now likely to reflect your logistics and organisation rather than how fast you put one foot in front of the other on the trail. I think it is the TIME that is the key for me - if you think your proposed event is going to take 24-26 hours or less you can probably wing it and keep going, but if there's a doubt that it could be 28-30 or more, ie really into the "second night", and you need a strategy that allows for it right from the start.

The strong will survive, just as John did in the Hardmoors, but it will be a tougher experience than they expected.  For the rest of us, I think we just have to plan for the long haul. I don't think this necesarily means going as slowly as possible and just beating the cutoffs, but still being far more conservative in the first part of the race, and not get drawn away from the plan by other people or the surroundings. But I think above all it needs practice, so that it isn't a once a year experiment. I think I need to get into that "second night out" zone more often, so I know what works and what doesn't.  So I'll take a different approach from John, and enter MORE hundred mile races next year!

The shoes we choose....

One of the team who made the first ascent of the Eiger north face in 1938 was asked many years later about the design of the iceaxe he used on his epic climb. His reply intimated that the precise details of the tool itself were less important than the skill of the man using it. Nevertheless, we still seem to worry quite a lot about what we wear on our feet when we're out for a day or two. Although still a relative newcomer to the running game I'm conscious that the frequency with which I have to shell out around 60 to 80 pounds - every 500 miles so the sages say, or when all the useful bits have worn off the sole which usually amounts to the same thing in my case - means it's worth trying to make sure I get the best return for my cash in terms of comfort and performance. I'm gradually getting there but it seems to be a confusing and ultimately personal affair - what works for someone else doesn't necessarily work for you.

I hadn't a clue when I started, so I went to a specialist running shop in Rotterdam where I was living at the time, told them I was training for my first marathon (my first proper run actually but I didn't like to admit that), had my feet looked at and my gait analysed, and came out with a pair of Asics Cumulus road shoes. They did the job, problem solved, I just kept buying a new pair every time they wore out. Then I stumbled into trail running and ultras, and felt I should have something rather more specific to the task. I bought a pair of Salomons (XA3's, if I remember correctly) on the questionable grounds that everyone in Chamonix seemed to have a pair and Salomon usually design good kit. They were a real disappointment, they didn't seem to grip any better than road shoes and were a lot less comfortable, but they were excellent for posing in the pub and have latterly performed well at gardening and more general DIY. After this brush with the technical, I went back to my Asics for my first proper ultra (the Highland Fling in 2007), and apart from going up half a size to accommodate swelling feet on longer distances I have used them successfully in every event I have entered since; I don't get blisters and I know each pair I buy is going to be the same as the last.

But we're never content to let the sleeping dog lie are we? We convince ourselves that we must be missing out on something, why would these guys be making all this snazzy all-terrain footwear if doesn't give the user some unbelievable advantages? So I started trying the recommended classics. Montrail Hardrocks hurt my feet. Yes, I agree you can't feel a single stone through them and I do have persistent PF in one foot, but 50 miles around the rocky northern half of the Anglesey coast path convinced me that they're not for me, it's like running in clogs. The ubiquitous Innov8 Roclite 315's started well, but I have the opposite problem with these; they're great for 10 miles or so then I start to feel every stone. I've found them really great as crag approach shoes in places like the Dolomites, and their lightness really pays off when they're in your rucsac, so I've thoroughly worn them out now and will probably buy another pair - just not for running!

As an aside, I'm not sure if I really understand the advantage of studs versus a more general sole; the studs like you get on the Roclites are great for wet grassy hillsides and muddy fields, but when you get to bits of scrambling over rocks or running over the "ecological" stone paths appearing in most of our upland areas now, racing drivers and rock climbers understand that to get grip on a hard surface you need to get a bit more rubber down than the studs afford. Maybe you just have to compromise here to get the grip on the soft ground when you need it. And I can't even contemplate the ultra-thin footshaped "no shoes" (VFF's ?) that seem to be coming onto our radar now.

So I think I'll stick with the trusty road shoes for a while yet. And yet I'm always a sucker for seduction by a well turned out pair of heels. There's an outdoor shop where I often loiter awhile after visiting my mum, and a couple of weeks ago I couldn't resist a new pair of Salomons (with studs!). I'm waiting for something to wrong, because so far they feel as light as carpet slippers but with enough cushioning to give even my ageing frame some chance of survival. The only problem is that they're such a garish red that Jan says she won't be seen with me until I've got a few layers of mud on them, so yesterday I ran them from Buttermere over to Wasdale and back to start the process. Just call me Imelda.

Apart from the Amsterdam marathon in three weeks my running year is drawing to a close, a real pity about Rotherham being changed from December to October, so I'll take it easy for a few weeks and contemplate what could be on the calendar for next year. I've already entered the Fling and will be up for the WHW if I get a place, and there are a whole host of tempting runs in the UK besides - let's hope 2010 is another great year. Meanwhile I'm off for a week's climbing and some late season sun on the Costa Blanca. Running can wait just a while.

Newcastle Family Fun Day

Half marathons aren't really my thing; seven minute miles hurt my hamstrings and I'm always puffing before half way, but family and friends turn up for the Great North Run every year and we're never disappointed, it's a brilliant day out.

9.30 Sunday morning and we converge from all over the town, you never need to know the way to the start of the GNR, just follow the line of runners you'll come across at any Metro station, road junction, or bus stop. The Cole team meets on the footbridge about halfway along the dual carriageway that forms the start, from where we can see runners assembling for what seems like miles in either direction, bringing home pretty dramatically what a start of around 50,000 looks like. Good luck hugs and we're off to find our start positions - son John and I will get through the start line about 2 minutes after the gun goes off, but for daughter Julia and John's partner Jade it will be around half an hour later before their run starts! My brother Nick and two of his children Laura and James are in the field somewhere somewhere but we haven't seen them at the start so not sure where.

Off we go, beautiful start, slightly downhill through the tunnels to the "oggi, oggi, oggi" shouts from everyone, then out onto the Tyne Bridge, crowds thick everywhere. My sixth time here, it's a hilly course and today it's hot, you're never going to do a great time but that's not what it's about, it's the people of Tyneside who make this event what it is, cheers and a hundred additional unofficial food and drink stations all along the way, and live music at all the places you really need it. Up the first short hill past Gateshead Stadium, down a bit, then the long climb to the highpoint of the course around five miles, finally it levels out for a bit. I pretend that I can keep pace with John but after around seven miles I have to admit defeat and he swooshes off towards the finish. I can relax a bit now and enjoy the day in the sunshine, run through all the showers, exchange high fives with the kids along the way. It's still hard up the last long hill from mile ten; where's Elvis, I know he'll be there just before the top but he's a long time putting in an appearance today, at last there he is, give him a wave, crest the hill, a final little dip and up, and there's the sea. Down the steep little hill and left for the final mile along the seafront, into the cooling breeze, know you're home now. Always impressive, the crowd noise along the final half mile today is deafening, this must be what it's like for real athletes, then through the finishing arch and make for the bottle of water.

(John, Jade, Laura, Julia, Andy)

As each of us finishes, our little group gradually reassembles outside the beer and food tent (where else?) with our stories of the past hour or two. The burgers, perfectly ordinary, are the best we'll taste for a long while, then we lie on the grass in the warm sunshine, watch the Red Arrows do their amazing stuff overhead, listen to the band work its way back from the sixties, and let the afternoon melt away. When most of the crowds have gone we saunter off down the prom to the Metro and home.

This is not running over the emptiness of an open moor or romantic lochside, but in its own way participative sport surely doesn't get any better than this. Times? Well, none of us either impressed or disgraced ourselves, beyond that who cares? We all had a lovely day.

Final word on UTMB 2009 - what went wrong?

Well I'm back from a couple of weeks R&R - first walking in the Chamonix valley then climbing on the sunny granite slabs of Ailefroide, and starting to think about running again. Thanks for all the kind comments on my last post. I normally don't dwell on the serious aspects of running, I'm more interested in the day out in the hills approach, but before I put the UTMB to bed for this year I'm trying to work out what I have to do differently to be successful in this event - either in 2010 if I'm lucky in the ballot, or 2011 if I'm not. So what are the factors that might have conspired to stop me getting round this year.......

1. Too old? Definitely not! 24 over sixties and one over seventy got home in under 46 hours, so at 62 next year I'm not special.

2. Not fit enough/ not enough training? Again, I think not. I had the miles in the legs, I could have started again the morning after I dropped out.

3. Not enough moral fibre/ didn't dig deep enough? Tricky one this; Richie pushed on in the TDS with similar symptoms to mine to record a great finish. I carried on with similar symptoms in the West Highland Way with about twenty miles to go, and finished. But I just couldn't convince myself that I could get through the last 35 miles and three big climbs with no food or drink. Have to think about this one, but can't really see how you train to beat it!

4. Effect of altitude? Brian suggested this, and there may be something in it. I was never great at altitude as a climber, I needed a lot of acclimatisation to perform well. But that was at above 3000m, and the TMB trail barely touches 2500. However in the UTMB you never actually rest for very long, you're always on the move so altitudes between 2000 and 2500 could have an affect on me here. I'll prepare better next time. I'm sure it's not the whole story though as I have had similar problems in much lower races such as the WHW.

5. Effect of starting at night? I don't like it, I'm much happier with events that start early in the morning. Starting at night seems to upset my clock. Having stood back and realised this, I can prepare better with more night starts - the only ones I did this year were the WHW and the UTMB, none in training. Again I'm not sure this the major factor but it contributes.

6. Nervousness? My only other "long race" experience is the WHW, and the UTMB is a huge jump up from that in terms of effort required. I don't have the confidence yet that I can finish, and that causes it's own problems. I'm wondering I should do some tougher preparation, such as the Lakeland 100 or the Bob Graham as a confidence booster.

7. Nutrition and hydration? I've left these until last because deep down I'm certain that although some of the things I've mentioned above have contributed to my problems in the UTMB, if I can crack the fluid and fuel issue I'll be OK. I haven't taken this seriously enough so far and I need to be much more scientific about what my requirements really are to keep going for 30 or 40 hours. I've tended to think that what works well for 50 miles will work well for the long haul, but I've gradually realised that almost any strategy will get you through 50 miles, so you actually learn nothing. I found the CCC a walk in the park compared with my attempts at the UTMB, because I knew I could get round with very little food after half way and had the confidence to press on strongly to the end. I've talked to a lot of people about how they cope, and all I've learned is that everyone is different. Certainly no answers for me yet, but I'm going to do a lot of research and experimenting in this area between now and the end of the year, so I can thoroughly test what I come up with during the main training period in the first half of next year.

So that's analysis, and the start of a plan. I promise not to be so serious as this again!! (anyway, don't the military guys say that no plan survives first contact with the enemy........)

Whatever happens, my aim is still to enjoy the training and running as much as I have so far - after all, that's what we do it for.

UTMB 2009....better but not there yet!

A sun-drenched Chamonix with a couple of days to go and it's good to see so many of the gang for a pre-race beer; Brian, Drew, George, we know Jon's on his way and others are around, Ritchie's here for the new TDS race. Everyone looks confident but in spite of the training I've been feeling nervous for the past week, this is the big one.

Friday evening just after 6, the sun still beating down. I've deliberately turned up late, not wanting to sit around in the heat so I make my way to the back of the massed field up on the church steps. The atmosphere is amazing, the music, the inspirational pre-race speeches, the ritual reading of the meteo, the final good wishes and then the count-down by the crowd, 10, 9, 8, to the final crescendo of cheering and increased music volume as we get to "go!" It takes me 5 minutes to cross the start line, and another 5 to be able to start running, but surely no big deal in a race that's going to take at least 40 hours. Down the rue Paccard I see Ritchie with Scottish Saltire up on the balcony, then the road widens, the runners start to space out, and it begins.

Everyone runs the first 5 miles to Les Houches, why not, it's flat, then the work starts. The first climb takes us up 2600ft in 4 miles to La Charme but it's a wide easy track, not too steep, just a loosener-up for what is to follow, out with the poles and get into the rhythm. Head torch on at the top for the start of the 9-hour night shift then straight down to St Gervais 3300ft below and the first party. Every town, village and mountain refuge along the route takes this event to its heart, with music, festivities, bonfires and great support for each and every runner. "Allez, allez" and "bravo, courage" are cries that each one will hear time and again on his journey around the mountains. I down a couple of cokes otherwise pass on through the town without stopping.

From St Gervais to Les Contamines the route follows a newly linked path called the "Sentier de Val Montjoie". I walk it with Jan a few days later, and it's wonderful as it wiggles its way alongside the bubbling river through woods and meadows, past chalets and trout farms. Tonight though all I see is the stream of headlamps ahead floating through the tunnel of darkness, and the dust from feet on the dry ground rising into our beams. The cumulative height gain from St Gervais to Les Contamines is nearly 1700ft, but it's easily won in lots of little ups and downs so goes almost without notice. I arrive at Les Contamines almost spot on my target of midnight, 45 minutes ahead of the cut-off time. My plan this year is to work up slowly to around 2 hours ahead of the cut-offs and stay there with minimum effort to Champex three quarters of the way round, and see how I feel then. The aim is to finish! I stop to eat a bit in Les Contamines, soup, bread, bananas. I am using a gel every hour en route and drinking Nuun for electrolyte replacement. I've tried this system on some long training runs and the Devil o'the Highlands, and it seems to be going well.

From Les Contamines it is 8.5 miles and around 4400ft of ascent to the next high point at the Croix du Bonhomme (just like a trip up Ben Nevis in the dark!), and we start to lose the pastoral landscape we've traversed since the start and get into the mountains, rocky singletracks and uneven ground. I take the ascent steadily, without a pause except for a quick cup of soup at the Balme checkpoint halfway. We are in mist now and I discover a problem I've not had in previous years. The descent to Les Chapieux 3000ft below is one of the worst on the circuit, a choice of steep pathlets diverging and rejoining every few yards over muddy hillside and rocky outcrops. There is a luminous marker every 50 yards or so but I can't see from one to the next in the mist; last year I was much further up the field in a continuous stream of runners, but this year my cautious approach has left bigger gaps. Nevertheless, the schedule says an hour from Bonhomme to Chapieux so that's what it takes, I make up time on the much better track over the last mile or so. My previous encounters with Les Chapieux, the first major pit stop 30 miles into the race, have been uniformly bad so it's good to arrive feeling in good spirits. Life's not completely rosy though as for the past hour or so I've started to lose the taste for Nuun, and it's getting harder to drink and consequently harder to eat. It's a bit worrying as I'm only about 10 hours into the race. My 15 pulls per hour on the Camelback have gone down to 5 or 6, but I'm still managing a gel an hour. At Les Chapieux I get down some soup and a banana, and set off for the next uphill.

The Col de la Seigne is a few miles of road and then an easy track, not steep but continuously rising for 3300ft in about 6 miles (a walk up Snowdon!). Previously I've had to stop and rest several times here (last year I fell asleep for about 20 minutes by the roadside, which is where I think Mike the Gilet passed me), but this year I'm working on Mike's advice, never stop on a climb, just go slower and keep going, so I get to the top without a break. It's daylight by the top so headtorch off and we can see where we're going - down into Italy at the dawn of a perfect day! It's an easy jog down to the Lac Combal checkpoint, and a couple of cups of coffee hit the spot, but on the next climb up to the Arete de Mont Favre which is only 1500ft of vertical I'm definitely starting to feel queasy. I cheer myself up with the long descent to come, over 4000ft in six miles down to Courmayeur. Before the start I said to Jan my aim was to get here between 11 and 12 o'clock and she's there waving as I jog in at 11.30. This is the major base 48 miles in where you can send a drop bag, so I have the luxury of a change of clothes; I also eat another bowl of soup and down plenty of coke, and after the first stop of more than a couple of minutes or so since the start I feel decidedly more human. Jan plasters me with sunscreen and says I'm looking good as I set out for the next stretch.

The climb from Courmayeur to the Bertone Hut is generally felt to be pretty cruel; only 2700ft but steep, relentless and south facing. Last year it was hot hot hot, this year it's merely hot so again I make it without a stop. I'm still getting some Nuun down but can't face gels any longer, even though I've a pile of them in my bag. Two cups of wonderful coffee at the Bertone revive me, as does an encouraging phone message from Mike, and with a re-wetted hat (you soak your hat in every available stream and water source along this Italian stretch) I'm off again. The section from the Bertone, via the Bonatti Hut then down to Arnuva is a really brilliant contouring track, little ups and downs, no technical ground and superb views across the southern aspect of the Mont Blanc range. I can remember running it all at a fair clip in the CCC (Courmayeur-Champex-Chamonix) race a couple of years ago. Today it's frustrating; I can jog the downhill bits but as soon as I put any effort into the ups I start to feel sick. I feel that I have miles and miles of running left in my legs but I can't access it somehow. Nagging at the back of my mind also is the generally accepted view that the next checkpoint (Arnuva at 60 miles) represents about half way in terms of time and effort; I'm feeling pretty bad and I still have a long way to go. I carry on as well as I can but a final little up just before the descent to Arnuva proves too much; I have to sit down and throw up. After this and a few minutes rest I feel much better, and immediately swallow a good drink of Nuun and half a bag of fruit pastilles. I reason that if I can get some more real food in at Arnuva I'll be OK, so I jog down to the checkpoint 800ft below.

I'm not feeling great but I manage to down soup, bread, banana and cheese, and a mug of coke. I refill my Camelback but discover that I've drunk less than half a litre since Courmayeur nearly 5 hours ago. I set off for the Grand Col de Ferret, 3 miles further on and 2500ft up. It's an easy track and not steep but as soon as I start the up I feel nauseous again. I determine that I'll just take it very slowly. The amazing thing is that everyone else seems to be going at the same pace! Aside from my gastric problems I seem to have now found my correct place in the field, having gone up around 600 places since the St Gervais checkpoint. It's still a sunny day, now blending into evening, but a chill wind springs up and the caravan stops to don jackets at the Elena Hut, then we plod on up the hill. I am convinced that this is my last effort; I can't eat or drink and I feel really bad, but at least I don't stop, and at last the top arrives. A quick look back to the Col de la Seigne which brought me into Italy nearly 12 hours ago, and I stumble into Switzerland.

As soon as I start going down it's a new world. I feel better, I can make progress, I even start running again. I start to make plans. It's about 12 miles downhill to Issert then a short climb to Champex. I'll have a long rest there, an hour or two if necesary to regroup. Everything feels good until La Peule. This used to be a checkpoint but now there's just a guy pointing to the track down, saying it's about 5 kilometers to La Fouly. The route here has changed; it used to go straight down to the valley base at Feret then an easy track aongside the river to La Fouly, now it's a track contouring high above the valley, generally going down but with sharp bits of up thrown in as well. Physically and psychologically this is a disaster for me, getting down to Issert is suddenly a challenge, with the climb to Champex to follow, and I'm feeling really bad on all the ups. But still La Fouly is a big checkpoint base, maybe I can get going again there. At some point a mile or so before La Fouly it's getting dark and we're descending into woods, so I have to stop and pull out my headtorch; as I bend over to search my bag I start to retch and have to sit down. The process goes on for several minutes. As I'm sitting with my head in my hands, my WHW buff is recognised by the next runner going past - "Hey, who is it, are you OK?" It's Jon, looking strong enough to finish this time (he does). I tell him I'll be OK and off he goes. I sit for a few more minutes but this time I don't feel better, just the same. I get up and start the final descent to La Fouly. Walking downhill feels bad, running can't be done. Any more uphill is unthinkable. It takes me half an hour to cover the final mile or so down to the checkpoint in the village. I'm still an hour and a half ahead of the cut-off but I accept that it's over. I call Jan, she's disappointed for me, she saw me looking good at Courmayeur and the text mesages have shown me progressing up through the field at every checkpoint since.

I hand in my chip and get the bus back to Chamonix, feeling bad all the way. Back at our appartment I still can't face eating or drinking, I have half a cup of tea then crash out at about 2.30 am. I wake up at 7 feeling great. No blisters, no sore muscles, ready for coffee and croissants, ready to run from La Fouly to Chamonix, no problem. But that opportunity is gone, nothing for it but to head off into town for the finish, and face the music. Everyone's done well congratulations all round, I'm the only one not to have made it.

Six days later I'm disappointed of course, but taking part in this event is always a great experience and I still feel privelieged to have been a part of it. I'll try and work out what went wrong for a later post. Back next year? The people that know me won't have to ask.

Three in a row

Well, afraid I just recorded my third DNF in the UTMB. I called it a day after about 70 miles, further than I've got before but still no cigar. We're spending the next week walking and enjoying the Chamonix valley, then I'm going for a week's climbing at Ailefroide near Briancon. I'll post the story of my race when I get back.

All the other guys here from the WHW family finished the event brilliantly, congratulations to all!