Tor de Geants Practicalities

I said I would follow up my Tor des Geants tale with some of the practical stuff that went into it, and I'd better do that now before the whole thing starts fading from my now rather questionable memory, so here goes. Now just to be clear, these are not recommendations on how to approach an event like this. We're all different, I'm just recording what I did, what I think worked and what didn't.

Overall Approach

When I entered the event back in February I knew it was likely to be popular because Mark Barnes told me it filled up in 4 days last year, but I was still pretty staggered when I found out that this year entries closed 27 minutes after the site opened. This confirmed what I had already half decided, that this was likely to be my one and only attempt at the race; they probably have to resort to some sort of ballot in future years, I want to do the UTMB next year, so it would be several years before I could guarantee another chance. Consequently, I decided that my goals would be (a) to finish, and (b) to have an enjoyable time  - it's hard to contemplate carrying on for 5 or 6 days with something that is just hurting. I decided that I could make the times OK if I walked everything that was uphill, and ran the downs only if it was easier than walking (on some gradients it definitely is).

Training

I stopped nearly all running after the West Highland Way race at the end of June. From then until the week before the race I went out only three times a week, comprising the following sessions:

1. A long day in the Lake District, covering around 25 miles and with between 7000 and 10000 ft of ascent depending on the route. I was also collecting Wainwrights so I rarely covered the same ground twice. To replicate the race plan, I walked the ups and jogged the downs.

2. A morning doing "laps" on my local hill in the Clwyds which is a 900ft rise from car park to summit. The number of laps varied from 2 to 6 depending on how much ascent was in the Lakes trip in that week.

3. A 5-10 mile run in my local forest at around 8 min mile pace, just to keep a little bit of sharpness.

I averaged around 45 miles and 11,000 ft of ascent a week.  It seemed to be enough, I was climbing as strongly after 5 days in the TdG as I was in the beginning (but that depended on other factors too of course).

Race Strategies.

The two things that I thought about beforehand were (a) how fast to go, and (b) when to sleep.

Looking at the figures before the start, I felt that with 150 hours to cover 200 miles, I ought to be able to average 2 miles an hour, including food/drink stops, leaving 40 hours for major rest stops and 10 hours safety margin. To do this I decided to go at all times at a pace that I felt I could keep up all day; if I felt I was tiring, I would slow down until I felt strong again. The pacing worked well, there was only one point on day two, when I had been awake for 36 hours and was tackling the highest climb on the course, that I felt I was struggling; the rest of the way, the pace felt really comfortable. My speed estimation however was wildly optimistic; I managed to achieve a 2 mph average only when I was moving  - all stops had to come on top of this.

I had never done a race remotely like this before so I was unsure how to approach sleeping. My only experience was going through two nights on the Lakeland 100 and UTMB, when I was definitely in a significantly worse state on night two than night one, and I knew this wouldn't work in a five/six day event. I had read on blogs of people getting through the whole event on 8-10 hours, but that seemed very little to me. In the end, with the race starting at 10.00am, I decided to go straight through the first night then sleep every night or evening after that. A big learning for me was that when I was tired and ready to fall asleep, then two hours was enough to refresh me completely and I was ready to go again. This meant I was able to take most of my sleep in mountain refuges, which were much quieter and more comfortable places than the valley bases.

Kit

I wore Hoka Stinson Evos for the majority of the race. The only exception was for Stage 4, on which I was warned that the track was much more technical, so used an old pair of Asics Trabuccos which were fine (actually, the track wasn't at all technical by say Lake District standards so the Hokas would have been fine). At each valley base I recoated my feet in a good layer of Sudocrem then put on new socks - I always wore a thin "thermal" pair underneath a cushioned cotton pair - all socks from M&S at about £12 for five pairs. I never got a blister or any other foot problem. I think going slowly had some effect on this too, lowering the footfall impact. Of all the people that were in some kind of trouble, the great majority were suffering foot problems  -  in a race this long you really have to look after your feet from the word go.

We didn't have any blazing hot weather so I wore a long-sleeved thermal top and a teeshirt most of the time, and knee-length running tights. I carried a lightweight fleece for the nights, which were cold. I started off changing clothes at the valley bases but got tired of that eventually and wore the same set of clothes for about the last three days. I have some respect for how cold it can get in the mountains this late in the year, so I forsook the lightweight waterproofs and took a full weight goretex mountain jacket and overtrousers. I was glad of both at night and the former many times during the days when higher up. I was also glad I took a baseball cap for the days and a good woolly hat for the nights. I get cold extremities so I also took a pair of lightweight ski gloves which worked fine. Down in the bottom of the sack I also had a lightweight puffy smock (mine is a Rab Neutrino) - a space blanket might just about save your life if things go wrong but it won't be pleasant, better have something warmer is what I say.

On stage 1 I tried getting all this lot into my Raidlight running sack, but it was so tightly packed it was almost impossible to manage, so on Stage 2 I changed to using a lightweight TNF climbing daysack which I had brought along "just in case" and which proved excellent for the rest of the trip. If you're only going to run downhills, a pound or two extra doesn't make a great deal of difference and you may as well have the comfort/convenience/added safety of a few extra things.

On the hardware side, I used poles for all the ascents and almost none of the descents. I have the "tent-pole" type which you can collapse very quickly and put in your sack for the descents. Wouldn't go without them on this type of course. My headlamps are pretty indifferent, I saw many brighter beams, but again at my speed they were fine. An altimeter is on the required kit list, most people use a watch type; I found it really useful for judging where you were on a long ascent. That was the only watch I took, Garmins and suchlike are not really relevant for this type of event.

Food and Drink

I got lucky here because I'm a real fan of Italian food and there was lots of it. You seemed to get to a "ristoro" (refreshment point) every 3 or 4 hours, and they all had dried ham, salami, bread or crackers, local Aosta cheese (brilliant), dried and fresh fruit, chocolate, water, Coke, tea, coffee, etc. At night the huts normally had noodle soup as well. I made sure that I ate and drank well at every ristoro, and that I was going slowly enough on approaching them to be really looking forward to the stop and the food. In between I drank only water (about a litre every 4 hours on average) and ate chewy sweets - Haribos, wine gums, fruit pastilles, that sort of stuff, which you have to provide yourself.

At each valley base, I made sure I had a good meal before setting out again. This was normally a plate of charcuterie and bread, pasta with tomato sauce and a salad, yoghourt and some fresh fruit, and a beer. You don't move so fast after that, but if it's uphill anyway who cares?

In general, I felt that I got into "balance" where I was putting back nearly as many calories as I was using, in contrast to the progressive deficiency you usually get in an ultra race. The big learning for me is that it's all about speed. Go slow enough and you can eat what you like, go that slight bit too fast and eating becomes a problem to deal with rather than a pleasure to enjoy.

That's about it. I think I learned a lot. If I can adapt just a bit of it, I might even get around the UTMB next year...........

In the Land of the Giants

As I was driving home from Italy I thought a bit about how I could record my experience in the Tor des Geants race last week. It took over five days to complete and there was a danger of both writer and reader losing the will to continue long before the end, so I decided to deal with different  aspects of the affair in separate posts; this one is all about the journey and its emotions; if you're interested in the technical stuff of how I think I made it work for me then you'll have to wait for part two!

It's an event that not many Brits have entered; maybe four or five over the first two runnings, and there were now seven of us in this, the third year of the race. George, Anthony and Julie were the class acts while Richard, Alison, Jacky (a French guy resident in Nant Peris) and I had maybe lesser ambitions (although the others all had plenty of UTMB's, PTL's, and GRP's between them, so I was in pretty competent company). We met up at the briefing on Saturday evening and then again all found each other at the start line in Courmayeur's church square at 10am on a beautiful sunny Sunday morning.

At the start

Alison, George, Anthony, Julie

The atmosphere felt very relaxed in comparison with the UTMB races, no stirring music or long speeches, just a short final briefing which I didn't hear, then as we chatted away to each other we heard the ten second count-down begin and the six hundred plus field was off.

It's quite difficult to understand just how long and steep the course is, but the statistics say 330km and 24,000m of positive height change. The bare numbers don't mean much of course, but think of say three consecutive Bob Graham rounds, or of travelling from Manchester to London taking in three Everests on the way. You have 150 hours to complete the course.  It starts and finishes in Courmayeur and is divided into seven sections, each one ending at a "life base" where you are re-united with your drop bag and can get some sleep if you wish, have a shower, get a meal and so on before tackling the next stage. They tend to be quite noisy places so unless you're pretty well out on your feet, sleeping is not easy. Alternative places to sleep are out on the trail (if it's warm enough!) or in the many mountain refuges you pass through, though sleep time in these is limited to two hours so you don't "block" a space required by a later runner.

Stage 1  Courmayeur to Valgrisenche  49km  3996m D+

I didn't see any real running at the start, just a bit of desultory jogging down the hill and over the river, but then I was by design right at the back of the field. We then settled straight away into the first climb from Courmayeur at 1244m to the Col d'Arp at 2571m. Speed was governed by crowding on the narrow track at first but it soon thinned out so that everyone could find his chosen pace after maybe half an hour. The narrowness of the track is another feature of the course, which follows the footpaths Alta Via ("high road") 2 from Courmayeur to Donnas, then Alta Via 1 back to Courmayeur, the whole thing describing a big circle around the Aosta valley. These are used but not well used tracks so unless you are on a rare bit of jeep track or road, the track is around two feet wide pretty well all the way. The first climb followed the track through the woods then up across the alp. It was a warm day and I took it very easily, reaching the top feeling comfortable then jogging most of the way down the other side over grassy hillside then jeep track and narrow road down to La Thuille at 1458m. The first hill done, I guess we all felt we were now starting to get into the event  -  we had just been up and down Ben Nevis.

The next climb went up a rocky track through the woods then over the mountainside to the Deffeyes hut. As we went up we were passed by scores of people coming down, up to the hut for a day's walk I guess, who were enthusiastically supporting all the runners with cries of "Bravo", "Bravissimo" and "Complimenti". Almost everyone we met around the course did the same. I was slightly embarassed by all the attention at this point less than half way through the first day, but I think by the time we had done a few days we felt we were starting to earn it. Leaving the hut I caught up with a girl who seemed to be going at just the right pace, so I followed her to the next col, the Passo Alto (2857m). When she reached the top she let out a yell that could only be North American, so we introduced ourselves, took photos, and chatted as we carried on down the other side. Claire was from Calgary in Canada and had been a top class swimmer until a bad horse riding accident and was now into all sorts of adventure racing. Her aim, like mine, was just to get round the course in reasonably good shape and enjoy it.

At the Passo Alto

It was only (!) about 800m down to the tiny Promoud Hut, before the final climb of the stage up to the Col Crosatie (2829m), which was up a steep hillside but on a very easy zig-zagging track and I found that on this sort of ground Claire was much quicker than me so she pulled away. It would be a feature of the early part of the race for me, I would often catch her on descents or more technical ground, only for her to pull away again on the straightforward climbs. By the time I got to the col it was pretty well dark and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Luckily there was a small bivouac box just over the other side providing a sheltered place to "suit up" for the night. I found that during the race it got dark between 8 and 8.30pm and was not light again until between 6.30 and 7am, so a lot of ground was covered in the dark. It was a long but fairly straightforward descent down to the valley at Planaval (1517m), but the sting in the tail was that this was not the end of the stage, there were still about 5km of tracks along the valley, gradually rising to the base at Valgrisenche (1662m) which I reached at 11.45pm, just about what I had hoped for the first day.

Stage 2  Valgrisenche to Cogne  56km  4141m  D+

I had decided not to sleep for the first 24hours - we're used to that in other races and I thought I would still be too caught up in the excitement of the start to sleep anyway  -  so I had a meal and set off again into the night.

Now enthusiasm gets you through day 1 no problem, but on day 2 the Tor des Geants starts to let you know what you're really in for; almost as if the course is saying to you "So you think you're a contender then? Well, let's see how you suck this up!" It starts with the Col Fenetre (2854m), a long climb in the dark via the Epee Hut and then rocky zig-zags to the top. As I looked over the top I saw the sight mentioned on every TDG blog I've found so far - the lights of runners ahead of you  appear to be going down almost vertically below you for miles. The first few hundred feet down are VERY steep, good zig-zags but still unnerving on the turns. I'm a mountaineer and I usually put my poles in the sack at the top of a col and jog down; not this time, I was very glad to have them for security until the angle eased. Once down this bit the track was easy enough down to the Notre Dame checkpoint at 1738m. Alison was in the hall there, I hadn't seen her since the start. She said she was struggling a bit but pushed on while I had something to eat; I was keen to maintain a state where I felt that I was out for a walk in the hills, not feeling stressed and I wanted to go slowly enough so that the food stops were a pleasure to be anticipated and enjoyed.

Checkpoint on the Col Entrelor; Col Loson in centre of far skyline

The next climb up to the Col Entrelor at 3002m was easy but very steep all the way; this was the first climb where I needed to stop a few times so that I didn't get too tired, perhaps I was subconsciously concerned about what was still to come. I was passed by Claire again here so she must have stopped longer in Valgrisenche. It was also the first big climb with no hut on the way up but we were promised a water supply at the top. When I got there, there was a checkpoint just over the  col, a small bivouac box that had been flown in for the event, but they had run out of water. It had been hot and sunny since daybreak on the descent to Notre Dame so this was a disappointment. Nothing for it, I carried on down without, the descent was quite easy and fast, with a lovely runnable track in the shade of the woods at the end where I passed Claire again, then down to Eaux Rousses at 1654m, where I also caught up with Alison again. I felt I needed a rest here, maybe the lack of sleep was starting to tell, so after eating and drinking I just lay down in the sunshine for half an hour to soak up some energy; during this time both Alison and Claire set out for the next col. I also took the opportunity to call Jan back at home to let her know I was going OK. She was following the race on the site's live tracker and had a much better idea of where I was in the field than I did. She said I had been in the five hundreds the first day but had now got up into the four hundreds.

The next col was a 1650m climb up to the Col Loson, at 3299m the highest point on the course. On the other hand the the path turned out to be very well engineered and at a very easy angle for nearly all the way up. There were no huts en route but a standpipe or two and some good streams so topping up water wasn't a problem. I just took it very steadily and made good progress until the last 300m or so. Here the path became rocky and steep and I started to slow down with overall tiredness and altitude; I struggled to the top counting steps for the last bit  -  100 steps, pause for rest, 100 steps, and so on.

After a day and a half of perfect weather, we were now going to get a change. Just as I reached to col it started to rain, which turned rapidly into hail. The first bit of descent was steep zig-zags which in the conditions had become very slippery so had to be taken very carefully but things improved after a while and I got down to the Sella hut for a breather and a cup of tea. As I left the hut, the light started to fade which was OK at first but then I came to what was probably the worst section of track on the whole trip. Think Scafell Pike, Broad Crag, Ill crag area and you get the idea. I couldn't see what was rock, holes, tree roots or whatever. It was a really frustrating couple of miles and I was feeling very tired, I just wanted to get down. The Col Loson had proved a really low point in my Tor. Eventually the track gave out onto the valley floor but there then was the almost inevitable few kilometers of tracks along the valley to finally get to Cogne (1531m).  I checked in to the base, found a bed and fell asleep instantly.

Stage 3  Cogne to Donnas  44km  3348m  D+

After two hours sleep I was woken by my alarm and felt a different person, refreshed and ready to go. I went through to the dining section of the base and collected some bread and a big plate of pasta. At that point I saw Alison again who had also just slept, so a little while later we set out together, somewhere around 4am (I didn't record the exact times when things happened and it will take a while for all the intermediate splits to be published, so for now I'll just have to go with my memory).  The section started with a long climb up through woods where the track wandered around up and down as well as contouring round bits of hillside, it was difficult to see just what was happening in the dark. After nearly three hours we came out onto the open alp and it got light though it was a very cold morning. We then soon reached the Sogno hut (2534m). The alp area was a bit disappointing in the cold light, with several industrial looking farm buildings and a line of huge electricity pylons, a contrast to the stunning views we had had for the previous two days. We found Jacky inside the hut.

Jacky and Alison at the Fenetre du Champorchet

I hadn't seen him since the start, but then the three of us carried on to the top of the Fenetre du Champorcher (2877m) together up a steep but straightforward path. Of the others, I just assumed that George, Anthony and Julie were well ahead of me by now; I hadn't seen Richard but Alison said she had seen him towards the end of day two suffering from a really heavy cold so he had probably dropped out (which was in fact the case) From the col it was a long descent to the next base at Donnas at 330m  (yes, that's over 8,300ft of continuous descent!). I stayed with Alison and we descended first across the hillsides then followed a path on the side of a long wooded valley with a beautiful river tumbling along the bottom through a series of waterfalls and rock pools. The track wound in and out of villages and eventually became flatter in a wide valley just before Donnas. Here we came across Jacky again; he had stopped to buy an ice cream in one of the villages, walked off eating it and twenty minutes later realised that he had left his poles in the ice cream shop and had to go back for them! The final mile or two were along a road; the three of us seemed to be in good condition with no aches or pains in spite of approaching the 150km mark; the same couldn't be said of a runner that we caught up approaching the base  -  he was leaning heavily to one side and staggering quite badly. Alison said she had seen this condition before, it was probably just extreme tiredness. We tried to get him to walk with us but it was too difficult so we covered the last few hundred yards to the Donnas base and let the marshals there know so they could send someone back for him.

It was only early afternoon and Alison and I had agreed not to try to sleep at Donnas but to push on through after an hour or so. I had a shower, changed my socks, ate a good meal and was ready to start going uphill once more. While we were here Claire showed up again, making the same overall progress as us along the course by slightly different tactics.

Stage 4 Donnas to Gressoney  53km  4107m  D+

We had been warned that this was the toughest stage. Not only did it have one of the biggest distances and height gains overall but the track was more consistently technical over this section that anywhere else. We also checked on the forecast at Donnas and although it was a hot, almost close, afternoon as we left we were told to expect some poorer weather over the next couple of days, rain, a drop in temperature and some wind. I made sure I had plenty of warm clothing in the bag and one of the things I left out to compensate was the camera - probably no great loss as I don't normally take many photos anyway.

Out of Donnas we climbed up through vineyards for a few hundred feet, then back down again to a little checkpoint at virtually the same height we started from. This could have been a bit frustrating but I had decided early on not to be worried by any seemingly pointless wandering, either vertical or horizontal, in an event this length. You can't do anything about it so why worry? "The route goes where the route goes" had become the mantra for this aspect of the race.

Then we started climbing more seriously, steeply up through woods. It started to rain but was still warm so you didn't know whether to put on a waterproof or not, We persisted without until our shirts were getting quite soaked, then gave in. The rain persisted until it got dark and we reached a checkpoint in a little village called Perloz. I really would have liked to see the next section in daylight because after a bit of descent we followed a track along gangways fixed to the rock wall of a gorge and over long bridges with the sound of rushing water far below, The track then led out of the trees and into alpine pasture country, passing through several villages and hamlets with very steep steps cut into the fields between them. After some time we reached a little auberge checkpoint at the Etoile du Berger where we were glad to take a bit of a break for some food and drink. From here it was about a last 700m of climb to the Coda hut (2224m) where we planned to sleep for a bit.

Alison had been climbing very strongly and led most of the way from Donnas to the Etoile du Berger, but as soon as we set out from there she seemed to slow down; she said she was struggling with tiredness but would be OK if we went slower. We now moved from rural to mountain landscape, the track becoming very tortuous weaving its way around and over boulders, climbing all the time, and we had no sense of where it or we were heading next. As we got higher a strong cold wind sprang up and we needed all our clothes on to keep warm because we were going slowly. The hut didn't seem to want to show up, then at last we saw its light still a way above us across the other side of what seemed like a blind valley and the path slowly wiggled its way round towards it. A few hundred yards from the hut we saw a stationary headlight by the side of the track. It turned out to be Jacky who said he was really tired and had needed to rest for a while. He joined us for the last pull up to the hut, it was good to get inside out of the wind. We had climbed fairly continuously upwards for around 6500ft since Donnas and it was now 2am. We immediately asked for somewhere to sleep and crashed out for two hours.

I felt great again after sleeping and we had a good breakfast and were on our way by 4.30am.  The track went down now, still twisty but less bouldery, though not good enough to establish any sort of rhythm. It was ground that Alison found hard, and it took us nearly three hours to descend to the checkpoint at the lake of Lago Vargno at around 1750m, barely 6km from the hut. By Donnas I had built up a nice cushion of 6 hours or so ahead of the cut-offs without ever trying to go quickly, but our pace now was eating into this. We would reach the next base at Gressoney but not have much time before we would be forced to go on. I discussed this with Alison who said I should go on, she would try to make the cut-offs at the pace she was going and hoped to improve later. I felt a bit bad about this as we had travelled together for over 24 hours but you have to pace your own race and there was now quite a lot of daylight left to get to the next base - if you stay with someone else you inevitably have your low points at different times which slows both of you down overall - so we said goodbye for now.

I pushed on at a better pace. I was enjoying the territory, it was rather like a path in the Lake District, up and down, round corners, quite bouldery underfoot, you never quite knew where it would lead you next. It went up over a number of small cols  - the Col Marmontana, the Crena du Ley and the Col della Vecchia - all at around 2300m with drops between them of around 300m, which  hardly showed as more than undulations on our roadbook topo. The day was overcast and we still had a chill wind so it was good to keep moving. Since my low point on day two over the Col Loson I seemed to be going consistently well. I jogged down a longer descent to Niel (1573m), then took on the final climb of the stage over the  Col Lasoney (2364m).  From here it was a lovely long run down on grass then on an easy track to Gressoney (1329m) which I reached just about 22 hours after setting out from Donnas. Never mind, the big stage was now done and I had moved up into the 300's, the top half of the field for the first time. I was comfortable to be here because on the previous two runnings of the race around 300 people had finished so I felt I was on the pace for completion again.

There were still a few hours of daylight so I had decided to carry on after a brief stop into the next stage. I now had evolved a system for transiting the life bases which I would stick with until the end  -  check in, quick cup of tea, clean and regrease feet, new socks, big meal and out. Was I was eating Jacky came up to me and we exchanged tales of what had happened since the hut last night, and decided to set out together as soon as I finished eating.

Stage 5  Gressoney to Valtournenche  39km  2602m  D+

This is the easiest stage on the Tor, just two big climbs on good tracks and nothing much else, but there was already a stiff wind blowing in the valley as Jacky and I left Gressoney.  We covered a few km along the flat valley floor before climbing to the Alpenzu hut at 1788m by which time it was dark. The path to the hut was straightforward but again very steep. As we stopped for a drink at the hut, a French lady runner, I guess in her 40's, was just putting on warm clothes before setting out, we wished her well. The hut guardian told us that it was 1000 metres up and 800 metres down to the next hut, but that the descent was long, an overall distance of just over 9km. We left the hut and the first few hundred feet were surprisingly easy, a good track on steepish grass. We gradually caught up the French lady, who then asked if she could tag along until we were over the col, which of course was no problem. The grass turned to rocky zig-zags, it became very cold and the wind was fierce. I had on a thermal vest, light fleece, mountain jacket, waterproof trousers over my running tights, a good woolly hat and light ski gloves, and I was glad of it all. The water in Jacky's external bottle froze. But if you turned your light off and looked up is was a clear wild night with stars everywhere, still a privilege to be there in spite of the less than perfect conditions. We eventually made it up to the top, the Col Pinter (2776m) and as we poked our heads over the top the wind grew to howling. The best thing we could do was to lose height as fast as possible so we descended as rapidly as our lights would allow, and a few hundred metres lower the wind died back to more manageable levels. We then covered a long gently descending section to the Crest hut, stopping for tea and biscuits at an unofficial pit stop in a small auberge just before the hut (there were a number of these along the course, seemingly provided by the enthusiasm of the owners, who refused to accept payment for anything). We arrived at the Crest at 2am and went straight to bed, asking to be woken in two hours.

I was conscious of drifting back into wakefulness and looked at my watch, which read 5.30am! I roused Jacky, come on we've cocked this up, then went up to the dining room. Relax said the guardienne, you're going nowhere for a while. Apparently the race had been stopped because of excessive wind, cold and snow a bit further down the course, and the organisation had decided to collect all the competitors in safe warm places until things improved. We went back to bed, a real bonus, and were allowed to set out again after breakfast when the race was restarted at 9am. The event had been "paused" for 5 hours, but all the subsequent cutoffs had been extended by 5 hours to compensate. We had rested for all of this pause period but some people had had to keep going until they reached a refuge and one effect of this was that Claire caught us up again. She had seen Alison back in Gressoney, and at that point Alison was still going just inside the cut-offs.

We set off down to the valley checkpoint at St Jacques (1700m) which looked like a war zone  - people slumped in corridors, rucksacks everywhere, you had to squeeze by everything to check in. The small place had obviously had to hold far more people during the pause than was comfortable. We were straight in and out, and off up the second hill of the stage to the Col di Nana (2770m).

I enjoyed the great majority of the whole event, but on this ascent I just hit one of those magical periods. It was a still chilly but stunningly clear and beautiful morning, I was moving and breathing easily, and it occurred to me that I was now really in tune with the environment. This was no longer a race, or endurance event, just a journey through a little known but wonderful area of the Alps which as far as I was concerned could now go on for as long as it liked, I couldn't think of anywhere I would rather be at that moment. When we reached the top of the pass we could see the "Geants" all around us  - Mont Blanc, the Matterhorn, Monte Rosa, the Grand Paradiso and all the others. A special moment.

The descent was easy and I outpaced Jacky to arrive at Valtournenche (1526m) for a sock change and a late lunch. I also checked the rankings to find that I was now in the low 300's, still moving gradually through the field.  Jacky soon arrived and as I always seemed to spend longer eating, we were ready together to set out on Stage 6.

Stage 6  Valtournenche to Ollomont  44km  2702m  D+

This was another stage where the statistics and the topo couldn't give a true impression of the work involved. Although on paper only marginally longer than the previous section, on the ground was an altogether different story and it took far longer. Jacky and I set out from Valtournenche at mid afternoon and for once the initial climb was "just a baby one" as Jacky put it, up to the Barmasse hut at 2175m. From here, the route wove in and out of a chain of peaks for the next few hours, sometimes finding its way over cols, sometimes on broad ridges, sometimes traversing steep hillsides, with the ascents and descents rarely more than 300m but with plenty of them. This section was also well supplied with a series of small refuges, all about 2 hours apart. From the Barmasse we went steeply down, then up and over the Fenetre d'Ersaz (2293m) to the Vareton refuge, where it was time for headlights to go back on again. It was turning out to be another cold and windy night. The next section took us over the Fenetre du Tsan (2738m) which took a while to turn up, then on to the Reboulaz hut at 2585m. This was a lovely welcoming little place and we spent 20 minutes or so by the stove with tea and noodle soup. We asked the guardienne about the next bit of the route, and she said it was not wise to carry on to the Cuney hut if we were tired because the path was very exposed and a fall would be serious. It was just coming up to midnight and I felt I had at least another two hours before I wanted to sleep so I said I would carry on. Jacky said he would probably do the same, but would set out a bit after me. I didn't see him again.

The trip to the Cuney hut went over the Col Terray (2775m) then seemed to cling to the side of a steep rocky hillside for many kilometres. It was impossible to see what the drop below the path was like but I was fairly sure I didn't want to go there. The concentration required made the time flash by though and I could soon see the lights of the Cuney hut in the distance. By now the field was really spread out and you were unlikely to see other runners unless you sought them out; it was a weird but somehow satisfying sensation, wandering along through the mountains in the pitch dark, completely alone. I would occasionally pause for a drink or a handful of sweets,  then turn my light off and just gaze at the stars for a few minutes. By the time the Cuney hut turned up I was ready for some sleep, so I asked to be woken in two hours. It was not a paticularly quiet place so I awoke in an hour and a half and decided to carry on. I got some food and drink and then checked out with the marshal. It was very reassuring how they managed your passage along the course, particularly at night. The whole network of huts and checkpoints was connected by radio, and as I was leaving somewhere I would often hear " Numero 496 parta da.........).

But just as I was leaving the Cuney at around 4am I got some more news. The race was not going on to the finish, the organisation had decided that deep snow and ice over the final col made it too potentially dangerous, so the race would finish at St Rhemy at 303km instead doing the full 330km to Courmayeur. I was initially really disappointed to hear this. I was going well, I had plenty of time, I was on schedule to finish in Courmayeur with 10-15 hours to spare, but if there's only one game in town that's the one you have to play, so I pushed on to the last of the series of small huts, the Clairmont at 2705m. The Guardian at the Clairmont said that the track went up a short way to the Col Vessona at 2788m, then descended to the valley at Close, but beware, it was a long way, more than 9km.

Up to the col was easy, then the first part of the descent was down slippery sandy zig-zags on a steep hillside so I took it carefully. Then the ground got easier and the dawn slowly started to appear, by the time I got down to the alpine meadows it was a grey half light, but easily enough to see and feel the crunchy frost underfoot. At this point I had my only navigational concern in the whole race. Most of the way had been on fairly easy to follow paths, augmented by little "TDG" flags with a reflective strip on at every key turn and every hundred yards or so otherwise. Here there were two or three possible ways and no flags. I suspect that as we were now getting into Friday a combination of wandering cows (of which there were many herds along the course) and the persistent wind had gradually done the damage. Still, all the tracks led more or less down the same valley so I picked the most obvious one and was relieved when I came across an "Alta Via 1" marker a few hundred yards further on. In another quarter of a mile or so the flags re-established themselves and I was happy that I was securely on track. After the alp the path went down for miles through the trees but I was able to jog most of it down to the valley low point.. As so often in this race though, from the low point it was necessary to climb back up a couple of hundred metres to the next checkpoint at Close (1463m).

I was ready for breakfast but the Close checkpoint was the only one that was disappointing along the whole course. The marshals were a bit offhand and there was hardly any food. I made do with a cappucino, a couple of mugs of Coke and a few TUC crackers and set off again. The only good point here was that I noticed as I checked in that I was now in 290th place. The final obstacle on the stage was the climb over the Col Brison (2508m) but it was pleasant up through the woods and over the alp, then steep down for a bit followed by the long descent over hillside and through woods to the base at Ollomont (1396m), arriving again at around lunchtime. What made this bit nice was that it looked like we were getting into a bit of fine weather again, it was warm and sunny and the wind had almost completely died away.

Stage 7  Ollomont to St Rhemy   21km  1400m  D+

After my normal hour for sock change and food, I set off up what was to be this year the final major climb. It was hot but not unpleasant as I wound my way gently up to the Letey hut at 2433m then the summit of the Col Champillon at 2707m.  What was pleasing was that the very first 1300m climb out of Courmayeur on Sunday had taken me 2hrs 45min, and here I was on the last 1300m climb, over 5 days later  - and it took just 2hrs 45min.  The descent was easy zig-zags then a good path down the meadows, followed by a wonderful path that traversed the hillside for miles, gently descending all the way, easy jogging, followed by a last little descent to the final checkpoint before the end at Ponteille. I wasn't going to stop but was persuaded by the runners already there, now in party mood just before the finish, and of course the ham and salami did look good. The track on the the topo appeared to go gently down all the way to the finish at St Rhemy from here and I asked the marshal if there were any uphills in it. No, downhill all the way, it's like a road, he assured me, just 10km to go. On that basis I had a glass (or rather a paper cup) full of red wine to celebrate the end of the hills. It probably wasn't a good move because the track actually turned out to be quite undulating with many uphill sections. I guess in the Val d'Aosta unless it's at least 1000m and in your face, it isn't considered an uphill! Still I managed to run the downs and power walk the ups all the way to the finish.

The finishing arch, commentary and general celebratory scene had been fairly well moved from Courmayeur to St Rhemy, and I heard my name as I checked my wrist chip for the last time and learned that I had crossed the line in 270th place. I would have bitten your hand off for that before the start, I had not only completed the biggest event of my ultra career so far, but in good shape and reasonable style. It was somehow hard to believe that it was all over, but within twenty minutes I was back on a bus to Courmayeur, a proper long shower, and sleep.

Reflections

The following morning I gradually found out what had happened to the others. George and Anthony were as good as expected, coming in 64th equal, though what gave me some encouragement is that they were still beaten by the first Vet 60  - maybe there's hope for we more elderly pedestrians yet! Julie was inside the first 100, which won her the Lady's Vet 50 prize.  Although I was not aware of it, Jacky had stalked me a few hours behind until the end, finishing in 309th place, and Claire had continued her steady way round to finish 328th. There were 392 finishers in total. Alison had unfortunately had to pull out at St Jaques after completing 222km of the course. The winner was the young Spaniard Oscar Perez, who got back to Courmayeur (before the final pass was closed) in 75 hours - just half the total time allowance.

I was still a little disappointed that the conditions prevented us from completing the whole course. But we had missed only 27km and 1400m of climb. My official finishing time was 125hrs 13 minutes 32 seconds.  As the time allowance for the whole course is 150 hours and I was still in really good shape when I finished, I somehow think I would have made it OK if it had been available. The whole thing was still a wonderful experience.

I really couldn't get my head around the enormity of it before the start, I just knew that if other ordinary people had got round then I probably could. In the end I was not only surprised by how doable it was, but how much I enjoyed the whole thing. I had 13 hours sleep in five and a half days and it was enough. I kept going steadily, looked after my feet, ate lots and never got distressed , although I got pretty tired on the Col Loson early on. I never set myself intermediate targets, I knew that just keeping comfortably ahead of the cut-offs would be OK.

Would I go again? Probably not in the near future. I had such a good trip that any comparison would probably be unfavourable. Maybe in a few years, if I'm still going well enough.

This is a brilliant, well-organised, demanding challenge in a stunning area that is not overrun with people. What makes it is the scenery of the Aosta Valley and the hospitality of its inhabitants. How such a big, serious event can at the same time be so relaxed and so much fun can only be in the end because it truly is "driven by Italians".



Postscript 2017:  Like the determined lady she is, Alison went back the following year and managed a successful completion. I recommended the Tor to John V, a friend of a similar vintage to me, a steady completer of big events. He took his time, completed the trip and found it as good as I did. And as for me? Well, the following year saw the start of a series of injuries which, perhaps combined with the passing years, make it unlikely that I will go back for another Tor. But it still remains one of the highlights of my ultra career and the memories will take a long time to fade.

3rd Time Unlucky for the UTMB

You have to feel sorry for the competitors and organisers of the UTMB race. Bad weather yet again seriously affected the events in Chamonix last weekend. The race is always targetted to start at 6.30pm on Friday evening and run round a 166km course through France, Italy and Switzerland, arriving back in Chamonix to finish, but that hasn't happened now since 2009, the events of the past three years being roughly as follows:

2010:  After a week of beautiful weather, torrential rain hit Chamonix early Friday morning and continued unabated until Saturday. The UTMB started on time but was abandoned after a few hours because mud slides were carrying away the markers on the Col de la Seine, and all the runners were returned to Chamonix. The CCC which had started on time at Friday lunchtime at Courmayeur was abandoned at Argentiere after about 400 runners had gone through because of flash flooding on the Aiguilles Rouges. The TDS, due to start from Courmayeur on Saturday, was abandoned before it was started. This was the first time bad weather had seriously affected the races and the organisers had to do some quick thinking to salvage something of the weekend. In the end they offered a "revised UTMB" race to 1200 of the TDS/UTMB entrants on a "first come first served" basis, starting mid morning Saturday in Courmayeur and following pretty much the CCC course back to Chamonix. I and most of the people I knew there signed on and ran this (after all we had come to Chamonix for a run) in sloppy but not desperate conditions; we all got a UTMB gilet but felt we had missed out on the real event. Of the runners who started out from Courmayeur, 90% finished.

2011: Again after a week of near perfect weather, a cold front was due to come through Chamonix on the Friday. The TDS, starting two days earlier this year, was mostly finished before this hit. The organisers decided to try to let the front go through ahead of the UTMB, and the start was delayed until 11pm, with a warning to runners to expect bad conditions. There was heavy rain all afternoon which carried on for the first four hours of the race, getting everyone completely soaked. The air temperature then dropped rapidly, leading to a near blizzard as I crossed the Col de la Seine, and remained very cold for the rest of the event. The bad weather made the Bovine climb impossible, so an "on the run" course modification took runners on a diversion via Martigny, an addition of several miles and a near 3000ft additional height gain. Many competitors, me included, just couldn't keep warm enough over the higher ground in the conditions, and withdrew. It's a mistake in clothing choice that I won't make again. Of the field that started from Chamonix, 48% made it to the finish; those that did clearly had a fairly epic but ultimately very rewarding experience. Those of us that pulled out just weren't up to the job that year.

2012: And so to this year. I wasn't in Chamonix this time, having deferred  my loss in the ballot into a place for 2013, but was in Zermatt just a few miles to the east, getting similar weather and watching developments in Chamonix via the UTMB and other websites. It was a familiar story, good weather in the preceding few days followed by an adverse change coinciding with the weekend of the races. This year the bad weather came a little earlier, affecting the TDS with very cold snowy conditions for all but the fastest runners which resulted in only 44% of the starters completing the course. The UTMB competitors were initially told to prepare for bad conditions, then later that the course would be modified to avoid the high passes (Bonhomme, Ferret, etc); the course would be reduced to around 100km and would be all in France - effectively around the Chamonix and Contamines valleys. The speed with which this was arranged suggests that the organisers had it up their sleeve as a "plan B" in the event of bad weather - learning from previous years' experiences. With nearly 6000m of climbing this was still a fairly demanding race; it started at 7pm on Friday and was run in by all accounts fairly miserable conditions for most of the way. However, of the 2481 runners that started, 86% of them made it to the finish, though I'm sure it still felt a bit disappointing for the majority.

I don't think it's helpful to try to draw any real conclusions from this. Alpine weather is notoriously fickle and even with all the modern technology it seems difficult to predict the actual effect on the ground that any individual weather system will have. Here in Zermatt the forecast over Friday and Saturday was for "light snow showers" above 2000m, yet when I went for a walk yesterday (Sunday) I found a good six inches at 2500m and nearly two feet at 3000m. In the face of this sort of uncertainty the organisers of the UTMB races have an almost impossible task. Do they let the event go ahead, warn people it will be tough, and accept the sort of drop-out rates that we saw in last year's UTMB and this year's TDS, or do they go for a lower, more manageable course that the majority of runners will complete? A high drop-out rate causes big logistical problems on these courses, with the high numbers of participants and many potential drop-out points very hard to access; getting runners home is a very difficult business. But I guess the ultimate concern will be that letting an event continue in bad conditions may lead to accidents and at worse fatalities. My own view is that the UTMB organisation has done a pretty impressive job over the past three years in treading the fine line between giving competitors the adventure they trained for and keeping them safe. Those of us unlucky enough to have run a "reduced course" were just that  - unlucky.

The background that the organisers have to work against (and to a certain extent one which they have themselves created) is the very accessibility of these races. The entry requirements are low, you can get enough points to qualify for the UTMB without ever having been near a real mountain, and the course marking is such that (until really affected by bad weather) the navigational and general decision making ability required of runners is almost zero. Although "self-sufficiency" is mentioned in the race information, the emphasis for most people is getting away with the lightest possible minimum equipment rather than taking enough to really look after yourself in the hills. These are not criticisms, just observations on the overall style and ambience of these events.

The fourth event in the series, the PTL, has much tougher entry requirements in terms of track record and real self sufficiency. In spite of being longer and higher than any of the other events, it has been much less subject to modification over these past three "unlucky" years. 

Holidays and the Italian Job

View from outside apartment

A couple of days rain forecast here in Zermatt, so no excuse now for getting down to what will be my only post for August. I'm never quite sure how interesting this stuff is, but at least it provides a record for me to look back over from time to time, something I'm sure I would never do without the discipline of actually writing my thoughts down for the blog. Anyway, back to Zermatt in the rain, this same weather front will affect the start of the UTMB race on Friday, so commiserations to those involved. For what it's worth, the improvement is due to start Saturday morning, so for those still flogging up towards the Flegere on Sunday, it may well be plenty hot enough for you by then!

But for me here and now a bit of rain's not a problem. I just love it here in the mountains whatever the weather. We have a small apartment on the hillside a few minutes walk from the village (including 110 steps on the way back!) and are just enjoying a bit of walking and of course some beer and rosti. Along with Chamonix and Val d'Isere, Zermatt is one of the Alpine places where I have spent many weeks over the years (I even climbed the Matterhorn back in 1981) and I always look forward to coming back.

While enjoying the holiday, I'm still looking forward to going round to Courmayeur at the end of it for my biggest event of the year, the Tor des Geants, which starts at 10am on Sunday 9th September. This promises to be something of a different experience from my last race, a 50 mile "sprint" round the Lake District a month ago.

This will be the third running of the event, and not many Brits have competed in it to date so it's difficult to get a real feel for what it will be like. The statistics are fairly simple: it follows the trails Alta Via 2 then Alta Via 1 in an anticlockwise loop around the Aosta valley, and is 330km (just over 200 miles) long, with a vertical ascent of 24,000m (about 80,000ft), and you have 150 hours to complete it.  The course is divided into 7 sections by 6 valley bases; you are provided with a large drop bag which follows you round the course and which you can access at each valley base. It's a continuous event, you choose where/when you want to rest or sleep  - at the valley bases (noisy places by all accounts), in mountain refuges (2 hours max stop allowed), or on the hillside if that's your thing. I think there will be about 11 hours of darkness each night by then.

It's been difficult to know how to train for the trip, but I started by coming to terms with how continuously steep it is. Mark Barnes, one of the few people I know to have had a go at it, said he expected at least some flat bits along valley bottoms, but there weren't any. A blog I read by an American entrant said at one point something like " there was a hundred yards or so of level trail at this point - I mention this because I don't remember any more of it any where else".  Using a "feet of ascent per mile" comparison, I could see roughly how the TDG compares with races that I have experience of:

West Highland Way  -  147 ft/mile

Lakeland 100  -  219 ft/mile

UTMB  -  286 ft/mile

TDG  -  390 ft/mile

So the TDG is not only seriously long, but it's seriously steep. Dauntingly so, perhaps, but it does change the game in one significant way  -  you have to go SLOWLY.  So right from the start I decided that I will only run (or rather jog!) when it is actually easier than walking, and I have trained with this in mind. Since the West Highland Way in June I have covered about 25% less mileage than in previous years but have managed to average around 11,000 feet of ascent a week. Hope it's enough! I could have done more but I do this for fun, and while (for example) a better training day in the Lakes might be laps on Skiddaw, covering all the tops in the Grasmoor group was a much better day out.

The other advantage of going slowly is that you can eat and digest proper food in reasonable quantities, so if you can keep the muscles and joints in reasonable condition, the engine should stay fuelled much better than in a "normal" ultra.

At the Gornergrat top station

The TDG goes quite high. The UTMB touches 2500m at three points, while the TDG goes well clear of this on a dozen or so occasions, including the 3300m Col de Loson high point, so I'm using some of my time here in Zermatt to get a bit of acclimatisation in. Yesterday morning I walked up to the Gornergrat, about 1500m above the village; at 3100m it's still not the Col de Loson, but gets you in the right sort of area. I'm intending to walk up to the Hornli Hut on the Matterhorn later this week which is at 3260m.

During the BGR attempt in the Lakes back in July, I was chatting to John Malcolm about the TDG and he asked whether I had a strategy for the race; at the time I confessed that I didn't have a clue. Well, since then I've read a few race tales, had a think, and fixed on a plan. Of course it may not survive the first day but you have to start somewhere. As the race starts at 10 in the morning, I've decided to carry on through the first night without stopping. In all probability I'll still be too caught up in getting under way to sleep even if I tried, so I'll hope to get through to the second valley base at Cogne before my first major stop. After that I'll hope to get into some sort of rhythm and stop for 4 or 5 hours each day to regroup. I'll be happy to finish at around the 144 hour mark. 150 seems generous but I'm sure it isn't, judging by previous years' results. On top of this, my only simple rules will be

- go SLOWLY. Don't climb at a pace that I can't keep up all day

- don't be too enthusiastic on the descents. My quads are better than my knees, so I can afford to indulge in a bit of work to soften the footfalls

- stay near the back of the field for at least the first 48 hours, even if it feels very slow. Looking at previous years splits, these times are easily fast enough to get round, and the cut-offs are generous (unlike those near the start of the UTMB!)

- take warm clothes for the nights, this is September at 10,000ft.

- fix any problem immediately. I'm sure this is not an event where you can "hang on".

I've one or two niggles of course;  I've  a knee that starts to stiffen on a long descent, an Achilles that needs taping, a hernia due to be fixed in October, and PF in one foot which flares up sporadically, so I'm not bombproof but then who is? I'm as well prepared as I'm ever likely to be and looking forward to getting to the start line. Watch this space.

At the Lakeland 50 and 100

A few years ago I ran the "Devil of the Highlands" race from Tyndrum to Fort William along the northern forty-odd miles of the West Highland way. One of my reasons for this was that I had already done a couple of complete WHW races and I wanted to know what the northern half felt like when you didn't have to run 50 miles to the start line. I felt a bit the same way about the Lakeland 50, which follows the same course as the second half of the Lakeland 100; an added bonus here though is that the two races are run together, with the start of the 50 timed so that the finishers all come in over more or less the same time period, which with nearly eight hundred runners involved in the two races makes for a great weekend. I'd also decided that I didn't want a big demanding event just now because I didn't want to interrupt my training for the Tor des Geants in September with any taper or recovery time, so I signed up for the 50.

I left it a bit late considering the Friday afternoon traffic but still arrived at the John Ruskin School in Coniston just about in time to see the start of the Lakeland 100 at 5.30pm. A number of people that I knew were running and I wished them well at the start of their adventure.

Mark Leggett, John Kynaston and Dave Troman at the start of  the L100 

Jon Steele and Shirley Colquhoun starting the L100

John Kynaston was aiming for around 30 hours; I said I would try to catch him before the end but I didn't honestly think it was likely. Within a few minutes they were on their way in the fine sunshine. The weather forecast was good overnight but turning showery before our start at noon the following day.

The school is used as the main base for the event, with camping on the school field and a seemingly continuous supply of food available from the volunteers in the school kitchen. So while the real runners forged on into the night, we L50 dilettantes were able to take our time registering, having supper, and watching bits of the Olympic Opening Ceremony on the TV in the dining room. It was an easy evening and I didn't really get into race mode until the next morning, when a fleet of buses ferried the 500 competitors over to the start at Dalemain just north of Pooley Bridge on Ullswater. While we waited for the start we spent our time cheering on L100 runners coming into and (most of them) leaving their major "halfway stop" on their round.

I'd thought a bit about the L50 race. At over 9700ft it has quite a lot of ascent for a 50 miler, but when you look carefully at the map you see that almost all the uphill is concentrated into 10 discrete climbs, over a total distance of only around 11 miles. I decided that I could afford to walk all of this at the steady pace I'd been practising over the past few weeks, which should leave me with enough gas to run the rest at a reasonable pace -  at least until things started to get hard, which they normally do........

At three minutes past twelve (this becomes significant later) the hooter was sounded and we were off. The first ten miles or so are easy going, a short starting loop on the Dalemain estate then on via Pooley Bridge over a gentle moor to Howtown; just one short walking ascent involved and a lot of fast (well....) running territory. I didn't bother taking a Garmin because I was treating this more or less as a training run, but I guess I was able to keep a 10-12 minute pace going on most of the runnable territory. I'd also decided not to linger at checkpoints, superb and welcoming though they are at this event, so I got into a system at the first one at Howtown and stuck to it throughout the race:   one - make sure to "dib" the electronic bracelet into the machine, two - refill water bottle, three - drink a cup of coke, four - grab something tasty "to go" (flapjack, nuts, jelly babies, always lots of choice), five - thank the volunteers and get going! I doubt if I stopped for more than 5 or 10 minutes total in the whole race.

Out of Howtown comes the biggest climb on the L50 course, over 2000ft up Fusedale to the top of High Kop. I remember that on last year's L100 it was like a furnace, temperature in the high twenties, not a breath of wind and not a cloud in sight. This year in complete contrast running conditions for the whole of my race were almost perfect - cool but not cold, a breeze but not a wind, and occasional showers but long bright periods in between. I wore a single layer long sleeve top the whole way, the rain jacket stayed in the bag. Conditions underfoot were still occasionally sloppy, legacy from the rain of recent weeks, but you can't have everything. The climb went well, the run down to Haweswater was easy and the 4 miles along the lake to the next checkpoint at Mardale head seemed to go quickly. This checkpoint was run by a club called Delamere Spartans who meet in the forest where I run at least once a week, so I said I would get in touch with them when I got home.

Next came the second big climb up to Gatescarth Pass. I was getting a bizarre feeling on this run. Because I was just walking steadily up the hills and putting in a fair bit of effort on the descents and flat bits, I was actually looking forward to the uphills  -  to get a rest! I marched up to the top and started to accelerate down the other side, when I saw a L100 runner in front of me. They were usually easy to recognise by their numbers being less than 300, and it's something of a tradition in this race that the L50 runners always recognise their senior colleagues with a word or two of encouragement as they pass - after all, whenever I passed a L100 runner he had always been out on the course eighteen and a half hours longer than me. I said something like "Hi, well done" and was just easing past when he said, "Hey, Andy, It's me!" It was John K, who I hadn't expected to see until much later, if at all.  I walked and jogged with him for a few minutes. He said he was fine but had had one or two low points, including running an unnecessary extra mile when missing an unmanned checkpoint in the dark. He was clearly going to finish OK, so I wished him well again and pushed on - sorry I didn't stay longer John. John went on to a 34hrs 33min finish - anything under 35 hours is a fine time for this event, I reckon it equates to something like a 24 hour West Highland Way.

I carried on down the first of the long stony descents, territory made for Hokas. There is still a lot of debate about these shoes but on this sort of ground I think they're unbeatable. I passed numerous runners selecting footfalls on individual stones or searching out short sections of grass to the side of the track, where I could just cruise straight down the middle as easily as if it were asphalt. I caught and ran for several miles with a guy who was trying Hokas for the first time; when we got down to Sadgill he said "that descent alone was worth the £75!" We were soon up and over to Kentmere, another major checkpoint with lots of temptations to hang around for, and where on last year's L100 I spent the best part of two hours getting my body and mind back together after a major low point. This year I was in and out in less than a minute, hands full of chocolate chip cookies and jelly babies. My fuel strategy was pretty simple for this race. You don't need a lot of food to get round a 50 miler, and digesting what you don't need just takes unnecessary fluid and energy, so I took a drink and a gel every hour plus a handful of whatever looked nice at each checkpoint. It was a coolish day so I just took a Succeed cap every two hours for electrolyte. I drank only water, plus a cup of coke for a quick sugar and caffeine hit at all of the checkpoints that had it.

As I settled into a steady walk up the Garburn Pass, I was aware that I was now over half way with only just over 5 hours on the clock. I hadn't set out with any sort of schedule; I sort of assumed I would get round in twelve hours give or take but wasn't really bothered, I was only here for fun. But I was still going easily and a "stretching target" (the sort of thing that always seemed to be popular with the management when I was gainfully employed) started to form in the back of my mind. You always expect to slow down in the second half, and I had never been able to beat ten hours at the Highland Fling in spite of a couple of serious attempts, but although the L50 has more climbs and some tough ground underfoot, it is a fair bit shorter. Maybe. Cresting the pass, I started to push a bit harder down the next long stony descent to Troutbeck, then walked just a tiny bit quicker up the hill the other side. Just a cruise now down to Ambleside.

Ambleside was amazing.  On my previous two visits on the L100 I had arrived late into the night, streets deserted, the town almost sleeping, the checkpoint crew getting ready to end their shift. But this time it was just after 6.40pm and although I was the only runner in sight ahead and behind there seemed to be people cheering at every corner. The final little road up to the checkpoint was lined both sides with clapping supporters, it really made you feel you were achieving something, and of course it puts an extra spring in your step. In and out of the checkpoint with even less delay, I was now on a mission.

Down through the park then on to the steep little hill up Loughrigg. I had been passing L100 runners occasionally but for the first time for quite a while I saw a L50 competitor a hundred yards or so ahead. He seemed to be going faster than me but I must have caught him by spending less time in the checkpoint, so he gave me a target for the next few miles. As the track opened out onto the fell the steepness lessened so I decided it was time I started running a few uphills, nothing to lose now, don't want to "leave it out on the course" as they say. A bit of heavy breathing then over the top and a nice easy descent to Skelwith Bridge. Here I caught a couple of L100 runner, one of whom was Mark Leggett. In spite of an arduous Bob Graham attempt a couple of weeks previously Mark was going well and went on to complete the L100 in a shade over 30hours, a super performance. OK, I thought, as I set off along the most runnable couple of miles of my route, now where's Dave Troman?  Not a chance though, Dave was long gone and at pretty well that precise moment was reaching the finish in Coniston in tenth place overall, in a time of under 26 hours which may even have surprised him. I'm looking forward to his story.

Along the flat path from Skelwith Bridge to Elterwater I was probably doing 9 minute mile pace but not gaining on the guy ahead. I finally passed him on the gentle rise after crossing the river when he paused to walk for a short while, then I was soon at the Langdale checkpoint. Four or five other L50 runners were just setting out so I did my stuff quickly and tagged onto them. They had obviously stiffened a bit from too long a stop and were slow to get going so I went past, but I could hear them behind for the next few miles so they must have quickened up again. This bit of track is undulating and bouldery but runnable in good light so I pressed on. It then steepens up to a sharp climb to Blea Tarn which I walked, passing a guy who said it "felt like Everest" on the way. I passed more L50 runners on the track through the woods by the tarn then set off on my least favourite stretch of the whole route, the tortuous track out to the Wrynose road. There was an unmanned check right at the end of this, so no incentive to drift down out of the boulders and shortcut through the deep bog down to the road, which I'm sure I would have been tempted to do otherwise. As I "dibbed" my bracelet in the checkpoint I was aware of someone coming up behind. Glad to get that bit out of the way I said, the other runner agreed. It was a young guy called Nick running the L50, and we carried on together from that point to the finish.

I hadn't covered this ground since last year and couldn't remember where the next couple of turns were, but Nick had reccied the section very recently. We ran down the road, across a flat bit and carried on running up the hill on the far side. "There's a signpost at the the turning" said Nick "It says one mile to Tilberthwaite but it isn't, it's quite a bit further than that!" We resolved to run to the signpost, then we walked some of the steeper sections but ran when we could to the first false top, groaning a bit as the second and finally third real top arrived. On the descent we discussed the 10 hours. It didn't really look on, we both knew about the steep climb out of Tilberthwaite, but we decided to keep pushing at least to make best use of the remaining daylight because it was now touching 9pm and starting to get a bit gloomy. A bit of heavy breathing from Nick along the road but he was back on song for the final down slope to the last checkpoint. A cup of coke, grab a flapjack and go, no need to top up the water, I was unlikley to drink anything else from here to the end.

We had just under 50 minutes to cover about 3 and a half miles with just under a thousand feet of climb and twelve hundred of descent. Nick took the lead up the steep steps and the scrambly ground beyond, and for the first time in the day I was glad to follow someone's heels, he did a great job up there. Two guys we had caught at the checkpoint were also pressing hard, and as the slope eased off onto the open fell I waved them through. This turned out to be a good move because although I lost two places here, they gave us a great target on the long gentle uphill to the final pass and we probably ran a lot more than we would have done without them. We counted down the final uphill, two hundred yards, a hundred yards, yes that's definitely it, downhill all the way from here.

But the course still had a final small problem for us; we had a fairly technical descent of a few hundred feet and dusk was fast approaching, just the worst time for my eyesight (it's a date of birth problem I'm afraid). I didn't want to put my specs on, and neither of us wanted to get a light out because the re-adjustment would likely cost us more time than it would save. So we pressed on down carefully but as fast as we could, a last grassy shortcut then we were out onto the relatively smooth track at last. How far from here I asked, a mile and a half or so was Nick's guess. Eleven minutes on my watch, not really enough as it was almost dark now but we kept going, picking our feet up high to avoid tripping on the stony track. Then the asphalt arrived much sooner than we expected, how fast can you go Nick, I think there's still nearly five minutes left, you might do this even if I can't.  He hared off into the darkness. I did my best, certainly reaching my highest speed of the day but he was still twenty seconds ahead at the end.

Done!

I made the tape in 9hrs 56mins 55seconds. Where did that extra three minutes come from? Yes, you got it  -  I was wearing an ordinary wristwatch, not a stopwatch, and had completely forgotten about the 3 minutes delay at the start. Sometimes a bit of technical incompetence helps you on your way. 35th place. Possibly my best ultra performance to date, and with my 64th birthday next Monday one I'll be doing well to repeat; definitely one to treasure. Into the bright lights, welcoming supporters, satisfied fellow-finishers, nice medal and tee-shirt, and wonderful bowl of chilli.

This is a great weekend, whichever race you do. I'm sure I'll be back.