UTMB CCC 2022
My 2022 ultra-trail run around the Mont Blanc
The Chamonix vibe
Chamonix during Ultra-Trail-du-Mont-Blanc week is exhilarating. Especially if you are one of the 10,000 runners participating in the 9 official races. Crowds cheering every single one of the finishers, from Monday to Sunday. Runners out on the trails to study the courses, to fight their nerves, and to make sure they have the most appropriate kit. Big brands exhibiting, organizing events, runs and interviews with the many elite athletes; cafes, restaurants and all sorts of shops making sure they can provide their best UTMB “specials”. Small towns, villages and communities dressed to their best, and the UTMB organisation covering every angle to what is a gigantic event. Going around the Mont Blanc massif, across Italy, Switzerland and France, covering hundreds of kilometers of trails. What a feat.
You can feel a great vibe, and wherever you walk, it’s buzzing. You get your kit checked, collect your race pack, wear your armband and 2022 runner t-shirt. And you are immediately recognizable. Fellow runners, normal tourists embarking in the 10-day long tour-du-mont-blanc hike, or simply enjoying the majestic views of the big mountains, familiarise with what is going on, and in most cases morph into part of it.
Kids want to cheer the incoming finishers louder and louder, chase them, offer high-fives. Random onlookers figure themselves one day participating in one of the crazy events. Runners dream of crossing the coveted finish line.
The longest race, the PTL, started on Monday morning, with runners taking on 300 km of high-altitude trails, with up to 6 days to complete the course. The morning after, the news of the death of a PTL runner during their first night out, was a shock for many. A big reminder that safety cannot be overlooked, and that spending days and nights out on those trails should be taken with all the necessary attention, focus and respect, even for experienced trail runners. Especially on the PTL, where mountaineering skills are required, as they face plenty of scrambling, ferratas and climbing.
Preparing for my race
I was registered for the CCC race, a 100 km, 6100m positive elevation race, which I did before, in 2019, and thoroughly enjoyed. This was my third ultra-trail run of the summer, just two months after Lavaredo (LUT), and 7 weeks after Snowdonia (UTS 50). It was always going to be hard.
Things started to turn sour at the end of July, when, after experiencing sharp pain in my right foot, I was diagnosed a posterior tibialis tendinopathy (“too much running” the physio tells me — yeah, I know). My right foot hurt like hell, so I had to rest, take anti-inflammatories, do laser therapy, and ice the spot non-stop.
At the beginning of August, just over 3 weeks to race day, I was back on my feet and trying to find that balance between gradually restarting my training and not aggravating the injury. I was giving myself a 50–50 probability to start the race, and perhaps a 10% probability to finish it… To my closest friends I simply said it was “Goodbye UTMB”. Inside me, I was hoping for a miracle.
I was on a roller coaster — one day you train well, the next day your foot hurts, or your energy is low, you rest some more, you try again. Two weeks before the race I was in Morzine on holiday, in the French Alps, and I managed to do a couple of good runs with a lot of elevation, technical terrain, in altitude and a decent 3–4 hours on my feet. I was more confident about starting the race, but with training time running out, my ambitions for the race itself were at their minimum: “just try to finish” I was telling myself.
Could things go worse? Yes, they could. When I arrived in Chamonix, I went to recce the Tete aux vents climb, a 2km and 600m vertical, very technical stretch that I would most likely take at night time, a good 85 km into my race. I took it easy, and then I continued to La Flegere, to finish in Chamonix, basically, the last stretch of my race.
And… my foot started to hurt again. It was 4 days to the race, and the pain was sharper than in recent times. It felt like going back several weeks. I was desperate, it was a nightmare, I couldn’t even walk.
At this stage, immersed in the excitement of Chamonix, I was desperate to take part, but it felt crazy. I had little time, I could rest, and I could try something more. I started to take anti-inflammatories, I found a pair of super-cushioned Hoka Mafate Speed 4, at the trail expo I bought some recovery gel to massage to my foot and a cryogenic spray for the cooling effect, and I hoped, I hoped, I hoped things would get better quickly.
When I went to collect my kit, 2 days from the race, I felt my usual imposter syndrome. What was I doing here? I couldn’t even walk properly, and I was taking my number for a 100 km and 6100m elevation race. Limit of 26.5 hours. Did I really want to start?
Why not? I was there, hotel paid, return flight booked, I could well join everybody else at the start line and see how it went, rather than sob on my hotel bed. The thought of being last, in the distance, was a bit of a nightmare. Everybody else would start very aggressively to gain a good position at the start of the first big climb. Perhaps I would last 10 or 20 km, and then withdraw in pain. So what? I wanted to try, no matter what. Honor the race, the sport, the thousands of kilometers covered in training.
I took my last anti-inflammatory pill on Thursday morning (never, never take NSAIDs during such an effort!), I continued to massage my foot, cool it down, and I walked around in my new Hoka shoes. I also thought I would strap my foot, so I studied strapping methods on the internet — I had two options: strapping to support the tibialis posterior and to support the plantar fascia, where the pain was manifesting itself. I chose to try both. The night before the race I did the full strapping and tried to walk around. It was uncomfortable, but I did feel the support. So I decided to repeat the procedure the morning after.
For dinner I had a massive plate of pasta with pesto, burrata and focaccia at the Joia restaurant, prepared my kit, set the alarm for 4:45 and went to bed. As my usual, on the night before a race, I didn’t sleep much.
Race Day
My bus ride to Courmayeur, the italian side of the Mont Blanc and CCC starting point, was scheduled for 6am. I had around 45 minutes to get ready, and then walk to the bus station. I had a bit of food, an awful instant coffee, prepared my main bag and my drop bag with a few items I would need on the way to the start, filled 3 bottles with water and electrolytes, strapped my foot and tucked the running poles in my belt. I felt ready for battle.
The coffee in the room was horrible, but at that time of the night there was no way to find better. I walked the kilometer to the bus station, and tried to run for 20 meters. My foot was hurting — f**k it, I’m going! As I was getting closer to the bus station I started to find more and more runners, all coming from different directions, all merging into the same road, all looking ready and very quiet.
UTMB had a number of buses rolling back and forth through the tunnel du Mont Blanc, so I was directed to the first, which was about to leave. A lot of sleepy people “Good Morning all” — all rows were occupied, left and right, so I went to the very back. A Japanese and an American guy (thanks UTMB for placing large contry flags on the number bibs!) were sitting at the extremeties, so I stuck to the middle seat. “Good morning!” again. Little smiles and good morning back to me from both. The American, John Baston, wanted to chat, so the trip went very quickly. He was a young but expert trail runner, had recently crewed a friend in the Leadville 100 race in the US (finishing fourth!). He was in Cortina recently to run in the Dolimites and he’s now touring Europe. Am I talking to an elite runner? By the time we exit the tunnel and see Courmayeur, there’s light in the sky and the sun is rising.
We are dropped in a large parking space. 2.5 hours before the start, which is at 9am, with a long line of portaloos, a map of the town with the key UTMB directions, hundreds of other runners and buses continuing to drop more.
We were very close to the sport palace, where we could find a cafe, seating spaces and more toilets. I finally had a proper coffee (we are in Italy!) and some pastry. My body started to work, which was great. With 1 hour to go I put my feet up for 10 minutes. I took some final decisions before the start? Do I carry the spare battery? No. I won’t use my phone much. Do I take the light or heavy long-sleeve top? Heavy. it could be a long, cold night, especially if I am in pain, and I have to walk for hours. The forecast was giving a few hours of rain in the afternoon, then good weather, and minimum temps of around 6–7'C at 2000–2500m.
My friend and fellow ultra-runner Gower kindly offered to post updates on my facebook page, while following my progress, which gave me some motivation to go and come back with a result, and perhaps take a few pictures for some more collorful updates.
Then I walked towards the town centre and the starting point. Here, at 8:30 I left my drop bag and walked into the starting crowd. I had to walk all the way to the back of the long queue. I was starting on the third wave, based on my UTMB index, I was with the slowest. Not an issue today. Objective: finish the race before the 26.5 hour cut-off, or at least enjoy the part I could run!
The Start and the Italian Part
The 9 and 9:15 waves started, with music and all. We finally walk close to the starting line. The mayor spends a few words to thank everyone, motivational music is played (Vangelis “Conquest of Paradise” grips your throat), the sky is quite dark — we are told we will get a bit of rain, but at least it won’t be as hot as the day before.
Off we go at 9:30. I am near the back of the group. I am running. The snake of runners is cheered by the enthusiastic Courmayeur people with cowbells and trumpets, through the high street and then on a backroad. We go through this mild climb for the first two kilometers, then we leave the town behind us, and we start to climb for real. I’ve run two kilometers. The foot pain is there. Not sharp. But how long will I resist? Now I’m climbing and it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt! With 2,000 people ahead of me, and perhaps 100 or so behind, I want to hurry a bit. I know I will have to fight with the cut-off times. I have 4:15 to get to Refuge Bertone, 13.5 km, 1,450m positive elevation and 700m negative elevation from the start.
All this positive elevation comes in the next 7 kilometers, which take us to around 2600m elevation. Not a joke, but I feel fresh and I crunch the steps, the turns, the very dry and powdery ground, the stones. I pick one or two people at every switchback. I breathe heavily, but I’m still in my zone 2 effort — sustainable.
After 1 hour I start to see the bib numbers from the previous wave. I’ve managed to gain 15 minutes on these people. A very good sign. Perhaps I deserved to start with them and my UTMB index doesn’t reflect my potential?
After 2:25 I am at Tete de la Tronche — I know this is very close to my time in 2019, which makes me very happy. As soon as we summit, the trail runs on a narrow ridge with sheer drops on both sides. We are immersed in a cloud, and soon it becomes a hailstorm. The stones under my feet become very slippy, everybody slows down, I’m trying to place my feet on the wet, but stable soil. The waterproofs come out, and will stay out for a while, as it’s not stopping. We descend to Refuge Bertone, which I reach in just over 3 hours. I am well over 1 hour ahead of the cut-off time, and I’ve run a few stretches with limited pain, but very, very cautiously. I lost a few places to people who took more risks in the descent, but I am happy — I feel competitive.
The next checkpoint is Arnouvaz, around 13 km of undulating terrain which I cover relatively quickly in around 2 hours. It’s dry and warm down here at just over 1,700m and the waterproof goes back into my bag.
I’m keeping a relaxed pace, as I know a tough climb is coming, up to the Gran Col Ferret. Around 800m of relentless and technical ascent in 4 km of trails. This will put my strenght to the test. I do it pretty much without stop in around 80 minutes. As we go up the weather deteriorates again and we get quite a bit of rain. I am completely wet, it’s mid afternoon, and I know the sun will not shine again on our course. So it’s going to be a wet night too. Wet shorts rub into my thighs.
A lot of people stop to take a break as soon as the narrow trail opens to a bit of space, if anything because the views are incredible. We are facing glaciers and sheer drops collecting vast volumes of ice-melt water. Over the past 3 hours I passed more than 100 runners, I will discover from my results. I’m not surprised. I am climbing at a good pace.
The Gran Col Ferret is where we cross into Switzerland. No guards waiting for us, just UTMB marshalls taking our chip times, and bad weather.
The Swiss Part
Awaiting for us is now a long, long descent, 18 km of it and -1500m vertical to Praz de Fort, with the checkpoint of La Fouly about half way through it. I am very worried about this stretch. The descent is killing my feet, my muscles, with stretches at -20%, -30%, always very technical terrain, it’s hard to flow into proper running, and given the broken strides, the sudden stops, it’s also hard to find a breathing rythm, which is very stressful. I often find myself breathing very shallowly on such descents, and I need to make an effort to fill up my lungs properly. Bounce Andrea, bounce, to keep it going, don’t brake.
But my foot starts to hurt more, I can feel the support of the strapping, but whatever is into my socks is wet, sticky and messy. I have dry socks in my bag, which I was planning to put on at Champex a bit down the road, but I think it is too risky to open up everything, as I may have to redo the strapping, and it’s not a quick and easy thing, especially as I’m dripping water and sweat everywhere.
Before 6pm I arrive in La Fouly, a large refreshment area, and I stop a few minutes to drink something warm and eat something sweet. I know the next part is a tricky one. In 2019, while climbing to Champex Lac I had a massive crisis, probably due to dehydration. Now I want to listen to my body and do the right things.
The final 8 km of the descent to Praz de Fort are relatively fast. I’m starting to see a lot of people in pain, taking the steps down gingerly. The trail is rutted, and with wide channels in the middle, but there are less stones and roots than in other places. It’s open pasture, full of cows, as also explained by the many warning signs placed by the swiss farmers. We hear that ahead of us the race leaders had to take a diversion because they were “attacked” by cows… These gentle grazing giants of beef just look at us, sometimes menacingly, but we manage to cover these kilometers unscathed. The Praz de Fort checkpoint is no more than a cattle drinking through, so I refill my bottles and start the climb to Champex Lac. Nearly 600m up in the next 6 km. My objective is to get there before dark, have a good meal, try to get drier, and prepare for the night. I know this is where most people withdraw in this race, so I have to stay focused and get there with good energy.
I start to feel tired on this ascent, and the foot pain, after a long descent, is barely manageable, sending me sharp shocks when my foot turns and twists on the stones and roots. I am worried. I arrive at the Champex Lac checkpoint just before 8pm. I need to regroup here. Half-way. The tent is a mess. It takes long to get the food I wanted (but I’m not going to leave without a warm soup with noodles, the stomach won’t accept anything else), to refill bottles, drink some warm tea and coke.
I change my top to a dry one after some useless attempt to dry my upper body with the old top. As planned I don’t touch my socks — they are so wet and dirty, and it’s too messy in there to risk having to redo the foot strapping. It’s full of exhausted people here. It is the first “support point”, where crews, friends and family (at most one person per runner) is allowed to offer support. But at this stage of the race, and level of ambition, no one is taking it hurriedly. It feels like your support person is there to allow you to put words to your pain and tiredness. I prefer my silence, but I could have done with food and drinks ready, and no queues.
I wear my lamp, and nearly 30 minutes later I leave the refreshment area. A long time, but I will discover later that I left 80 people behind me in this stretch (117 withdrew at Champex Lac). It is about survival from now on.
Steady, easy, safely, I repeat to myself — don’t aggravate the foot pain, move at a sustainable pace- I am nearly 3 hours ahead of the cut-off time. Now the darkness is covering the valleys and it would be hard to move fast even if I wanted. The sky still reflects some light, but it’s of no use into the woods. Stones, roots, holes are hiding and mixing with each other. A few easy kilometers to Plan de l’Au come before the tough climb to La Giete, more than 800m up, now in total darkness.
It feels so long-the runners with me, a few French guys, started to murmur that we are at La Giete a good half an hour before we actually reach it. The checkpoint, is a weird one. They play loud music, which feels odd after hours of silence, and especially because the place is just an animal shed, with very low doors (architraves padded with some rubber) so we have to bend down to enter and to exit. I reach here 2.5 hours after I left Champex Lac, and they only have a warm drink, so I leave almost immediately, towards Trient, 5 km of break-ankle and break-neck descent. Not enjoyable at all. I struggle to breathe while I try to keep my abs engaged, and not slump down with every step.
I am so happy when I reach Trient, another point with support crews (for others!) — it’s time for a mental check for me — I covered 70% of the race. Still two big climbs ahead of me, 1800m in total — I’m almost laughing — on a training day this would be a massive, massive objective. But now nearly 15 hours into the race, it feels like a scary prospect. One step at a time. Think about the next stretch.
But interestingly, my foot pain has nearly gone. What? I couldn’t believe it. I took the steep descent into the forest to the village very easily, but I wasn’t expecting to feel better at the bottom, after so much heavy impact. My foot is not sending me the sharp shocks it was giving me when twisting left and right on the rutted terrain. What I’m feeling now is pain on my left big toe (on the “good” foot), which I must have banged into stones 100 times. Especially on descents, when I jump a big stone, my trailing foot might clip the stone, and invariably I will hit my big toe from the top of the shoe. It feels like my nail has moved one inch into my flesh. So I decide to do something about it. I remove my sock and indeed the nail is a dark blue and red, the toe looks swallen and pulsating. I try to strap it with my tape and put my filthy sock back in. For a moment I thought about removing the other sock as well, to check the strapping, but I resist the temptation. It’s not hurting now.
I eat some more warm soup and I leave. It’s nearly 00:30am, it’s fairly cold, I feel my sweat freezing in my back, and I need to face Les Tseppes, another brutal ascent. I’m tired — from now on I won’t check my phone again, everybody in Italy and the UK who is following me will be in bed by now, so it feels more lonely. Gower’s facebook posts and his encouragement during the day, and the many messages from family and a few dear friends were refreshing and motivating when I saw them, at checkpoints. It’s good to hear that people want you to continue and complete your challenge.
I am now constantly checking my Garmin for vertical speed and altitude progress. Horizontal speed and distance don’t make sense in these stretches. I want to stop and breathe, my heartrate is very high, and I’m burning out. I decide to take a break every 200m of elevation. I can make it in around 20 minutes of good effort. Then I stop until I feel my pulse come back down into my zone 2, perhaps 30 seconds or a minute. I’m not the only one. The ascent is full of exhausted runners, standing by the sides, headlamp pointing to their feet, sometimes in a very precarious position, on the edge of a precipice. Their breathe smoking into the cold air. My tactics works — intervals, I think, Hell-Hill in Sydenham, theatre of many hard hill sessions, now paying off. I also think the long gym sessions, squats, lunges, deadlifts, box jumps, plyometrics, for leg strength are still with me, compensating for the lack of proper training in the mountains. Upper body exercises also did their job — I’m still propelling myself up with my running poles, and arms and shoulders are feeling strong. I gain many places in this ascent, despite the stops. I summit the climb and the cowbells I hear this time are the checkpoint, not random cows in the dark. A cold wind is suddenly blowing. It’s 1:30 and there’s no time to rejoyce for the climb just finished. We need to descend to Vallorcine.
The French Part
We are back in France now, and you can almost smell Chamonix, 26 km away. The night ahead is still very long. Focus, focus.
My mind keeps switching to the next and last big ascent, after Vallorcine, but I need to remain focused on the steep descent I’m doing. I do it low effort, because frankly I can’t see much. My lamp seems to have gone down a quite bit in luminosity, but I don’t want to swap it on the course. It’s too dark, it could get messy on this descent, plus it’s hard to find a point where I can safely stop and stand. It can’t be the batteries, they were new. I spend a good half an hour trying to stay close to the runners in front of me, so I can see what their light illuminates.
Vallorcine is another large support point. Almost no one withdraws from here on, unless they don’t make the cut-off times. 18 km to the finish, and no matter how much pain you have, you’ll try to continue. Only about 45 people withdrew from here to the finish, and mostly due to late arrival, beyond the cut off time.
I take a good 20-minute recovery, eat and drink well, switch to my backup lamp, in preparation for the ascent to the Col de Montents and la Tete aux Vents, which I recced the week before the race. I know what I’m going to face, and it’s not a nice thought. After 2–3 km of mild ascent, we reach the Col de Montet, where we start the tough climb — it’s over 600m in little more than 2 km. I am tired, and as in the previous big climb, I try to do it in chunks of 200m elevation, which then become 150m, then 100m. I struggled to keep my pace for more than 10–15 minutes. I’m really burning out and breathing heavily. Despite all this, I pick up quite a few places. The darkness doesn’t help, but my memories from the recce keep me calm. I know when it’s time to expect the checkpoint, and then to stretch my legs, in the undulated path to La Flegere. Exposed, technical, full of massive rocks, but the physical effort goes down a notch.
For the first time in many hours I check my race time. I just passed 20.5 hours, and I have about 10 km to go. I realise that I would still have a shot at my 2019 time (just over 22 hours) if I wanted. I hadn’t felt in “competitive mode” for a long time. I spent the night trying to have a steady but safe pace, fighting fatigue. I decided that I would get to La Flegere, see how I felt with energy, and if I still had a chance I could just grab something and try to speed up on the downhill part to Chamonix.
But now there’s something else that distracts me. Suddenly, on the left side of the trail, the sky has changed. The night was pretty much without clouds, a dark sky and a lot of stars. But now we were moving into twilight. The sky was still very dark, but the ice and snow of the glaciers started to shine. These shapes were suspended, on our left side, in between the darkness of the valleys and the black sky. We were on a narrow path, with a lot of obstacles and a sheer drop on the left side, and I had quite a few people running behind me, so I didn’t want to stop and take a picture, but I thoroughly enjoyed this moment.
I got to La Flegere past 6:30 in the morning, and the last few minutes are a very annoying climb to get to the level of the cable car. With less than 1 hour to go, I knew it was nearly impossible to beat my 2019 time. So I didn’t rush — I had a drink and a small sweet. I was so close to the finish, and I wanted to get there in one piece. That’s all that counted.
The descent to Chamonix was familiar: 2 km on a large, but very steep stony road, 3 km of very technical switchbacks into the woods (which take you to the La Floria chalet), 2 km on a wide trail, approaching the town, a road crossing on top of a scaffolding bridge, and the last kilometer into the town itself, to enjoy the embrace of the Chamonix crowd.
After the forest part, I tucked away my waterproof and my running poles, and I jogged the remaining distance, enjoying the support of the many people having their coffees and petit dejeuners in the many cafes and bars of the high street. I finished just 7 minutes outside of my 2019 time. It was unthinkable at the start of the race. I had been cautious, genuinely worried about my foot, I paced myself, and I survived this tough race to cross the finish line once more. Very happy.
After The Race
Once I collected my finisher’s gilet and I recovered my drop bag, I had a shower and I slept a couple of hours, then I came back down on the street to cheer the last finishers of the CCC, and to wait for the UTMB winners. I read that a group of 5 or 6 were about to make history.
Kilian Journet and Mathieu Blanchard both finished under 20 hours in the UTMB — unbelievable. Tom Evans not far, and Jim Walmsley and Zach Miller to complete a fantastic top 5.
For the following 24 hours I spent most of my time by the finish line, or on the high street, cheering the finishers. Or in my bedroom, hearing the Vangelis tunes again and again, when a finisher crossed the line.
The prize giving ceremony for UTMB was phenomenal, and it was nice to chat with a few of the elite runners after that.
That’s all for my 2022 UTMB report. Thanks for reading this far, and happy running to everyone!
