Frásögn Skotans Murdo McEwan - 2006

Murdo hefur tekið þátt í mörgum keppnum í gegnum árin og hefir náð góðum í einni helstu keppni Bretlands, The West Highland Way race.

Tímar hans í fyrra:

Expectations are high. It should certainly be an interesting night and day, and maybe another night and another day. I'm signed up for the Ultra-trail Tour du Mont-Blanc (TMB) race, and we're now in the final week leading up to it. Basically a huge circumnavigation of the Mont-Blanc massif, we start in France (Chamonix), and journey in an anticlockwise direction through Italy and Switzerland before returning to Chamonix. There's a 45 hour limit, with various intermediate cut-off times along the way. The route has, for many years, been a hugely popular hiking trail with many guidebooks available to assist you through the 10-14 days walk. The race, however, is just in its fourth year, and seems to have really captured folks' imagination. Within three weeks of entry forms appearing on the race website, all 2,000 places had been snapped up. I was fortunate to get one of these. Several weeks later another 500 places were made available via a ballot. Again, oversubscription was rapid. So, 2,500 people readily sign up to launch themselves on this huge journey. You may well ask "Why?" A good question. There's plenty of time on a run like this to ponder over many things, including this, but not so easy to come up with any satisfactory or vaguely comprehensible response. Certainly nothing definitive and concise. Some extracts from the preamble to the Race Handbook, distributed to entrants a few weeks before the event, may go a little way towards a possible response:

 

"The Ultra is about seeking out resources in oneself which one did not believe existed"

"The Ultra is about a little pride and a lot of humility"

"You are invited to put your own suffering into perspective"

 

Heady stuff! I preferred to dwell on such thoughts as these, rather than on the totality of the undertaking - which is scary to say the least. A big mistake to spend any time thinking about the enormity of it all. The race literature informs us that we'll be travelling 158.1 km, with 8,639 m of ascent along the way, and 8,639 m of descent. Just short of 100 miles distance, and just short of going up, and down, Mt Everest from sea level.

 

Although I'd entered, and had some idea of what I had let myself in for, I've never been to this part of the world before. There were many important aspects about the event on which I hadn't much clue. What would the underfoot conditions be like? What would the gradients be like, compared to what I was used to? What about food / drinks provision along the way? Might the altitude have any adverse effects? (We'd be going to over 8,000ft several times.) Any particular kit that should be carried, over and above what was required by the organisers? Many other similar unknowns. Until the West Highland Way race, in June,  I hadn't met anyone who had done TMB before, but @ WHW I met two people. Jez Bragg - who had just decimated the WHW record; and Topher Gaylord - who had just finished second behind Jez, and posted the fifth fastest time ever in the race. They both gave me masses of help, and answered many of my - some rather naive - questions with great patience. They'd both also signed up for this year's TMB race, leaving me slightly worried that the other 2,497 entrants might be in the same league as them, which would leave me at the back of the field by many hours. Something else for me to worry about! Thanks to them, though, Jo & I were able to get to Chamonix with a much clearer idea of what all was in store.

The race starts @ 19.00hrs, with a couple of hours of receding daylight, then a full night for the early stages. According to the race timetable the winner is expected to complete the journey at around 16.00hrs the next day - 21 hours duration. But the vast majority of those who finish will be on the go for a full night, and a full day, then another full night, before completing some time before 16.00hrs the following day. A long time just to be awake, let alone embarking on this kind of undertaking.

Its now the day before the race. Official registration in a vast sports hall. We're processed through a series of checks, verifications and identifications - not unlike airport check-in / security controls. First, identity check against passport. Second, compulsory kit check. There had been problems of literal translation of some of the French requirements ("helmet"; "adhesive elastic band"; "stickers"), but after much discussion between the English speakers we had clarified these to mean hat, elasticated crepe  bandage, and stretchy lycra-type long  leggings. Third, signing of compliance with race rules and the ethics of the race. Fourth, another identity check to get race number and goodie bag. The race number had a microchip sealed into the back of it; so finally we had to get the race number electronically scanned to make it "live"; then we were free to wander round the sponsors' stands, plus various other stands selling knee bandages and other medical aids - slightly off-putting! Surprisingly, though, no stand for the main sponsor of the event - The North Face - as I had specifically wanted to visit it. Other stands were promoting forthcoming ultra distance races around the world, mostly involving deserts and other Very Hot places. I preferred to focus and concentrate on the task in hand. The registration process was pretty wearying, but fairly straightforward - though there's the slight worry (as with airport security) that something somewhere may not be to their satisfaction / liking.

Jo & I went to visit the start / finish area in the Place du Triangle de l'Amitie. Strange that it should be called a triangle when it is square shaped...... Then back to our apartment and some food. In the afternoon we went up from Les Houches (5 miles into the race) to Col de Voza. This was to be the first ascent in the race - 2,000ft - so it would be interesting to see what the gradient would be like, and the underfoot conditions. This reccie was definitely a good move, and quite reassuring in that the ascent was not too steep or scary - certainly a brisk walk type gradient for me, though no doubt some of the guys at the front would run up quite a bit of it. From Col de Voza we could look down on the direction that we would be heading in the race in darkness, and across to the Glacier de Bionnassay - pretty impressive, and pretty stimulating just to see it. I expected that during the race almost everyone would be using trekking poles - and I'm pretty keen not to get spiked by someone waving them around indiscriminately. It could easily happen, with us all being bunched fairly close together in these early stages. I practised my best French warning - "Monsieur, attention vos batons, s'il vous plait!", or something along those lines. In the event this got abbreviated to "attention!", or "passez!". Interestingly, while at the Col de Voza we met a couple who had just flown in from London this morning, and were setting off to walk the TMB route over the next 11 days duration.

 

Race day. The morning and afternoon have been spent being as physically inactive as possible - mainly faffing around with kit, trying to decide what to wear for the start, and checking everything for the umpteenth time. By late afternoon it is fabulously clear and sunny. We're lounging around the extensive park & gardens area by the sports complex in the centre of Chamonix. We've deposited our two drop bags with changes of shoes / clothing etc. These will be transported on to Courmayeur (Italy) and Champex-en-lac (Switzerland) - hopefully to be reunited with them soon after dawn, and mid-afternoon respectively. About ½ bin-bag sized, what had gone into these bags had involved a huge amount of thought and prevarication. Much depended on what the weather might be doing, and how I might be feeling - neither of which could be anticipated with any great certainty. Getting something wrong, or omitting something of importance, or failing to get reunited with the drop bag at all due to some organisational glitch, could have serious consequences many hours / miles hence. Meanwhile, many others are lounging around in similar fashion - mostly looking pretty well organised and relaxed, though no doubt much inner turmoil and, maybe, self-doubt. In the event, though, I was surprisingly relaxed about it all.

The range of kit and branded clothing is incredible, and - physique-wise - anyone who thinks I look a bit thin & waif-like should think again when compared to many of the people here! We drift over to the old town triangle / square. It's absolutely heaving with folk. I'm reasonably positioned, somewhere in the middle, hardly able to move, alongside a noisy group of flag waving Spanish runners. I prefer to save my energy for the race. A helicopter is buzzing around overhead. We're on prime-time French TV apparently. From the official speeches I can't comprehend very much except that the words "courage" and "fortitude" crop up pretty regularly, along with pleas to respect the environment, and our fellow runners. Inside I am surprisingly calm and collected - ready to be off for whatever the journey might hold; so over 30 minutes of standing listening to all this is a bit much of a good thing, and an extra 30 minutes on my feet, which I could do without.

Then, at last, "cinque, quatre, trois, deux, un, allez!", and we're off! In a very short time we are trotting through the ecstatic crowds. What a din. Shouting, horns, whistles, cow bells, you name it - anything that makes a noise. No barriers or anything like that; there's only room for us on the road to run three abreast. Amazingly I see Jo. "Courage mon brave!" she shouts, as she spots my long sleeved mustard coloured top. Distinctive colour, though maybe not sartorially in the best of taste. Within a few minutes we're trotting along a woodland path at a comfortable pace (c 9 minute miles) alongside the glacial melt-water milky coloured river Arne. Not much talking. In no time at all we're crossing the river, and up a slight hill to Les Houches (5 miles). Spot on my time estimate. "Come on Murdo!". Vigorous shouts from Bev, Bobby, and Jamie, are a real personal boost - they'd been looking out for the mustard top in the sea of other colours.

 

Now our first hill, Col de Voza, beckons. Good to have reccied it yesterday. It's dusk, clear-as-a-bell Aiguilles needles outlined against the skyline. Pretty much everyone pauses - many to take photos - to get out & assemble their trekking poles. These are permitted, and encouraged, by the race organisers; and used by about 90% of the runners. I've never previously used them in races - not generally permitted in the UK - but feel that if 90% of folk use them, there must be good reason to do so. No chatting at all now. Just the click clack click clack of poles on the ground, and shuffling footsteps being the only sounds. We're going up alongside the Kandahar downhill ski run used in the world ski championships when the skiers take about 2 minutes to get down. We ascend steadily and surely, though nowhere near that kind of pace. C de V. The helicopter is here again - filming for the race dvd. Many tables are laden with the weight of assorted drinks - bottled water, coke, energy drinks, tea and coffee. Elsewhere there's hot chicken noodle soup, and assorted dishes filled with salami slices, wedges of cheese, sultanas, prunes, cheese biscuits, fig rolls, sliced baguettes etc etc. I didn't spend a huge amount of time studying this in depth at C de V; but as there was the same spread laid out at about 12 locations along the route, I had - by the latter stages - a pretty good idea of what to expect at the next watering hole.  Meanwhile, our race numbers had been electronically scanned as we arrived at C de V. This sent a signal straight through to Race Control, recording that runner 2004 (me) had reached C de V at 20:47 hrs, in 615^th position. Also meanwhile, the race website had a live progress facility, which was also updated, so anyone round the world, by keying in a race number could follow a runner's progress pretty much live on computer. And, again meanwhile, there was an SMS text messaging facility available for a small cost. Jo had registered for this, for runner number 2004, so that shortly after I was scanned at C de V an automated text message was triggered to her mobile phone with the same information that had gone onto the website. So, in theory, the whole world could know my location / position / progress at regular intervals along the route. It seemed a little bit Big Brotherish, but was undoubtedly extremely useful for race followers / supporters, and if a search & rescue operation was needed at some stage. To be honest, I had no idea that the simple act of being scanned set all this in motion; I was just focussed on the task in hand, and had plenty else to occupy my attention.

While the bottom of the first ascent was the time to get out poles, the Col was the place to fit head torches. I'd been advised that money spent on a good head torch was money well spent. It certainly was! As part of the essential kit requirements we had to carry two torches and spare batteries for both. So most folk had a slightly heavier "good" torch to use, and an ultra lightweight one (good enough for bedtime reading purposes but not much else) as the required emergency spare. So, having gone up for 2,000ft, it was now into downhill mode for 2,000ft through the forest to La Villette. This was to set the pattern for much of the race - with the longest, pretty much uninterrupted, ascent being 5,000ft out of La Villette; and the longest descent (5,000ft) being some 50 miles or so further on. With us descending almost single file, it looked like a thin river of light flowing down the hillside in the darkness, while above - in the clear night sky - the stars twinkled merrily. Far above, the black outline of the Aiguilles. No wind at all. As before, no one talking - all attention focussed on where the feet were landing.

 

But what an interruption to the trance-like reverie whenever we passed through even the smallest villages. Everyone was out ringing cowbells, cheering, clapping, making as much noise as possible. "Bravo monsieur!"; "Courage!", and similar exhortations to lift morale. If you've ever watched the Tour de France cycle race, and wondered what it is like to pass through the small gap between the noisy crowds, you should do this race. The people, of all ages, really were superb, and so enthusiastic; I suspect that for some of the more remote villages our passing through was a fairly major "event of the year" for them.

Les Contamines (15 miles; 614^th position). Our first small town since darkness fell. Carnival in full progress, and the full range of re-provisioning on offer. The organisers had laid on a fleet of shuttle buses throughout the event - both for ferrying dropped-out runners back to Chamonix, and to provide transport for supporters to meet up with their respective runners along the route. The bus system worked incredibly well; but if you dropped out the race at, say, Les Contamines, you might have to wait 2 ½ hours for the next bus to take you back to Chamonix. Potentially a chilly experience in the middle of the night, but alleviated by the copious refreshments on offer, and enormous bonfires at many of the checkpoints.

Les Contamines to Croix de Bonhomme - C de B will be the first of our 8,000 footers, and it is uphill almost all the way. Ahead, snake-like, is a continuous procession of head torches disappearing into the distance. The furthest ones - I guess the leaders - look pretty close distance-wise, but in reality it takes me a long time to reach that point myself. But we're all progressing forwards, at slightly differing paces, hardly anyone actually stopping at all. I'm going well with the flow; but I suddenly slip a bit, now at higher altitude. Peering down with my torchlight, I see that I'm on glacial ice. Oops, better be careful! It's warm enough moving along with nothing on my top half apart from the mustard coloured long sleeved vest, but the air temperature is cold though, probably about freezing level. I feel good, and have been passing lots of people; but - with the altitude, I guess - my head is throbbing and I feel pretty sick at the C de B. (23 miles; 417^th position - up almost 200 places!).

Now it is a huge descent, a 3,000ft drop to our first major feeding station - Les Chapieux. I've covered just over a marathon distance, with 8,300 ft of ascent, mostly in darkness, in 7 hours, 1 minute - 433^rd position. So it is just after 02.00hrs. A live rock band ("Black Jack") is playing throughout the night. Pink Floyd when I arrive. The group are all Rolling Stones vintage, so they are blasting out ‘60s and ‘70s music at huge volume. Bad news for anyone who is here for peace and quiet. I slump down on a bench.  A friendly faced lady in a volunteer's tee shirt asks if I would like some soup. She turns out to be the waitress / hostess for the table I have deposited myself at. What a star; she fusses round me like a mother hen. Pasta, cheese, salami, and tea all follow the soup. I'm here for 23 minutes, but time well spent. I meet up with Jo - only runners were allowed into the feeding area. Great to see her; her bus journey has gone fine although rather scary on some of the hairpin bends (back of the bus hanging out into mid-air), and she has teamed up with Kate from Australia who is supporting her husband Mike. Ultradistance orienteering is his main passion. He left a few minutes before me. Kate and Jo were to chum each other for many hours.

Now another climb to the next 8,000 footer (Col de la Seigne). We start on a single tracked tarmac road, apparently leading towards the middle of nowhere; but this soon turns into a rocky track. The leaders have probably scampered along it. I alternate a bit of running and a bit of walking, depending on the gradient, and am feeling fine apart from another throbbing head and feeling sick as we get higher up. Shortly before the summit I pass someone pushing a mountain bike (@ 04.10hrs). He's certainly not doing the race - maybe connected in some way with the marshals at the top. Seems a bit strange though. Arrive at the top - okay, but dropped a bit to 456^th; maybe I stayed a bit long at Les Chapieux. Now due to drop a steep 1,500ft, then along a flat bit, then back up almost 1,500ft to Arete du Mont Favre. But suddenly as we start the descent from C de la S there is no longer a continuous thread of torches ahead and behind. The leaders are pulling away and the field is spreading out. The pre-dawn light is just starting to keek over the horizon. Phew! I pause briefly at Refuge Elizabetta at the bottom of the 1,500ft descent (438^th), but it's a bitterly cold and bleak spot, and very soon I am trotting along the flat section. The pre-dawn glow quickly gives way to a less dull lightness ahead. Head torch off. What a relief to be able to see my feet in ‘real' light as I start the ascent to Arete du Mont Favre. Moving slowly, but no pauses - it's pretty cold when not moving. Masses of glacial moraine, and a bleak but stunningly beautiful landscape to my right. Ahead, to the east, it is getting lighter by the minute, with a blood red coloured slither of cloud heralding the sun's arrival. To my left the sunlight has just hit the summit of Mont Blanc. No photo could really do it justice. I can only marvel at the surroundings as I crest the summit (420^th) and pause briefly.

Having never been here before I'm completely unaware of the viciousness of the knee-jerking descent to Courmayeur, 4,000ft below. It actually turns out to be not too bad, but it does go on..... and on..... and on..... I chat briefly with an English runner. I'd passed her some way back, sat on a rock and looking wretched; but she's perked up now, and we reach Courmayeur - now in Italy - pretty much together (413^th).

Here at Courmayeur the event has taken over a huge sports hall. Laid out with precision, it's like some kind of military field hospital. Jo is on hand to meet and greet me. I'm feeling quite weary, and haven't quite mentally adjusted from being out all night to starting another day. I prevaricate and procrastinate a bit over what to do. We collect my drop bag containing clean clothes / shoes, and fresh kit to kick start me back to life. A sleeping area is available, and showers. There's a lot of naked flesh around, and some horribly damaged looking feet. A huge area is set aside with about 25 massage tables, and a first aid medical station for pretty much every kind of injury - cracked ribs and badly gashed faces were the worst I heard of - folk who had fallen over on rocks in the darkness. I declined showers and sleep, but a massage and a blister (my one blister) dressing seemed a good idea. About 45 miles distance covered, and 13,200 ft ascended so far. I'm told that the first 20 runners hardly paused for breath here; but numbers electing for shower / massage / sleep soon escalated after that. And folk starting to drop out the event in more sizeable numbers from now on. My legs are actually feeling in great shape, and maybe I shouldn't have sacrificed the time for a massage; but justify it as some kind of reward both for  reaching this major staging post in the race, and for feeling so good. Ironically it is only 10kms through the Mont Blanc tunnel from here to get back to Chamonix. Indecisive about what to eat, I play around with a bit of yoghurt and some chicken noodle soup not very enthusiastically. I've stayed slightly longer than planned, but it turns out to be about the same duration as most folk around me, and I set off briefly with Alice. At the eventual awards ceremony she is presented with a prize for being the youngest lady (aged 22 years) to complete the distance. Her mother also completed it, just within the time limit. That was all going to be pretty emotional, but at this stage it's a long way hence.

The climb out of Courmayeur turns out to be as unrelenting and steep as the descent on arrival - but only 3,000ft. I flow up at an even pace, again without pausing, to reach Refuge Bertone (404^th). What a stunning panorama of a view, but the sun is baking down on us and quite a few folk are slumped on the ground with fatigue. It's taken me 80 minutes from Courmayeur. (The front runners are estimated to do it in 70 minutes). Maybe I should have taken it a bit easier because the next section is pretty flat, contouring along at 6,500 ft. altitude, and it should be possible to run at speed.

But not me - though I proceed along okay, and watch the race film helicopter disappearing up the valley. The sky is bright bright blue, and the sun is reflecting off the glaciers to my left. What a landscape! On both sides of the narrow path there are masses of wild flowers. Gentians, scabious, crocus, and harebells to name a few. But the harebells aren't a wishy-washy blue colour; more deep purple like a wild bluebell. I resist any urge to pick them. Refuge Bonatti lies ahead (404^th), but I'm again feeling weary and can't decide what to eat / drink. The sun is baking down; it is quite easy to stop, and stay and watch the world go by. By the time I leave I've started to perk up again, and gradually pick up the pace to overtake several folk who didn't stay so long at Refuge Bonatti; so I arrive, feeling good, at Arnuva (412^th).

Ahead, dominating the skyline, and 2,500ft above us, is the highest altitude point in the whole race - Grand Col Ferret @ 8,323 ft. Another big landmark, this is the border that will take us out of Italy and into Switzerland.  It's a bit like the uniformly steep slope on Beinn Dorain, the Munro near Bridge of Orchy - potentially a continuous unrelenting slog up; and several folk afterwards said that this was their low point in the race. But I'm feeling good, and my hour and a half ascent, including my stop time @ Arnuva, keeps morale high. No throbbing head or sickness feeling here. Maybe because I have ascended more briskly, or it is daylight, or I'm getting a bit more acclimatised to the altitude. Whatever it is, I'm feeling fine as I pause for a drink at the summit (392^nd) and soak in the views. A huge contrast between the bleak barrenness behind us, and the lush green Swiss alpine pastures ahead.

We now have nearly 5,000ft of gradual descent over the next 10 miles, and I find I'm passing people the whole way down - 55-65 miles into the race. Whatever the reason, I'm on a roll and hardly pause at any of the checkpoints. By La Fouly someone shouts out "Well done, Murdo!". It takes me a few moments to work out that it's Kate - last seen in darkness many hours ago in a different country. Apparently Mike is amongst those that I've been passing. I'm cheered up even more by her recognising me, and her personal encouragement; and I stop for a few minutes at Praz de Fort checkpoint (289^th). The fayre on offer is exactly the same as at previous checkpoints - and it is all really good; but part of me wishes for a different soup to chicken noodle. A big bonus here, though, is that the huge bowl of broken up chocolate pieces is now distinctively Swiss looking. That decides me, and I home in on it with gusto. Everyone is very cheery (maybe a reflection of my high morale), and the checkpoint volunteers - as always - are marvellously enthusiastic and welcoming. I learn later that one of the Praz de Fort dogs tagged along with a later runner and accompanied him all the way to the finish (30 miles distance). I didn't hear how the dog got home again, but apparently it was very well fed & watered at all the checkpoints.

 

I look at my watch. 16.00hrs. This was the official time estimate for the winner to cross the finish line. "Gosh, that's amazing", I thought, or something along those lines. In the event he was slightly behind schedule, and didn't finish until 16.06 hrs; but no-one begrudged him the 6 minute delay to the official timetable. Meanwhile, though, life in the slow lane in these fairly out-of-the-way parts. "Bravo Merrdooo!" someone calls. That's me; but how does she know my name? Ah, it's printed just below my race number. Pretty observant. Bet she doesn't see many Merrdooos. Now trotting along a very narrow path where there has recently been a huge rockfall. It all looks very unstable above to my left; and I certainly don't want to slip down to my right. That would be lethal. A long way down to the swirling river below. Just as I'm about to leave this area of geological upheaval I notice a chain by my left hip; then remember something said at the pre-race briefing about a dangerous section with a safety chain handrail. Ahhhhh; this must have been it. I wonder what the river down below is like when full of meltwater snow. An absolute torrent. I scuttle out of the danger zone on to more stable terrain. Green pastures across the valley; languid cows  grazing with gently tinkling cowbells; very Swiss looking chalets, mostly sporting Swiss flags on their policies - there's no mistaking which country we're in.

But now it's up again; the pace tails off, and I'm approaching the next major landmark in the race - Champex-en-lac. (276^th) Here is the second drop bag point, with fresh socks, shoes and clothing; and Jo & Bev to greet me. A similar set up to Courmayeur, but the runners here are going to be hugely spread out from c 10.00hrs (Saturday) for the front runners, through to the cut off time limit of 03.00hrs (Sunday) for the back of the field. 17.14hrs, Saturday, for me. One of the big attractions here - apart from meeting up with Jo & Bev - is Gaston's much publicised ‘myrtille tarte'. It certainly lives up to its expectations, and justifies the 30 minute break. But I could stay much longer here. The organisers have laid on bedding in the dungeon of the old fort, so people can snooze for a few hours before continuing on their journey - as long as they are within the cut-off time limit. I pass on the free accommodation, and am all packed up and ready to go. But it's all change outside. Not just drizzle, but real rain - and looking likely to continue for many hours. Experience of Scottish hill weather can be useful at times like this. I'm wearing very lightweight pertex trousers and top. Windproof, but certainly not waterproof. The ‘heavyweight' goretex waterproof clothing has just been packed away, and I'm all ready to leave. A relatively minor decision at the time, and a five minute delay, but with huge consequences - and possibly the turning-point decision in the whole race. There's exactly a marathon distance of 26 miles to go; but still with 6,500ft of ascent along the way, and two climbs to over 6,500ft altitude, on rocky uneven paths  and  crossing glacial meltwater rivers - much of it going to be in darkness and rain. The five minutes spent changing into the ‘proper' waterproofs, and repacking everything, was quite possibly the best spent five minutes in the whole race. 

 

I set off, a bit heavy laden, into the precipitation. Champex-en-lac probably looks fabulous on a fine day - well, even just an hour ago - with its peaceful lakeside setting; but it's pretty dreich now. Ahead lies Bovine and the much hyped ascent (1,800ft) crossing rivers and negotiating recent rockfalls and boulder fields. It all sounded very dramatic; but, as it was, it could easily have been a miserable day's hillwalking in Scotland. Certainly wet enough, and chilling by the minute, as I proceed up above the tree line to the bleak contouring path that would take me just below the ridge to the remote end-of-the-world-almost desolate hill farm that is Bovine (242^nd).

My mind is jumping between thinking how miserable and wretched it all looks; to how exhilarating it all is. A kind of bottle half full / bottle half empty scenario. There's a dilapidated cattle shed in which four Frenchmen are sheltering, and a small race marquee filled with about a dozen chilled looking runners. I go into the marquee briefly. One of the guys is shaking with cold, and is clearly suffering from having insufficient clothing for the prevailing conditions. Nothing was to be gained by staying here - I'd just get chilled like the rest of them; and the sooner I left, the more ground I could cover before darkness. Buffeted by wind and driving rain I depart, along with the four Frenchmen from the cattle shed. We descend as quickly as we can, soon out of the wind and into the trees; but darkness falls rapidly, and the rain, wet uneven rocks, and slippery tree roots all make correct route finding and progress painfully slow. The 2,000ft descent, and less than four miles covered, to Trient (231^st) took us an hour and a half.

 

Like Champex, Trient is probably a fine place on a fine day. Not so on this occasion. The volunteers were doing the best they could under dire conditions in the marquee. The ground was awash with rainwater; soaking runners changing (belatedly) into more appropriate clothing; local worthies enjoying beverages at the bar; music blasting away; the live race website beamed up on to the wall of the marquee. Almost like one of those Breughel paintings, with so many different folk doing so many different and unrelated things within such close proximity. Interesting to experience, and easy to stay, but not a lot to be gained by putting off the inevitable. Drank my hot, but still uncooked crispy noodles, chicken noodle soup, and set off with one of the Frenchmen for the unrelenting  2,000ft climb to Les Tseppes in a very brisk in the circumstances / not pausing at all 73 minutes (197^th). It had stopped raining, but at 6,500ft altitude was numbingly cold when stationary - although the race volunteers had a huge fire burning and were as cheerful as could be expected in the conditions. We left, along with a Danish runner - though, if the truth be told, there was hardly any running going on as we crossed from Switzerland and back into France. Over 2,000ft of mud pie like consistency slippery path; could hardly see more than a few feet ahead; but the Dane was the only one to upend himself completely. No damage done, but covered in soft wet mud. Painfully slow down into Vallorcine (200^th).

Only ten miles to go from here, and no more long ascents; I was just ready for The Finish. Lower altitude, so not so cold, but heavier rain - the torchlight was just really reflecting back the raindrops. Difficult to make out anything more than a couple of steps ahead. Trudging along, partly exhilarated at knowing The Finish is in sight (metaphorically), but fatigued at having been on the go for over 30 hours. Amble through damp Argentiere (196^th) at 01.50hrs; then the slightly contrived-to-keep-us-off-the-tarmac-road final stretch into Chamonix at about the deadest of dead time of night, shortly after 03.30hrs. Jo & Bev & Kate are there to greet me - what heroes! - waving my saltire flag (carried from Champex-en-lac) as I cross The Finish line. 32 hours 37 minutes 49 seconds; 197^th position overall.

Twelve hours later we are back in the main triangle / square, where it all started, for the prize-giving and awards.  An assorted mass of humanity - from footsore & weary participants to bemused shoppers who have no connection at all with the event. The prize-giving is timed to coincide with the final hour permitted for those finishing within the cut off time. The winners are on the podium receiving their well deserved acclaim. Suddenly the Master of Ceremonies interrupts his flow to announce the arrival of ‘Phillippe'. Phillippe has just staggered over the finish line, having been on the go for over 44 hours. He is led stumbling up the steps on to the podium. A huge cheer goes up from the crowd. Phillippe, hardly able to stand, is embraced warmly by the race winner. He waves somewhat sheepishly and uncomprehendingly to the crowds.  He's ushered off stage, having had his moment of glory, and the prize-giving continues - only to be interrupted in similar fashion as more ‘Phillippes', and Alice's mother, stagger in. In some ways it's pretty bizarre; but it really does demonstrate the heartfelt mutual appreciation for all ‘Les Finisheurs', and all the shared experiences. Pretty emotional stuff!

2,539 runners set off at the start of the race. (They seem to have let a few more in above the 2,500 limit.)                                                      1152 completed the full distance. Victory for (58 year old!) Marco Olmo (Italy) in 21:06:06 - he was 3^rd placed overall last year - and a new Ladies record for Karine Herry (France) in 25:22:20. Incredibly detailed results, including everyone's split times and intermediate positions along the way, as well as age category positions, and much else besides, are spelled out on the race website www.ultratrailmb.com ; but it can take a while to find one's way round the site effectively. I'm still discovering new bits of useful (?) and interesting information. 

Two days on, and my mind is still reeling with the enormity of it all. Jo & I have now walked over the final three miles of the route in daylight. It looks so different, so easy, and actually extremely pleasant compared to last time I was passing through. My ballooned up feet are returning to more normal proportions, and the three small blisters (two more since Courmayeur) are healing nicely. There's been no pain in the quads muscles or knees, and no sign of the dreaded DOMS (Delayed Onset of Muscular Stiffness), which so often kicks in a day or two after such up ‘n down exertions. There's certainly a degree of residual weariness from lack of sleep, but apart from that I am amazingly okay and unscathed from it all. What an extra-ordinary event - I'm already starting to think about next year's race......