“Alone in the dark with the storm raging around me, my headtorch died.” Winter Spine Challenger – Part Two

08/02/202610/02/2026 / smilersteve / Leave a comment

All Change! Tackling the Second Day

Sunday morning dawned grey, cold and drizzly. Saturday’s beautiful clear skies and sunshine were nowhere to be seen. The drizzle gradually became heavier, with rain continuing on and off throughout the day. It was cold rain too, often turning into sleet and occasionally hail on the higher ground.

The bitterly cold night had left numerous farm tracks and roads covered in sheet ice—huge, impossibly slippery stretches, five, ten, or even more metres long, covering the entire width of the track with no way around. This was the result of puddles and surface water freezing over after days of heavy rain prior to the event. These treacherous conditions continued mile after mile and meant that micro-spikes were essential if there was to be any chance of staying upright. I delayed putting them on for as long as possible, trying to find ways around the inescapable ice rinks wherever I could. After a couple of slips and falls, there was no avoiding it. I sat down on a rock at the side of the track and wrestled with my spikes. Once on, they immediately gave me greater confidence and I chided myself for not putting them on sooner.

Some others seemed less confident in their choice of spikes and continued edging cautiously around the sides, while I barrelled fearlessly across the middle of the ice sheets on a mission. Great fun! The main downside of micro-spikes is that they’re a pain to put on, and once fitted they change your gait and can feel awkward to run in. On the lower road sections in the valleys they weren’t required and actually slowed progress. I was also conscious that running on asphalt would blunt and eventually wear them down, rendering them useless. As a result, a repetitive cycle of spikes on, spikes off continued for several hours.

By lunchtime I had covered another 20 miles and reached the small village of Lothersdale. The Hare and Hounds looked inviting and was still serving Sunday lunch, but I wasn’t in the mood to sit down for an hour. Kind supporters were handing out a variety of treats, some homemade and some shop-bought. I spotted a friendly face and was offered a Greggs sausage roll. No need to ask me twice! My friend had clearly raided the local Greggs, buying enough chicken bakes, sausage rolls and assorted treats for everyone who passed while he was there. There were some very happy runners in Lothersdale that day. So much so that later, when one runner recognised him further along the course, they called out, “Look, it’s the Pasty Man!”—much to my amusement.

Pit Stop at the Co-op in Gargrave

As the day wore on, the weather was still poor, but I could feel the temperature gradually rising. From well below freezing overnight, it climbed to nearly 10°C as the sun set for the second time during the race. This marked contrast meant the ice began to melt. Counter-intuitively, the further north we went, the warmer it became and the less ice and snow there was to contend with. Inevitably, though, there was a sting in the tail—but more on that later.

With only one full checkpoint at 46 miles and a monitoring station at 83 miles, opportunities for resupplying without carrying extra weight were few and far between. For that reason, the Co-op in Gargrave, around 72 miles in, was a highlight and I counted down the miles to it.

I arrived at around 5:15pm, already wearing my headtorch as darkness had fallen. The bright fluorescent lights of the Co-op were a stark contrast to the dark, muddy lanes leading into the village. I picked up a meal deal—sandwich, crisps and a drink—but only after making a beeline for the confectionery aisle to secure a couple of Crème Eggs. I also grabbed a bag of Haribo and an iced coffee. With a long night ahead and no more shops along the remaining 35 miles, I was keen to load up with as many calories as I could stomach—and carry.

Gargrave to Malham Tarn

I walked purposefully out of the village, working my way through my Co-op feast and keen to get moving again. Every step taken was a step closer to the finish line.

The next opportunity to rest was ten miles ahead at the Malham Tarn monitoring point. After a flat run along the river valley, I reached Malham village. By now the runners were spread out over many miles and I hadn’t seen anyone since leaving the Co-op.

On the far side of the village, I spotted a National Trust sign announcing my entry into Malham Cove, a well-known natural landscape famous for its rugged beauty. I could hear rushing water and feel the increasing wind, but in the darkness there was nothing to see.

A long, winding climb followed—and the ice was back. Great sheets of it stretched as far as I could see, so the spikes went back on. No messing about this time. The sense of moving into unknown, wild territory, combined with being completely alone, created a real feeling of trepidation. I trudged onwards and upwards, carefully climbing to avoid slipping.

After what felt like an age, the track levelled out onto a plateau around 400m above sea level and the monitoring point emerged from the darkness. I arrived at 9:30pm and was greeted by a team of volunteers. With no other runners there, it felt like having my own personal pit crew—drying my gloves and waterproofs, making tea, cooking my instant noodles and chatting like old friends.

I made full use of my allotted 30 minutes of dwell time. I felt relaxed—perhaps a little too relaxed—but soon found my groove again as I headed back out into the night.

Decision Time – To Sleep or Not to Sleep?

It was now 10pm on Sunday evening. I had been on my feet for 15 hours that day, having left Hebden Hey at 7am, plus 16 hours running on the first day. In total, I’d been moving for 31 of the previous 36 hours, with just 2.5 hours’ sleep.

Time was still on my side, but there were 25 miles to go and a decision to be made: do I sleep at all, or push through the night to the finish?

I didn’t feel the need to sleep as I left Malham Tarn, so I postponed the decision. I had started to experience mild hallucinations—nothing dramatic, but a clear reminder that sleep deprivation was setting in. I knew there was one more potential opportunity to sleep in Horton in Ribblesdale, around 93 miles into the race. There was no B&B or camper van—no bed at all—but at least it was down in the valley, where I could find a relatively sheltered spot to set up my bivvy if needed.

A course diversion had been put in place due to dangerous conditions higher up. The revised route was no shorter but avoided the sharp edges of Pen-y-Ghent, which were deemed too risky in icy conditions. The wind was really starting to pick up, but I wasn’t too concerned as I descended into Horton at 1:40am on Monday morning.

Suddenly, a wave of fatigue hit me. I questioned whether I needed to sleep or if I could realistically push through. Fifteen miles remained—another five or six hours on my feet. If I was going to sleep, the village was the safest and most sheltered place to do it.

Unable to think clearly, I stopped for a few minutes and sat on a bench outside a pub, closing my eyes to reset. After a short while, I realised I was okay and simply wanted to crack on and get the job done. At around 2am, I turned off the road and began the climb up the Cam High Road.

Sting in the Tail

I didn’t know what to expect from this final section of the race. In hindsight, that was probably a good thing.

The wind had continued to build and was nearing gale force. From the course profile, I knew the Cam High Road—a Roman road—was a long climb: around eight miles of continuous, gradual but punishing ascent on uneven, rocky, icy ground, eventually levelling out just under 600m before continuing for miles.

Stone walls lined the track, but the wind direction offered little to no shelter. As I gained altitude, the wind speed increased further. The buffeting was incredible. The wind was broadly behind me, which helped, but it came at roughly a 45-degree angle, and the strongest gusts almost blew me off my feet several times.

I was running on empty by this point, driven only by my determination to finish. Every step was difficult: deafening wind, uneven icy ground, bitter cold, and brutal wind chill. I struggled to maintain any real forward momentum. Turning back wasn’t an option—it would have meant retracing five miles back to the village, straight into the wind. Mentally, I was at my lowest ebb. At 3am, alone in the dark with the storm raging around me, my headtorch died.

You have got to be kidding me.

According to the manual, the battery should flash a low-battery warning at 20%, then again several times over the next 30 minutes. In the bitter cold, it gave one warning flash and then died completely. I hadn’t even had time to think about finding a sheltered spot to change it.

I was carrying two spare batteries, but in the gusty wind, swapping one over took far longer than it should have. My hands quickly grew cold as I crouched beside the trail, fumbling in the faint beam from my watch. Eventually, I got it changed and set off again, picking up the pace to warm my core.

By 5am, I had finished the climb, crossed the high ground and begun the descent. That’s when my second device failed—my watch died. Again, a low-battery warning was immediately followed by shutdown.

A dead watch might not sound serious, but it was my primary navigation tool, providing course confirmation and alerts if I strayed off route. Without it, finding the next turning in the dark—let alone navigating to the finish—would be extremely difficult, and I still had five miles to go.

I did have a backup GPS handheld, but it would take time to boot and load the route. Nobody wants to run 108 miles without proof so I was determined to get it back up and running. I found what little shelter I could, plugged the watch into my power bank, and tucked it inside my jacket to protect it from the cold. While I waited, I sipped from my bottles and took on a few calories.

In hindsight, it was clear that the extreme cold had caused the batteries to drain far faster than normal—showing just how severe the conditions were.

The Finish Line

After regrouping from a long and difficult night, I began the final descent into Hawes. It was muddy, slippery and boggy—but by then I didn’t care. I was so close.

Eventually, the mud gave way to firmer ground and the track led into the village. Shortly after 8am on Monday morning, Hawes emerged from the murky gloom. A few zig-zags across fields, a couple of alleys, and suddenly I was on the High Street with the finish line at the Market Hall in sight. At 8:09am I crossed the line, after 46 hours and 9 minutes. 108 miles covered on 2 hours 30 minutes of sleep.

Race Statistics

152 starters
82 finishers
54% completion rate
39th place

The Aftermath

With the job done, it was finally time to relax. I sat in the Market Hall for a good hour, happy to just be still. I managed to get some calories in and plenty to drink. Strangely, not feeling that tired at the time, I decided it was time to go. Spencer collected my drop bag and loaded it into his car. We had an Airbnb about ten miles away—a lovely farm cottage way off the beaten track. Once we made our way back to the cottage, the fatigue started to hit me hard. I had the most amazing hot bath and then, at around midday, decided it was time for a nap. My head hit the pillow and I was gone!

Four hours later, I was feeling a bit more human. Heading downstairs, I lit the log burner and chilled while Spencer cooked the perfect recovery meal—roast chicken with roast potatoes, stuffing, veg, and gravy. This went down very well. I highly recommend having a chef as support crew if at all possible!

I am so grateful to Spencer for his invaluable support on this and so many others of my adventures. The debt will be repaid one day, for sure. After dinner was the perfect opportunity to sit and chat in front of the dancing flames and swap tales of our respective exploits over the weekend. From what I hear, the treacherous conditions were certainly no easier when experienced in the car. Black ice, floods, blocked roads, and other cars losing control and blocking access roads… I’m pretty sure there’s an equally long blog post to be had covering what the race weekend looked like from his perspective! The conversation inevitably turned to what’s next and would you do one of the longer races? Anyone who knows me at all already knows the answer to that one!

My Winter Spine Challenger Journey: 108 Miles along the Pennine Way – Part One

02/02/202602/02/2026 / smilersteve / Leave a comment

Getting to the start line of my first “Spine” race

The Spine Race is one of those iconic races almost everyone has heard of, even beyond the running community. It’s notorious. The most brutal race in the UK, they say. Add the full force of the British winter in January and you have a real challenge on your hands.

The full Spine Race distance is 268 miles, covering the entire length of the Pennine Way, but other distances have been added to the series since the inaugural edition in 2012. These include the Challenger and Sprint options, the latter being a ‘mere’ 46 miles. My race, the Winter Spine Challenger South, covers the first 108 miles of the Pennine Way from Edale in the Peak District to Hawes in the Yorkshire Dales. That distance is more than enough to be challenging, especially given the vagaries of the weather at this time of year. North of Edale is not an area of the Peak District I know well, so I was looking forward to getting out onto new terrain and exploring some unfamiliar trails.

I’ve always been drawn to big challenges and, although I’ve run many long races since I started ultra-running in 2012 (more than 80 in fact), I’d never taken part in a Spine Series race before. A gap in my event calendar, combined with a serendipitous email offering a waiting-list place in November 2025 led me to the start line. Sometimes things just feel meant to be.

And so there I was, standing in Edale, lined up for a delayed start—pushed back by two hours as Storm Goretti dumped significant snowfall across large parts of the country, bringing widespread travel disruption. Such was the concern that all train services in the area were cancelled for the 24 hours preceding the race, forcing the organisers to delay the start to give runners more time to arrive.

My race-day preparations were more relaxed than some. I’d stayed locally at the YHA near Edale the night before and was being exceptionally well looked after by my good friend Spencer. His next-level chef skills and meticulous organisation set me up perfectly in terms of logistics and nutrition.

With no way of knowing exactly what conditions would be like—or how much rest I’d need over 108 miles with around 5,500 metres of climb—I set myself a rough target of between 45 and 48 hours. Whether I finished at the lower or upper end of that range, I knew there would be two long nights out on the hill. In January, there are fewer than seven hours of daylight, meaning around 17 hours of darkness to endure before the sun rises again.

The First Day – ‘Winter Wonderland’ (Start to 32 miles)

At just before 10am on Saturday 10 January 2026, 173 of us stood cold—and perhaps a little nervous—on the start line. After a brief set of pre-race announcements, we were off.

After a couple of flat miles out of Edale, we soon started to climb up Jacob’s Ladder onto the Kinder Plateau—the first real opportunity to assess the conditions. The climb itself wasn’t too bad, but once on top it was clear that significant snowfall had accumulated and we were in for a challenging day traversing the high plateau which was white in every direction as far as the eye could see.

The first pop-up checkpoint, run by a local Mountain Rescue team, came at around 15 miles. My planned time to this point was 4 hours 55 minutes. Arriving just after 3pm, I was close to plan and, importantly, relatively unscathed—nothing more than a few slips and a couple of falls, softened by the snow. After a brief stop, I pressed on.

I was cold, but that was expected. The temperature had barely risen above freezing all day and I’d been running in four or five layers for most of it. As darkness fell not long after 4pm, I was conscious that it would only get colder so I needed to keep moving. An overnight low of -8°C was forecast, so conserving body heat early on was vital.

Around seven miles later came the next unofficial checkpoint at the A635 crossing, accompanied by rumours of a snack van that might still be open. Arriving just after 6pm, I was relieved to see the hot food van still there. I thanked the team profusely for being out on such a bitterly cold evening while they heated up a sausage sandwich for me. It went down perfectly alongside a hot chocolate and a can of Coke.

Ten miles remained to Nicky’s Foodbar—another unofficial but well-established fixture on the route. A transport café housed inside a shipping container. Spencer was there waiting for me, keen to see how things were going, and we headed inside to find a table.

The air was thick with warmth and moisture, heavy with the aroma of burgers, chips, and frying oil—like a fast-food restaurant and a sauna sharing the same space. The guy serving told us to help ourselves to any chocolate we wanted—a generous gesture that perfectly captured the community spirit inspired by the Spine Races.

I spotted a crème egg and thought, yes please—that’s exactly what I want. Sadly, my excitement was short-lived. In the time it took to put my food down and return, another runner had taken the last one. Catastrophe!

Still, I was grateful to sit down and tucked into a cheeseburger and chips with a hot cup of tea. My second-choice confectionery was a Twix, which I took with me and ate on the trail. Even so, I couldn’t get crème eggs out of my head. I really, really wanted one—preferably several!

Into Darkness (32–46 miles)

I left Nicky’s at around 21:40, feeling warm and well fuelled after nearly 12 hours on the move. I made a conscious effort to maintain a decent pace to keep my heart rate up as I quickly cooled off and began shivering in the cold night air.

The mission was simple: cover the next 14 miles and reach the sanctuary of the mid-race indoor checkpoint before the weather deteriorated. It was already bitterly cold, but sleet and rain were forecast overnight. I was desperate to arrive dry; getting wet would mean getting colder and having to dry kit on top of everything else that needed doing.

After a slippery, winding descent into the valley, I reached Hebden Hey Scout Centre at around 2am—the (not quite) halfway point. The rain had held off, and I felt incredibly fortunate.

The maximum permitted dwell time there was eight hours, but my plan was to be out in under six. That allowed time for hot food, access to my drop bag, and a few hours’ sleep.

After warm chicken-and-rice broth followed by rice pudding, I sorted my kit—swapping headtorch batteries, refilling food bags, and topping up bottles. I was then shown to an 18-bed dormitory and an empty top bunk.

I settled down shortly after 3am and set an alarm for 6:30am, just in case. In reality, there was little risk of oversleeping. The reality of 18 exhausted, sweaty, restless men trying to sleep in the same room quickly became apparent. Inevitably, there was a snorer—possibly the loudest and most irritating I’ve ever encountered!

After half an hour of quiet irritation and failed attempts to fall asleep, I eventually drifted off. I woke slowly around 6am, having managed about two and a half hours’ sleep. Not wanting to fall back asleep, I stretched, moved around and quietly lowered myself down from the bunk, went downstairs to eat some breakfast, and then prepared to leave.

Once more unto the breach

Just before 7am, I stepped out into the pre-dawn drizzle and began climbing back up towards the Pennine Way. Along the climb I passed runners still making their way down towards the checkpoint, several hours behind me in the race, cold and wet, but all still within the 24-hour cut-off at 10am on Sunday.

I mentally reset as I moved forward along the Pennine Way. Clearing my head to go through it all again. At this point, there were still 62 miles to go, but that thought didn’t register at the time. My only aim was to stay present—to deal with each mile, each climb, each step as it came, without worrying about what lay ahead.

To be continued…

Please Support My 2026 Fundraiser

Running the Spine Challenger was never just about finishing a race for me. I choose these challenges because they test resilience, patience, and mindset—qualities that many people are forced to draw on every day through circumstances not of their choosing. Through my blog The Hard Way, I’m raising money for UK charities supporting people affected by homelessness and mental health challenges. Please support my 2026 fundraising if you can. I’d be hugely grateful for your support. Every donation helps turn hard miles into something that genuinely matters.
https://www.givewheel.com/fundraising/12076/the-hard-way_uk/

2024 Dragon’s Back Race Finisher

27/09/202402/02/2026 / smilersteve / Leave a comment

Thrilled to say that I am a 2024 Dragon’s Back Race Finisher! I covered the 240 mile route from Conwy to Cardiff in 81 hours and 55 minutes. It was truly the most epic and brutally relentless experience of my life. I got through on an average of less than 3 hours sleep per night over the five nights in camp. Thank you so much to all my supporters who’ve been there for me throughout the journey over the last few years. I’m going to write up my experience over the next few weeks so watch this space.

Ecotrail Madeira – covid edition

31/10/202002/02/2026 / smilersteve / 3 Comments

Time to race… at last!

A week ago I was running in a race, yes an actual race! My second trip to Madeira in as many years and now I’m home I want to share my thoughts on the race experience at Ecotrail Madeira and my time on the island.

Where to start? Such a beautiful island with some amazing trails. Nothing is flat here! There is plenty of elevation change to be had. Even in the capital Funchal you are basically either going up or down as soon as you get off the seafront itself. Madeira has some of the most incredibly steep roads in the world. As you wander inland a little you are greeted by paths, pavements and never-ending steps in every direction which seem to barely cling to the almost gravity-defying inclines.

I stayed in a top floor apartment with a lovely roof terrace, not far from the town centre and race start/finish. After a couple of days soaking up the atmosphere and exploring some of the island it was time to register and prepare for the off at 6am on Saturday morning. What lay before me was a tough course of 85km with over 5,600m of climb (and the same amount of descent).

The time limit on this course is 20 hours and some of you may know that I had a go at this race last year and was controversially ‘timed out’ along with ten others at a point that wasn’t even a cut off! A formal complaint to the organisation accompanied by copious pace tables, spreadsheets and sufficient indignation that I was well within the time limit and had every chance of finishing (had the cut offs been more evenly spread and applied correctly) did the trick and here I am back at the start again, ready for a second go, with a free place courtesy of Ecotrail. I am delighted to see that they have listened and made significant changes to the cut-offs in the mid part of the race. An extra hour and a half has been allowed at the next checkpoint from where I was stopped last year.

Déjà vu

6am comes and we’re off. Around 50 competitors in this race with four Brits amongst the line up so we took the opportunity to have a chat before the race, talking about other races we had done and what challenges the day would bring. We were sent off in groups of twenty, one minute apart, all wearing masks. Nothing is the same in the grip of the covid pandemic but life is going on with some notable changes.

About two hours of running before sunrise and plenty of climb almost immediately after the start line. By around 9am I arrive at the top cable car station at Monte for a quick water refill and a cup of coke before heading on a marked route winding through the beautiful botanical gardens before heading yet further uphill. Not long after and we’re off into the mountains proper. The next section involves running along a long stretch of the many levadas which criss-cross the slopes. Since the sixteenth century they have brought fresh water down from the mountains to the towns and they continue to do so today. Much of this race follows sections of the levadas. They provide an alternative viewpoint of the city and settlements, often emerging to find a new vista opening up to enjoy. Throughout this race water feels like my constant companion.

Get on with it

Determined not to fall foul of the new revised cut offs I decide to get a shimmy on and power hike up the steep, cobbled, stepped trails which flank the steep levadas high on the mountain. Arriving at Pico Do Arreiro, one of the highest points on the island, I refuel, taking some vegetable noodle broth from the checkpoint before emerging into the clear cool air at 1,818m above sea level. It’s around 8 degrees up high, but with a very light wind no more than a T-shirt is needed. The views are stunning and I stop for a second to take a few pictures before reminding myself that I am determined to be less of a tourist on this section than I was last time.

From memory I know that there is a particularly nasty section of steep, cobbled (almost) steps coming up. They are impossible to descend with total confidence. Too far apart to properly run and clear two at a time, but also too close to feel comfortable walking on. These go on for around a mile and a half of hell and I find some sort of lop-sided one step, two step rhythm which must have looked very strange had there been any onlookers at this point.

Conquering Bardo

I am reaching the point where I was stopped last year. Psychologically I really want to overcome the horrendously steep climb named Bardo (or Bastardo as I’ve decided to call it!) well ahead of where I was last year to give me a mental boost to power into the second half. It certainly hasn’t got any easier this year. Huffing and puffing, power hiking and occasional stops to catch my breath and eventually the terrain levels out. I check my watch at the top and am delighted to see that I am almost an hour ahead of my time last year.

Note to my Milton Keynes friends. I want to put this Bardo hill in context. We have a local hill we affectionately call Puke Hill, in fairness it is steep, approximately half a mile long and has 80m of climb. By comparison, Bardo has 600m of climb, is four times as steep as Puke Hill on average and is also considerably longer!

The technical, rocky descent on the other side doesn’t provide much relief but once all the elevation gained climbing Bardo (and more) is lost I’m happy to reach the Ribeiro Grande (half way-ish) checkpoint over an hour and a half inside cut-off.

Half way point

A ten minute stop for some sort of mince bolognese with rice concoction, a quick drop bag kit changeover and I’m off again. It feels very warm back down almost at sea level (300m) and I’m looking forward to gaining some altitude again to cool off. At least I was looking forward to it until I realise that the next climb of several hundred vertical metres is almost entirely concrete steps leading straight up the mountain side, crossing road after road and house after house, through the back alleys of the quieter side of town with houses that look precariously perched on the edges of some huge sheer drops. I’m getting a glimpse into a very different way of life than ours in the UK here, with green outside spaces, roof terraces aplenty and it feels a very laid back way of life, apart from the endless steps of course! I didn’t count them but there must have been well over a thousand on this climb alone. As the day draws on I am feeling pretty good still. Over half way and not that long until the longest climb of the day is done. Ribeiro Grande felt a lifetime away as I reached Terreiro Frexo up at 1500m several hours later. Even after the never-ending steps the trail climb that followed had been relentlessly steep and it took its toll on my energy levels. I was pleased to sit and be tended to at the checkpoint with a plate of trail food, juicy Madeira oranges and cake.

Magic on the trails

The next section ended up becoming a truly magical and memorable experience. I had buddied up with a Portuguese guy and we chatted as well we could with his limited English. I joked with him that his English was better than my Portuguese and we laughed together, sharing a camaradie which can only be experienced in moments of digging deep such as this. We pushed onwards and upwards, glad of the company to divert attention from the painful muscles as we approached the Pico Buxo checkpoint after around 59km. At the checkpoint he met his wife who provided him with some food and realising they had sandwiches spare she offered me a clingfilm wrapped homemade cheese and tomato sandwich. This was like manna from heaven and I can’t explain quite how much this picked me up. I almost cried and said that I would hug her if I was allowed. Sitting in a gazebo at 1600m with a sandwich and a cup of lemon tea I was truly happy and at peace with myself and this race. Tears in my eyes I said obrigado and headed off to purposefully march up a rare road section of climb towards the last peak of Pico Do Cedro. Already above the clouds in completely clear air and with incredible luck with the timing I found myself watching the sun set with deep golden orange and pink hues above a perfect blanket of cloud, save for the occasional rocky outcrop protruding through the cloud layer. I had almost been crying at the last checkpoint, now I was delirious with laughter and joy at this wondrous sight. Wow, wow, wow. THIS is why I run ultras. Moments like this are precious and this will live on in my memory for a long time.

What a difference an hour makes!

Back to the mission! This is not over yet. Still 23km, a quarter of the race and over 2,000m of punishing descent to cover. I knew I would make it in time, I had plenty of time in hand but as the sun’s colours began to fade I knew things would not get any easier from here on in. I readied my headtorch and prepared to enter a different world inside the thick layer of cloud where I would find myself for the next hour, descending through darkening shades of grey as night enveloped any remaining trace of day. Barely able to see two metres in front of my face I was pleased to have the comfort of the reflective course markers on the trail and a map of the route on my watch. This late in the race I really didn’t want to lose focus and go off course. That would be disastrous in the gloom. It is also easily done when you’re tired and your mind starts to play tricks. I had started to see the odd hallucination here and there, not surprising really after 14 hours non-stop.

Going down, down, down

After a while I arrived at the Estrela checkpoint and fancied cubes of cheese and some more beautiful juicy orange segments. A classic combination I joked with the volunteers!
Heading back down onto the steep cobbled streets I actually feel quite sad to be leaving the solitude of the mountains behind and can feel the air temperature rising, even at 10pm. My original target had been 18 hours but inevitably at some point during a long race your focus turns to just getting round instead and simply making it to the finish seems like the only possible goal. However, I can’t help but start to do some laboured pace calculations in my head though and wonder if it is still possible. Maybe, but it’s not a given. I’ve heard talk of the sting in the tail and a quick check of the elevation profile tells me I still have over 250m of climb to do even though I’m into the last four miles and already back down at sea level. The next two miles are along a deserted promenade at the bottom of a cliff with waves crashing against the breakwaters in a rather mesmerising way. It’s peaceful and I just want to keep my rhythm going now and keep moving at a pace greater than walking as much as I can. Run, walk, repeat keeps me going through this section as the remaining distance slowly decreases. Through a long tunnel in the cliff face, an unexpected diversion across a pebble beach with huge chunks of rock as big as your head and then… the sting appears!

The end is nigh

The route snakes inland for one final flourish of uphill, steps, a levada run and then a steep descent. It feels like a microcosm of the whole race has been squeezed into one mile and it reminds me of what I have just experienced over the course of the day! With a couple of miles to go I buddy up with one of the Brits who I have been chatting to and to-ing and fro-ing with during the race. We have about two miles to go and around 25 minutes to get in under 18 hours. That’s possible, surely, as long as there are no more surprises. Wait, what’s this? Gentle descent as far as the eye can see! Woohoo. Wasn’t expecting that! We chat as we run and decide we’ll cross the line together, neither of us wanting to expend any additional effort in a pointless folly to outsprint the other after all this time. This is about the experience, placing and rank don’t matter at all. We’re already doing faster than a ten minute mile and that feels plenty fast enough after 50+ miles of this relentless terrain. Into the final mile and we stretch ourselves further to do a 9 minute mile until finally the finish line is in sight. There it is, 17h52m41. Crossing the line I am greeted with a medal and my name called out over the PA system which is still blasting out dance music in the central square even though it is nearly midnight! Elated, I sit for a while and contemplate what a day it has been as I completed my 44th ultra. All that remains is to trudge back to my accommodation, get clean, eat and relax. There is just the small matter of three flights of stairs to reach the rooftop apartment. Whose idea was that?!

UTMB, the story of my 2018 race

08/09/201802/02/2026 / smilersteve / 4 Comments

Back at the beginning

The UTMB is the one race that has been on my mind for a very long time. Six years in fact. 2012 was when I first heard about this incredible run around the entire massif of Mont Blanc, starting and finishing in Chamonix. I can’t really begin to explain how much it means to me in a way that adequately explains the effect it has had on me except perhaps to say that it has almost become who I am, my primary purpose. This one race has defined me and been my ‘A’ goal for six long years.
2012 was the year I saw my very first YouTube video about UTMB. I knew instantly that I wanted to do it. I was a million miles away from being capable then but watching that video for the first time became a pivotal moment for me. Later in 2012 I raced my first ultra with the simple aim of achieving enough UTMB (ITRA) points to qualify for one of the races. My ultra journey had begun.

UTMB race route – anti-clockwise loop of the Mont Blanc massif

Previous UTMB races run

Like many, my UTMB journey has not been a smooth one and the sheer numbers of people wanting to take part in the races as they have grown since humble beginnings in 2003 (history of UTMB link here) meant that a ballot system and then later, in addition, a points system have had to be introduced to manage demand. So far I have, more or less, been successful on each second attempt to be selected to race.
My first race experience of running a UTMB event was in 2014 when despite not being successful in the CCC draw I was offered a place in the TDS, a chance I jumped at. I wrote a blog about my TDS race experience (link here). The TDS was a phenomenal experience and only increased my desire to complete the full UTMB.
In 2016 I was successful in the ballot and secured a place on the start line of the UTMB. The hot year as it became known was a gruelling test in temperatures up to 35 degrees and sadly I (along with 44% of other starters) didn’t finish the race. After such a long time preparing and having felt ready for the challenge I can only describe the sense of failure as crushing. I cried as I left Chamonix that year and it took me weeks to recover from the sense that I had let myself and everyone else who had supported me down badly. I never did write a blog about that race as it was too painful. I did, however make lots of notes and resolved to use every single learning as a base to get that coveted finisher’s jacket. Several people asked me questions along the lines of ‘surely that’s it?’ and ‘you’re not going back are you?’. Never for a moment did I consider allowing that to be the end of the journey.

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After an unsuccessful ballot in 2017, fast forward to January 2018 when an email arrives and a little box on my personal space on the UTMB website changes to green – successful – pre-registered for the UTMB 2018, I’m in!!!

Training

Mountain ultras are about one thing, CLIMB! Hang on… two things, CLIMB and DESCENT. Oh and don’t forget running through the night… and nutrition… and hydration. Ok, so success in a mountain ultra is dependent on a LOT of things all coming together. By no means exhaustive but here are some of the factors.

Climb speed
Descent speed
Flat pace
Maintaining energy levels (Nutrition strategy)
Staying hydrated (Hydration strategy)
Electrolyte balance
Other body factors
Managing stomach issues
Staying alert/managing sleep deprivation (especially when running all night)
Mental strength
Autonomy/confidence to deal with issues – weather, stomach, dehydration etc.

Some of the learnings I had taken on board from 2016 meant that I was able to devise a suitably challenging training programme which pushed me physically while gaining confidence mentally that I could complete the race. Without going into too much detail my 2018 training plan involved three phases:

Speed
Climb
Specificity

In practice, the speed phase was short and phases 2 and 3 overlapped as both involved training through ultra races and essentially building the climb to around 10,000m per month which I held for three months before dropping back in August.
Other aspects I chose to focus on included studying the theory of performance in ultras and also taking preparation seriously. Several months out I began to read a number of books on preparation for races including the Ultra Mindset and a book I had to order from a publisher in France specifically relating to succeeding in the UTMB. This was an expensive purchase but extremely valuable in the lead-up to the race.
I arrived in Chamonix confident that I had prepared the best I could have done around the usual personal commitments of a demanding job and children.

UTMB 2018 route preview

Race week

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One of the things I did differently this time was to focus on my wellbeing in the weeks before the race. The aim was to start with fully charged batteries, preferably with a zero sleep deficit and very well rested. In practice this meant that I didn’t set an alarm for the whole of August and tried to go to bed early whenever possible. Once in Chamonix the week before the race I tried to have an afternoon nap every day if possible.
Other than a couple of hikes up to 2,500m and higher to acclimatise it was a very relaxing week. Very fortunate to have my (now-ex) girlfriend as support crew before and during the race I was able to get to race day feeling relatively relaxed.

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The weather forecasts throughout the week had been changeable but on the whole fairly benign until the morning of the race when an ominous message arrived – UTMB BAD WEATHER. This was the first sign that it may not be plain sailing.
UTMB: North wind, cold nights, feels like 0C
This was followed up by an even more pessimistic view just after 1pm on race day.
UTMB Weather deterioration: bad weather until Saturday afternoon, very cold, windy, feels like -10C. Cold weather kit essential.
UTMB starts at 6:00pm so race day always involves a restless few hours wondering what to do with yourself. I had a lazy start, an early lunch of pasta, fruit and plenty to drink to remain hydrated. With my previous experience of the excitement and emotion of the UTMB start line I knew it would be best to get to the famous square a couple of hours early. It already looked as if the weather gods were feeling playful this year so we sheltered in the porch of the church to avoid the intermittent showers which were sweeping the Chamonix valley.

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By around 5.00pm the numbers in the square were swelling to the point where moving would soon become difficult so I chose that moment to secure the position I wanted to start from. I wasn’t so worried about being near the front, more like just not right at the back! By 5.30pm the square was completely jam-packed and the start line festivities soon began. The last half hour before the start was a very emotionally charged time, many athletes I’m sure thinking similar thoughts about how the race would go and a few last minute self-doubts creeping in. When the first bars of Conquest of Paradise began to ring out a few minutes before six there was a huge cheer and I, along with many others, had tears rolling down our cheeks as we knew we were moments away from one of the biggest occasions of our lives. Timed to perfection with the crescendo of the music and it’s Go Go Go for UTMB 2018!

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The race in detail

Start to Les Contamines

Shuffling through a drizzly square with 2,500 other runners may not seem like the most auspicious start but the atmosphere was incredible. After a few minutes we were able to lengthen our stride and start to jog through the packed streets of Chamonix. The crowd were in a wild frenzy, cheering and whooping as stream after stream of runners passed them by. After a couple of miles the course becomes a forest trail and still there were thousands of spectators all the way to Les Houches. One of my clear aims before the start was not to go off too quickly and keep to a jog. There’s nothing to be gained to go anaerobic in the first few miles of a 106 mile race. After a couple of miles I looked down at my watch and saw 160 bpm for 12 min/mile pace. WTF? The excitement of the start was enough on its own to elevate my heart rate so I decided to ignore heart rate and just focus on keeping a steady pace. I was dying to get into the first climb, number 1 of the 10 major climbs, totalling just over 10,000m of positive elevation change over the 106.5 mile route. After all, this is a mountain race, not a road race. After the first 5 mile downhill stretch to Les Houches came the climb to Le Delevret, an 800m up and over, then down to St Gervais on the other side. After St Gervais came another 600m climb before dropping back into the first major checkpoint at Les Contamines (19.4 miles, 1,581m climb done). Still the streets were lined with increasingly excited spectators. (It is around 11.00pm on a Friday evening by this time remember!).

Les Contamines to Courmayeur

Soon after Les Contamines comes Notre Dame de la Gorge which signals the start of the first long mountain climb of the race, a 1,300m climb over around 6 miles of rocky, uneven surface ascending into the dark night. At last, it felt like I was into the race proper and a welcome sense of solitude settled me into the rhythm of the cold, misty night. The crowds left behind, finally it was game on!
I launched into the climb, remembering how much I had enjoyed this section last time. It was very cold on top but once over the Col du Bonhomme the long descent into the checkpoint at Les Chapieux felt more sheltered. Arriving at 3:55am I felt pretty good and refuelled with some noodle broth before continuing. Focussed on getting to Courmayeur quicker than last time I didn’t want to linger too long in the warm marquee. After Les Chapieux comes the very long climb to the Col de la Seigne and the border with Italy. The rain had stopped but the wind had definitely picked up and it was important to keep moving on this section, up and over into the waiting morning. I arrived at 6:33am in the pre-dawn murk and remember thinking that it had been daylight last time when I was there. I pushed on and refuelled at the next checkpoint at Lac Combal, remembering that the section to Courmayeur is very tough with some steep climbs and some particularly unpleasant steep, rooty zig-zags dropping quickly into the town.

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This is where the enormity of the task as a whole and in particular how much further I had to go hit me. I cried as I descended, knowing I had to go up again… and again, over and over for more than another 24 hours. How on earth could I do it? Was I about to fail again with my whole world watching? This is what you came for! Man up! Get on with it. Just checkpoint to checkpoint. Forget everything else. I summoned some positivity up from somewhere, remembering my DNF in 2016 and carried on, putting all my negativity into a metaphorical box with a lid on it. It wasn’t even 9.00am on Saturday and at best I hoped to finish late morning on Sunday!

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Back to the task at hand. Reach Courmayeur. My main aim for the first half of the race had been to get to Courmayeur feeling fresh! Yes I know it sounds odd, run 50 miles including an entire night and 4,600m of climb and expect to still feel fresh but I can’t stress enough how much of a mental game this race is. Courmayeur is where things had really started to fall apart in 2016. I arrived later than planned then spent an hour in the checkpoint, destroyed by the 35 degree heat. Determined not to let that happen this time I was pleased to arrive an hour and a half earlier and feeling a lot better too. Fresh might be pushing it but I felt alive and ready to push on. Less than 20 minutes later (which is not bad given the general carnage at the checkpoint with hundreds of runners and their support crews milling around!) I was on my way with a bowl of pasta in my hand, picking at it with my fingers to save time wasted sitting down. With my girlfriend crewing I was also able to leave with freshly massaged and re-vaselined feet and ready for the next section of the course. I was scolded for not eating enough of my food in the previous section and set off around 11:10am muttering about how nice it would be to have a sausage roll, not all this nasty stuff that I had packed which I now couldn’t face!

Courmayeur to Champex-Lac

Half way round? – almost. 50 of 106 miles done. The home straight? Maybe not, but at least I was starting on a section that I knew well, having run some of it previously and also completed a recce run four weeks before the race. A tough, dusty 800m climb to Refuge Bertone is followed by a lovely undulating traverse to Refuge Bonatti. I was feeling pretty good and quite warm at this point. The weather warning had said bad weather until Saturday afternoon so maybe we were through the worst and would be treated to a nice calm night. Quite a lot of cloud was building by this point but nothing that was causing any major concern. Some steep zig-zags later and I was down in the relative calm of the Arnouvaz checkpoint. It was 3.30pm, a full 3 hours before I had arrived and been timed out last time. Some nutrition on board and I was ready to go only to face a queue to leave the checkpoint. Strange! It turned out that the forecast had deteriorated further and the temperature was reported to be -10C with severe windchill and persistent rain on top of Grand Col Ferret. All runners were being required to put on waterproof trousers, coat and hat before they were allowed to leave. This is the first time I have experienced that! Once through, the 2 hour climb up to the summit at 2,529m could commence. After a slow slog the wind speed was increasing and it was a biting cold wind. Rain started to fall, although not heavy it was driven by the strong wind and felt like needles as it hit the small amount of skin left exposed by my combination of layers, windproof, waterproof, both with hoods and a buff across my face for good measure. In truth, it was cold and wet but nothing us brits aren’t used to, particularly if you have spent a reasonable amount of time on mountains in Wales or Scotland so it didn’t bother me as much as some others. Soon I reached the Col, crossing over a literal and mental watershed as I arrived in Switzerland. I hadn’t made it this far last time and that climb had haunted me. It was 5.25pm and I had covered 63 miles with around 6,600m of climb in 23.5 hours. Just over 43 miles to go and 23 hours to do it in. Just the small matter of another 3,100m of climb and the fact that I had already been awake for 34 hours and faced an entire second night of running to reach the finish line. I started to run-walk and tried to conserve energy as I was struggling to deal with the thought of having to eat anything. Nothing in my meticulously prepared food pack (number 2, Courmayeur to Champex) seemed remotely appealing at that time and I was surviving on noodle broth, salty crackers and a couple of bits of cheese.
Content that I was at least now into the second half of the race I decided that my strategy should be to pull out a gradual increase in my time ahead of cut offs. In Courmayeur I had been two hours ahead of cut-off. I reached La Fouly at 7.50pm with a cut-off of 10.30pm. Around 2.5 hours ahead, excellent. Unfortunately I was having my first real low point in the race and was feeling pretty crappy. Time to think carefully! I had planned a clear sleep management strategy and various methods to stave off the need to sleep which would eventually win of course. It was just a matter of when. In my armoury I had coffee from the checkpoints, gels with caffeine in and a couple of 150mg caffeine shots which I had planned to take along with a large dose of sugar for a quick boost. The final item in my armoury was the mythical micro-nap – a sleep of 10-20 minutes which can unbelievably make you feel like you have slept all night and really perk you up. I had used micro naps in the past so know they can work well. I had to consider carefully which tactic to use as to get it wrong now could be disastrous with so far still to go. I decided to push on to Champex-Lac asap where I knew a warm meal awaited and my girlfriend could also sort me out and apply common sense if I was wobbly. I sent her a message to tell her how I was and signal my intent to crack on. As I left La Fouly I felt a chill and stopped soon after to layer up. I didn’t need to get cold on top of everything else.
As darkness fell I began to hallucinate. I have had hallucinations in long races before but these were something else, quite spectacular and detailed. There are too many to name but a couple of my highlights were a giant teapot the size of a car and an old lady bending over a flower pot. I know!! I didn’t choose what to see, they just happened!
Champex-Lac took a long time to appear and the climb to the village, half way up a mountain took longer than expected. I popped out of the woods and into the arrival area at 11.30pm where my girlfriend greeted me with a very welcome surprise. Somehow, after I had last seen her in Italy, she had gone back to France, found a sausage roll in Chamonix and taken it with her in the support bus across the border to meet me in Switzerland. OMG, it tasted like heaven and I wolfed it down in a couple of minutes while my intact but sore feet were attended to. After some more broth and cups of coke I assured her I was good to go. Apparently I was more or less coherent and that is more than could be said of a lot of others in the checkpoint. One more checkpoint and maybe I’ll have a micro-nap.

Champex-Lac to Trient

Here we go. Into the second night of running proper. Champex-Lac to Trient via Plan de L’Au and La Giete, followed by Trient back round to Chamonix. It’s a little before midnight. 28 miles and 2,700m of climb to go. 16.5 hours to complete before final cut-off. Feeling a bit more lively I attempted a determined trudge for a first few minutes to allow the food to settle. The next section involves a long climb up to La Giete before a steep, seemingly never-ending descent into Trient. This is where my mind started to play tricks on me. I felt sure that the next checkpoint was only 3km from the last but as I climbed higher I was sure that I had covered more than that. The route card said Plan de L’Au at 1,515m. I was already approaching 1,800m. Surely I hadn’t missed it? What would happen? Would I be disqualified? I seriously thought about turning back but even in my sleep-deprived state I realised it was madness and I’d never make up the lost time. Convinced there was an error on the card I continued to the next flat section on top where I told myself that Plan de L’Au would be found. In fact, I was at Bovine. I hadn’t gone wrong, there had been a sign at the side of the trail way back, but the checkpoint was either unmanned because of an incident elsewhere or the guy was asleep in his car. Either way I had wasted valuable energy worrying about checkpoints and disqualification rather than focussing 100% on the mission so my climb had been slow. After another hour or so I arrived at La Giete and was very pleased when the handheld scanner turned green when my chip was scanned. Relief! 2.35am and a big descent to cover into Trient.
The hallucinations were becoming truly spectacular and quite unlike anything I had seen before. Rather than worry about what I was doing to myself though I decided to embrace the night and go with it. The hallucinations were intriguing me and I wondered how exactly they were being concocted in my brain. Clown faces, giant Mount Rushmore-type heads and ghostly apparitions like witches appeared in the darkness in front of me. Things were getting strange and as I looked down at my footing to avoid tripping over roots and rocks I saw letters, words and hieroglyphics appearing on the rocks and roots. Woah! This continued for hours. The letters were so clear and I was loving this first-person video game that only I was playing. Alone on a remote mountainside, somehow this experience energised me and I felt a renewed sense of purpose as I realised what lengths I was going to in order to achieve my goal. It’s amazing what the human brain can do when pushed. Just one more checkpoint and maybe I’ll have a micro-nap!

Trient to Vallorcine

I reached Trient around 4.30am and had the now customary foot treatment of a massage and re-application of Vaseline. I had read a statistic before the race that 94% of runners who reach Trient complete the race so I had been using this to push myself on all night. Now I had reached Trient I reasoned that there was no point sleeping. It would be light soon anyway and I craved the energy rush brought by sunrise. I have felt this many times in the past but never the absolute elation and truly surreal experience of the second dawn without sleep. I really wanted to experience this, to harness its effect so I subconsciously resolved to push on – I could always sleep at Vallorcine if I really bonked. With an 8.00am cut-off at Trient I was now almost 3.5 hours ahead and had a little time in hand. I just didn’t feel the need to squander this by sleeping. At this late stage I think the deep determination I had found to finish meant that I really wanted to push through. Let’s do this!
The climb out of Trient was horrible. Exceptionally steep zig-zags that seemed to go on for ever. My memory of this section is loose and all I can really remember is the relief of reaching the top as night slowly gave way to a cloudy dawn as I battled on. The descent in the grey morning was as painful as the climb. Although I had no major issues with muscles I was generally sore all over and my right knee/hamstring area was getting a little more painful than I would have liked. I trudged on and seemed to take ages on the steep, rocky descent of a ski run as countless others passed me. At this point I didn’t care. I just needed to finish. Just one more checkpoint then I might sleep – oh hang on, the tricks have worked. It’s daylight and the last thing I want to do is sleep. Let’s finish this. Courage! Allez allez!

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Vallorcine to the Finish

Determined to ride the wave of energy found by the increasing daylight I was through Vallorcine in around 5 minutes. It was 7.55am and I had a mere 12 miles and 1,000m of climb between me and the crowded square in Chamonix where the finishers do their victory lap. So near. So let’s get on with it! 8.5 hours to cut off.

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After Vallorcine there is a gentle uphill for a couple of miles before crossing the main road at Col de Montets to take on a re-routed (and more technical) section to La Flegere following a recent serious rockfall on the usual route. Pushing forward in a semi-dazed state I’m almost right next to my friend Stephen before I realise it is him waiting for me to cheer me on. I walked with him for a while before we got nearer to the road and I realise that Margot is there too – and Paul. They both look close to tears as they hug me and wish me well.

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I stop to chat for a minute before pushing on across the road onto the climb/descent/long climb to La Flegere. Still almost 1,000m of climb and 1,000m of descent to tackle but it’s ok – I’m going to make it! I take it very steady on the rooty, rocky descent through the trees, not wanting to turn an ankle now. As the penultimate descent eventually becomes the final long climb I realise that I am experiencing another first. The hallucinations have continued into the daylight hours. Now though, the hallucinations are more mission-at-hand related. I see cable cars and pylons forming out of the shapes of the tree branches. I know I am climbing all the way up to the La Flegere cable car station and my brain wants me to think I’m nearly there. This continues for the next hour or so up the climb and end goal-related visions repeatedly appear only to fade away in the trees as I get nearer. A cable car station, a chalet, a pylon and cables. Eventually I emerge out of the trees and face the final 200m climb up the out of season ski slope to the very top and the final checkpoint. Relieved this section is finally done I barely stop after being scanned into the checkpoint. It’s 11:20am. 5 miles and 900m of descent to go. I’ve got this! A tiring descent ensues and finally I reach the chalet at La Floria where the steep descent becomes a jeep-track, so a little easier at least. Groups of runners, walkers, spectators and bemused onlookers pass in a blur of colours and noises. Allez allez, go Steve, well done, courage, super, bravo. Blur, noise, blur, noise. At last I can see houses. Chamonix is in front of me. A river crossing, a temporary bridge over a road, the sports centre, barriers, people. Stephen meets me again and follows me, videoing my progress through the streets. One more bridge over the Place du Mont Blanc, 48 steps up, 48 steps down and I’m into the final half a mile.

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I’m welling up, the cheers are merging into a wall of noise. The streets are packed. The crowd are all clapping and cheering. The music is playing. Conquest of Paradise! (I’m fighting back tears as I write this). The final corner, 100m to go. I cross the line. I’ve made it. I am a UTMB finisher! After a few seconds I’m greeted by my girlfriend, Paul, Stephen and Margot. I collapse in a heap crying, sobbing with joy and others around me are in tears too.

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Thoughts afterwards

A week later and there is so much positive to take away from this race experience. My long-term goal has been achieved and I’m over the moon.

My favourite Youtube video of the 2018 races
Recovery has gone well and I have no major issues to deal with. Not a single blister to show for it and maybe just some tired legs to look after for a few weeks. I have been asked if I would run it again! Let me think about that some more but for now it is a maybe! I’m sure I’ll want to do the CCC next and finish all the races at least once so that will keep me going.

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What’s next? Well, there are certainly plenty of other races that take my fancy. I’ve now run 34 ultras and my goal of running 50 before I’m 50 is well and truly alive. For now, rest and recovery. The swimming pool and jacuzzi are calling.