2022 Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc

I've been registering for the UTMB 100 every year since 2015. I was selected in 2018 but went into it under the weather and DNF'd around the halfway point. I threw my name into the hat in 2022, fully expecting to not get in (in fact, I'd already gone ahead and registered for the 2022 Hellbender 100) but I was (un?)lucky in the draw, as they say, and my name was called. The first thing I did, after deciding to accept the invitation was to book a place in Chamonix. The rest of the reservations, tickets, traveling companions, etc... could be decided later. We found a nice place close to the start that had two bedrooms, knowing that we'd have someone else coming with us--whomever it might be.

I'll skip over the next six or so months and just summarize it to say that we ended up traveling with a couple of non-trail runners--David and Susan--which was fine, but I wasn't sure how they'd like that part of the trip. Would they be bored? We'd planned a few days in Florence, Italy before the race and a couple days in Geneva afterwards, but it's a long ways to go to have 30-40% of your vacation be tied up with race-related stuff. I wasn't really worried about their ability to "crew" me during the race as there's only so much the crew can do. Continuing forward from aid station to aid station was ultimately up to me. And, at best, they could only meet me a few times, anyway. I was surprised at how much David got into the event, watching the live coverage and some of the PTL finishers as they came in and then (according to Leslie and Susan, closely following the progress of the race and watching people who finished before me.

My training plans were well intentioned, but not truly realized. I had some longish runs, did fifty miles of the Hellbender 100 before dropping, then did 106 miles at the Black Mountain Monster 24-hour--write-up still in progress. That BMM race was in early June. After that, my training slacked off and with one exception of a run up Snooks Nose and Mount Mitchell and back, I didn't do the kind of uphills and downhills that would truly prepare me for a 100+ miler with about 66,000' of elevation change.

Learning a lesson from 2018, we had no real group tours before the race, though that doesn't mean we weren't in crowds. There were museums, etc... in Florence that were pretty crowded while we were there. That said, we all arrived in Chamonix virus-free late Wednesday.

One thing I didn't know about in 2018 that I made sure we did in 2022 was the Aiguille du Midi. It's a cable-car ride (two, actually) to a 12,500' peak close to Mont Blanc. It offers stunning views of the Alps and some of the valleys below. We booked that excursion for Thursday, just after lunch and had it cost me participating in the race, it would have totally been worth it. It was a funny experience. The cable cars climbed roughly 9,000' in just a few minutes. I didn't notice any elevation effects when we arrived and continued to not feel it for the next 45 or so minutes. But, as our time there continued, I did feel a little like I was on a boat for a bit. That would pass shortly, but it did show that the quick trip up didn't allow for acclimatization. Fortunately, the UTMB course peaks at somewhere around 8500' and even then, you're only there for a short time. There are five peaks on the course over 8000', all in roughly the first 63 miles of the race.

Bib pickup was much, much faster this year than in 2018. I elected to get mine during the 10-Noon window on Friday instead of on Thursday as I did last time. That may or may not have made some difference, but I think the biggest difference was they did not pre-check my gear to be sure I had everything. I was in and out in probably five minutes at most. There's not a lot of swag given out at packet pickup, but they do have some vendors giving out free stuff at the expo.

This is as good a point as any to mention that the expo seemed noticeably larger than in 2018. The primary increase seemed to be in the number of other races represented, all part of the UTMB World Series events that have sprung up. There is some sort of partnership between UTMB and the Ironman Group that proposes to benefit everyone, but its not without its critics. My quick take is that they are trying to make trail running more of a globally recognized sport and less of a fringe activity and make the UTMB 100 (in 2023) the world championships. Some would prefer they left it as is.

Back to the race. I was successful this year in taking a bit of a nap before the race start. Nothing major, but a couple hours of shut-eye and a couple hours of just relaxing and reading (I brought Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth with me for this trip, figuring the French connection was appropriate. We headed to the race start about 5:00 and I sent Leslie, David, and Susan on down the course so they could get a decent spot to watch everyone go by. I feel like that even though I got there earlier this year, I was still about as far back from the front as in 2018. It was pretty much shoulder to shoulder as everyone waited for the 6:00 p.m. start. Some of the warm bodies in this mob belonged to friends and families of runners. The problem with this was when they attempted to leave it was nearly impossible to move to let them through. That's one rule that could be improved. No family and friends in the runner start area.

Soon, all the talk was over and the countdown began. I'm sure that when the clock reached zero, there was a mad dash at the front of the pack, but there was no movement where I stood for a good 15-30 seconds.  When we did start moving, it was a slow walk and people had to be mindful that there were a few short sets of steps here and there between us and the starting arch. It would remain very much shoulder-to-shoulder for the first mile or so. There really wasn't any reason to pass unless someone was just significantly slower and you didn't want to trample them. Just when I figured I would not see Leslie, David, and Susan, I caught a glimpse of David on the left, probably not far from where Leslie and Paul had stood in 2018. Leslie was there. I didn't see Susan, but she was most likely there as well. I almost lost one of my trekking poles trying to reach out and tap Leslie to get her attention.

Early on, the race felt very much like 2018 with the same bottlenecks at certain points and a general mass of people on a fairly narrow road. This was roughly 2600 people, so I can't imagine what the start at something like the Boston or New York Marathon would be like. 

The picture on the left is as we ascended what I think was a road/trail to a ski slope. It started at roughly mile 5.5 and climbed about 2500' in 3.5 miles. We'd have a rapid downhill on the other side to Saint Gervais, the lowest point on the entire course, elevation-wise, at about 2700'.

I don't know how the climbs on the UTMB course are ranked, but the one after Saint Gervais has to be one of the toughest. While you're still relatively fresh, the climb takes place after sunset, so you can only see a string of headlamps ahead of and behind you, winding into the distance. I actually did better here than on any other stretch of the course. The section from Saint Gervais to Refuge de la Croix Bonhomme is roughly 15 miles and climbs about a mile in elevation. While there are statistically much harder climbs in our area, this one just keeps going, with little-to-no downhill. That said, I moved up almost 500 spots during this stretch, though other than hiking well, I can't say I remember why. I would lose quite a few spots on my way down the other side, as we dropped almost 3000' in the next three miles. Roughly 100 people passed me in that span that took me about forty minutes.

The aid stations were every bit as packed as I recall from 2018. It's especially tricky to navigate with a pack on because everyone--myself included--forgets they have a large protuberance on their back. I seemed to be one of the few people using a bladder rather than bottles. I'll probably never know if that was a good decision. I had the safety net of an additional 17 or so ounces of water/Tailwind, but it was bulkier, harder to refill, and as many point out, it's hard to know when you're about empty. I'm not sure the weight was ever an issue, though just as in 2018, I saw some people whose packs looked like there was no way they were carrying all the required gear.

So now I am at roughly the 50K point and it's taken me almost eight hours. While that's not a great 50K time, if it was a pace I could hold, it would lead to a good finishing time, though that was an unrealistic possibility and would be way under my thirty-six hour goal that I'd already begun rethinking as too ambitious for my training before the race.

I had thought about carrying a profile map and possibly an aid station chart but I never got around to making one. So, even though I'd been here before, remembering what lay ahead was difficult. The stretch between here (Les Chapieux) and Courmayeur started with a pretty good climb, followed by some relatively short drops and climbs. It was along this first climb, that I heard someone speaking English and talking about training on a 6600' mountain as it was the tallest thing they had available. They were slightly behind me so I held up and said that they must be from North Carolina. He was actually from Greenville, SC, but I was correct that he had been training on Mount Mitchell--something I'd intended to do but only managed to do one run/hike there, besides Hellbender. We stayed together for a bit but I lost track of him somewhere in the night, whether at an aid station or just along the trail, I'm not sure.

I really had no sense of what mile I was on during the race, only remembering that Courmayeur was around mile 50 and remembering a few spots along the way. Lac Combal, at mile 42 was one spot I remembered because I reached it a little after sunrise in 2018. This year, I was about 30 minutes ahead of my 2018 pace as I descended towards the Lake. The other reason it was memorable in 2018 was because it was the point I first began to realize I probably wouldn't finish. I spent more time at the aid station this year, but still found myself walking out the flat stretch of road that was extremely runnable and went for about a mile. I'm still not sure why I walked it this year other than perhaps I was banged up from the descent.

The climb after Lac Combal was very familiar. I knew it was a tough one and knew exactly where I had sat down in 2018, knowing Courmayeur would be the end of my race that year. I actually did sit down in that spot this year, but it was partly to adjust my shoes and partly because I was in a slightly extended version of the mile 30-40 zone that always gives me trouble. The sun was up, so I was getting some solar energy, but I was still in a bit of a low mentally and physically.

I took a break at the top of the climb, the Arete du Mont Favre checkpoint and got passed by quite a few people. I honestly didn't feel any better here than I remember feeling in 2018. I actually laid down for a few minutes and just rested. I was likely dehydrated and with the sun coming up and not a lot of tree coverage, I'd need to be sure to drink plenty over the next twelve or so hours. Once back on my feet, I found that I was still walking a lot, even on the flat stuff. I don't think it fully registered with me that I probably should be running since there was a bit of a manageable downhill. After a couple miles, someone behind me was shouting. I turned around and saw a cow heading down towards the trail, slightly above me on the hill. I kept going and it got onto the trail a little ways ahead of me--and started jogging down the trail. Ultimately, it created a bit of a traffic jam as people were hesitant to go around the cow (though I seriously doubt it would have done anything.) The cow led us down to the next checkpoint, Chercrouit - Maison Vieille, where it wandered off to join a nearby herd.

I paused here for a bit also, taking off my long sleeve Smartwool shirt and putting on my extra TRU short-sleeve shirt as the one I'd started the race in and removed after sunset was pretty nasty. I honestly don't recall if I ran this next section but I certainly should have since it was a gravel road. I had dropped from #981 to #1056 between the last two checkpoints, but would gain a few spots to #1025 when I reached Courmayeur. That could have been from people staying longer than me at the last checkpoint, but I feel like I did run some of this and pass a few people. The back roads section of Courmayeur was longer and more winding than I recalled but eventually I reached the area with the drop bags, an offering I did not take advantage of this year since I had my crew there.

Courmayer was a longer-than-expected stop. I was in the aid station (a huge indoor area that covered the equivalent of several basketball courts) for over thirty minutes. The sad thing is that I don't know that I really did anything in there except swap out a little clothing. David came into the aid station area with me--I'm not sure if he wanted to or Leslie didn't. He seemed to enjoy the atmosphere of racers in various states of decay. I ate a little bit of something, but really not much. I think I knew I'd not been taking in enough and that it would come back to bite me later. Since I had dropped here in 2018, leaving the aid station was a little weird. It was uncharted territory and I really knew very little of what to expect. Had I been a better planner, I'd have asked two friends who had done the CCC race that uses this section of the Trail, but here I was, just following the people in front of me and hoping it would all work out. I did know that a big climb lay ahead of me, though.

We went through more of the city than I expected and since there weren't a ton of people around me, we did a lot of marker-spotting for each other. Sometimes it felt like we were going through back alleys and randomly chosen roads, but eventually we made our way onto the trails. The climb from Courmayeur was 2600' in four miles and would take us to Refuge Bertone. I feel like I moved steadily, but not necessarily fast--nine people passed me. My watch says it took me 1:45 to cover these four miles. Despite a long stay at the prior aid station, I found myself taking a longer than expected break here as well. I sat down and drank quite a bit. A race official came to check on me. I guess I didn't look great but I felt ok, just dehydrated. The sun was on us for much of the climb and it was shaping up to be a warm day--at the lower altitudes anyway.

The next section was supposed to be some of the flattest trail on the course, and I'd probably agree that it was, but by now, whether due to dehydration, the rough downhills from earlier in the race, or a combination of both, my thighs were both painfully stiff. I couldn't run and even walking downhill was difficult. I probably should have pushed myself through the pain to run the stiffness out, but I just elected to walk. I think in the back of my mind, I was realizing that my 36 hour goal (even though I was on that pace) likely wouldn't happen and I was slowly shifting my focus to just finishing the race. That's pretty sad when I was only at about mile 55.

So on this, the most runnable section of UTMB outside of Chamonix, I was fast walking. And getting passed. A lot. I lost 35 spots over the next eight miles. It felt like even more than that, though there was a water source at Refuge Bonnati where some people took breaks so I might have passed a few there while they rested.

The aid station at Arnouvaz was packed and hot. I walked straight through and sat down outside the exit. Shortly after sitting down, a runner began violently vomiting on the ground nearby. I was too tired to care. He was likely dehydrated and I'm sure I was. The last eight miles had taken me 2:40. The fact that it was relatively flat didn't seem to help. Despite my struggles, I was taken aback by the scenery. The picture above and to the left was my view to my left for most of the previous eight miles. It's hard to tell but there were waterfalls everywhere along that range, which I assume is the "back side" of the Mont Blanc massif. Eventually, after a quick porta-jon stop, I willed myself to continue on.

Leaving that aid station, the course followed a nice creek/river for a while, then began a steep climb to Grand Col Ferret a mountain peak that sounds like something you'd hear in the Tour de France. It was on the Swiss/Italian border, 2.7 miles away, and 2400' above me. If there was any consolation here, it's that pretty much everybody was walking. I dropped twenty more spots on this stretch, but I did sit down a couple times, the lack of food catching up to me, with perhaps some dehydration. What really hurt, though, was being passed by two guys carrying their mountain bikes up this section. I can't say they carried them the entire way, but it still felt like a knife in the gut. I was less than 2/3 finished and each hour seemed to pass more quickly.

I don't remember a lot about Grand Col Ferret other than it seemed to have several trails branching down from the summit (where the bikers were headed I guess) and it was mostly a checkpoint. The downhill was fairly runable, but not in my condition, so I continued my walk (not sure I could call it a power hike) to the next aid station. It was a lot of downhill, but not much running. I was somewhat motivated because my crew would be at the next stop--Champex Lac--and I could use the mental boost. I seemed to be relatively on track for my 36 hour goal, which surprised me. I was puzzled, though, when I got to the aid station and didn't see them. I was right at the time (6:00 p.m.) that I told them I'd be there. I texted Leslie I was there while I went in and sat down. For a while I assumed they'd gotten held up, then a soul-crushing realization came to me. I got up and went to the tent entrance where they show the distance to the next aid station. This wasn't Champex-Lac, this was La Fouly. And I certainly felt like "La Foul!" Champex-Lac was 8.5 miles away! While it made sense that my slower pace would not have had me at Champex-Lac on time, it crushed me. I sent Leslie a new message that I was wrong and was at the wrong aid station. I don't think she received it though. I immediately headed out, hoping to make decent time so they weren't waiting too long. 

The downhill continued, but didn't help me. I was 24 hours into the race and had a long way to go. As I'd descended towards what I now knew was La Fouly, I thought I had seen a lake ahead of me. If I looked at my aid station chart, I must not have processed it in my head correctly. Nothing to be done but to continue forward.

It would take me almost three hours to cover that 8.5 miles. After quite a bit of downhill, we began climbing. This greatly concerned me as I knew "Lac" meant "lake" and lakes tend to be at the bottom of hills, yet we were going up. I began to fear that I was farther away than I realized as I'd surely have to go down the other side of whatever mountain I was climbing. Some of it was road, so it was kind of like climbing through a residential area near a ski resort. We'd get on trail for a bit, then road, then back on trail. The climb was ultimately "only" three miles and 1300' but it seemed an eternity. Eventually, I found myself in a small village, Champex-Lac, and met David who informed me that Susan and Leslie had gone back to the condo. It was understandable as I was three hours behind schedule. I was at mile 80, 27 hours into the race. I had roughly a marathon to go.

I spent way too much time in this aid station for what I accomplished while there. I did get some different clothes, changing into a clean t-shirt. Somehow, I was in the aid station for thirty minutes. I guess some of that was just wanting to hang out with someone I knew and have my mind off the race. I texted a little with friends back home, where it was only mid-afternoon at this point. Eventually, I made myself leave. I warned David that I was down to just walking and that the next time they saw me (the finish) would be behind the predicted time I'd given them. I was already three hours off that schedule and I'd likely fall further off the 36 hour goal time. On the bright side for them, 36 hours was a 6:00 a.m. finish so they could comfortably get some sleep since I was at best (yet unlikely) at a 9:00 a.m. finish pace.

When I left the aid station, I emerged at a large lake--hence the name Champex-Lac. Maybe it was man-made, but it explained a lot about why I was climbing so much to get to a lake. After a couple minutes of walking along the road, I realized I was probably under-dressed since I wouldn't be running anymore and it was now 9:30 p.m. So, I stopped and got my long-sleeve Smartwool shirt on and put on my rain jacket (as a layer and wind breaker.) While stopped, I also pulled out the wet wipes we'd been given on the airplane and wiped the grime and dried sweat off. This actually made me feel a lot better--mentally, anyways.

Somewhere in this dark stretch of the course, once we'd left the village, I caught up with a couple that had USA tags on their bags. I asked them what state they were from and they told me Utah. Ah, something in common since I'd been to Utah! I just needed a distraction so I told them about our trip to see the five Utah national parks (and do the Bryce Canyon 100.) We hung together for a while--they didn't seem to mind me--until I had to stop for something and they got ahead. It was probably around midnight, when glancing up at the starry sky (very little light pollution here,) that I saw a shooting star. I took it as a sign that I was going to finish. Maybe I was grasping at straws, but it did give me a bit of a lift. I saw the Utah couple again at the next aid station--La Giete--which, if my memory serves, was a very spartan building with only minimal fare. They seemed distracted so I passed on through, eager to just get to Trient, the next major aid station (and a crew access point, though I did not have my crew coming.)

It was almost 1:30 a.m. on Sunday now. At my goal pace, I'd be done in 5.5 hours. With my current pace, I had no idea when I'd be done. Entering my second night without sleep, the hallucinations would begin to hit me. They were mostly odd ones--like I'd look at rocks along the side of the trail (when there were a lot of smaller ones) and see paintings on them--hard to describe but maybe sort of like the famous "Starry Night" painting by Van Gogh. Maybe it was due to all the paintings we looked at in Florence before we came to Chamonix. The only problem with these hallucinations was the temptation to try to look closer at the "painting" and not pay attention to where I was going. I'd shake my head, trying to break the brain cloud that was developing, but it only provided temporary relief.

The descriptions of my experience between aid stations are getting shorter due to the fact that it was dark so I couldn't see as much and because I was tired and can't remember as much. I recall getting passed by batches of people who were able to run down this stretch of the course and when I reached Trient (after quite a bit of running through back streets of the village,) I'd dropped 120 spots since I crested Grand Col Ferret. Trient was a bustling aid station. It was weird to not see a ton of people while on the course yet find so many at the larger aid stations. I did not spend much time there. I was so ready to be done, I just breezed through the food offerings, got some oranges, and left.

Outside of this aid station, the ground was a mixture of small stones, moss, and tiny plants. My brain processed this as an airplane view of a village with the rocks becoming buildings, the moss was grassy areas, and the plants were trees. I really needed to finish and get some sleep. The main goal was finishing, but the short-term goal was to get to sunrise where maybe I could get a little recharge with solar energy. 

I honestly remember practically nothing between Trient and Vallorcine. It was a four hour, seven mile slog over a mountain. I gained about 80 spots on the climb and lost about 50 on the descent. Dawn was breaking as I entered Vallorcine. I literally went straight through that aid station without stopping. As I headed up the trail towards the final climb, I fell in with a young, tall guy who said he needed to finish by 10:00 a.m. because his check-out time was 11:00 a.m. It was currently about 6:20 a.m. and we had 11.5 miles to go. We hung together to the base of the climb (about a mile outside of the aid station) then he got a little ahead of me when I stopped to change shirts.

The solar energy plan really did seem to help. I felt better and was excited knowing that this was the last big climb. I knew I was horribly off schedule but I felt like finishing was a reality. From Vallorcine to La Tete aux Vents was just under five miles and while I felt like I was moving fairly well, it dragged on, taking 2.5 hours. Some of this was because it wasn't always just steep trail (2800' of climb,) there were sections where I was using my hands as well. I could see pretty far ahead of me but it was hard to tell where the aid station actually was. All I could do is watch where people were going far ahead of me and see if they were heading towards any sort of tent or building.

Eventually, I would realize we were heading to what looked like a set of buildings connected to ski lifts/gondolas. I guess that made sense for the last aid station as it would also be accessible by road. Though I could now see it along the ridge ahead of me, it drew closer at a frustratingly slow rate. When it finally arrived, it was a little confusing where exactly we were to check in. I wandered around a bit, never completely getting my bearings until I finally got clarification from a volunteer. Knowing that I'd be recorded as arriving, I continued onward/downward.

The first part of the downhill was incredibly steep, such that I had to walk down backwards. One of the volunteers saw me doing this and said "you've got plenty of time!" I guess he thought I was planning to go backwards the last six miles to the finish. As it was, I only had to do this for about 100-200 yards, then the trail came out onto a road, which continued downhill. I can't remember whether I'm missing something here, but at some point, I was on a wide trail that would have been great running had I been able to. It was mostly a gentle downhill with many switchbacks and not terribly rocky. Over the next five miles from the prior aid station, I was passed by about 100 runners. They were all excited to have something runnable and to be almost finished. I was glad to know the finish wasn't far away, but knew at my hobbling walk pace I wouldn't be seeing it as quickly as them.

Eventually, I could see Chamonix drawing closer below me. I really wasn't sure where the course came into the city as in 2018, I neither finished nor walked backwards along the course to see. When I finally came out in town and realized that it would all be pavement/concrete through the finish, something clicked in me and despite having accepted the idea of walking through the finish, I forced myself to run. It really hurt for a few seconds, but the pain eased up (if not the stiffness) and I was able to pull off a semblence of a jog. I pulled up my poles and started recording a first-person video on my phone.

I was able to keep up with traffic at my pace and even passed a person or two (though not really intentionally.) It was a little awkward trying to hold the phone up and record and it meant not being able to high-five all the little kids along the way--something they really seemed to enjoy, even if I wasn't near the front.

At times I thought I'd possibly started running too soon and wasn't going to be able to keep it up to the finish, but I really didn't want to walk unless I had to. After walking around town pre-race and not seeing it, I thought they'd eliminated the tower over one of the roads, but I soon found myself at its base (picture above.) We climbed a couple flights of steps, walked across a platform across the road, and descended steps on the other side. It was a bit sadistic on the organizers' part and I was never clear on the necessity of this tower rather than just putting a volunteer there to help us cross safely.

My surroundings were more familiar once I'd passed this tower and I knew every turn from here to the finish. It took me right by the bakery near our condo and down the street we'd been on several times pre-race--the same street I'd walked down to get to the start two days earlier. At the end of this straightaway stood Leslie, David, and Susan (behind a barrier) and I tried to acknowledge them while still maintaining my effort to record the finish, I turned left and ran around the block and as they cut through to catch me on the other side at the finish. I didn't realize until watching my video that I'd missed David's attempt at a high five when I passed them.

The finish is on a slight uphill and I think the large blue UTMB logo was a mat and I was worried about tripping here after having stayed vertical for 106 miles. When I finally crossed, there wasn't the same sense of excitement (mixed with fatigue) as I'd had when finishing say Western States. Maybe it was because I was really tired or maybe because Leslie (and Donna) crossed the Western States finish line with me (Leslie said she wouldn't do it at UTMB,) but it was kind of an anticlimactic finish for anyone watching me. I stood there for a while, just trying to figure out where I was supposed to go as we were sort of fenced in. A volunteer directed me to a tent some distance away where we got our finisher's award--a blue fleece vest. I didn't know where Leslie, David, and Susan had gotten to, so I made my way back towards where I'd seen them last and sat down. Eventually, David called and I guided them to where I was. 

Once back at the condo, I rinsed off and collapsed in the bed. It had been almost forty-two hours of running/walking/hiking, four hours longer than any other run I'd done, and 12 hours longer than any other 100-mile race I'd done. Though I was six hours slower than my goal time, I had to accept that I really didn't deserve to do better given my lack of adequate preparation. It was over though. I'd said that I wasn't coming back a third time and now I don't have to. I feel no need to go back and aim for a better time. It was truly about finishing the course and being on some of the trails that my ancestors quite possibly might have traveled when they were exiled to Switzerland. Somewhere around 800 of the 2600 starters dropped, which surprised me but sounds like it may be the normal rate of attrition.

In the end, I was 1079th out of about 2600 starters, so at least in the top half. The winner (Killian Jornet) finished in under twenty hours--an incredible pace I can now appreciate having seen all of the course. I mentioned to friends that in theory, he could have lapped me! But now that it's over, I'm thankful to have been given near perfect weather, the ability to finish before falling apart, and memories to last a lifetime. 

UTMB Checkpoint Video (captures the moments before, during, and after I pass by the camera.)

Strava GPS Tracking

First Person Video of the Last Mile or So...

On this chart, you can see my overall place as it changed from checkpoint to checkpoint. Refuge Bertone is roughly where I began walking "for good." 

2022 Black Mountain Monster

As punishment for DNF'ing the Hellbender 100, held just three weeks prior, I registered for the 2022 edition of the Black Mountain Monster. At first I'd thought maybe I'd just go pace Lee some but then he said something about why don't I just register. Well, I guess his persuasive abilities are underrated because later that same day, I was on Ultrasignup, doing just that. When I registered, I had only one goal. Finish. It sounds like sandbagging and everyone has a mileage goal in these timed events. Well, while I thought getting to 100 would be great, I've had several DNFs/"quit earlies" in longer events in recent years (including this same race in 2021) and I wanted to break the cycle. That said, I was not obligating myself to running the entire 24 hours. If I finished a lap and did not have time to do another, I would stop there. I saw it extremely unlikely that I'd approach my 24-hour PR, especially given the warm temperatures and the fact that this is not a near-flat, paved trail, like Freedom Park was.

I knew only a few people who had registered and one of those had to pull out at the last minute. Lee was joining me and we set up our own joint aid station in the same spot as we had in 2021.

The course is a 3.125 (down from 3.25 due to a fallen tree) mile route that mathmatically worked out nicely to where 8 laps is 25 miles, 16 is 50, and 32 is 100. I think anyone wanting a 50K or 100K would be getting 10 or 20 laps. I imagine they will keep this route going forward for this very reason. Only those wanting to run a marathon distance will have to get a little extra--28.125 miles--by doing 9 loops. The following map and legend show the various sections of the course.

1. Start/Finish Area. Gravel parking lot.
2. Gravel road hill just past our tent that led into the woods.
3. Somewhat washed out gravel road downhill that wound through the woods.
4. Grassy road for a bit, then running in grassy field. Good downhill section at end.
5. Starts with a good climb (blue) then parallels the R/R tracks for a bit. Goes down through a washout gulley and ends with some really bad mud sections that were impossible to avoid.
6. Nice grassy out-and-back. Fairly flat. Then runs along the creek for a bit.
7. A couple more mud sections, then a short hill that led to a rooty section.
8. A relatively level stretch with one small rise. Goes up and shares the trail with #4 until you cross a bridge, then it turns and comes down through a grassy field.
9. Biggest hill on the course. It's a gravel road that comes up level to the start/fiinsh area (pretty close to our tent) and then continues up to the high point of the course, emerging from the woods only while its near the stadium complex.
10. A technical downhill, followed by a short stretch of level road then back to single track and the worst mud pits on the course.
11. Starts with a short, steep climb, then some level running through pines. Emerges beside the track and we ran along the outside of the fence line back to the start/finish.

Home base

It was one of those weird starts where no one wanted to be up front. I got maybe twenty feet back from what I thought was the front and then everyone ahead of me backed up behind me. So, I backed up again. There were 6 & 12 hour runners that were certainly going to go out faster than many of the 24-hour runners. Regional races of this distance tend to be interesting at the start. You do not have the speedsters taking off at the gun and laying down six minute miles. It's just a steady jog and even at that, some of us are going out too fast. 

As I mentioned in the 2021 post I won't do a mile-by-mile or even lap-by-lap report because it would be dreadfully dull. I'll just summarize the flow of the race.

All three races started together so a couple hundred people were lined up in the narrow starting area. But after that, the course widens for a while and in general there are only a few areas of singletrack where passing is a little difficult--especially since some of that singletrack is lined with poison ivy. We were advised that with the heavy rains a few days earlier, there were muddy areas on the course. That advice was definitely correct.

Early into the first loop, it seemed like there were at least ten people ahead of me with two of them together in the front and two other small groups of runners clustered together. I had no idea what race anyone was in but really tried to focus on running and not worry about what others were doing. If someone passed me, it really didn't bother me. After all, we still had 23:58 to go...

The course offers a little bit of everything except unbridged creek crossings. There are grassy areas, double-track, single-track, rooty sections, and at least one short climb that most people ended up walking after their first or second lap. Oh, and the aforementioned muddy sections would progressively get worse over the course of the race. The muddy stretch on the left was near the end of the loop and is actually worse than it appears. I saw one guy lose his shoe to this section of mud.

The race timer was someone new and while they were using the same Race Result software that Wilson Timing had used, they didn't have the live tracking enabled and they did not upload our lap splits afterwards. I always found that to be interesting because you could see how much you slowed over the course of the race and with a little spreadsheet work, you can see where others were catching up to you or vice versa.

The 10:00 a.m. start meant it was pretty warm right off the bat. I had on the same yellow shirt that I finished Western States and when I DNF'd Hellbender a few weeks prior to this race. So, I wasn't really sure if it was lucky or not. I also had on a hat to keep the sun out of my eyes and I was wearing those arch support bands in hopes of keeping my plantar fascitis in check.

Since you can see the clock as you complete each lap, I wanted to see how long it would be before my average lap moved above thirty minutes. The first lap was about twenty-eight minutes and I didn't walk any of the hills. With no lap splits to look back on, I can't trust my memory, but it seems like maybe it was six or eight laps before my pace crossed the thirty minute/lap threshold. I rarely used the start/finish aid station, so refilling my bottle/pouring the tailwind powder, etc... usually was much slower. Also, after a lap or two, Mike hooked the sprayer up near our tent and I started cooling down in it as I finished each lap. There were no speed records being broken on this day.

At first, I tried dodging the mud puddles, which sometimes meant walking 15-30' along a slick bank, but after it warmed up and my shoes were already muddy, I just plowed through them. It worked out fairly well as the water wasn't warm and it cooled the lower part of my body off a little. It also seemed to spray away from my feet if I hit it hard enough, so I didn't feel like I was getting mud and grit down in my shoes. I continued this practice essentially until sundown.

After about six laps or so, I glanced at the screen at the finish mat and it looked like it said I was in first place for the 24-hour event. I didn't remember passing anyone who started out ahead of me so I wasn't totally sure I was reading it correctly. I was honestly more concerned with not DNFing, but I will admit that having seen a preview of the awards for the top three finishers, I definitely was hoping I could place. To do that, though, I'd have to make sure I was running/walking until the end. The funny thing was, while I read it to say I was in first, I had no idea who was second, third, etc... All I could really do was assume if someone passed me at a good clip, if they were in the 24-hour event, they were probably on the same lap as me.

While it wasn't as hot as 2021, it was definitely warm, especially in the sunny areas. Probably over 80% of the course was in the shade, but that other 20%, with no clouds, was rough. I did remember to wear sunscreen and even reapplied some later in the day, figuring I'd probably sweat it off, or washed it off when using the sprayer after a lap.

After a couple hours, I saw Anne Lundblad and Adam Hill show up to crew for someone. Also Craig Lancaster. I don't know as many of the people at these races as I used to. Besides Lee and Josh, I'm not sure I knew anyone else registered. There was one person registered that I'd met before but I couldn't pick her out of the crowd.

It later occurred to me that my previous two 24-hour run finishes (both New Year's Eve) were done close to the shortest day of the year (December 21st) while this one would be a little closer to the longest day of the year. On this day, we had 14:19 of daytime (not including pre-dawn light and twilight) whereas I only had 9:46 of daytime at the New Year's Eve races. While darkness probably didn't slow me significantly on a paved track, that would have made a difference on a trail.

During the heat of the day (like 3-5:00 p.m.) I was pouring water onto a towel in our tent and just trying to cool myself down. I was getting a bit dehydrated, but not terribly bad yet. I did make an effort to drink a lot. We had a 2.5 gallon jug of Deer Park water in our tent and ended up using pretty much all of it. I had a separate jug of water for cooling off with.

This was the first race in a while where I didn't really feel the mile 30-40 "blahs" that I often encounter. I can't really explain why I was able to dodge them on this day, but I certainly wasn't going to complain about it.

Later in the day, I caught up and briefly ran with a guy named Alan. He seemed to be moving along pretty well and said his goal was 106 miles. I didn't ask why it was such a specific number. Maybe he'd gotten to 103 miles previously and wanted to improve upon it.

... I accidentally left this document in draft form and neglected to finish it for almost two years so resuming in February 2024, I'll try to sum it up as best as I can remember.

When night did fall, the temperatures cooled somewhat, which was a welcome relief. Somewhere around lap 25 (around mile 75) I caught up to and walked with Lee. It was a good mental and physical break. Plus, he walks pretty quickly so it wasn't like I really slowed down that much from a run pace.

In looking at my splits, it's rewarding to see that my miles were mostly staying between 11 and 13 minutes throughout the night. The few longer miles were likely when I stopped at our table at the start/finish area.

I kept pushing but really didn't know my mileage and if/when I'd hit 100 miles. I didn't come in with that as a goal, but it would be pretty cool to achieve. The crowd, of course, began to diminish as the night wore on. Some had finished their 6 or 12 hours, some reached their distance goal before the 24 hours was up, and some just pulled out.

I was surprised to feel pretty good the entire time and was at least jogging significant parts of each lap. Just like all of these events, there were spots I knew I'd walk and as the hours wore on, sometimes new, additional walking spots would be chosen. Still, there was a lot I was able to at least jog far longer into the race than I expected. 

On one of my last laps, I caught up to a guy (Michael) and his girlfriend and stayed with them a bit, not really thinking that he might be right ahead of me in the race, and I needed to pass him. We finished the lap together and I headed on as he went to his tent. After the next lap, the RD told me something like the guy behind me took a lap off and that I was in the lead by a lap. That somewhat surprised and definitely relieved me. I still wanted to do well and pressed on, but maintained my walk here, run there plan.

When I completed a lap at the 23:14 point, I didn't feel like I could complete another one (and no partial laps would be counted) so I called it a day at 106.25 miles. It turned out that Michael was the guy behind me and he finished with 103 miles. Alan, the guy with the 106 mile goal, reached 100 miles. I was given a 100-mile belt buckle (which was unexpected) and a carved wooden bear, which now sits on our fireplace hearth.

I actually felt like I ran a better race than either of my 120+ mile New Year's Eve 24-hour events because in both of those, I was down to walking full laps towards the end whereas here, even with it being trail, mud, and rolling hills, I was still running at the end--some.

Strava Data (Mileage total is a tad off.)

Ultrasignup Results 

Taming the unseen beast — The Valley Echo

2022 Mount Mitchell Challenge

This promised to be the year. The weather looked good and while I wasn't running great, I felt like I'd be able to slog my way to the summit of Mount Mitchell and back and finally achieve that elusive 10th Challenge finish; a milestone at which I would no longer register for the event, opening up a space for some other aspiring summit-seeker.

While the morning began with the same race-day lack of enthusiasm I've experienced in the past year or so, I wasn't dreading the event. I knew it would mean seeing some people I'd not seen in a while--the acquaintances you only see at races--and it was going to be my longest-yet training run for Hellbender. After a brief search-and-retrieve mission for one of my dogs in the woods behind our house (I didn't want him waking up the neighbors) I was on the road about 5:45 a.m., about fifteen minutes later than I'd planned. It's only about a forty-five minute drive to Black Mountain, but getting a good parking spot at the finish was a concern, and there's the half-mile walk to the start from where we park.

The interstate wasn't too crowded at this early hour as I listened to American Greed on satellite radio--it was an episode about Elizabeth Holmes of Theranos fame. I wondered if I'd run into Lee making his way to Black Mountain. He was the only other person I was certain was registered for the race. As I passed the rest area where Lee always stops when he's racing west of Hickory, a Subaru was merging onto the interstate. I wouldn't be certain for a while--he was too far in front to see any rear window stickers--but it actually was Lee and I'd be following him to Black Mountain, though we'd take different exits into town.

We ended up parking beside one another and walked/jogged together to the start, arriving as Jay Curwen was making the pre-race announcements. There was hardly time to get my watch ready before the race had begun.

I think the temperature was in the upper 30s or lower 40s. I had my Grindstone finisher's jacket over short-sleeved tech shirt. In my Ultimate Direction race vest was a new 1.5 liter bladder that replaced the one that broke on me during South Mountains 50K and some food. Also, since it looked like rain was possible, I stuffed my lightweight rain jacket in the pack.

The first three miles, out of Black Mountain, through Montreat, and onto the trail went pretty much like every year. I didn't speak to anyone and passed quite a few people while trying to run a steady pace in the 8-9 minute/mile range. I've had years where the first few miles of the trail were a little crowded and whether I'm near the front, middle, or back, I'd just like to be in a spot where I don't have a lot of people around me. I've also had years where I've had to walk sections of the trail leading to the Sourwood Gap aid station (#1) due to pushing too hard too soon. I hoped my reasonable pace would prevent unplanned walks until I at least was on the road leading to the summit of Mount Mitchell (mile 15ish.) Of course, there are some very short stretches that its safer and just as quick to walk, but my goal was to be able to "run" through the first three aid stations.

This year, I really did have fewer people around me on this stretch of trail. There was no snow, just mud, leaves, rocks, and roots. Even though I've run through here many times before, this was the first year where I felt like I kind of remembered the landmarks. That knowledge helped me break it down into smaller segments and made it seem to go by quicker.

I didn't need anything at the first aid station so I gave them my bib number and pressed on ahead. The next six or seven miles were fairly uneventful. I mostly maintained my steady pace over each mile, slowing only where the rocks were so numerous it required creative routing or where the climb increased from 200'/mile to 300 or 400'/mile. I passed a few people through here, but didn't bother to count because I figured they'd probably pass me right back. We breezed through the second aid station (which was much rowdier than the first) and began the push to the Parkway, where the marathoners would turn around. A mile or so past this aid station is where I start looking for marathoners coming back towards me. If I hadn't seen many by the time I reached the Parkway, I could elect to switch to the marathon and hope for maybe a top three Masters finish?

I wouldn't see the first marathoner coming towards me until well past the point where Morgan Elliot came toward me the year he set the course record of 2:49:03(!) There was a group of three guys fairly close together. I was maybe a mile or so from the turnaround. After I'd seen quite a few come back toward me, I began to wonder just how many people had chosen to do the Challenge this year.

There's a point as you near the Parkway, where the Toll Road levels off and eventually goes downhill. It was here that a photographer said something to the effect of my being halfway done. I immediately wondered how he'd know which race I was doing and then I began to worry was that he knew which race I was in because we'd all been relegated to the marathon. Again. As I entered the aid station, I asked a nearby volunteer/spectator if the summit was closed and she confirmed my fears. As if to reinforce the accuracy of her statement, she pointed towards a park ranger flanked by several volunteers, physically blocking off passage onto the Parkway. I don't know if that was coincidence that they were forming a human barricade, but if not, it was certainly symbolic. I would later tell friends that I missed the old days when they never closed the summit on race day and didn't care if you died up there--the last part being in jest.

Well, I felt pretty good in the first half, maybe I could push the pace on the way back down. And I did so, within my ability to navigate some of the small boulder fields that seem to get sketchier each year. Had I been carrying my poles, I might have gone through some of the more technical sections a tad faster, but with my Salomons iffy with slick rocks, I didn't dare risk going too fast. As I made my way down the mountain and runners were coming up towards me, several called me by name, and I totally blanked on who they were. Some, I realized after we'd passed, but of the six or seven such encounters, I only recognized a few and Rick Grey was the only person I recognized before we passed each other. His wife, Michelle, was one I realized who it was after I passed her.

So, on downhills like this, I know that younger, more daring, runners are going to catch and pass me, so I have a goal of minimizing the number of people who do so. My ideal goal is to pass more people than pass me. For the first few miles, this was going pretty well. I believe I netted moving up a couple spots. Not needing anything at the next aid station, I went on through as one guy who'd been ahead of me stopped to get something. It actually wasn't until maybe a mile above the Sourwood Gap aid station that I was demoralized as three young runners went by me. There's a hunter's shack in this area that we run right by. The same people who'd been out there earlier were still there, cheering on the runners. I've heard about every word of encouragement you can hear, but a lady there said something I'd never heard. "I hope it ends well for you."  Well, that was certainly different.

I leapfrogged two of the guys who passed me at the Sourwood Gap aid station as they walked through it, eating something. Just after that is a descent of about 1,000' in a mile. I knew they'd pass me back and they did, about 1/5 of the way down it, before we even reached the pavement. After I reached the bottom of the really steep hill in Montreat, I could tell I wasn't going to catch the two guys, even though they were still within sight. I pressed on and saw a young blond-haired woman running up the sidewalk towards me and calling me by name. My mind raced. Who would I know running in Montreat today--who wasn't in the race? When I got closer I realized it was Darlene, come to do her weekend run and watch the race participants. She caught me off guard but I think I managed to say hello and apologize for not being able to stay and chat. She kept running up the course towards where I'd just been.

Though momentarily mentally knocked out of race mode, I regrouped and kept pressing on. Over the years, I've grown to like the nature trail sections in Montreat that early on just felt like "busy work." Well, it quickly became apparent that we would not be using them this year and we stayed on the main road for quite a ways before turning onto the parallel street that always seems to stretch out forever. This section was made a little more interesting when I passed Mike Guyer's aid station, offering beer and Jim Beam. I laughed and kept on going. I finally caught up to a guy in this section and we'd play leapfrog for a while. He'd stop and walk and I'd pass him, then he'd sprint by me. We continued this through the greenway and back up onto the main road. It was there that I noticed another guy about fifty yards ahead of me had just missed the last turn. I didn't know his name, so all I could do was shout, "Hey!" After the second shout, he turned and I pointed toward the road we needed to take. He and I reached that road about the same time, but he pulled back ahead as we headed through the small neighborhood near the finish. I don't know how big the loop around the lake is but it's certainly more than a quarter mile. I pressed on, really not wanting to be passed here and wondering if someone would actually pass me if they could. This loop feels a bit like the Champs d'Ellyses during the Tour de France. It's considered bad form to pass here (I suppose unless it's a Challenge runner passing a marathoner.)

When I rounded the final turn and crossed the little bridge, I could see the clock reading four hours and change. The only reason to press now was because I thought I could "feel" someone catching up to me. I crossed the finish in a little over 4:01 and very shortly after that, someone else came through. It actually was not the guy I'd been leapfrogging.

In hindsight, it was another one of those races where I felt good for most of the race but ultimately ran slower than in prior years. In this case, it was eight minutes slower than my previous "worst" time in the Black Mountain Marathon. So, now I stand at 9 Challenge finishes and 4 Marathon finishes. The OCD in me now feels like I need to get to 10 and 5, but we'll see. The Challenge has lost much of its appeal now that, in the best-case-scenario, we only get to run up the Park entrance road to the summit. I suppose my getting back onto those trails will have to be reserved for future fun runs.

After getting my finisher's fleece (a different brand this year) I walked a lap around the lake and decided I was so banged up from the downhill(s) that I just wanted to head home, get cleaned up, and stretch out. I couldn't help but wonder if I felt this bad from the marathon, what would I have felt had I done the Challenge?

Results (Google Doc)

Strava Information