CCC 2018 (UTMB) - a view from the back of the pack in the worlds greatest 100k trail race

I'm halfway up a 700 meter climb, somewhere on the edge of Switzerland. Its the early hours of the morning; my world extends to the 20 meters of my head torch beam. Every step feels leaden, the elevation gained with each one pitiful compared to the ascent above me.
I'm afraid of failing, and I'm fighting the fear with Jelly Beans. Every few minutes I stop briefly to rest and pop a few in my mouth, chewing and pushing them to the side, hoping the sugars will absorb more quickly through my cheek than if I swallow them. This climb matters. If I stall again I lose time and miss the cut. I have just an hour in hand, I need that hour and it will be gone if I screw up again like I did a couple of hours ago.

Two hours ago was just before Champex - on a baby of a climb - around just a thousand feet. I'd felt great on the long run in from the Italian border, gaining places in the race and enjoying the technicalities of the route - first the muddy descent, and then dancing amongst the torchlight illuminated tree roots of the valley floor.

Then the climbing had done it for me. Lightheadedness, weakness, my heart racing, legs like jelly. I had stopped and rested, eaten, then rested some more. Nothing helped; my heart raced on; I could feel it pounding inside me, far too fast, as if trying to escape from the exhaustion. But its not my heart that 's the problem, it's fuel failure. Simple, yet devastating, and a stupid mistake.  I had to get to Champex. I had it in my head all would be good if I got there, which was pretty illogical. I just had to get there.

An hour later I had drifted in to the aid station, leaning heavily on my poles, and feeling sorry for myself. As I walked in to the huge aid tent, the the realisation of where I was hit me. The clamour,  vitality and craziness of the surrounding runners, marshals and crews flicked a switch somewhere, flooding me with energy and the motivation to carry on. This was the alps, and this was Champex, the middle "C" of the Courmayeur-Champex-Chamonix mountain race. It was supposed to be hard, it wouldn't be worth doing if it wasn't.

I sat down, pulled out my phone, and scanned messages from my family. My mind flew back to two days before; I was in Chamonix before the race and walked to the finish line. Crowds were surrounding it, and runners from another race, the TDS, were arriving after epic journeys of 20 and 30 hours. I watched them run across the line to cheers, and promised myself that I would be there a couple of days later. I had spoken to my kids and agreed they would run those last hundred meters with me. I could not now fail and lose that. I had to act. First, food.

The CCC is the mortal's race of the Ultra Trail Mont Blanc running festival, an annual event that engulfs the town of Chamonix in the French alps. The idea of racing around the Mont Blanc massif is so crazy only the French could come up with it. I have no idea how club level athletes survive the main race at the UTMB, which involves covering 170km over two days. That race was way out of my league when I first heard about it, but then I learnt of the CCC race. As the "little sister" of the UTMB it started a decade ago as half of the whole Trail - from Courmayeur to Chamonix. The main race is a full loop of Mont Blanc starting and finishing at Chamonix. At 80 Km the CCC covered arguably the toughest part of the longer route. Then the organisers figured that was too easy, so they lengthened it to 101Km and added an extra single ascent of 1300 meters.
A couple of years ago I found myself checking the points needed to qualify for entry, then planning races to hit that target. Two 50 mile races later and I had the points. I was astonished and a bit terrified when my first entry in to the ballot for places was successful. I had thought it would take two or three years to get a place.

So I found myself in Courmayeur on the last day of August, at the back of the starting line of one of the best known ultra running races on the planet. The atmosphere was incredible, packs of lean runners with even leaner back packs surrounded me. How did they get even the mandatory kit in those tiny packs, let alone the contingency kit I had packed in case of a bad day? The forecast was for the col crossings to be cold and windy with chill down to zero degrees. Failure I could cope with, hypothermia I'd rather now - so I had swapped my thin second layer to a fleece the day before the race, and packed a duvet gilet for good measure. Isotonic energy gels and glucose tablets swelled the pack a little more, as well as the Jelly Beans of course. I like managing risk, and I'd be embarrassed to put someone else in danger getting me off the mountain if I messed up.

I felt good on the line, and the vision of Chamonix the day before had stayed with me; I was sure - this race would be finished. The announcer on the tannoy echoed the sentiment "It will be hard and difficult but you must arrive at Chamonix...".
Pre-race positivity had been tempered the evening before the race when a text message arrived from the race organisers advising of a route change. Someone had been killed on the planned path by a rockfall prior to the race. That chilled me, and reminded me how wild this terrain is. I could manage myself, but what could anyone do if the mountain came down?
For now though, on the start line of this great foot race, all fears were forgotten. We runners chatted, shook hands, applauded three national anthems and strained to hear the famed Vangelis (Conquest of Paradise), drowned out by the circling media helicopter.

We were off, running through the pedestrianised main street of this beautifully set mountain town. I stopped briefly to hug my wife and kids as I passed them, then we headed up the winding road and towards the trail. That first ascent is a killer. The 1300 meter is almost without relief, save the odd stretch of runnable trail. The incredible views of the southern face of Mont Blanc were the reward. The trail itself was single track, and somewhat a procession. That was fine until technical elements produced a real "bouchon" and a queue developed. The worse was about half way up when the trail opened up at a clearing before dropping down through woods on a twisting and rocky path. Those of us arriving joined the back of 50 to 100 runners waiting patiently for their turn to move on. Occasional runners trying to queue jump were spotted by the crowds and cheerfully but firmly booed back to their rightful place.
I was suddenly taken aback to see the "fermateurs" or back-markers arriving at the clearing, and realised I was almost right at the back of the race. I always plan to start long races slowly, then to move up the field, but the sight of the fermateurs jolted me and I started to think about the timing cut offs. Eventually my turn arrived, I dropped down to the path, which then was free running until it climbed steeply again, and I was cheered to look down on the back-markers shrinking once again as my group climbed higher.

Tete de la Tronche (2584m) was reached at lunchtime. I checked my watch noting I was just 15 minutes inside the predicted "slowest time", and although not a cut off I worried again about the first official cut off time, which was later that day at 16.45, and some 17Km further on. Happily from this moment onwards the trail was fantastic, a really good running trail, with amazing views of the glaciers on Mont Blanc as I moved up the Val Feret. I made Arnouvaz and the cut off with an hour in hand, having made up that time whilst gaining over 200 places.

Arnouvaz was the first proper feed station on the course. The first couple of check points had bits of cheese and meat, but nothing substantial. I had high hopes from the meal sign on the course map. It was ok, but a little disappointing. I went for the soup - not too bad but a weak minestrone - I had packed my small titanium trekking saucepan - so toured the aid station popping in bits of cheese and meat, and bits of bread crust until it resembled quite an appetising casserole. I sat down at one of the trestle tables to admiring comments from other runners who were mostly sipping watery soup from cups of various shapes and sizes - this was a "no disposable plastic" race so you had to bring your own. The casserole went down quite well although I wished it had been thicker and I allowed myself to think, all too fleetingly, I was under-fuelled.   I topped up my pack bladder with water, threw in some electrolyte tablets and ran out of the door to tackle the col above us.

Col Feret was the Swiss border. The path soon became steep and winding, as the clouds gathered and the rain started. Soon we were surrounded by mist, and being washed with rain. Jackets came out of back packs, hats and fleeces were hurried on. I opted for just my OMM jacket on top of the shirt I'd be running in all day, I was pretty hot with the climbing despite the rain and wind. As we went higher, the weather got grim and I started to feel pretty awful. Weakness and fatigue in ultra running is pretty much always nutrition related. Its amazing what your body can put up with in pure endurance terms, but it hates running on empty. I recognised the signs - slightly trembling hands, a feeling of slight sickness and a profound tiredness as if 'flu was on the way. I slowed down, chewed a couple of glucose tablets, and took a few photos through the rain. It was a tortuous end to the climb, but eventually wind strength increased heralding my arrival at the col, and a group of fluorescent clad figures next to a dome tent appeared. The nearest figure with a UTMB Medic badge on his jacket came to scan my bib, looking me full in the eye as he did - a look I saw him give to every runner arriving at the col as he checked for impending hypothermia and exhaustion.

As soon as I started to descend from Feret the wind abated and the weather calmed, although my hands were freezing and I stopped after a few hundred meters to put my thermal gloves and hat on. After that the descent was enjoyable running, although technical in places with the mud, and poles were needed to prevent a tumble. It wasn't long before I reached the next feed station at La Fouly. I entertained my kids with a little dance routine in front of the web cam before heading inside for my first "dinner" of the day. Once again the food on offer disappointed. I headed for the soup again, and held out my pan in anticipation. The marshal filled it with some warm slightly stained water and looked at me as if his work was complete. "Soup" he said optimistically. I muttered thanks and wandered off to source more casserole ingredients, slightly less successfully than the previous occasion. I suspect consommé is a local delicacy, but not really what was needed after a few hours crossing a mountain pass.

So only partially refuelled, I headed out again in to the rain. The section from La Fouly to Champex is mostly flat, along a valley floor. Once again it was great running, even with dark falling, and I enjoyed the  rock hopping through the light of my head torch. There was a small checkpoint just a few km before Champex, and my half-way goal seemed easy to make now. Champex was my scheduled pre-night stop -  I had planned to have a good break there, change to my running tights from shorts, and eat well before tackling the three remaining passes overnight. I hadn't anticipated my melt down on the moderate climb before the aid station, and the feeling of desperation and sheer exhaustion as I wandered in around 13 hours after leaving Courmayeur. I knew I was in trouble. I had barely an hour or so in hand on the clock, and there were three remaining cols to be tackled overnight, each of them in excess of 2000 feet. I needed to act; first, food.

It was a huge casserole this time, washed down with a large mug of ridiculously sugary tea.  I emptied my pack on to the table pulling out my night essentials; clean socks, tights, and my stash of glucose tablets, jelly beans and energy gels. My Innov8 Trail Talon shoes had been great - grippy and comfortable, but now the laces were pressuring the top of my forefoot and urgent attention was needed. I took off my muddied socks and inspected my feet, relieved to see no blisters and just a little redness where they were hurting. I put Compeed on both feet to cushion the pressure points then put on clean dry socks, such a luxury and well worth carrying. Together with catching up on messages from my family, the tights change and replenishing food stocks I ended up spending longer at Champex than I had hoped to, eventually slipping out around 10.30pm, an hour before the cut off time.

And so I headed up the next, 700 meter, climb. The Jelly Bean trick was working. I kept plodding on, passing periodically another runner sunken by the edge of the track. "ça va? You ok?" was the common call. The response a subdued "Oui" or just a grunt. I think most of us had been there, the calls were fairly functionless, but bonded us together. It was a race against the mountain and the clock, not against each other. The path was steep for several hundred meters. The dark made it harder to know how far up the climb I was, and how far yet to go. As I climbed I could see the torches of those behind me in the valley, and lower down on the slopes. Above, the jewelled lights gave glimpses of the path ahead, but never the whole route. Earlier than I expected the path started to level, continuing at a much easier gradient than before. I exchanged torch glances with a runner "almost there", we smiled in delight. Then suddenly a wooden cross appeared as we reached the col.

The next descent was fast and still enjoyable despite it now being the early hours of the morning, and after 16 or so hours on my feet. After a few final meanders we arrived at the aid station of Trient, bustling and lively at 2.30am in the morning. I had felt much better in the last four hours since leaving Champex. Being properly fuelled now seemed to be working, so I simply repeated the routine of more soup/casserole and sweet tea, then dashed off again conscious not to waste too much more time, and excited by the knowledge the next col would take me to the edge of Switzerland and in striking distance of France and Chamonix.

That col was Les Tseppes, and it was a mean one. A similar elevation to the previous col, but its profile was steeper for longer. It was a hard plod on through the night, but I felt good and no longer felt as if disaster loomed.

After the col, another fast descent towards Vallorcine, which I reached at just before 6 in the morning. Soup and tea again, you get the picture. Just one more climb now, and I dared myself to believe completion was in sight. The climb out of Vallorcine was really special. The track climbs slowly towards Col des Montets, marking the border with France. It was easy walking up a gentle incline and the sky lightened beautifully with the head torches behind me complementing the sky. I stopped and took some photos. After the col we continued on the diverted route, avoiding the area of the fatal rockfall, heading up around Tetes du vent. The track was dreadful. It was rocky, steep and crossed with huge tree roots. It was un-runable, and I wondered how the front runners and winners had tackled this section, it would have been so easy to fall and get injured if really racing down here. After an impossible descent the track twisted upwards again, unexpectedly, and I resented everything about that seemingly pointless climb. Chamonix was down the valley now, why are we climbing?

We reached a ski slope and started plodding upwards on the rough gravel surface. A french lady was shouting encouragement - I asked how far it was to La Flegere, and she pointed above "un quart d'heure". I could handle that. I was expecting the aid station to be in a village, and was surprised when we arrived at the top of a ski lift to find the checkpoint tent right next to it. As I walked past the web cam I raised my hands in victory, and gave a thumbs up. Surely nothing could stop me now?
I dropped my bag inside the checkpoint tent and walked over to the route marking sign. "Chamonix 8km, 920m descent, 0 meters climb" it read. I asked a marshal to take a photo of me next to it. Officially no more climbing! I texted my family excitedly and discussed possible arrival times. I was here at 9.15am, and had 2 hours 45 minutes to crawl downhill for 8 Km. Short of a major injury such as a torn achilles, it would be hard to fail now.

Down the ski slope again, it was hard going and my feet were really hurting now. I decided to walk, unbothered by the runners overtaking me, who were equally excited to be on the home run. As ski slope turned to trail I did run a little, probably about half of the 8 Km left. I met a fellow Brit and we walked down together, chatting and bemused by the energetic runners overtaking us who clearly had not been trying hard enough earlier in the race to have so much energy left.

The arrival in Chamonix was amazing. The shouts of encouragement and congratulations grew as I neared the finish line. As planned I met my family a couple of hundred meters before the line, handed my sticks to my wife, and carried on with my children in each hand. It was amazing. The shouts and banging and cheers were deafening as we ran up the final straight and across the line. I hugged my kids, shook hands with a couple of fellow finishers, and flung my arms around my wife. UTMB races are cool in their coolness. There are no medals. No goody bag thrust in your hand as you stagger across the line. It is all amazingly low key once you actually cross. I liked it. I took my turn standing on the stage and podium to have a finish photo taken, then found out (by asking) where to go to collect my very own famous finishers' gilet. We sat down by the finish and I had a cup of coffee and a croissant from a cafe. It was very French.
I had crossed the finish line in 25 hours and 12 minutes. I had finished 1325th out of 2147 starters, of whom 500 failed to finish the race, gaining places at every check point except the last leg when I lost 35 places in my relaxed descent to Chamonix.

So that was the CCC. It was probably the most enjoyable race I have ever done and I would thoroughly recommend it. The key learning point was nutrition, and mine was terrible for that race. I was not the only one, and having chatted to a few people it seems many rely on the aid stations for more than they offer. Quite a lot of people use crew, and I would seriously consider that if doing a bigger challenge such as UTMB. Otherwise I would probably pack more savoury stuff to add to the  soup, despite the extra weight that would bring. The other negative about the race was the final leg to La Flegere on the dreadful un-runable terrain. I gather the usual route on this section is also pretty tough, so maybe it is simply a feature of the race but it was the one detraction from what was a generally great route.

I found myself wondering what might come next, as you always do. I discounted UTMB during the race, and afterwards as I drove away. I wondered about TDS, which seemed the logical next step to complete the circuit. However in the few days since I have been thinking about my eligibility for UTMB,  maybe in 2020. I am a mere 5 points away, and my existing points will carry over for a year or two. Watch this space.

Jonathan Inglesfield
September 2018