Western States result

Wow - that was a race alright. Cat and mouse all the way. I ran very consistently but didn't quite have the legs for the battle at the end. 4th place, 15 hours 55mins. I'll take that.

Thanks for all the brilliant support from the UK.

Jez.

Western States 100 pre-race

So then, less than 24 hours to go until the big one.

I was hoping to have posted some detailed pre race thoughts but with limited internet access where we're staying at Lake Tahoe I've been forced to keep quiet. Perhaps not a bad thing.

From what I've picked up there has been quite a lot of hype about the race and the deep fields lined up for both men and women. I'm excited to be part of the race, but not really too bothered about the other guys, I will only be concerned with what I can personally control, that's my running and my performance.

So with my drop bags packed, GB badge sown on shorts and glycogen stores bursting, it's time to race!

Follow via the official race webcast linked from www.ws100.com , or via twitter using #ws100 or #irunfar as the search hashtags.

Race starts at 5am US west coast time Saturday 25th, or 1pm GMT same day.

Thanks for the messages of support - much appreciated.

The Fellsman (c.62miles/ 11,000feet)

A good couple of weeks have now passed since The Fellsman and for one reason or another my write up has been delayed (just a generally busy life really). But better late than never I guess.

So just two weeks after a hard workout at The Highland Fling in Scotland I found myself toeing the start line of another epic, The Fellsman. I’m the first to admit that two big races in two weeks was a tall order, but I’d like to think a carefully calculated one.

These were ‘B’ races for me, planned as part of my build up to two ‘A’ races this summer; The Western States 100 on 25 June and UTMB in late August. My ‘B’ classification of these two races doesn’t mean I don’t take them seriously or put less than 100% effort in - I struggle to do anything less in a race – but is perhaps more from a mental perspective. Essentially I don’t let myself lose sleep over them and probably don’t taper all that much either. The goals further ahead are more important. The aim is to get race pace intensity into my legs and build some confidence in my ability to compete and race full stop, particularly after some lengthy periods of just training and racing shorter distances.

In it's 49th year, The Fellsman is one of the classics on the fell and ultra calendar. It's a truly British race - for the characteristics you will hear about in this piece - and I absolutely love it. The route is around 60miles - depending exactly which one you take (the choice is yours, it’s a point-to-point self navigation race) - in an almighty horseshoe shaped route starting in Ingleton and finishing in Threshfield, in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales.

The route is largely untracked and in quite a few places is knee-deep marsh or bog, sometimes making it more of a trudge rather than a run. For any American or European readers who like a nicely groomed singletrack trail - this is definitely not the race for you…..

Given the possible trail and weather conditions competitors must carry a set of basic safety kit and equipment which includes full waterproofs, emergency food, map, compass, first aid kit, survival bag, spare clothing, head torch etc etc. This necessitates a fairly sizeable pack which also adds to the challenge. See the photo below for my pre-race kit laid out. I used the Spring 11 The North Face Enduro 13 pack which I absolutely love.

Race kit laid out

As I stood on the start line with the other 400 or so competitors, 9am on a late spring Saturday morning, I was admittedly anxious about the day ahead. It would surely be epic; it always is?

I trotted up to the top of Ingleborough with Mark Hartell, 11 times (did I count right?) winner of the event, and we chatted about this, that and the other – generally putting the world to rights. At the top, next to the trig point, was the first of 24 checkpoints, the majority of which are located on the tops like this one. There I got my plastic tally card punched for the first time (who needs electronic chips?), the very traditional but completely effective method of checking participants have visited all the checkpoints, and quickly moved on on. The Fellsman tally card

Mark flew off from the top, taking a very direct line down a greasy rock strewn grassy bank where he showed off his fine descending skills. I followed, but slightly more cautiously. By the run off at the bottom, on the approach to the Hill Inn checkpoint, I had just about reeled him in, but this burst proved to be his undoing, as he tweaked his hamstring which ultimately forced his retirement a couple of checkpoints later at Kingsdale.

Re-fuelling near Kingsdale

By Kingsdale I was in the lead but close behind was Andy Mouncey and Adam Perry, a very talented youngster who had a strong race. I didn’t really look back thereafter, my focus being on running my own race at a pace which felt right to me. If I’m honest, that’s the way I prefer it. Without really consciously trying I started to build a lead that steadily grew over the course of the day.

I enjoyed the solo front running. If it hadn’t been for the checkpoints and occasional supporters then I might have forgotten there was a race on at all!

There was a stiff westerly cross wind, particularly noticeable on the beautiful high level ridge section between Gregareth and Great Coum, but after the turn east to head down towards Dent, it was welcome tail wind for the rest of the day. I felt like I was being swept along……

Dent is one of the bigger checkpoints about 20miles in and at that point, one third into the race, I felt great and very positive. I had also made good time, so started to map out in my head a possible schedule for the remainder. From rudimentary calculations in my head I was on track for sub-ten hours - assuming no slowing down – however there was obviously quite a bit of optimism in that calculation as unfortunately it’s often not quite as simple as that in events like this. Having said that, I have pulled off even or negative splits plenty of times before, so I didn’t think it was completely out the question.

The section from Dent to Stone House went smoothly, I even hit the line off Blea Moor perfectly for the first time ever (its one of the simpler 'lines', but I've never hit the stile into the woods quite right before). At Stone House there was plenty of excitement amongst the checkpoint staff who were running a sweepstake for the time of the first runner. I was about a minute too early apparently. Ooops, sorry. There I wolfed down a bit of plain pasta and grabbed a cheese butty for take out.

For the most part it was all rather uneventful. The all important navigation kept me focused, which I was constantly aware could have screwed up my race if mistakes had been made. Thankfully the visibility on the tops was much better than the last time I took part in 2009.

I hit a good line off Dodd Fell and arrived at Fleet Moss starting to feel a bit jaded but still in good time and maintaining a good pace. I wish I had my splits to share but unfortunately my watch splits messed up. Beyond the Fleet Moss checkpoint is the trickiest section for navigation across the featureless moor (bog?), and even more so this year from a last minute change to the location of the Middle Tongue checkpoint. Usually it’s on the peak next to the trig point, this year it was further south and out of sight due to landowner access issues. This also forced us to follow the southern route variant from Fleet Moss, rather than the direct line across the top. In the main this suited me well as it’s my favoured option anyway, being smoother and more runnable, albeit slightly longer.

I hit the new checkpoint at Middle Tongue without a problem, although I was saved slightly by one of the checkpoint staff being stood up as I approached. I may have struggled to pick out their small khaki green tent otherwise. But on arrival my anxieties had faded. That was the big risk for me, but once successfully negotiated, I knew I was in control of the rest.

It was a single bearing from the new Middle Tongue to Hell Gap which, although long, rough and untracked, was fairly fool proof. I blasted down the vehicle track to Cray and felt a lot more relaxed and confident about finishing in a good time. The real problem I had in trying to keep tabs on progress was not knowing the checkpoint split distances. All I knew was that Fleet Moss was at about 36miles (approximately). Having said that, I think there’s a lot to be said for keeping race plans simple, and mine certainly was…..

The two remaining climbs up Buckden Pike and Great Whernside went well. My legs felt pretty shot on the steep sections but that was to be expected. On the gentler gradients, flatw and downhills they remained fast and didn’t let me down. There were plenty of ankle rolls, trips (x4) and bog wipeouts, but they are all part and parcel of running fast on this kind of terrain. They were quite funny really, one or two fairly spectacular.

Off Great Whernside I started to wind the pace up and realised I was close to record pace. It was however finely balanced and difficult to factor in the fast terrain of the last six miles, in terms of whether I really could pull it off or not.

It was only when I reached the final checkpoint at Yarnbury that realised the record really was on. The checkpoint staff did as well; they were excited and encouraging. The last section was a gradual downhill on the road back to Threshfield and I guess I was probably running c.6min/mile pace down there - very enjoyable - and there is nothing more motivating than the knowledge that the faster you run, the more you will take off the record.

Approaching Yarnbury, on the home straight

I arrived back through the door of the school with a finishing time of 10h 06 mins taking several minutes off the previous record, on a course which was generally felt to be slightly longer. It had been a really enjoyable and satisfying day out, but most importantly I was back in one piece.

Coming away from the race I was pleased with the time on what is a technical and tough course, and one that is not really conducive to quick running. My legs had the pace when they needed to and dealt with the hills with relative ease. Great for confidence heading into Western States.

The final words must be of thanks to the wonderful volunteers and organisers of the event who work tirelessly throughout the year to keep the Fellsman going. It is brilliant to see the event going through a renaissance in recent years and given how successful this year’s event was, I can only see than continuing.

Next stop: California :o)

A Red Hot Fling

The Highland Fling Race:

53 miles trail, along southern ‘half’ of the West Highland Way, Scotland.
UKA Ultra Trail Championships/ Scottish Ultra Trail Championships/ GB Ultra Trail Team Qualifier.

I had to settle for 2nd place at this year’s Fling. Despite breaking my previous record of 7h19m by 4 minutes, Andrew James went one better and beat it by 7 minutes. It was a great race - one I will certainly remember in years to come. In the couple of days which have past since the race, I have been trying to remember if I’ve ever been pushed so hard in a UK ultra race. The Commonwealth 100km Championships in Keswick, September 2009, is the only race that springs to mind – that day Matt Giles was the culprit, although the difference with that race was that I managed to come good in the end. Whilst I don’t like losing much, I love the competition, and hat’s off to Andrew for running a strong and smart race.

The way the race panned out is simple to report. I was part of a lead group of three for the first 23 odd miles – which included Andrew and Stuart Mills. Stuart’s tactics were fairly indiscreet (which I am sure he will be the first to admit), to run shoulder to shoulder with me for as long as possible. But when Stuart dropped off the pace, it was a simple partnership with Andrew who I had not met or run with before. I felt the pace dropped off a bit along Lomond-side, but I think it had to after the smoky fast first 19 miles to Balmaha. The heat was a big challenge, rising steadily over the course of the day. Despite a coolish breeze, the many sheltered sections of trail made it feel roasting, and there was no respite from cloud cover whatsoever. I knew it was getting a bit warm for me when all I could think about was jumping in Loch Lomond for a decent cool off – I just about managed to resist. Conditions reminded me a bit of Western States/ California – dusty, tinder dry, beautiful single track trail, crystal clear blue skies, and that wonderful scent of pine and timber through the woods. Quite pleasant had it not been for the extreme effort we were putting in.

If it hadn’t been for the high temperatures, I suspect we would have been running faster still, but it was a case of just trying to block it out, and to keep moving at a decent pace section after section. The trail was certainly very busy which also kept us on our toes. And not just from the couple of hundred early race starters who we had to overtake, also big groups of West Highland Way trekkers who were understandably making the best of the stunning spring weather. I was just sorry to be semi-forcefully coming past them all. I shouted ahead to forewarn everyone, and gave my sincerest thanks, but it was a tricky operation in the many narrow sections of trail.

On the approach to Derrydaroch, at c.46miles. Photo courtesy of "MtM".

After an enjoyable stint running with Andrew in which we both had our moments, him taking a couple of impressive tumbles, me acquainting myself with the bushes, we got to the top of Loch Lomond and the Beinglas checkpoint (40.6 miles) pretty much at the same time. I realised this could well be a critical moment of the race, and so it proved to be. He moved through very quickly, not appearing to take much of a water re-supply. I decided to do things properly knowing there was still a tough 12 mile section ahead, and left with a litre-and-a-half of liquid in two handhelds and a waste pack bottle, as well as taking the opportunity for a good dousing courtesy of the kind checkpoint staff. Andrew upped the pace and flew off up the climb towards Derrydaroch, to which I admittedly didn’t have a reply. I was still running well, but not with any spring to keep up. Andrew steadily moved away and was pretty much out of sight by the woods above Crianlarich. I figured he had a 4-5minute lead at this point. With only a handful of miles left to the finish, I thought he probably had a 80% chance of finishing it off for an impressive win. My only hope was a spectacular blow-up, or a navigational error, neither of which prevailed in the end. I picked up and was gaining on him in the last few miles, but I had run out of trail and he finished three minutes ahead. He was a worthy victor and winner of the UKA title as well as a nice course record.

Once again my sincerest thanks go to Ellen, Murdo and Tim who have created a brilliant race in the space of just six years. It’s a true runner’s race; all beautifully thought out and organised, and one which thoroughly deserves its undoubted success. You only had to be there at the finish line this year, seeing all the smiling runners and supporters enjoying the Highland setting and sunshine, to know what I mean. See you next year.

Next up – the Fellsman a week on Saturday. Eeeek!

2010 in Pictures

Yes I know - buses and my blog posts - none for ages then two at once.

I was going to write a full 2010 review but it will probably be Christmas 2011 before I get round to it, so here's the best of 2010 in pictures.

Here's the pick of the bunch:

It was of course a year of two very different halves for me; out of action injured for the first half then back with a BOOM! in Chamonix.

Happy New Year everyone. Here's to more great running adventures in 2011......

The Long Mynd 50 Winter Run

There is a bit of a theme developing to my pre-Christmas jaunts now. With the weather, that is. Last year's winter West Highland Way record attempt of the same timing was, frankly, bloody freezing, and so too was this year's effort in Shropshire. I thought a mid-winter trip around one of my favourite race routes, The Long Mynd Hike 50, would be a much tamer affair than the Scottish Highlands had been in December 2009. An easy option even? With the winter we've had this year, and it being the coldest December on record, I was of course wrong.

This year I recruited a partner; fellow England and Great Britain team mate Matt Giles no less. It should have been three but that's another story. We did, however, have no support.

The conditions were probably best described as arctic. The ground was deep frozen from what seemed like weeks of sub-zero temperatures, a thick blanket of dry powdery snow covered the valleys and temperatures for the duration of the run ranged between -10°C and -5°C. Lovely.

In the days leading up to the run I was impressed by Matt's unfaltering commitment to give it a go, no matter how snowy, cold and downright unappealing the prospect of running 50 miles around Shropshire three days before Christmas Day was. Good lad. Or perhaps that's a symptom of having two young kids?

The alarm went at 2.50am, I got to Matt's for just after 4am and we were togged up ready to start the run at about just before 6am - an hour behind schedule already. Kit choice would be vital and could have been a drawn out process in itself had it not been for the -10°C temperature as we fumbled through our kit bags in the boot of Matt’s car parked in sleepy Church Stretton, a lovely town nestled in the Shropshire Hills. I went for a pair of tights, windstopper bottoms (by TNF of course, turning out to be a legendary piece of kit), two base layers, a Gore-Tex paclite shell, ski mitts, a buff and three beanies. Footwear was a pair of Singletracks and one pair of socks. I also carried a spare base layer and spare pair of socks, but we had to stay fast and light so it was minimal, and if it went horribly wrong we would still need to keep moving.

In summary, the route is a well established classic: a 50 mile figure-of-eight route over the rugged countryside of South Shropshire and the Welsh Marches, with about 8,000 feet of climbing covering eight summits. Statistically it's fairly tame, but the trails constantly undulate making it impossible to settle in to any rhythm. I always find it’s niggly tough and a solid challenge even in good weather.

Within a mile we were into the first hill, Caer Caradoc, which was horrible. One step forward, half a step back; frozen ground and slippery powdery snow made the steep climb difficult. Cue worries about a long day ahead and me openly stating that we could cut the route short to preserve pub time in the evening. Priorities hey. Freezing fog was another big problem and if we hadn't been on that hill dozens of times before, navigation would have been impossible. But the top's the top and we found it in the end, as well as the descent route for our first spell of foot skiing.


Once we dropped down out of the freezing fog, it was actually the last we saw of it all day. And after that hill, I had no further question marks over our ability to complete the whole route. We got warm, stayed warm, and didn't ever stop longer enough to get cold. That was the trick really – keep moving. The only point we both felt a bit on the edge of being too cold was across Stiperstones ridge with the cold northerly wind coming straight at us. But at that point I just donned all three beanies, sealed myself up in my hood and battled on.

Navigation could have been tricky, particularly as Matt dropped his carefully marked up map somewhere on Stiperstones (not very good as a D of E instructor), but luckily we managed to stay on track almost perfectly all the way round despite the white blanket.

We carried all our provisions for the day in our packs except fluids which required a replen at the shop next to the Stiperstones Inn. The biggest issue was keeping the food and drinks at a suitable temperature to consume, with the tendency being for them to freeze. Matt had a few problems with frozen pipes and bottles.



And the knowledgeable local runner we met outside the Stiperstones Inn who tried to recruit us for the Devils Chair fell race on Boxing day was of course right, his prediction that we would finish before last light was spot on. We got back to Church Stretton just before 4.30pm with no need for the headtorches to come back out again. Our time for the full route was just under 10 hours 30 mins. We were pretty pleased to have got round, and to have run it self sufficiently in such a time. The winning time for the annual October race is just over 8 hours, so more than respectable on that basis.

And of course, the fast time meant we were showered, changed and down the pub in good time to make a proper evening of it. Well, maybe if we hadn’t been quite so knackered.

It begs the question what next year’s jaunt will bring?!…..

The Spirit of the UTMB

"Energy, passion & emotion - lay it all down when you’re racing on the trails - then you can have no regrets."

The 8th edition of The North Face Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc will certainly be well remembered. It was a weekend of twists and turns, lumps and bumps, a complete emotional rollercoaster for all that were involved. The thing that shone through the most for me was the unique spirit of the event which has been present ever since it first started and was immediately apparent to me from the first year I took part back in 2005. It is hard to explain but the factors of extreme human endurance, the jaw-droppingly beautiful alpine environment and the real ‘purpose’ of the classic route itself all contribute.

I’m not really too sure where to start with this one but i’ve decided to keep it fairly brief and factual, hopefully offering an insight into how it was for me. So here we go.......

The race got underway to it’s trademark ‘all singing and dancing’ start on Friday (27 August 2010) evening at 6.30pm. Following blisteringly hot days on the preceding Wednesday and Thursday, the weather had however taken a serious turn for the worse on race day. It was grey and overcast with intermittent heavy showers. The overnight outlook was for more of the same. For me, in preparing my head, it was going to be a wet race, no question about that. The weather did however clear sufficiently for the start to be made without too much drama or the literal dampening of spirits. However soon into the race, beyond the traditional raucous send off from the crowded Chamonix streets, the heavens opened and we got drenched.

I ran down to Les Houches (7.9km) alongside Lizzy (Hawker) and we joked how conditions would well suit the Brits. We agreed that is was actually quite enjoyable – not cold, and quite refreshing. The first climb up Col du Voza is relatively short but is always a slight shock to the system; I tend to find it takes one or two of the nine or ten climbs to really settle in.

But on reaching Saint Gervais about 21km in I felt great and I was in the right place position-wise, not battling it out at the front (not my style, well early on anyway), but not exactly hanging around either. I grabbed a quick top up of one bottle but moved through at speed, enjoying every step of the atmosphere in town which is street carnival come Tour du France.

Out of Saint Gervais, back on to the quiet, now nearly dark, meandering singletrack trails on a gentle valley bottom climb to Les Contamines (31km). I picked off a couple of guys, probably settling in at around 15th place. By this point the rain had eased somewhat but the atmosphere was damp and foggy, particularly along the riverside sections where the icy cold glacial run-off met the warm damp woodland air. Nature was certainly in action; it was an evening of big activity in the mountains, and not just from the event. And then the further hustle and bustle of our last party town atmosphere for the night, Les Contamines. I check-in and am suddenly hit by a bizarre scene. The runners out front are all standing around chatting?! It soon becomes clear the race has been stopped for safety reasons, but the precise reason why is unclear. The reports back from the high mountainous sections ahead are that the rains have been heavy, winds are high and there has been damage to the course/ course markers. Utter shock and devastation is the only way to describe the scenes and my personal feeling. To be just standing there chatting to my support crew in a relaxed manner felt very strange; the race had gone in an instant and I had not expected to be talking to people like that for the best part of 24 hours. People have trained and prepared for this race for several months. Many will have dreamt about it and spent every day getting themselves mentally and physically prepared. The scale, profile and difficulty of the race make this essential for success, but then make it so much harder to come to terms with a scenario like this. After an hour or so of waiting around, for me just satisfying myself that they weren’t going to suddenly re-start the race, I returned to Chamonix with my support crew. We chatted and joked, but in reality everyone was gutted, not just me.

Back in Chamonix, I showered and hit the sack, with plans coming together in my head for a 3-4 hour training run the next day to let off some steam. I struggle to sleep, so much flying around my head, but eventually get off and then stir just before 7am. I check my phone; two messages from the organisers – firstly to announce a revised race would be held on Saturday starting in Courmayeur at 10am, secondly to announce logistics.

I was surprised to see that there was a race on even though the rumours had been around the night before. I hadn’t really paid much attention and certainly wasn’t in race mode. I threw some clothes on and headed straight to the hotel breakfast room to find runners to talk to. There weren’t many people around. My initial decision was that I would race - a short race would be better than nothing. But then on reflection, I started to doubt whether it was the right thing for me. Should I save myself for something else later in the year? Would it really be a race? Would the event still be at risk from the weather? How would I be mentally? These thoughts initially reversed my decision before a last minute change back, at around 9am, really just based on a niggling concern in my head that by not taking part I would have serious regrets (how right can a ‘gut’ feeling be).

I had missed the official buses but Bryon Powell from irunfar kindly offered to take me through the Mont Blanc tunnel to Courmayeur. We exchanged a bit of banter in the car, I don’t think either of us could believe it was ‘race on’ and I arrived at the race start in Italy to beautiful wall-to-wall sunshine which had evidently transformed everyone’s sprits. I hopped the barriers and lined up at the front. Behind me at the start, there were 1,300 other runners, a mixture of ‘fresh’ TDS runners and ‘slightly jaded’ UTMB runners who had been through the turmoil of the previous night. But the atmosphere felt great; there was a clear spirit of determination.

As the UTMB race theme music bleared out once again, it was a complete feeling of déjà vu. My head didn’t know where it was. As we got underway there was a frantic pace leaving town, along the cobbled high street, up the hill past the church and on to road climb to the foot of Bertone. If there were any doubt in people’s minds as to whether this would be a race, they were banished in an instant. The race was most certainly on. The race distance would be 88km with over 5,000m of vertical climb and descent, no mean feat by any stretch of the imagination.

I ran at the front to the foot of the Bertone climb but then settled in to my fast hike once we hit the steep switchbacks. The other front runners were only interested in running so I left them to it. Perhaps it was the mindset of a ‘shorter’ race, or maybe just their competitive instinct. In my mind it was still 88km to cover so plenty of trail to race. At the top of Bertone (4.7km) I was probably in about 25th place. The contouring high level trail along the side of Val Ferret is usually a panoramic treat, but a fast pace and plenty of cloud and mist made it feel less so. I was breathing pretty hard from the pace and altitude, as well as trying to concentrate on what was happening amongst the pack ahead. I started to reign in a string of runners and overtook them soon after the next checkpoint at Bonatti (11.9km). Getting up to the head of Val Ferret, before the mini descent to Arnuva, the rain started to fall. I started to expect pretty grim conditions at the top of the Grand Col Ferret.

Arnuva (16.9km) had a great atmosphere, quite a few spectators and plenty of merriment and positivity around. People were enjoying having a race to support, I was enjoying being part of it. I grabbed a bottle refill and headed straight out again, ready for the climb up to the highpoint of the course the Grand Col du Ferret at 2,537m. Speed through the aid station was the order of the day for me. And in doing so I had picked a couple more runners off.

The climb up the Grand Col is renowned as a nasty one, but I actually quite like it. It’s not all that bad in vertical climb, and seems to be over before you know it. Usually the cracking views help, but the only view I had was of the feet of the runners ahead, although they kept changing because again I was gaining places. It wasn’t a conscious push, just maintaining how I had set off.
As I approached the top, the winds got higher and the temperatures colder. We were running very close to the rain/ snow limit. My hands were numb, it was important to keep moving, and that I did with just a brief pause at the top to get my race chip scanned. 9 places gained, now up to 16th.

The descent was fast and enjoyable, a chance to let go and really charge for the first time. Now I did consciously push, the novelty of entering another country, Switzerland, perhaps also helping my spring. Having not really set off with any race strategy, I decided as things started to pan out en route that the section down to Praz du Fort would be a key one, the fast and runnable trail suiting my style. The aid station at La Fouly (30.8km) had plenty of life to it, and there I met my crew for the first time. Refill bottle, stash a load of gels, a bit of chocolate and then on my way - 30 second tops.

I continued to make good progress and reached the bottom of the climb to Champex probably up to around 8th place by now (according to feedback from supporters). Mid-climb I hooked up with team mate, Mike Wolfe from the US. He was going well. We chatted for a bit as we made the climb and discussed how things were panning out up front. He reported a group of 6 or so runners, all fairly close together, who were 8 mins or so ahead. That was music to my ears. Without any agreed plans to do so we ran together, working as a team to push a bit harder than we perhaps would do if running solo. That little bit of extra speed was reducing our gap on the leaders, again great for morale. Reaching Champex in 7th place (44.9km) was a nice little milestone with plenty of folk clapping us through the checkpoint and along the beautiful lake around which the town is wrapped.

Whilst I was gaining regular boosts from overtaking runners, the real positive feeling and sign of things to come was the strength of my climbing. The next climb, Bovine, was a good example. There, midway up, I started to pull away from Mike and overtook a couple more guys. I didn’t feel I was running much quicker, but perhaps just holding the pace well when the others were feeling the strain of the fast first half.

It was at the wooden gate on the crest of the Bovine (54.5km) climb that things really started to pan out. There I came across Dawa Sherpa who was in the lead. He was clearly surprised to have company, and perhaps I was a tad surprised to be in his company. We exchanged a few words and I cracked on, thinking that whilst I had overtaken him on the climb, he would destroy me on the descent. Nope – I moved away. One of the guys who I had just overtaken, Julien Chorier, did however re-overtake me so I was now in second. But what I had learnt from that previous section was that I was in better shape than him on the flats and climbs, whilst he was the faster descender.

At Col du Forclaz there were more crowds, and cameras lining the trail on the approach. Friendly faces from The North Face team were also popping up everywhere, providing a great boost for morale. It sounds simple, but simple comments like ‘you’re looking good’ help a massive amount, particularly when you feel like a heap of crap inside. They were convincing liars anyway.

After the crazy steep switchbacks through the woods down to Triente I started to feel excited. I could hear the supporter’s applause from Julian moving through the village and checkpoint ahead. I was less than a minute back, in perfect striking distance. A helicopter appeared and started tracking us from overhead - probably filming. In Triente (60.9km) my crew met me and there was an even greater sense of urgency. Penny helped me re-stock superfast, I was in and out in a flash. Even the prospect of another tough climb up to Catogne didn’t seem all that bad.

I was just a few hundred metres behind Julian on leaving the village and hitting the mountain trails again. I know the climb up Catogne well, it’s not technical and is well graded, but certainly a pretty stiff one. I ran the early part, but as it steepened out I broke into a hike. It was then that I moved past Julien who appeared to suffering somewhat. We briefly acknowledged each other as I moved through. I immediately felt a sense of vulnerability on hitting the front for the first time properly. It was going to be a key turning point in the race. I decided to just keep running my own race, at a pace that felt right. I could feel that my blood sugars and energy levels were low from the fact that every gel I took had an immediate effect, but then started to wear off much quicker than earlier in the race. So I kept knocking them back like a sugar junky......

I tried not to but ended up looking over my shoulder far too frequently. I was pulling away, but slowly. I reckoned I had two minutes by the top of the climb. There were film guys at the top and a remote, basic, checkpoint (65.7km). I didn’t stop. There was a big descent ahead to Vallorcine where I would be back into France for the final push to the finish. Just as I feared, it was a pretty mucky one too. The narrow, grassy, singletrack trail was well trodden from the CCC race the night before, and further rain had helped to make it into even more of a mud bath. Some sections were a bit perilous requiring you to run on the ‘edges’ of your shoes to try to cut in and get some grip. My TNF Singletracks were loving it, and coped admirably. It was like a good autumn UK fell race so I felt at home but I suspect others may not have.

The second half of the descent into Vallorcine followed a route I had not taken before, staying higher to traverse the mountainside before dropping down steeply. I quite liked the novelty of not knowing what was ahead for this part, I was well familiar with the rest of the course. And finally I caught a glimpse of the checkpoint from the top of a long grassy bank which was lined with spectators. I can see why they had all congregated there because it was steep and slippery, ideal for watching runners with shot quads coming a cropper! I survived intact. Phew. Then through the final big checkpoint of Vallorcine (70.6km) with another super-quick, F1 style, pit stop.

I hadn’t felt it was quickest descent so I had concerns over the lead I had built (or not). It was about 3 minutes as it turns out, but that was nothing given what lay ahead; the infamous final climb up to Flegere. I ran well up to Col du Montets (74.3km) at the foot of Flegere. There were hoards of people at the road crossing and lining the first part of the climb, obviously eager to watch the final parts of the race pan out. I felt extremely anxious because my crew had relayed to me the cushion was just 3 minutes. From the crowd applause at the bottom section of the climb I actually felt it was less than 3 minutes. I looked back but couldn’t see anyone behind but was almost certain I was in their line of sight. It was another key part of the race. The climb is steep, technical and relentless. It is also very exposed meaning someone chasing from behind would be motivated by seeing me a short distance ahead. I gave it everything, marching up with my usual loping, long, stride. I felt slow, my legs were badly fatigued and weren’t very responsive. It was a simple result of all the fast descending and relentless climbing of the previous nine hours. "Hang in there Jez" I kept telling myself, amongst other out loud self chants.

Finally I hit Tete Aux Vents (78km), the top of the first section - still no sign of anyone behind. Now a chance to get back to some proper running along the technical section of trail which involves plenty of boulder hopping. The views of the Mont Blanc range came and went as the cloud patterns moved around quickly in the wind. A couple of groups of hikers and supporters were located in remote sections, but generally it was just me, the trail and the beautiful views of the Mont Blanc massif and Chamonix valley at dusk. I started to reflect on what an incredible day it had been. I also psyched myself up for the final sections of the race which I needed to nail to wrap it all up. It was these moments when I did actually properly envisage winning for the first time.

On reaching Flegere (81km) it was time to start really enjoying it, all downhill from here, and I decided to just give it everything I possibly had for the long, fast, final descent into Chamonix. I am probably still feeling the effects of that descent now, I really did blast it. The light was fading quickly and the sections through the woods were probably a touch too dark to be running without a headtorch, but I did, still overly paranoid about getting caught. I just got away with it, although the flashes from the camera guys on the final sections didn’t do any favours for my night vision so I shut my eyes whenever I saw them!

And then finally back into Chamonix town, the destination I had focused all my energies towards over the course of the day. It felt strange being back in civilisation after so many hours of solo running on the wild mountain trails. But it was a welcome sight, and an incredible greeting from the spectators which in my experience is completely unique to this race. The spirit of the UTMB was definitely shining through, crowds several deep cheering and welcoming me back. It was something you can’t really prepare yourself for, and in being the first in the race to experience it, a true honour. I crossed the line with in a final time of 10hours 30mins, seven minutes ahead of team mate, Mike Wolfe of the USA. To round off a perfect day for me and the The North Face team, Lizzy Hawker also romped home first in the ladies race. An awesome result all round, and the Sunday headlines of ‘Triomphe Britannique’ said it all...........

So then, plenty to reflect on and ponder over after this one. I’m not going to enter the debate over the cancellation of the race itself and issues which surround it. For me, I was pleased to have had the opportunity to run a revised, albeit shorter, race and it was an honour to have won that. The race was a great success, not just because I won, but because it was a whole-hearted effort from spectators, runners and helpers alike. A race of the same atmosphere and spirit of the UTMB race was created and all involved deserve a great deal of credit for pulling that off.

And finally, I think it’s fair to say that the finishing times show the level of commitment made by the competitors, and from a personal point of view, that I would have been pushing hard over the full distance. I guess that’s something to come back and prove next year.

A big thank you to the whole of The North Face team, but especially to Keith, Helen, Penny, Oli, David C and Gemma for all their support before, during and after the race.