The Thrill is Gone

Around Mont-Blanc in 20 hours

However, I was not permitted to leave my body. Stuck there in the control room as the space began to collapse. Levers and buttons smoke and sound. Doom seemed imminent. But the defunct ship carried on. I put out fires, manned the helm, and refused to back down.

Photo by Albin DURAND

Much earlier, the voyage began under rain. Liberated from the holding pen, we flew down the streets of Chamonix through kilometers of crazed spectators, rain falling thick enough to drink through my mustache.

Even that early, I flirted with the lead. If it scares you, it’s not for you. I was running my tempo—smooth, durable.

From Col de Volza (15km) the clouds fell back and I had one of those, “Earth is a lovely place,” moments. Rain washed air, rods of gold light running in the green pasture, black rock above loaded with freshly grated Parmesan.

Run it forward a squeeze, because we’ve been here before: St. Gervais (23 km) is a wall of sound, the lead runners joined by fast descenders. The rolling hills to Les Contamines (33 km) invite us to run. Night falls.

Photo by The Adventure Bakery

I meet my crew, Cathy Ardito, team-mother and legend in the game. I change into a black long-sleeve thermal while she stuffs my pockets with gels and bottles. The rain starts again as we tromp through puddles to Notre Dame de la Gorge.

Up and up, soon the group is whittled down—Jon Albon, Germain Grangier, Ji Duo, Tom Evans, and myself. The rain falls in ropes and I stay focused on the feet in front. As we approach Col du Bonhomme (46km), the rain turns snow, wind swirling over our soaked bodies.

I love when the mountains get riled up. For a stretch, I fully embraced the madness. But dam did I get cold. Fortunately, sensation returned to my hands on the long descent to Les Chapieux (52 km—where I quit in 2023). The track was muddy, visibility low, and we took it easy.

One of my non-negotiables this year was better pacing to Col de la Seine (63km). We ran all the false flats and bumpy terrain to the start of the climb but hiked the entirety of the main ascent.

Already I was impressed with Tom’s hiking stride, long, powerful, metronomic. We swapped leads several times and the effort felt smooth and controlled, even as conditions deteriorated.

Wet dogs over snowy cols. It was almost miserable but I‘ve been here before. Get up and get down. Move with urgency.

On the descent route-finding was tricky, the track buried in snow, under which a layer of mud shucked loose with every step. But soon I was bounding.

Where we normally turn left to climb the little side-quest of Pyramid Calcaire, we found flags taking us further downhill. They must have decided it too dangerous, so we launched into the descent knowing the aid station at Lac Combal (68km) would not be too far.

I ask the aid-station volunteer to fill my flask with boiling chicken soup and juggle it between hands before it is cool enough to drink. Vitality restored, we launch into the next climb.

Theo Detienne, the young French talent, known for his comic relief, was not joking around up the Mont Favre. He grabbed the lead and put several minutes on us.

Tom and I descended into Courmayeur (82km) together. Although it was a cold and arduous night, I felt intact.

My main concern was the under-fuelling. When I was cold, I was not eating. I was drinking a lot but not making it through my supply of sugar. The stomach was good, but I did not want to eat.

They say fat is a nearly endless resource, so I assumed my body had shifted that metabolic direction because I did not feel hypoglycemic.

I changed into a another long-sleeve and stacked rations in the vest. The next climb features two kilometers of steep road then trail. The road never lies. At first it was hard, then the legs dug the effort.

At Refuge Bertone (87km), Tom and I got word that Theo was 5mins ahead. We agreed that an honest steady pace should be enough to reel him in.

Again I lapse into the effort and avoid eating. I take a gel every hour and drink water. In retrospect it sounds bad. But my speed was correct, mental clarity acute. At this point in race last year, excess sugar had ripped me to pieces, so maybe there was a touch of reactionary behavior?

At Refuge Bonatti (92km) we catch Theo, brush by and cruise down to Arnouvaz (100km — where I quit last year). I get some soup, and Tom goes ahead. He is just a minute in front but I see from the angle of his headlamp that he is pushing.

I go to push, to catch up, but the legs do not respond. They immediately feel heavy and lactic. My breathing is elevated considering the pace. Suddenly the night feels very dark. Levers and buttons smoke and sound.

I pride myself on not cracking to the core. But here, I wonder if its finally happening. Its a slog on Grand Col Ferret. The shower gets colder and colder.

With no dry tinder and a waning fire, I must protect whats left of the embers. So I climb at a slow but steady beat then concern myself with descending. The way is not clear, fog so thick, I go left and right looking for flags.

Again I decide not to eat. But the legs run well downhill and I move easily through the technical bits. Down at la Fouly (114km) its still dark, the night goes on forever.

Finally I decide to start eating. 80g of carbs in the next hour, but it does not change much. I’m operating on 100-miler autopilot. Not fast, not slow.

More gel up to Champex Lac (128km), I try to run uphill when the terrain permits, but its a sorry stride. Do what you can. Don’t back down. Even though I feel slow, the climbs pass relatively quickly.

After Champex the real toil begins. My uphill legs are completely neutralized. I have that image of a wobbly Jim Walmsley getting passed by Tom up the Bovine in 2022, and worry that might be me.

I had gone mad with vulnerability and regressed into a juvenile state. But once the climb was done, I ran the descent with confidence and haste.

Into Trient (145km), the crew tells me that Tom is well ahead, nearly 20 minutes, and behind I have a 12 minute lead. Laurent says to be serene. But all I see is the next climb, a menace—2km at 30% average incline—and imagine how fast someone could chew into that gap.

Understand that on any given training day, this type of climb is my jam, but today I go weak with fear. Who have I become? In midst of this ‘race’ the entire artifice of Ben is quaking. There are even thought-flashes—quit and never run again. I had lost my shit.

The Tseppes climb difficulty is compounded by the mud. I actually wonder if I am going to make it to the top—so this is what that feels like?!

But somehow it passes, time, distance, elevation goes someplace behind me. I know the descent to Vallorcine (157km) is long but that’s to my advantage.

The party in Vallorcine is audible from way up on the mountain. Insanity ensues when I come into view. There must be a thousand people with bull-horns and bells and chainsaws.

Photo by mathis_dumas

Cathy gives me the last round of supplies. Laurent tells me I lost no time on the last section. I put my head down and crank the attitude adjuster to militant-determined and push into the tunnel of hooligans.

To make this longer section more digestble I divide it into neat chunks. You must run Col des Montets and its tough, but in doing so I gather more strength.

Since Champex I’ve been putting away lots of gel. I’m not getting the boost of energy, but maintain and during the late stages of a race staying power is key.

By concentrating my energy on each individual part of the last stretch, time flows by. My Asics teammates are spread across the mountain to cheer me on.

I would have loved to run every step of the last stretch to Flégere (168km), but could not. I grind it out. The end is coming. Finally the downhill hurts, but I’ve done this a million times.

I jog the flats into town and look for some soft place in my mind to relax and savor the last sip, but all I taste are the dregs of a days suffering. I cross the line with a deep sense of relief.

The thrill is gone. Getting around that mountain took everything I had. It was not pretty. It was not fun. But this, friends, is ultra.