UTMB Val d'Aran 100M 2025

 

• Distance: 147km / 91 miles
• Elevation: 7,148m / 23,451 feet (tracked)
• Elapsed Time: 33:29:47 (official)
• Estimated calories: 13,198
• Position: 401th
• Total finishers (within 38.5-hour cutoff): 458, of 652 starters (30% DNF)
• UTMB Val d'Aran 100M homepage
• Original route 
• Alternative route (used for 2025)

View from above Benos

First Failure

D-N-F. Did Not Finish. The letters and the words bounced around in my head as a struggled slowly down a rocky woodland path. Runner after runner dodged past me at speed, and I'd ceased attempting to help them by moving to one side - there were too many of them, and I was the one in pain, a lot of it. They could skip round on the bumpier side of the trail, if they really wanted to get past. Some slowed to ask if I was ok and had to guess which language to use; I'd neglected to put the label with name and nationality on the back of my pack. Given I was moving, none were concerned enough to think it was a situation worthy of stopping, although one offered to call the emergency rescue number for me. Each time someone asked, I attempted to convey it was a knee issue, but later settled for just saying "I'm ok", though I was anything but.

Around an hour prior, I'd been flying down a steep, dry woodland trail on the heels of some speedy runners, having set a considerably faster pace through the first couple of sections than the LiveTrail app had predicted from my UTMB Index. It was a very long descent, and as I got to around three quarters of the way down, my right knee started objecting to the repeated leaping down drops, around rocks and over roots. The pain ramped up quickly and, as I approached the third checkpoint at Bossost, I knew I was in big trouble. My support crew were at the side of the course shortly before the checkpoint. They shouted encouragement, but saw the discomfort on my face as I went past.

For reasons I haven't yet identified, and regardless of how well I have fuelled on the initial part of a race, when I get to around 4-5 hours in, a wave of emotion starts to build alongside a feeling of physical struggle. I'm so familiar with it that I am no longer concerned of the consequences; I know it will pass, I know I am capable of running for 48 hours if needed, but I can't control my reaction. This time, it was building alongside a sharp pain behind my knee cap - one that has blighted me on multiple races, but not yet actually stopped me finishing. It hit hard. I limped into the aid station, picked out a spare bench in desperation and headed directly to it. I pulled my pack off, lay on my back and instantly started sobbing. It was the combination of the expected emotion and the unwanted agony of my knee.

I took a few minutes of rest, but it wasn't a serious enough attempt to let the swelling subside - something that had rescued a lesser knee situation in a previous race. I shovelled some food and drink in, went to the loo, and decided to set out and see if it was working, not really considering that I was committing myself to a further hilly 10km until the next checkpoint. It was a big error - my knee wasn't at all ok and it took just a few minutes for me to realise the consequences; even though it was clear I couldn't continue, I had to limp along to the next aid station, 10km away, in order to retire from the race. I suppose it would have been reasonable to inform the race director and head back to the checkpoint I'd just left but in the moment, it wasn't a course of action I was considering. I limped on for what seemed like an eternity, playing through my head the thought that my biggest race, my first race as a 50-year-old, and one I'd travelled hundreds of miles to compete in, was also going to become my first race retirement. I'd failed.

A High-Risk Plan

Early in the year, I'd been forming ideas for what significant things to do when I turned 50 in June. Buoyant from finishing my 5th 100-mile race, the Arc of Attrition in Cornwall, I felt invincible with tackling that distance, no matter the difficulty level of the course. I'd failed to secure a place in the UTMB Mont Blanc lottery, the flagship UTMB race, so needed something else special. I already had Ultra Trail Snowdonia in my calendar, in mid-May - a hugely challenging 100-mile race that I'd completed once in 2024 - but it fell before my birthday and therefore didn't fit the criteria. I came up with the idea that I could do five 100-mile races in the year from June to June. There was no good reason for doing this many, other than a loose mathematical correlation with the birthday, but once I'd thought of the idea, the plan was set in motion - it was merely a matter of filling the slots. I knew I could repeat 13 Valleys in September, the Arc in January and possibly the UTS the following May. I needed two more races to fit in between. When I spotted Val d'Aran, it ticked all the boxes - beautiful mountain terrain, huge elevation (10,000m, slightly more than UTS) and an achievable distance and cost, by car or plane. Being the European Major of the UTMB series, it even offered double "stones"  for entry in the Mont Blanc lottery. The only potential problem was timing - it was less than seven weeks after the UTS.

Common wisdom seems to be that competing in a couple of marathons in a year is as much as it might be sensible to attempt. This allows for a good length of training, building up to a performance peak each time. It seems similar for 100-milers; runners will typically attempt one or possibly two in a year, allowing time to fully recover and train. Since starting with the 100-mile distance in June 2023, I've pushed to do races with increasing frequency and from May 2024, I'd be undertaking three 100-mile races within the 12 months. I convinced myself that, given the gaps I'd already managed, fitting five into 12 months was very achievable. But once I'd set my plan in motion by booking a place on Val d'Aran, I started to realise the significance of the decision - it would be a much more expensive race, given the travel, and any injury resulting from UTS could leave me holding airline tickets I didn't need. Even with a successful completion of the UTS, I didn't know if the recovery time was enough. As things turned out, I arrived at UTS carrying an injury, and brought the same one home. Very little in the way of running training happened between UTS and Val d'Aran, just a little strength training. It didn't seem like the ideal plan.

A Sunny and Thundery Holiday

The plans had evolved through the year and the trip to Spain had became a family mini-holiday, with my little jog falling towards the end. More money had been committed, but at least there were more reasons to be heading out there. We'd done some lovely sightseeing near Barcelona and continued with some touring in the Val d'Aran area but, as the week progressed, my thoughts had inevitably drifted towards the race. The nerves built in the day before the event and I had to focus on what I was about to undertake.

Two days before race day, with the forecast for the area having resolutely stuck to two afternoons of thunder, lightning and heavy rain, the race organisers had informed us that the route had changed and we'd be following a lesser course that mostly stuck to the hills adjacent to the towns and villages in Val d'Aran; the risks of sending volunteers and runners in to the remote locations of the original course were too high. Of the previous three times the event has run, the previous two had resulted in a mid-race cancellation of the 100-mile distance event. This had, unsurprisingly, caused a lot of disgruntlement amongst participants, so the preemptive action of providing a workable course would ensure everyone would get a full race and the corresponding UTMB "stones" to use in the Mont Blanc lottery. The disadvantage was that we wouldn't experience those remote places, and would follow a course that was only 88 miles and shy of three quarters of the original elevation. I was slightly disappointed with this change, but happy for the opportunity to earn my stones and not have a wasted trip.

Vielha

0 miles, Friday 1600hrs

The race start was busier than any I've known, with 652 participants on the 100-mile distance alone (there were multiple races spread over the week). I was slow to adopt my position in the second starting wave I had been assigned to and ended up a fairly long way back in the pack. It was a fun start with such big crowds cheering us through the streets of Vielha but as soon as we hit the narrow trails, it became apparent what a big field this was. It seemed implausible that I'd get in clear air at all during the race but this did happen, and not as much later as I expected.

Running poles are a popular accessory in these races; they provide various benefits, especially taking a bit of the climbing load from your quadriceps. I usually only use them for hill climbing on trails, not for hard surfaces, and not on descents (or even flat). I kept mine stashed through the first hour or so of the race because we were running in a very close pack; I didn't want to be spiking people behind me. Others seems less concerned, and those first few miles proved difficult as I had to leave extra space to the person in front, if they were carrying poles. When lining up an overtake, I'd have to consider whether the runner's handling of the poles presented an extra risk, and which side would be safest to pass. I found myself resenting their decision to employ poles while the field was so closely-spaced.

The predicted rain had started lightly as the race began, but came in full shortly after the start. The weather was warm and humid so I wasn't inclined to put a jacket on over my t-shirt. I held out for a while but, as it got heavier, the balance tipped towards needing to avoid entirely sodden clothes, so I managed to put my jacket on as I ran, removing my pack to achieve this. It didn't last a long time, perhaps 20 minutes, and after it stopped I was keen to remove my jacket again - I didn't want to get sodden with sweat either.

Vielha event village, shortly before the race start

Busy trail, early in the race

First mountain, the rain closed in

Rain rapidly clearing

Back in sunshine, but with soggy clothes

Benos, one of several mountainside villages we passed through

It felt like a brisk first couple of sections. We seemed to hit the first few aid stations quickly; they were more closely spaced than I was used to. I made good use of them to refuel, taking on board plenty of food and extra fluids. Things were going well through Benos and Vilamos. As I passed my support crew before arriving at a checkpoint, they told me I was 45 mins ahead of the estimated timings, which came as a surprise; I had considered those timings to be optimistic, and certainly wouldn't have been expecting to be so far ahead, so early in the race. I had been pushing harder than I realised. I began tackling the long, steep and technical descent to Bossost with a good deal of enthusiasm, but as I got down to the lower part of the woods, my knee woes began...

Bossost 1

19 miles, Friday 2047hrs

My decision to head out of the Bossost aid station and continue to Canejan had been costly, painful and demoralising. I'd forfeited very many places, taking a torturously long time to get off the hill. During that time, I'd slowly resigned myself to the reality that this was over, I couldn't continue. The next section after Canejan would be longer than this (16km vs 10km) with a significant peak to clear, through the night, so attempting it would seem irresponsible. As a last-ditch measure, I took some painkillers a while before the Canejan checkpoint but given the level of pain, I asked Claire to travel up to the checkpoint ready to pick me up.

As I hiked up the steep hill to the aid station, the painkillers were starting to take effect. I felt weary when I arrived, but the pain was at least slightly muted. I took my time with eating and drinking, and took a little rest. It came to decision time, and I conferred with Claire; the pain had eased, but the previous section had really taken its toll - hobbling down the hill had caused my hamstring to tighten up and start having minor spasms, and my hip was sore. Realistically, at 25 miles into an 88 mile race, I wasn't going to finish.

Between Bossost and Canejan, in pain

From Canejan, looking down to Les

Canejan

26 miles, Saturday 0005hrs

There is much to explore in the mindset of ultra marathon runners who choose to tackle 100-mile mountain races, and especially those that succeed. The races are sufficiently long in time that it is never a straightforward linear challenge, getting harder as time progresses. Rather, it is a series of micro-battles, affected by fatigue, hydration levels, your blood sugar and the state of your gut, muscular and other pains that arrive and different points and sometimes disappear again. It is a mental challenge where you must believe that each of these micro-battles can be won, and you must learn the techniques to fend them off. Fundamentally, you must have the desire to win and the tenacity to refuse to be stopped.

I haven't yet reached that final decision point to pull out of a race. I've been in sufficiently difficult positions to plan my exit, and convince myself that there is no possibility of success but when it comes to actually leaving the race, I find myself asking the question "can I make it a bit further?". With the pain lessened, I still considered the distance unachievable but I thought I could at least make it the 16km to the next aid station, even if the final descent proved difficult. So off I went into the night.

I'd browsed the elevation profile of the next section; after a fairly flat couple of miles, along the side of the hill, there was a steep, 3-mile climb. The course then travelled along the side of the mountain, under Eth Cau de Naut, before a more steady 4-mile descent on forest fire roads.

I got stuck in with a brisk hike. It was around midnight, six hours and nearing twenty-six miles into the race, and fatigue was showing on the runners around me. It had been long enough for any fuelling mistakes to start showing up. Whilst I lacked confidence that my knee would work for running downhill, it was ok with the uphill hiking. I pushed on and, now out of position, I found myself frequently passing other runners who had slowed to a very steady plod. This continued for around an hour on the ascent. As the trail levelled, my usual method came back to my mind - if you aren't climbing a hill, you should be running. I picked up a gentle jog along the high trail, and found myself passing other runners - everyone was walking.

Occasionally, someone ahead or behind would join me in attempting a jog, presumably feeling a little pressured by my enthusiasm, but they wouldn't keep it up for long so I'd disappear off. As we hit the fire roads, I had a strong desire to stop the jogging and hike down like everyone else, but I realised this was my opportunity to claw back some time and positions. I resolved to run all the way to the checkpoint. Given my ponderous pace, I thought other runners would now start passing me on the downhill, but it didn't happen; I was still overtaking others. Once off the hill and picking up the roads down to Les, I was sure people would start passing me, but it still didn't happen. Having lost 260 places on the previous section, on this one I'd pulled back 63 places in what I consider to be possibly my best section of an endurance race.

Jogging quietly through Les at 3am

Bossost by night

Bossost 2

38 miles, Saturday 0334hrs

After a 3km road section from the Les checkpoint, I was back in Bossost for the second visit to the aid station. This was the first of three where support crews were allowed to enter, and any drop bag you'd submitted would be available to access. I tended to my feet, giving them a clean, a fresh treatment of Trenchfoot lubricant and a clean pair of toe socks (socks that fit around each individual toe, like a glove). These measures, along with a preventative application of Rocktape over likely areas of blistering, worked very well at my last race and so I was doing exactly the same this time. My support crew brought me hot food and drinks. I was in much better spirits, and the pain was still significantly dulled.

Decision time arrived again, and despite the next section posing the challenge of 646m of ascent over 7km, I didn't hesitate - I'd confidently got through the previous two sections. A finish looked possible, if only the gap between the painkillers fading and the next safe window to take another dose were not too large. I wouldn't be setting a strong time - the previous slow section had really set me back, and I wasn't optimistic about holding a good pace for the remainder - but the UTMB stones could still be achieved, and I'd get to keep my unbroken record of zero retirements.

After tracking the river for a couple of miles, the course entered the woodland for the climb to Arres de Sus. There were many such climbs in this alternative route because we were holding close to the valley; the route was mostly heading up and down the nearby mountain sides via very direct routes.

Tired, but pain under control

Arres de Sus

42 miles, Saturday 0543hrs

It was early morning, but the heat and humidity were building. I sat down wearily at the aid station at Arres, not feeling hugely motivated to eat. There was some chicken broth available. Soup has served me well on previous runs as an easy way to get a few calories and fluid down when you are struggling with sweet tastes. I regretted my choice; the broth wasn't nice, and the taste lingered with me for hours after. I reverted to similar choices as previous stops - bread with olive oil layered up with cheese and salami. As ever, I mostly ignored any sweet options on offer.

A mile after Arres, the trail looked very familiar. It was getting warm, and I stopped to remove the extra layer I'd been wearing through the night. I reached a junction that I recognised clearly, this time the waymarking flags indicating a different direction. I hadn't imagined it, we had repeated a short section on this route out into the mountains.

The morning views were spectacular from up high, with the mist lingering around the distant, snowy peaks. I felt some regret that we wouldn't be tackling the more remote peaks, and as-per the forecast, the morning would be clear and hot, before giving way to thunderstorms in the afternoon.

Warming up at 6am

Dramatic views, up high near Arres de Sus

Closing in on Vilamos

Vilamos 2

48 miles, Saturday 0803hrs

By the time I'd reached the second visit to the Vilamos checkpoint, I had passed the half way mark, but I wasn't aware of the fact. After, I passed through another small village, Begos, I was repeating another section of the race in reverse. It looked familiar, but then many of the trails an villages were similar, so I wasn't sure. My pace was slow and my brain was quite disengaged. Inevitably, the fatigue of running all night was hitting me. I had been drinking Coke at the checkpoints, but I gave myself the extra boost of a caffeine gel to make up for the lack of a morning coffee.

The route tracked along the mountainsides close to the valley, aside from venturing into the woods after Vilac. The views were impressive, looking down on the villages from high above, and across to the mountain ranges beyond. The weather stayed warm and humid, but it clouded over a bit, protecting us from the heat of the sun.

Approach Arros, 9am

Arros

Vilac

53 miles, Saturday 0958hrs

Vilac to Casarilh threw in another 435m of climbing, then after a short stop at the aid station just before midday, there was another 509m of climbing before Salardu. Despite the repeated steep climbs, I had settled in to my endurance pace, and the pain management was working enough for me to keep going. After the descent was a tedious, straight and hard track. I took pictures of some small goats to amuse myself.

Approach Salardu checkpoint

Feeling strong at Salardu

Salardu

61 miles, Saturday 1346hrs

This was the second aid station where supporters were allowed, and another of my drop bags was available. I repeated the foot maintenance routine, did a full change of clothes and brushed my teeth. After a good feed, I considered stopping for a short sleep, but decide I was ok to continue.

After a short hop to the pretty Tredos village, I joined the "Witches Trail", which tracked up the rocky river. It was clearly a popular visitor spot, but further up turned steep and rocky - presumably, this would deter casual walkers. The rapids continued for a long period, and the rocky woodland was beautiful. I found myself managing well enough to really start enjoying the surroundings, which had become more memorable and impressive than the morning trails. At the top of the many falls was a dam, and the trail passed along the side of the Barratge d'Aiguamog reservoir, where the clouds were tumbling down the mountain side.

The elevated valley was filled with trees and flowers. In contrast to the UK, in this hotter climate, it is the higher, cooler areas where the vegetation is at its most lush. The trail once again lined up alongside the river, but this time it consisted of big boulders. I enjoyed the stretch of rock-jumping.

Tredos village

Barratge d'Aiguamog reservoir

Lush flora up high

Leaping across rocks

Fun technical trails

Banhs de Tredos

67 miles, Saturday 1636hrs

The Banhs de Tredos aid station was out in a remote valley, accessible by track. The heat had returned as I closed in on it, just past 24 hours into the race. The volunteers were giving an enthusiastic applause to every runner arriving and departing. I was feeling a bit lost in my fuelling strategy, and vacantly took whatever food items I thought I could manage. I sat for a short while to cool off.

The landscape continued to become more dramatic and impressive as I climbed in this most remote section of the race. The scattered rocks grew bigger, and the jagged distant peaks came into clear view. 5pm passed, and my tired brain began to struggle a little to process what it saw. I'd have to look at some of the rocks for a few seconds to be sure of what I was looking at, as my brain was starting to fill blanks with nonsense. The terrain was getting increasingly technical so despite my weary state, I was having to place my feet carefully and balance well. As I scrambled over a minor rocky summit, the views opened out into the most stunning landscape of the race. There were tree-topped cliffs and huge stacked rocks, with lush, untouched vegetation filling every gap. My vision was still quite confused, yet at the same time I marvelled at the unreal landscape I was seeing. I kept pointing my phone to take photos. When I clicked at Lac du Cloto de Baish, I knew I'd just taken a very special picture. Even with my brain struggling to stay conscious and my eyeballs wanting to roll back into my head, I'd just taken a photo that would later make a large print for a wall at home.

The beautiful landscape and rocky trail continued for the next descent. I thought I'd seen the Colomers checkpoint, and felt relief at the opportunity for a stop, but it turned out to be a tent belonging to a pair of walkers. The actual checkpoint proved to be an uncomfortable further distance along the flat, towards the woods, and I was feeling frustrated. Nevertheless, I forced myself to keep some momentum with a jog.

Colomers

71 miles, Saturday 1834hrs

I'd started the race tired from several nights of poor sleep. It was starting to take its toll, and I was ready for the race to be over. I knew I had around six hours of running still ahead, around 35km, and at this point that felt like a lot. I had to settle in for the ride; I knew it wasn't going to be easy. The painkillers had mostly kept the pain at bay, but nothing was going to stop the impact of the tiredness. 

As I entered the woodland tracks, I was unsure what to expect next. I knew the final supporter aid station was at Arties, but I didn't know lay between me and there. I messaged Claire to find out, and it turned out that there was a further checkpoint at Mont-Romies. I guessed that to be a high stop and, as the path was skirting the side of the mountain, I assumed it would be a straightforward plod.

The path worked its way clockwise around the side of the mountain, retaining the same height. It was a rocky trail and, at points, going very close to exposed edges. It looked very disused and inaccessible, and yet there were places where humans had intervened with the rock formations to make shelters and even brick buildings, that we now crumbling. The terrain still gave the impression of being barely touched in many years. Eventually, it arrived at a first and then a second tunnel through the rock, and the circumnavigation continued. It felt like I'd been wrapping around this mountain for so long that I must have completed the circuit twice, and yet the checkpoint still didn't arrive. I was caught between being fascinated by the rocky terrain and dramatic drops but also desperate to reach the next milestone.

Salt d'aigua del riu d'Aiguamog

Circ de Colomers

Lac du Cloto de Baish, Circ de Colomers

Circ de Colomers

Circ de Colomers

Nearing Mont-Romies

One of two tunnels on the way round to Mont-Romies

Mont-Romies

78 miles, Saturday 2036hrs

The Mont-Romies aid station was at a small, old building where the volunteers had a barbecue warming outside for some big sausages they'd laid out. There was no such luxuries for the runners, much to my disappointment, nor a toilet. I once again filled my water bottles and carried on. Next up, after a descent, was a bigger aid station with hot food.

The trail immediately headed into the woods for the descent. It was a technical and awkward trail. After a while, I spotted a sign indicating a mountain bike route. Shortly after, we were on some steep singletrack, picking a very direct route downwards. It was tough on my sore knee, and the top of my right foot was feeling bruised from tightly laced shoes. I had to point my toes downwards, and despite using my usual "runner's knot" lacing to hold my heel back in my shoe, my toes were hitting the end of the shoes hard. I felt a pain in my left big toe, and I knew exactly what had happened - one big strike had just completely snapped my big toenail off at the base. There was nothing I could do, I just had to carry on. I didn't enjoy the descent; it was long, and continued to be horribly steep with no toe relief from rocks or steps.

Arties

80 miles, Saturday 2142hrs

I'd dropped around 800m in the descent from Mont-Romies to the Arties checkpoint. My knees weren't amused, and the effects of the painkillers were fading. My feet were even less amused, and my hip was causing pain. My mood was also descending as it had become harder to keep the necessary calories going in, and the tiredness was really hitting.

I'd messaged my support crew a couple of hours prior to check if there would be hot food at the finish. They had concluded not, so I asked if they could source a pizza. They already had my pizza when I arrived at Arties, and a few slices topped with pepperoni and anchovy were much preferable to a repeat of the same rice dish I'd had a the previous supporter stops. The calories helped my mood and my stomach. I didn't bother with a sock change - I dreaded the state of my left big toenail, and I didn't see the point, given around 12km remaining.

I scanned the elevation profile for the remainder of the race. There was one long ascent up to the final checkpoint, gaining around 583m. The final section had to shed all that elevation again, but threw in a not insignificant 148m of climbing in the middle. Both sections looked steep. I knew I was in for some suffering on that final descent.

I was focused on getting to the finish. As I worked along the initial flat stretch, I passed a couple of other runners. The trail turned sharply up a fairly steep climb, and I kept pushing. It rapidly got steeper, taking a straight line up the rocky hill through the woodland. The ascent was long, and just seemed to keep getting steeper until it was implausible that people would follow this path. At some points, it adopted a zig-zag to avoid the direct line, yet still seemed incredibly steep, and then would revert back to the brutal straight line up. I was so tired that I was staggering around, and yet I still passed a few others when they hesitated to keep moving forward. I had no plans to back off, and the other head torches were slipping behind, or rather below, me at some rate.

Approach Arties

Being told that I can make it

Santet d'Escunhau

84 miles, Saturday 2356 hrs

There was nothing to be accomplished by hanging around at the final checkpoint. I drank some water, then decided to ditch some of the weight of the additional fluids I was carrying. All that remained was a long descent with a short climb in the middle.

I knew that it was around 7km to the finish, which didn't seem too bad, even at this point. I also knew that I'd need to descend around 700m in a short space of time, which did seem bad. The pain relief was wearing off now, and my feet weren't in the best shape. My hip was sore, and my right hamstring, that had suffered in those early stages of knee difficulty, was complaining.

It didn't take long before the real challenge presented itself. We were once again on mountain bike trails, super-steep with no steps or rocks to avoid the toenail-smashing steepness. This was a real problem now; my left big toenail was in a bad way, and I had to tighten my shoe, but that didn't avoid it continuing to hit the end of the shoe. I couldn't tighten my right shoe, instead having to loosen it because bruising on the top was really painful. I really didn't want to worsen the damage, but the descent became unbelievably steep for this point in the race, and it just wouldn't end. Each time, after a slow and reluctant hobble down a steep stretch, I'd reach a fire road crossing, only to join the next section of steep descent. I was going really slowly, yet only a couple of people passed me.

A little earlier, I looked at the timings and whilst a midnight finish looked improbable, I thought 12:30am looked likely. As that time approach, I could tell I still had quite a way to go, and I could do nothing to speed it up. I could hear how close I was by the voice of the compere through the PA, and the applauding and cheering each time somebody crossed the finish line.

1am arrived, and I was still on the side of the hill, up in the woods. Suddenly, the town went silent. I guessed that they'd hit the noise curfew and it was obvious that by the time I arrived in the town, there wouldn't be much of a crowd and it would be a muted finish. My morale dropped further, and my frustrations with the steep trail increased - and now I was verbalising those frustrations to the darkness of the forest.

When the woodland trails finally spat me out, I was struggling with both pain and weariness, and it was hard to pick up any kind of jog. The signage became a little poor in the town, and when I found the barriers set out to funnel the runners through to the finish line, it wasn't even obvious where I should go. When I finally figured it out, I emerged onto the finish straight and saw just a few people lined up, including my support crew. I'll admit that it was a disappointing ending, and I wished I'd made it before 1am to finish with a cheer. A bell hung above the finish line, but it could not be rung as they'd removed the ringer; it felt like a metaphor for my success.

Finishing in silence

Post-race

My emotions were mixed as I hobbled in to the finish line aid station to have some food. I'd run the course, but it wasn't the intended course. I'd finished the race and earned my medal and UTMB stones, but I hadn't fulfilled my potential for position. It was my 7th finish out of 7 starts on the 100-mile distance, which is surely a rare statistic, and leaves my ability to endure in no doubt, but I was left wondering how I improve so that I can finish quicker and without the drama.

I have no regrets about taking on this race; it was worth pushing through the pain even just to experience the Circ de Colomers, 24 hours in - it was one of the most beautiful places I've ever visited. I will return, whether to race again or just to hike up and enjoy it without the hallucinations.