UTMB Nice race

Friday morning – here we are. With a mate, Antoine, we catch the UTMB organisers’ bus to Auron, the race start. The journey gives us a chance to admire the scenery and, at the same time, I realise just how imposing the mountains are; it’s quite a change from the hills of New Caledonia. It’s impressive, even a bit daunting.
Once we arrive, I put down my light rucksack and we meet up with some long-standing friends, Alex and Cécile, as well as two of their friends. There’ll be three of us running this race: Alex, Nicolas and myself.
This time, here we are – the start is imminent. Strangely, now that the starting gun is approaching, the stress gives way to concentration. Here we go – we set off. The weather is simply exceptional: lovely and warm, but not too hot.

We start with an initial stretch of about 8 km, which is fairly easy going, where I take the time to warm up gently. Then, once past the village of Saint-Étienne-de-Tinée, we head onto a single track and the gradient starts to steepen. I take out my poles and… blimey, one of them won’t lock into place. I carried on with just one pole whilst trying to lock the second one. I eventually pulled over to the side and fiddled with the catch until it finally deigned to lock. Once sorted, I rejoined the line of runners on the single track and calmly got back into the flow of the race.
I’d like to go just a tiny bit faster, but trying to overtake might burn me out for the rest of the race; so I stay in the line and climb at the same pace as the others. I’ll keep up this pace for the 11 km climb to reach an altitude of around 2,700 metres. The view is superb.

The refreshment stations along the route seem well-stocked, with everything you need – and then some.

I don’t stay long; I head back onto the trail and carry on taking in the stunning views. I feel great.

The view from the tunnels is electrifying: you can’t help but wonder what you’ll discover when you come out 🙂

And sure enough, we’re not disappointed.

I take plenty of time to soak up the scenery – perhaps a bit too much, but hey, that’s part of why I’m here, so I make the most of it.

The sunrise offers me an extraordinary spectacle; I allow myself two minutes. I sit there until the sun disappears.

Well, I am here to run a race after all, so off I go again.

I’ve barely had time to bid farewell to the sun when the moon decides to make an appearance, and with no lack of elegance. I can feel the tiredness setting in, and I wonder how I’m going to cope tonight on the slopes of the Mercantour.

Night has fallen; it’s a completely different atmosphere; the competitors’ headlamps show me the way. It’s impressive.

Now, it’s time for the descent. The trail becomes more technical; I’m not comfortable on technical descents, especially as we’re no longer on a proper trail: it feels like we’re crossing meadows, so I’m being careful.
I thought this section was technical, but what follows is on a whole other level. This time, we’re definitely on a winding trail with a very steep gradient. Despite everything, my shoes grip well; I’m more at ease and pick up speed, even managing to overtake others. Quite a feat for me on a descent.
And it’s going to be like this all night: endless ascents and descents, but as the kilometres go by we end up seeing the same faces several times; we exchange a few words and adjust our pace according to our varying levels of fitness.
During the night, I realise I’m close to the time limit; I need to be careful. I already know that my 40-hour target isn’t achievable. But I carry on; I’m tired, but my legs show no signs of weakness – which is exactly what I’d feared at the start.
After a bit of a slump towards the end of the night, I welcome the dawn with joy.
At 7 am, I arrive at the Saint-Sauveur-de-Tinée refreshment station, having run 65 km. I start topping up my water and eating. I get ready to grab my light pack to change my shoes and, whilst chatting to other runners, I realise they’re in full-on sprint mode – and for good reason: there are only five minutes left before the time cut-off… a sudden rush of panic. I forget about changing my shoes; I just grab my power bank because my smartphone’s flat – thanks to the UTMB app – and set off again.
Over the next few kilometres, I manage to build up a bit of a buffer against the time limit. But my toes are starting to hurt, blisters are forming, and I’m feeling pain in the outer ankle of my right foot.

I’m now approaching a steep slope: an 800-metre climb over 3 kilometres. It reminds me of a slope at Mont-Dore where I train. So I know this is going to drain my reserves, and the lack of sleep is really taking its toll.
Once I reach the top, I have no choice but to have a quick nap. I decide to have a 10-minute nap, set the alarm and, in less than 2 seconds, I’m fast asleep. The result: I end up sleeping for 25 minutes – I didn’t hear the alarm go off. Well, as far as the time limit is concerned, things are starting to get a bit dicey now.

I set off again, but my toes are hurting more and more. I stop to tend to my blisters when I see two members of the organising team collecting the markers… They tell me I’m cutting it very fine, but that the next refreshment station isn’t far away. I put my shoes back on and race to the station. I clear the time barrier 30 seconds before the cut-off… Phew. I’ve got away with it again this time, but that was a close call.
That really shook me into action. I’m under no illusions, but I give it a go anyway and set off again at a good pace. I catch up with some competitors on a fast section, which gives my motivation a boost. The sun is setting as we head down a rather technical, very rocky descent. My feet aren’t enjoying it at all. I’m slowing down more and more. I’m not far from the next refreshment station, but I now know I’ll arrive too late.

It’s strange how the body reacts: the moment I realise it’s no longer possible to make the time cut-off, I accept it and finish the descent at a leisurely pace. Once I reach the refreshment station, it’s official: I’m out of time.