Pete Holton – man or machine?
The phenomonally testing North Face Ultra Trail Tour du Mont-Blanc 2005 took place over the last weekend in August and we waited with baited breath to hear how our pal Pete Holton had got on. Finally the results filtered through but we were almost too nervous to look... Would he have even finished? Was he in hospital suffering from exhaustion and dehydration? Or, as some cynics suggested, had he simply not turned up at the start...?

The reality of the situation was that after 155 kilometres of trail running including 8500 metres of ascent, Pete had excelled himself and come through the finish line at Chamonix in sixty third place out of 773 finishers! Bear in mind also that 2000 folk started so the attrition rate is very high.

Anyway, much respect is due to Pete – here's his full race report...

"Having committed to doing any type of big race, the day dawns with a mix of anticipation and relief that you can finally get this thing over with and get back to normality. So it was with the Ultra Trail. Having been training for the event for nigh on eight months, I must admit I was somewhat bored of running and was thoroughly looking forward to choosing another mode of transport. Still, there was the small matter of the equivalent of running from London to Birmingham, via Mount Everest to get out of the way first.

Despite several days of torrential rain, race day dawned clear and sunny, though as the race didn't kick off until 7pm, there was plenty of time for that to change. All the formalities of registration and dropping off kit bags over, 2000 fellow insomniacs lined up in the centre of Chamonix for the off. I must admit you don't get many chances to line up along side such endurance demi-gods as Sir Ranolph Fiennes, but there Ran was, triple bypass and all, just another face in the throng.

The race got underway with a gentle trot through town, and undoubtedly the fastest 10km of the whole event. The great temptation was to head off too fast, however the thought of another 145 km in which to suffer because of this tempered that "fresh leg feeling" and I trotted along in the midst of a sea of chattering French. With only 20 or so Brits in the race, and with my limited O'level French being long forgotten, I resigned myself to a long night of solitude.

Sunset over the Mont Blanc Massif

After the relatively flat first section to Les Houches, the trail headed skywards, and the sun started to set. With the sky a fiery red, the Mont Blanc range looked spectacular, unfortunately the twighlight was all too brief, and soon my world consisted of the pool of light cast by my Petzl headtorch. Climbing upwards with the help of the two Leki walking poles was remarkable efficient and I soon developed a type of nordic skiing style that seemed to propel me past those using other techniques. However, what goes up must also come down, and I soon learned that basically I am a bit of a fairy when it comes to heading down hill, and most of those I had trotted past on the climbs whizzed past at breakneck, let alone ankle, speed. I figured that it would be very bad form to snap an ankle at this early stage, and besides the guys at work would be ruthlessly unsympathetic (serves me right for being a physio). Thus the next eight hours were a mix of perversely enjoying the uphill whilst cursing and swearing my way down the downhill.

As the event is tough enough without carrying everything you will eat and drink in two days, aid stations were set out in most villages about 10km apart and they were, bar none, simply fantastic. Even in the wee small hours, crowds of enthusiastic locals were out trying to force-feed you everything from soup and bread to chocolate and energy bars. I rapidly found that I functioned best on soup and chocolate, and thus settled down for a 24-hour plus feast.

It was very hard to keep track of where you were during the night, one col blended into the next, and to be honest most of my time was spent desperately trying not to break an ankle. But as the first rays of the sun started to crest the eastern horizon, the descent to Courmayeur came into view.

Sunrise over Courmayeur

Sun-rise in the mountains is always stunning and I must admit that this one was especially welcome, the night was over, and the proper running could begin. I guess the key lesson if I was ever to do this again, is learn to run downhill in the dark! The final aid station before the 800m descent to the town was staffed by a bunch of Brits and so whilst enthusiastically chomping on more soup and chocolate, I got a heads up on how the race was going. To put the leaders performance into perspective, by now I had covered some 68km, climbed over 4000m and it was now just after 0600hrs in the morning. The lead chap had passed by the same spot at 0130hrs some 4 ½ hours before. I cannot fathom how fast these guys can move over this terrain, without breaking bones. Total respect to them…gits!

In Courmayeur, the race organisers had placed the first of two major aid stations with showers, medics and beds for the weary. It was also the first real place for those who were having second thoughts about this being a "great idea" to drop out. Keen not to lay my head down for fear of not waking for a day or two, I had a quick shower, though had to mop myself down with my Lifa shirt as I had forgotten to pack a towel, and then headed quickly off. Now that it was daylight, and the chances of snapping an ankle or two were minimised, I started to pull back places, especially on the uphills. The climb out of Courmayeur was savage, but once back at 2000m, the next 20km or so were roughly contouring, so I could get a bit of pace up….though pace is a relative term here, with full speed being not much more than a jog!

Unfortunately the weather was not at its best and although not raining (yet) it was dull and grey, so the camera I had lugged for the best part of 100km was rarely used. Still next stop Switzerland, and the promise of even more chocolate! The organisers flag these races as being a chance to become one with nature, alas my only near nature experience was very nearly being run off the road by a pair of mountain goats heading full tilt down hill across my path. Still would have been a novel way of ending up in hospital!

After a couple of stages of comparative flatness when I even managed a respectable 10km time of 50 mins, things headed skywards, and the sky came down to meet us. At first it was just a bit of light drizzle, but as we approached what turned out to be the nastiest climb of the whole trip to the top of Bovine, the heavens opened, the Gore-Tex went on, and pretty much stayed there to the finish. I can't over emphasise haw fantastic the North Face Lightspeed jacket was, totally waterproof, tough, and very light. Nice one Si! The climb to La Bovine was unspeakably bad. I found myself in the company of a veteran French chap who fortunately spoke a bit of English and so we trudged uphill on wet slippery paths through boulders and woodland, not really knowing how high this climb was. Lesson 2: take more notice of the course profile!!

Darkness fell as I crested the top of La Bovine and my world became the bright circle of light from my Petzl. A very welcome bonus was the thought that after this there were only two more small climbs to come, and the fact that I was due to meet up with my long suffering wife and her sister, at the next aid station. Unfortunately the rain had turned the descent into a river, and even trail shoes stood no chance at keeping you upright. The only consolation was that I was nearly done, though I pitied those valiant souls who would be tackling this in 5 or so hours time when it would be just a bog. So slipping down hill to Vallorcine, where Sarah, my wife, had been diligently waiting, I was still in reasonable spirits and very much on for a pre midnight finish. Though I am not sure if I made great dinner company, we settled down to a hurried bowl of soup and chocolate together.

Vallorcine…nearly there

Still in good spirits, despite nearly 140km of racing, the final 15 or so km should have been a breeze. But alas, by now it was raining in buckets, the mist was down, and the organisers had decided to put in two pesky little hills just for fun. Normally these ascents would have been easy, a training jog, but by now all I wanted was to stop, my legs had developed minds of their own, and I was starting to have a sense of humour failure. In particular the last climb above Chamonix up to the Petit Balcon Sud was a nightmare. Not a difficult climb by any means, but now at midnight after nigh on 30 hours of racing, it was torturous. Fortunately there weren't any Brits around to understand my under breath cursing.

Finally the lights of Chamonix came into view, and with it the finish. The final few hundred metres were fabulous. Despite it being nearly 1 am, there were still hundreds of people at the finish cheering me in, and so with a huge grin on my face and arms aloft, I was able to do what I had been yearning for nearly 30 hours…stop!

And so it was over, the hardest foot race in Europe, 158km, 8600m of vertical ascent, 19,000 calories and a fraction under 30 hours. As for damage, well I lost the use of my left foot for about 24 hours, the muscles on the front of the shin had just had enough and switched off for a bit…can't say I blame them, and had a few blisters but apart from that got away relatively scot free.

For the record, the winner finished in 21 hours, Sir Ranolph finished in 39 hours, and I ended up 63rd out of the 2000 starters and only 700 finishers. The race organisers had done a superb job with the course marking and the aid stations were without exception fantastic. Each local community had laid on a superb spread and greeted each athlete with open arms, and more importantly for me, lots of chocolate and soup! Finally a huge thank you must got to the team at Paul Braithwaites for kitting me out in all the best gear for the job – nice one guys!"

If you want more info on the event then go to the official event website by clicking here.

63rd OVERALL

"NICE ONE PETE – WE KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!!!"