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Aftermath: Ultra Trail Métropole Nice Côte d’Azur 100 miles
December 6th, 2024
After my first 100-miler in Alsace, you’d think I’d have learned my lesson. But no, here I was again, signing up for another 100 miles of mountain madness with as much thought as you’d give to picking a Netflix movie. Maybe that’s the trick—don’t overthink it. After all, running 100 miles through mountains isn’t exactly “light work.”
This time, I set my sights on the UTMB in Nice. My logic? “I’ve done this distance before; what’s an extra 2,500 meters of elevation gain?” Famous last words. I shelled out the big bucks, booked my Airbnb, and readied myself for the insanity ahead.
Training: The Stair Climber Diaries
This time, I vowed things would be different. During my Alsace 100-miler, the elevation had humbled me in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Not this time. I focused on time on my feet, relentless elevation gain, and trail work. My weekends became a rotation of hill repeats in the Netherlands and Belgium. It was dull but deeply satisfying—I could feel myself getting stronger.
Yet, the final few weeks of training didn’t go as planned, and doubt crept in. Had I done enough? There was only one way to find out.
The Last Few Days: Panic and Euros
Two days before the race, I landed in Nice. Between sorting my gear and meticulously packing drop bags, I felt strong. Then came “bib day.” Excitedly, I picked up my bib and headed back to my Airbnb, ready to rest. That’s when my friend Anthony sent me an Instagram message: “COLD WEATHER KIT ACTIVATED!”
Panic set in as I realized I was missing half the required gear. Cue a frantic trip to the trail village, where I dropped €220 on last-minute long sleeves and pants. Perfectly untested, of course.
Race Day: Coastal Calm Before the Storm
Friday morning, I walked along the peaceful Nice coastline to the shuttle transfer—a perfect way to get my head right for what was coming. The 2.5-hour ride to Auron offered a first glimpse of the terrain I’d be running: rugged, technical, and relentless.
By noon, I was standing with over 500 runners at the starting line. Courtney Dauwalter was here, which meant the course wasn’t just hard—it was legendary. The energy was electric. We were off!
Oops 1.0: Rolling Ankles and White Shins
The first climb felt manageable, even runnable. Then came the descent. I went too fast, slipped, and rolled my ankle. Not great. At the first aid station, I realized there was no food—just water. Fantastic start. I downed some Naak, gritted my teeth, and pushed on.
The first major climb was a beast. Somehow, I ended up in a train with the leading women. We hit the top, and I slipped again, this time busting open my shin. Tissue peeked through the gash, but hey, the altitude kept the bleeding minimal. Small wins, right?
Food! Finally.
Three hours in, starving, I stumbled into the next aid station and devoured whatever I could grab. But the “fun” was just beginning. The next section was 19 km of pure technical nightmare. Rocks of all sizes, rain, and mist made everything slippery and dangerous. We even had to climb rocks above cliffs. Views? Gone. It was just me, my sore feet, and my determination.
The First Night: Mud and Misery
As darkness fell, so did the rain. The trails turned to slippery messes, and steep downhills became treacherous. I clung to trees and slid my way down. After hours of this, the next aid station brought a brief reprieve. I layered up for the cold, but my feet were already wrecked. Every step hurt.
The climbs kept coming. Somewhere in the misty darkness, I hit a soul-crushingly steep descent. My friend Anthony’s words haunted me: “I wonder how you’ll like THE section.” If this wasn’t it, I didn’t want to know what was.
The Mistake: Hubris Meets the Mountains
By km 70, I was still feeling surprisingly good—too good. At an aid station, I glanced at the next section’s stats: 15 km, 1,200m elevation gain. I underestimated it entirely, taking barely enough food. Halfway up the climb, my energy crashed. Hard.
I laid on rocks twice, trying to sleep but failing. Cold, exhausted, and with animals growling in the bushes (wolves? bears?), I crawled up the trail. The summit offered a stunning view of Nice’s lights, taunting me with how far away they still were.
The Second Life: From Rock Bottom to Fire
After barely surviving the night, daylight brought new energy. By km 100, I’d climbed over 5,000 meters, and every muscle screamed for rest. But something clicked. I found a rhythm, powered up climbs, and even started passing people.
At the second drop bag location, I took my time. Pasta, a foot massage, and ditching excess gear worked wonders. Reinvigorated, I pushed on.
The Second Night: The Finish Within Reach
As darkness fell again, Nice’s lights grew brighter. I teamed up with a Parisian runner who recognized me (I had no idea from where), and we kept each other moving. The final 10 km felt like an eternity, winding through narrow coastal trails. But when we hit the seaside path, all the pain melted away. We crossed the finish together, exhausted but triumphant.
Recap: Madness Worth Every Step
This race was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The terrain was brutally technical, my feet were destroyed for most of it, and the climbs seemed endless. Yet, I loved every minute. From the breathtaking nature to the camaraderie of fellow runners, this was more than a race—it was a journey.
