UTMB

 Now is my time to shine. I have been waiting years for this opportunity—the opportunity to write about my dream race. The race that became my obsession and the original spark for my trail running journey. The race that hooked me on trail running and, specifically, ultrarunning. 

I am talking about UTMB. 

My life changed the exact moment I first saw a YouTube video of the race. Something special happened in my mind, and I realized what my soul really wanted. That was back in 2018, roughly eight years ago. I was searching the internet and encountered a video of the most prestigious trail racing event in the world—the UTMB. Yet, there were underlying conditions I wasn’t aware of at the time that actually led me to that moment, searching for a special challenge that would finally help me understand the mysterious facets of my soul and catch a glimpse of who I really was. 

I think the storm in my soul started brewing back in 2016, when I was combining my university studies with endless, unstoppable loops in Forest Park, St. Louis. That was a period of my life when I was away from my family and had to numb the pain of loneliness and missing them with everyday runs around the park. I lived literally across the road from Forest Park. I was alone, and the daily grind of my studies was driving me crazy. Running was my relief, my salvation, and my last resort. 

When I felt good, I ran. When I felt low, I ran. When I didn't feel anything, I ran. Forest Park was the perfect playground. When I ran there, my soul separated from my body and flew forward, propelling my physical frame with a split-second turbo delay—like the turbocharger of a muscle car. I felt so much freedom that I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop; I wanted that feeling to go on and on. Sometimes I exhausted myself by running six miles in one go, only to repeat it two more times that same day. Running helped me develop a strong discipline and maintain order in my life. 

When I finally reunited with my family in the spring of 2016 and we moved to New York, I continued running. By then, regular running was such a deeply ingrained habit that breaking it would have harmed my self-esteem. Initially, we lived on Staten Island, and I enjoyed running on the boardwalk along the Atlantic Ocean. Then I started commuting to work by combining running with public transportation. While riding transit, I read books about running, and one of them opened my eyes to ultramarathons. 

I knew nothing about ultramarathons until 2017. I was so impressed by people's ability to run distances far beyond a marathon that I started researching whether any ultra races took place in New York. To my surprise, I found some nearby. 

Time flew, and in 2018, I stumbled across that YouTube video of UTMB. It was incredible. I gazed at the Alpine terrain, the majestic Mont Blanc, and thousands of trail runners surfing the trails around the massif to reach the epic finish under the famous arch in Chamonix. 

I was so moved that I started dreaming about racing UTMB one day. I didn't know when, but I truly believed deep in my heart and soul that the day would come when I would stand on the start line in Chamonix, ready to embark on an epic journey around the Mont Blanc massif. 

That was 2018. I had no racing experience, and the longest distance I had ever run was probably 18K. I knew I needed to build myself into an ultrarunner before aiming for UTMB. I decided to start my ultrarunning journey from scratch and signed up for my first ultra-trail race: the Greenbelt Trail 50K in May 2018. 

The adrenaline I felt during that first ultra hooked me even deeper. I started craving UTMB more than ever. I completed a few more 50Ks and longer races until finishing my first 50-miler in 2019. After a few 50-milers, I felt ready to move up to a 100K. Then, after building my body and mind further, I was thrilled to finish my first 100-miler in 2021. Reaching the UTMB finish line mesmerized me so much that I kept clocking in 100-milers. 

I targeted specific 100-milers, including those that would help me build eligibility for UTMB. Besides a solid UTMB Index, I needed to collect Running Stones by participating in UTMB World Series events. I ran the Grindstone 100 twice for this exact purpose. 

Beyond that, UTMB used a competitive lottery system that I had to pass to toe the start line. I applied year after year, but could not break through the rigorous lottery. In 2024, after failing the lottery once again, I decided to visit Chamonix anyway because I was losing patience. I signed up for the TDS—another race during the UTMB Finals, considered the wilder, more technical brother of UTMB, covering about 145K. I finished the TDS in 2024 and added four more Running Stones to my collection. 

The TDS experience—which you can read about in my dedicated article—made me crave the full UTMB loop even more. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. I dropped eating fat and drinking alcohol. I refused the temptation of visiting bars or smoking fancy cigars. I even dropped the idea of buying a turbocharged hypercar in favor of a moderate, naturally aspirated sports car. I woke up each morning at 4-5 am for a training run. On weekends I could wake up at 3 or 4 am. 

All those accumulated stones finally gave me the chance to apply for and successfully pass the lottery for UTMB in 2026. Congratulations, you are racing UTMB in 2026. 

That email was magic. Finally, I had the chance to touch my dream with the tips of my fingers. I decided I needed to condition myself for UTMB with solid races leading up to it. To that end, I finished the Old Dominion 100 in June 2026, The Great New York Running Exposition 100 in June 2026, and the Vermont 100 in July 2026. UTMB was set to be the ultimate culmination of my 2026 racing season.

The Calm Before the Storm 

August 24, 2026: I packed my gear and rushed to the airport for my Swiss Air flight to Geneva—a 7-hour and 50-minute flight from New York City. Two days prior, I did my final training runs on both trail and road, and now I was focusing on rest and staying away from hard efforts. 

Race Day: Friday, August 28, 2026 

I woke up early on race day feeling rested and energized. I knew a good night's sleep was crucial for success. However, meteorologists designated Friday as the day the weather would turn, forecasting heavy rain showers and mountain thunderstorms. Okay, let’s see how it goes, I thought. 

My primary challenge was figuring out how to spend the first half of the day before heading to the start line in Chamonix, originally scheduled for 5:45 PM. As the forecast worsened, the UTMB race directors decided to delay the start by two hours, pushing it to 7:45 PM to allow severe thunderstorms to clear the high mountain passes before runners reached them. 

I wasn't overly concerned about the delay, as we were going to run into the night regardless. The only real adjustment was that they shifted the cut-off times for the finish and aid stations accordingly. After a good breakfast and lunch, I began getting mentally prepared and dressing in my running gear. 

I hesitated for a moment over whether to bring running poles. I had a pair of Black Diamond Z-Poles in my suitcase just in case, but my experience at the 2024 TDS proved I didn't strictly need them. I decided to forego them for UTMB as well. I am a trail runner who deeply values the pure freedom of surfing trails through the unimpeded movement of the entire body—arms and legs working in natural unison. When running with poles, I might save my quads slightly on the downhills, but I sacrifice the feeling of total flow. Just as a running pack affects your body position, poles alter your center of gravity even further. While a running vest is mandatory at UTMB, poles are a matter of personal choice, unless the weather is really bad. 

Having discarded the poles, I worked through the mandatory gear list while getting dressed. I made sure my primary UltrAspire headlamp and secondary light were fully charged, with spare batteries and a power bank safely packed. I stowed my Ultimate Direction rain pants, La Sportiva rain jacket, and La Sportiva windproof shell in my pack. 

I put on my Adidas Terrex shorts, my UltrAspire hat, and a La Sportiva racing tank. I finished off with the trail socks and my Merrell MTL Long Sky 2 Matryx trail shoes. Over my ultrarunning career, I have used a wide variety of shoes—starting with first-generation La Sportiva Ultra Raptors, moving through various models from La Sportiva and Merrell, and training in Merrell Vapor Gloves and Vibram FiveFingers. But testing the Long Sky 2 Matryx in training back on Long Island confirmed my choice. They proved to be the lightest, most comfortable racing shoes I have ever used, offering exceptional trail grip that kept me from falling even once on wet, slippery descent sections. Yes, I tripped a few times—that is inevitable given the technical terrain and duration—but as the saying goes, who never trips, never truly trail runs. 

Everything went into my UltrAspire Legacy 2.0 race vest, which had served me brilliantly at TDS. Its 10-liter capacity easily accommodated all my mandatory gear, including an emergency blanket, extra layers, and external pockets for quick-access items as well as 4 UltrAspire hybrid flasks. 

At bib pickup, officials thoroughly checked gear. Under the updated rules, headlamps required a red-light mode for passing through protected wildlife zones around Les Contamines at night. My gear was also randomly re-inspected later at an on-course aid station. 

Fully dressed, packed, and ready, I headed toward the center of Chamonix about an hour before the start. 

The rain was falling harder now, soaking the narrow, tightly packed streets of Chamonix. Crowds of runners, supporters, and spectators poured out of nearby bars and cafes, seeking shelter from the downpour. Walking to the start line, the rain didn't intimidate me. I already had experience running in relentless storms, including 30+ hours of chilling rain at the 2023 Grindstone 100 in Virginia. 

By the time I reached the start area, thousands of runners had gathered. Wet rain jackets, hats, and packs couldn't wash away the big smiles, anticipation, and excitement in everyone's eyes. We packed together near the start line like sardines in a tin, ready to be unleashed, facing the Mont Blanc side of the Chamonix valley. More than 2,400 dreamers from around the globe were here for the main UTMB distance alone. 

As the final minutes ticked down, the crowd grew electric. The final countdown began, and then—we were off! The 2026 UTMB had officially started. 

We rushed through the streets of Chamonix as crowds lined both sides, cheering wildly. I had never experienced such intense, passionate support at any race.  The first few miles out of town were slow due to the bottleneck of thousands of runners squeezing through narrow spectator-lined streets. I didn't mind; I simply enjoyed the natural flow, soaking in every moment before the inevitable fatigue set in. I wore my Shokz OpenRun Pro 2 headphones around my neck, keeping them off to save battery for the long, grinding ascents I knew lay ahead. 

Then came the first real mountain climb. Spectators popped up along the trail in the dark, yelling enthusiastically to power us up the incline. Their devotion was unbelievable—it felt as though our success as runners directly fueled their own happiness. 

I switched on my headlamp. The initial climb was manageable, made easier by fresh legs. The mountain air shifted constantly between warm, cool, and chilling, forcing me to repeatedly adjust my La Sportiva windshell to manage core temperature—preventing overheating while avoiding hypothermia from mountain winds acting on wet clothes. 

I enjoyed running through the first night. It wasn't hot, which meant my stomach stayed cooperative—a welcome relief compared to the digestive issues I often faced in hot US summer ultras. Immersed in the energy of the crowds and the ancient Alpine trails, I felt deeply that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Sometimes the universe places us in specific situations to teach us a lesson or reward us, acting like a caring parent guiding us to understand who we truly are. 

We moved forward, lost in the moment, unconcerned with time. The first night passed quickly. But I knew what lay ahead: running straight through a second night without sleep, relentless ascents and descents designed to shatter confidence, crush the body, and test the spirit. I knew the internal voices would eventually come, asking me to stop, tempting me to quit, whispering that the suffering wasn't worth it. 

I knew that at some point—deep in a technical section or exposed under a scorching sun on a mountain slope—I would question why I spent so much time and money coming to Chamonix. I would crave a warm bed beside my wife, a plate of homemade fried potatoes, and a real cold beer instead of the non-alcoholic athletic brews I had been drinking since 2023. I knew my stomach would eventually reject solid food, forcing me to rely on sparkling water and coke. I knew sleep deprivation would trigger hallucinations, making roots and rocks shape-shift in my headlamp beam as I fought to keep my eyes open to avoid falling down a steep slope. 

I knew all of that was coming—but it hadn't arrived yet. 

By 11:00 AM the next day, the heat began to strike, elevating my heart rate and slowing my pace. The climbs grew ruthless, but the views were majestic. After conquering several major ascents, I began the long descent toward Courmayeur, Italy—roughly the halfway point. 

Beaten but not defeated, I was relieved to reach Courmayeur. The major aid station offered access to drop bags and a chance to catch my breath. 

Under a clear, brilliant blue sky, I pushed out of Courmayeur and began the long grind up toward Refuge Maison Vieille and the rolling sections leading to Col Ferret—the highest point of the race at over 2,500 meters. The final push up Col Ferret was steep and brutal. Upon reaching the summit, many runners collapsed onto the grass to rest, but I kept moving down the other side to avoid catching a chill in the mountain wind. 

Traversing the trail between Courmayeur and Col Ferret, I was stunned by the raw beauty of the Italian Alps. Unlike the French side, the Italian Alps felt wilder, more remote, and untouched. Below me, glacier fields carved by deep crevasses glistened, their snowy caps standing resilient despite the summer heat. Down in the valleys, small specks of Alpine cattle grazed near the ice fields.

Into the Second Night and the Final Push 

As the second night fell, the distant, rhythmic clanking of cowbells echoed across the high pastures—a comforting sound that pulled my mind back to previous journeys on the trail. I kept going, though it was getting harder and harder to stay calm. 

My legs were tiring, and I knew that the hardship of the hot day would subside once the second night fully unfolded. Little did I know that the second night would bring its own unique challenges—specifically intense sleep deprivation and the need for extra caution and hyper-focus while navigating technical climbs and descents in the dark. 

It was tough for my mind to stay fully present while surfing the trails of the Mont Blanc Massif at night. I tried to look ahead, but my mind kept drifting off, catching glimpses of obstacles on the trail just in time to avoid tripping over. I knew the long descent between Col Ferret and a few minor aid stations wouldn't last forever. The next major climb was approaching, and I needed to reach the next big aid station in one piece to close my eyes for a few minutes—anything to break out of that sleepy fog and restore full awareness. 

I approached Champex-Lac, which was perfect for that purpose. It was the second station after Courmayeur where drop bags were allowed. I wanted to take a nap, but I couldn't allow myself much time to slack off for fear of missing cut-offs, blowing my race, and losing any chance of finishing. I rested briefly at Champex-Lac, and it helped as I tackled the upcoming climb to La Giète. It wasn't as extreme as Col Ferret, but it was technical and loose underfoot. I knew it wasn't the last climb, and that I would have to suffer through one more comparable ascent before running down into Vallorcine. 

The real test began at Vallorcine—the final big uphill stretch before the ultimate descent into Chamonix. At that point, I knew I would finish if I stayed disciplined and kept a steady pace. I just had to work through the gradual uphill battle between Vallorcine and La Flégère. 

By now, morning had arrived, and I prepared for exposed uphill power-hiking under the sun. The closer I got back to Chamonix, the hotter the weather became; it was clear it was going to be a scorching day in the valley. I sucked it up and kept drilling my way through the 11km uphill stretch. It wasn't a pleasant section, but the thought of the finish line getting closer brought positive energy and hope for a successful outcome. 

Finally, I reached La Flégère. The UTMB course map showed a 7km descent from there to the finish line in Chamonix, but my GPS watch showed about 9 kilometers remaining. I didn't know who to believe, so I stopped looking at the distance altogether. 

I had been naive to think that the final stretch would be an easy downhill cruise leading straight to flat roads and a triumphant sprint finish. The reality was that, even though it went downhill, the last section was perhaps the most technical part of the entire race. Portions of the trail were densely covered with tripping hazards—a barrage of exposed tree roots, loose rocks, and boulders. Even on fresh legs, it would have been difficult to sprint down without tripping and flying forward. I had to maintain total caution and focus, as every constant obstacle on the trail was an annoying test for my exhausted body and mind. 

With great patience, I finally completed the descent, catching sight of the scattered houses of Chamonix down below. 

Once on the paved roads of Chamonix, I followed the signs toward the finish line. As I ran, crowds gathered, cheering louder and louder the closer I got. Trail stewards stopped local traffic to let me cross, guiding me toward the arch. 

I ran, though I didn't sprint; my leg muscles were tired, but not completely destroyed. I remembered finishing TDS in 2024 with a severely swollen knee—this time, there were no structural issues, just pure fatigue. I ran tall and proud, anticipating my personal victory over time, space, and the inherent weaknesses of human existence. 

The crowds grew dense on both sides of the UTMB barriers. Spectators reached out across the fencing, cheering wildly, and I gave high-fives as I curved into the final chute, sealing my finish at the 2026 UTMB. 

An eight-year epic journey toward my dream ended in a single second the moment I crossed that finish line in Chamonix on August 30, 2026. 

The dream was over. Or was it? Was it the end, or just the beginning of something new? Time will tell.