Race Report – Steve Rowbury at the UTMB 2026

It’s 4am on Sunday morning, I’ve been on my feet for two nights and a day – more than 30 hours in total. In my head I’m getting ready to “cruise” the final 5 mile descent (if cruising is even possible at this point). At least that is the plan. Suddenly my phone pings, and for once I decide to take a look. It’s from Sean, back in Truckee… 

“You’re about 2½ minutes behind 3rd age group and you just passed 4th. Full send you old bastard”.

I curse myself for giving in to my damned screen addiction. To that point I’d been avoiding all updates, telling my crew I didn’t want to know. My lungs are shot, I’m hacking up mucus and my right knee is screaming at me due to an earlier fall. How hard can I push…and do I even want to?

One week earlier

I arrived in Chamonix just over a week before the race. The atmosphere was absolutely electric, with thousands of runners completing their final preparation, along with crew, supporters and anyone else interested in the ultra scene. On the Sunday, three of my college mates flew out from England, staying in a friend’s apartment. The friend had told them – “UTMB is crazy, those guys/gals are bonkers!” 

And for most of those guys and gals, you are talking about more than 30 or even 40 hours in the mountains. As it got closer to race day I found it difficult not to start stressing about it, despite knowing I was in great shape physically. Having my friends there was fantastic – we went up to the Aiguille du Midi and over into Italy, did some hiking, and hit a few bars and restaurants in the evenings. Although the social/alcohol aspect might not seem like the best preparation for a race like UTMB, relaxing and sharing some laughs and stories with friends was perfect, and certainly helped take my mind off what was ahead. 

Having said that, I hadn’t been feeling great all week – like something was “coming on”. I tried to write it off as stress, but when I woke up on race morning, it had become a full-on sore throat and the beginnings of a cold. Talk about shitty luck. After a perfect few months of training, and everything building up so well to race week, I was now getting sick! 

I was pretty pissed off, but there was literally nothing I could do about it. I picked up some throat lozenges from the pharmacy, and decided to just go for it and see how things worked out. I still felt ok, so hopefully the cold either wouldn’t become full blown, or would hold off until after the race. And it wasn’t as if this would be the first time. I’d run Canyons in 2023 in the middle of a shocking cold, and spent most of the race hacking up dark brown mucus. Hopefully I could keep this one at bay until after it was done. 

Time to partyyyyy!

The first 20 miles at UTMB is probably the most incredible I’ve experienced in an ultra. The start is pretty epic in any year, however with the expected storms arriving the night before we were getting pummelled for most of the afternoon. As a result they delayed the start by 2 hours, which meant the first few CCC elites finished right in front of us under the famous arch, just before the start of our race. The atmosphere as the music started to play, the slow hand clap, and then the final buildup to the gun was awesome to say the least. 

Which makes it slightly ironic that I was standing there psyching myself up for the biggest race of my life wrapped in a trash bag! Huddled under the corner of someone’s umbrella, trying to make myself as small as possible wasn’t quite how I had visualized this over the last few months. And then miraculously, ten minutes before go-time, the clouds parted and a ray of evening sunshine picked out the steep, imposing slopes of Mont Blanc. From there the rain quickly eased off and amazingly I don’t think we had another drop during the entire race.    

Shortly after that the gun went off – and so, seemingly – did the whole of the Chamonix valley! I have to say the French really know how to celebrate sporting endeavor! The streets were lined with people cheering pretty much all the way to the first aid station at Les Houches, at which point the party seemed to amp up even more. Leaving the town heading up towards the Col de Voza it felt like a nighttime version of one of the big Tour de France climbs. 

And then as we descended down into St. Gervais I could hear the noise from a couple of miles up. The whole town was going off! The course wound its way through the center of town on the closed-off main street. Again people lined the route and the noise was off the charts. As I headed out into the dark again it was great to see a couple of familiar faces in Krissi and Martin, alongside all the locals. 

The next five or so miles to Les Contamines is a really cool section. The trail runs alongside a river, it’s a bit quieter, and is largely a gentle, runnable climb – you start to feel like you’re getting into the rhythm of the race and can take stock of how things are going. And I was starting to feel pretty good! I’d deliberately held back up to that point due to the sore throat and stressing about making it worse. But now I was full of energy and really feeling the benefits of my training…and subsequent taper. I was passing a lot of runners, and feeling more positive after being pretty down in the few hours before the start.

Summer in the Alps

That confidence was based on the most ambitious four month training program I have ever put together. Earlier in the year I had made the decision to retire from my job in Tech. If you followed me at all during the race you may have noticed my age group – it was definitely time! So two months in Tahoe, followed by pretty much the same in the Alps – my retirement gift to myself. 

Having run CCC twice in the past I knew the scale of the challenge, and how different these mountains are to anything back in Tahoe. I wanted to give myself the best possible shot at UTMB and felt (and still do, strongly!) that an extended period of training there is non-negotiable. Along with a training program designed to build steadily, with a couple of “mini-peaks” on the road (or trail) to race day. 

And so began the “boulangerie tour” of the Alps. As you would expect my training strategy included lots of long runs, big elevation, protein shakes, hillwork, testing out gear, practising nutrition, buying too many pairs of running shoes – the things we all do when training for a big race. Perhaps more controversial is the “boulangerie” component – freshly baked bread and pastries every morning. Although probably not on your typical elite’s daily menu, I decided it was essential carb loading, and made a point of it most days. And I have to say enjoying the fresh mountain air with croissants and pain aux raisins (along with tea, of course) is one of life’s great pleasures!

Another key element of my strategy was elevation (no surprises there). Living in Tahoe I really didn’t want to lose that benefit by spending the whole 7 weeks in Chamonix, which is at around 3000 feet. So my tour of the Alps took in several iconic, high altitude ski resorts, many of which I had skied in the 80s and 90s. Val d’Isere, Tignes and Val Thorens to name a few. These are all at 7000 feet or above, and have numerous awesome mountain routes to explore. For UTMB I would need to get into a rhythm of long days (and nights) on this type of terrain – trying to find a pace and a cadence that I felt I could sustain across multiple big, steep climbs and descents for more than 30 hours.

And so that was my summer – epic long runs grinding up and down gnarly mountain trails. Plan de l’Aiguille and Brevent VK on the first two days after I arrived in Chamonix in early July utterly crushed both me and my quads. CCC over two days – two 50K’s back-to-back, spending the night in a refuge in Champex Lac, a small Swiss village at mile 80 on the UTMB course. A 35-mile, 12,000ft tour of Val d’Isere and Tignes, where I had skied many times back in the day. The 6D Marathon in La Plagne – a huge 7000ft climb to start, a huge 7000ft descent to finish, and 15 miles of beautiful, runnable high mountain trails in between.

I can’t stress how important the training was. I knew I had to get myself ready – both mentally and physically – to take this thing on. But at the same time I didn’t want it to be only about that. Experiencing the Haute Savoie region and its culture, exploring those ski areas from my past after more than 30 years, and most of all spending time with friends from different times in my life. I was fortunate enough to stay with my buddy (and crew member) Jim in a small ski village called St. Foy Tarentaise. It was great to hang out with him, and to meet some of the “locals” (mainly Brits who spend half their time in the Alps…plus a 5-time Comrades winner!). Also to tap into his knowledge of the surrounding mountains – in particular on another all-day “epic” when I ran across the border into Italy for lunch at a refugio. 

And then my mates from Mill Valley who flew out to Chamonix in early August for some French culture and mountain biking. I am certain the morale boost from the social aspects of their visit more than outweighed any related liver damage! Plus of course my Uni mates (above) who flew out during race week. 

This “journey” was as important as the “destination”, and irrespective of how the race would ultimately play out, I knew I would always remember it as an incredible summer adventure.    

Spectacular night(s) under a full moon

The section from Les Contamines to Courmayeur is pretty epic, and we had perfect nighttime conditions for it. Just before the aid station I’d taken a fall – on a fairly flat, non-technical section of trail I tripped on a log that I didn’t see. At the time it didn’t feel bad – I knew I’d banged my knee, but it was ok… I thought. And when I got into town I forgot all about it in the crazy atmosphere once again. At the aid station Jim and I were pretty efficient, getting through our list quickly, refilling bottles and resupplying what I needed. At that point I was feeling pretty good and felt ready for the Col du Bonhomme – the longest climb in the race. 

You know how they always say “test your gear, all of it”. Well, it’s good advice. The section from the Notre Dame Church to the summit of Col du Bonhomme is a nature reserve with several species of protected wildlife. As a result, no white lights are allowed, only red. Well I have a headlamp with a red light. Except, as I found out, it’s basically useless. Most of the runners around me seemed to have lights that illuminated the trail to some extent. Mine barely lit up my hand in front of my face! Fortunately, with a full moon shining brightly in the sky, this wasn’t as big a problem as it could have been. As we reached the top of the nearly 5000 ft climb the views under a clear sky and full moon were truly spectacular! From there, and with my regular waistlamp now switched back on, it was a long runnable descent into Les Chapieux. 

At which point it was rinse and repeat. (In case you hadn’t realized, there is a lot of climbing – and descending – in UTMB). In this case the Col de la Seigne. Once again a big, long climb. Once again epic views from the top. But this time bitterly cold and windy conditions going over the pass, which took me completely by surprise. Within minutes I was absolutely frozen. I hunkered down behind a rock and dug out gloves, a top and a jacket. Sitting there fumbling with my gear, watching dozens of runners go past, I could barely feel my fingers. I have to say it was tough getting under way again, and this really knocked the wind out of my sails for quite a while. Physically for sure, but also mentally in terms of knowing how quickly and easily this can happen, and being better prepared for it on the subsequent mountain passes. 

The last part of that section is the descent to Courmayeur. And it is brutal. A 4,000 foot drop that starts fairly gently, but soon becomes so steep you are wincing with pain every step – and it seems to go on forever. Having managed the descents pretty well to this point, I knew I would be paying for this one later in the race. At the same time, I started to notice that my right knee was a lot worse than the left. Again a portent of what was to come. 

Familiar Trails

Waiting in the aid station was Belinda, my wife. Although she didn’t say so at the time I think she was a bit shocked at how beaten up I was already. I’m normally pretty upbeat in races – even if I’m struggling I try not to let it show. But this one was different. That descent was a killer, and all I could think of was that I’d already done 80km and 15,000 feet, and now I had to pretty much do CCC! To be honest I can’t remember much of that stop other than that I was pleased to see her.

I was now largely on trails I had run several times before…including during my big CCC “double” in July. At Refugio Bertone I was feeling good so I pushed through without stopping. In the 30 miles between Courmayeur and Champex Lac I passed over 170 runners. The section to Arnouvaz is runnable and I was pushing at a pretty good pace. And then of course there’s the climb up to the Grand Col Ferret – it’s a beast but I was still moving faster than most of the runners around me. And for the first time (out of four over the years), I hit the top in clear blue skies and perfect sunshine. It was a real treat to see it in all its splendour. 

From the pass it’s a long, runnable 12 mile descent via La Fouly to Les Arlaches. Although I was still moving well, my right knee was starting to give me hints of what was to come. It wasn’t unbearable but I was getting sharp, shooting pains every 30 seconds or so. And although the climb up to Champex Lac – which catches me by surprise every time – took my mind off it for a while, it also made me realise that my lungs weren’t in great shape either. I’d been out there for nearly 24 hours and my cold and sore throat were finally starting to catch up with me. I ground it out and crawled into the aid station.

Anything but downhill or uphill

By this stage I’m sure I had that faraway look that all ultra runners get when they are 80 miles into a race. Your brain is gone, you can’t think straight, and you are asking yourself why you are doing this. If questioned, your responses are a grunt at best. I know it was Jim who was waiting for me, and I know I was there for nearly 30 minutes. But once again I have very little recollection other than that. I definitely grabbed my waistlamp and swapped out some layers. Recharged my bottles and gels. Otherwise, I imagine I was sitting there with my head in my hands trying to summon the energy to get out there again! 

The next 15 miles felt like Groundhog Day. Big climb. Big descent. Big climb. Big descent. And I quickly realized that I wasn’t in any shape to do either. On the climb to La Giete and the Bovine it became obvious that going uphill was going to be a problem from here on in. I was starting to hack up mucus and my lungs felt like I had a cockroach rattling around in them. I decided damage limitation was the way to go. Take the climbs as easy as possible – which is actually not easy when they are some of the steepest, gnarliest in the race, and upward progress of any kind is hard in its own right – hopefully without making things worse. 

And then the descent to Trient. To be honest, this was the only point in the race that I thought I might not make it to the finish. My right knee was absolutely screaming at me every step. For most of that 2500ft descent I could barely put any weight on it. About halfway down, with my knee on fire, I suddenly thought of the ibuprofen in my pack. However I knew that NSAIDs are a definite “No” during ultras. But this f**king hurts! So I decided to ask AI: “No, you should not take ibuprofen during an ultra marathon because it significantly increases your risk of acute kidney injury, stomach bleeding, and dangerous electrolyte imbalances.” That didn’t sound good. But this REALLY f**king hurts. So I decided to “phone a friend”, or at least text one. I’d been getting texts from Steve Woo back in Truckee, so I asked him if he knew how dangerous it really was to do this. After some back and forth we decided taking 1 tablet should be ok, but only if I stayed really well hydrated.

So I popped the pill, wondering if I was going to keel over with kidney failure. And almost immediately I started to feel the effects as the drug started to numb the pain. I couldn’t believe it! For the next few hours, my knee felt just about ok. 

No more puke and rally

At this point I want to be clear that I see this race – and the summer building up to it – as a huge success. Both the “journey” and the “destination”. Yes there is frustration at how some things turned out, but the feeling I have is 90% satisfaction. At the end of the day so many things went right. 

For the first time ever my nutrition and hydration worked for the entire race, more than 32 hours! No nausea, no puking, no lack of energy (other than the unsurprising lack of energy after 110 miles in the mountains!). In 2025 I worked with a nutritionist for a few months, focusing in particular on the volume of liquid and sodium that I was consuming. I dramatically increased both and have never looked back. Until then I didn’t even want to attempt UTMB, knowing I would likely spend the second half of the race in nutrition hell. 

The training program that I built and executed over the summer prepared me well on all fronts. In terms of endurance and strength, my body stood up to the challenge. I had a fall which caused problems with my knee later in the race, but other than that I was still running well at mile 80 and beyond. Sure, my quads were a mess by the end, but they never slowed me down…and what do you expect anyway after 34,000 feet of (mainly steep) descending?

Mentally I was strong despite the issues I faced in the second half of the race. At only one point did I seriously consider dropping, and that was because I had 25 miles to go and literally couldn’t put any weight on my leg. I worked through the issues with this, with being sick, and with everything else the Mont Blanc massif threw at me, and found a way to get it done. 

The final push

I was ecstatic to see my entire crew – Mum, Belinda, Ruth (my sister), Jim and Boomer – at Vallorcine. I can’t stress enough how much it means to me that they gave up their weekend (and a lot of sleep!) to support me. Crewing truly is like doing an ultra in its own right – Thank You to my Awesome Team! 

I was in the aid station for nearly 30 minutes, and again I’m not sure what we were doing! I remember getting a massage from Ruth, which was amazing and helped to unlock my back and glutes for the final push. Beyond that, I’m guessing that after 98 miles, and with another 12 still to go, I was out on my feet both physically and mentally, and needed time to reset before heading out into the darkness one last time. 

And so two more climbs and that final descent. The ibuprofen had long worn off, a second pill a couple of hours previously proving completely ineffective. So it was time to suck it up and see if I could catch the third place guy. It’s funny – not surprisingly in these races you exist in your own little world, thinking you’re the only one having problems. The reality is that everyone is in the same boat, dealing with their own version of pain. Those final 5 miles seemed like an eternity to me and without the knee issues I’m sure I would have been moving a lot faster. But I still managed to take 13 minutes out of that guy, in the end finishing more than 10 minutes ahead of him. Presumably he was in his own world of pain, way worse than mine!    

So I hopped and creaked down the last couple of miles from the La Floria cafe with no time to stop for a beer or tea (actually it was dark and closed!), then over the bridge and into Chamonix. My goal had been 32 hours, and I knew by this point that I would finish somewhere around there. I jogged the last kilometer, enjoying the feeling of accomplishment, and thinking back to some of the amazing experiences I’d had over the previous few months. Waiting at the finish were my crew, and the famous arch that we’d all started from two nights and a day before. It was time to celebrate together, and to soak up the feeling of accomplishment at achieving my goal. 

UTMB exceeded my expectations in every way possible. Those mountains are the most majestic and spectacular – but also humbling – that I have ever experienced. And having the opportunity to adventure through them for a day and a half was the highlight of my running life. It truly was an unforgettable experience – both the journey and the destination.