Unlike our other favorite trips, reflecting on this little outing is primarily a blur. The experience as a whole is there, but the individual components are not so sharp. Thanks to some IT Band issues, it hurt. But still, it makes the list of 5 Favorite Trips. This is why.
I knew who Topher Gaylord was but we had never met. So when he rang us in Switzerland, completely out of the blue, and asked if we would like to run the Tour du Mont Blanc with he and his wife Kim, I was surprised. Let’s see… he was risking running 150km in 3 days, with strangers. Well so were we, but I knew he and Kim often did this sort of trips while Janine and I had never done anything so long. We were the wildcards. Regardless, the answer was, “Yes”.
The Tour du Mont Blanc is just that, a trail around the highest peak in Europe, the 4808 meter Mont Blanc.
But the Mont Blanc massif is something even more, it is so large it sits amongst three countries, France, Italy and Switzerland. To do the trip means crossing the borders and experiencing what each culture offers, and all three are quite different. This is mountainous terrain, huge in fact with deep valley’s and high passes. The total elevation gain for the trail is roughly 8500 meters. Ouch.
The beauty of the tour, especially for running, is the hut system. Conveniently spaced, the huts offer both food and beds. It is possible to run the entire tour with little more than two water bottles, some day food and an extra layer of clothes – in other words, about 4kg max. Better yet, the three larger villages that the trail passes through come at about the thirds of the total, thus the three day push. And remarkably, each village is in a different country with its own character. Split the run into thirds or stay more nights using the huts – your call.
Topher Gaylord is an intimidating running partner. In the 2003 inaugural Ultra Tour du Mont Blanc Race, in horrific weather, he tied for second place. For training he and Kim, who also competes, run the tour each year prior to the event to see how their fitness is. For them it was preparation for something larger, for us it was a test to see if we could do it.
So we set off the first day from Chamonix, France, arguably the world’s most spectacular town, for Courmayeur, Italy, exactly opposite Mont Blanc from Chamonix on a map. Through the morning we moved up into the alpine world which in the Alps means wide open green hillsides loaded with wildflowers. With the glaciers of Mont Blanc’s south side still high above, we were in Sound of Music terrain, perfect for running. The first huts came and went and with them coffees and torts.
In the afternoon we dropped into Italy and ran alongside flowing glaciers as we steadily lost elevation on our way to Courmayeur. Toph, in training mode, blasted off and charged solo. For Kim, Janine and I, once we were above Courmayeur and the final steep descent we gave into temptation and dropped not on foot but via tram, right into Courmayeur and a Pizza al Taglio.
Once showered, we got to put our running clothes back on and go to dinner. Nothing like making a spectacle of yourself through consumption in a good Italian Restaurant while wrapped in lycra.
The next day we had a plan. Toph wanted to check out the actual race course which differed from the true Tour. Kim and Janine wisely opted to stay on the real trail while I chose to follow Toph up a big climb before traversing into the Val Ferret and the Swiss border. My decision would be a blessing and a curse. Up we went in the early morning hours until we reached a high plateau directly above Courmayeur. There, a small hut sat alone and quiet with a thin stream of smoke rising from its chimney. We entered a dark room and were taken back in time thanks to the original nature of the hut and the people inside. An old woman approached, eyeing us and our attire. In thick dialect she informed us we were too skinny and needed to eat. Out came the tort, the butter, the yogurt and the coffee. We followed orders and ate.
Stuffed, we departed. Thick clouds were developing and our views were disappearing. But in front of us a trail unfolded that was so perfect in its singletrack “ness” that it had us hooting and hollering as if were skiing. This would later be my downfall when my enthusiasm got a reality check.
Meeting back up with Janine and Kim on the pass into Switzerland, we ran as a group until the descent to La Fouly. At this point I watched as first Toph disappeared, then Kim, and finally Janine, leaving me to hobble all the way to the Swiss holiday village of Champex. There I crawled into town and spotted the team enjoying drinks and snacks at a nice lakeside restaurant. Never have I been so glad to finish anything.
The final day was the opposite. We were horses and we smelled the barn. As a group we all charged full steam around the north end of Mont Blanc before dropping steeply into Chamonix Valley. A jaunt down the valley could end the trip, but instead the trail traverses back up on the western Aiguille Rouge side. There, high above town, we ran into two fully equipped backpackers, slumped over their trekking poles and still huffing and puffing from their upward progress.
“Hey guys, how’s it going?”, we queried.
“12 days out, and this is the last of the Tour du Mont Blanc. What are you guys doing?”
We didn’t have the heart to tell them, so instead, “Oh, just out for a run”. Obviously the trail is an entirely different experience for runners and for us, it was confirmed, we had made the right choice; super light/super fast on a trail perfect for running.
The final descent to Chamonix was one I will never forget. Once again I was off the back but at least able to run. As I neared town the sounds of nature turned to the sounds of a European tourist area, the descending trail turned into a dirt road before flattening and finally with a sharp left turn, joining one of the walking streets of Chamonix. I was thrilled to have been able to finish it up and overcome some physical problems. Toph, Kim and Janine were waiting and together the four of us strolled through town, still wearing our same clothes and tiny packs. I don’t remember what we ate that night, but I sure remember smelling the fondue as we walked through town.










































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