By Gavin Peach

Sunday, August 28th, 2022, I was very happy to finish UTMB, crossing the finish line in Chamonix to an atmosphere unmatched in the world of ultra running. It was my first ‘true’ 100-miler (actually 106 miles) and the first time I went over 10,000m in elevation gain/loss. I had completed ‘The West Highland Way Challenge Race’ earlier in the year and struggled significantly with blisters (an ongoing challenge) due to the boggy Loch Lomond section. This altered my gait and led to a knee injury, which resulted in me taking six weeks off after the race—far from ideal for UTMB—but I persevered, and finishing UTMB was beyond anything I had ever imagined. At the time, I remember thinking, “Could I top this experience?”

That winter, during the work Christmas party, a colleague asked me nonchalantly, “What’s next?” and my immediate reply was, “I want to do TOR330 or Swiss Peaks 360 in 2024, but in 2023 I want to gain more experience on the toughest 100-mile routes in Europe.” After completing UTS100k and UTS 50-mile, I knew the 100-mile course was a beast, with a 68% DNF rate. Likewise, after quizzing many experienced 100-mile runners about the most technical and challenging 100-mile race in the Alps or Pyrenees, ‘L’Echappée Belle Intégrale’ was the race that kept coming up in discussion. By January, I had signed up for UTS 100-mile and L’Echappée Belle Intégrale.

Unfortunately, along with the Helvellyn Sky Race and the Glencoe Skyrace, L’Echappée Belle Intégrale was affected by the weather, and we only completed the first 64km (although I’m informed this is the most technically challenging section). Nevertheless, I gained more experience in an Alpine race and had to battle through sickness to finish the 64km, as I had suspected food poisoning the day before. All of this requires mental toughness, which is integral to success in these types of events.

In 2024, I did UTS 100-mile again and gained more experience, and by Sunday, 1st September 2024, I felt ready for the challenge.

I had spent two nights in Fiesch and got to know several 660km competitors (Tim Woodier gets a special mention as he had been amazingly helpful providing information and sharing his experience with me via social media before the race) and a few 360km ones, and I can honestly say that arriving in Oberwald, this was one of the strongest-looking start lines I had ever seen. No one was ‘winging’ this one, and if they were, they wouldn’t make the cut.

The main issue for me was that I hadn’t slept well on 31st August due to noise in the hostel as the 660km race set off at midnight from Fiesch to Oberwald. There was noise all night, and I was aware that I had barely slept. Sleep deprivation was to become the primary difficulty throughout the event.

Race day one went well, and I paced myself comfortably, with a huge buffer over the cut-offs. I arrived at Lifebase 1, Fiesch (my accommodation for two nights), before dark and had a nice meal before setting off with my headtorch for night one. The first night went well, and I wasn’t too tired, but I was counting on a good sleep at Lifebase 2 (Eisten), which, unfortunately, didn’t happen. The sleeping area consisted of PE mats spread out in a noisy hall, and after lying down for 45 minutes, sleep didn’t come. However, I had a sports massage (although a chiropractor surprised me beforehand, as I was expecting a massage 🤣) and a shower, which revitalised me a little. But, like an energy gauge on a battery, I felt I had gained a ‘bar’, but by the time I reached the Jungu aid station, I was already feeling this bar was dissipating.

At this point, I had partnered with two Belgian guys (Sebastian and Maxim), who ended up as the 360 Duo Champions, and they encouraged me to keep up with them. Soon after leaving Jungu, however, my tiredness hit, and they went ahead, having had far more luck with sleep than I had. I was alone on the mountain for night two, and this was one of the toughest nights of the race for me. The poor sleep in Fiesch the night before, combined with two nights on the course with no sleep, took its toll.

Arriving at the Bluömatt aid station (139.2km) in the dead of night, I noticed psychedelic lava-lamp-style shapes emanating from people’s race vests and shiny surfaces. I dreaded another 1000m-plus climb to the summit of Forclettaz (2,874m) and the even longer descent to the aid station at Tsahélet and ultimately Lifebase 3 at Grimentz (157.7km). That said, the raclette omelets lifted my spirits a bit. The section over Augstbordpass (2,892m), where I had been alone since parting with the Belgian guys, was tough as I navigated boulder fields while my concentration dipped due to sleep deprivation. By the time I started the climb to Forclettaz, I was using tricks to keep going, such as rewarding myself every 250m of elevation gain by leaning against a rock for 5 minutes and setting the timer on my watch to prevent falling asleep. Slowly but surely, I fought my way up to Tsahélet, where someone asked if they could sleep (they had one mattress in the tent), but I pushed on towards Grimentz, hoping for better rest at the more substantial Lifebase.

Upon arrival at Grimentz, daylight was beginning to break, and I received a text alert instructing me to ‘ignore the GPX and follow the flags’. This was the only message I received during the race, which was odd, as there were far more significant route changes within the mountains that went unannounced. I’m told French-speaking participants were verbally informed at checkpoints, but as a non-French speaker, I was left in the dark.

The Lifebase at Grimentz was excellent. I managed to sleep for 1 hour and 30 minutes (in hindsight, I should have slept longer, as it was quiet in the dorm with just two of us in the room). I had reaped the benefits of the sports massage at Eisten, so I decided it was worth queuing at Lifebases for treatment. Each time I queued here, I ended up with Luca Papi, the multiple-champion ultrarunner who had advocated for the creation of the 660km course. He was struggling with his feet and getting them frequently treated and taped. Luca and Irish runner Brian Mullins had intended to finish the 660 race and then immediately travel to Courmayeur to participate in TOR 450. Luca didn’t make it in time, but Brian traveled to Italy and managed 75km of TOR450 before a DNF—a remarkable feat considering that back-to-back, he had completed UTS 100-mile, Crossing Switzerland 420km, Grossglockner 110km, and PicaPica 100km, with very little rest between them, before embarking on the 660km race (nine days after finishing PicaPica). Meeting people like this is inspiring, showing what the human body and mind are capable of achieving.

After some fresh eggs and roasted potatoes, I left the Lifebase and briefly bumped into Guillaume, who had just finished his massage.

I set off, reinvigorated by the sleep and could marvel at the views of the Alpage de Torrent—the mountains, dam, and glacier melt were so vivid in colour. A woman filming for the race approached me to ask how I felt about the views. I had also been on the live broadcast at Chäserstatt aid station on day one. From Alpage de Torrent, I continued the climb to Col de Torrent (2,916m, the high point of the race), where I met an English hiker who encouraged me and told me Kim Collison was winning the 360.

The sleep at Grimentz powered me through the day, and I arrived at Thyon (Lifebase 4, 204.2km), where I met Tim Wiggins for the first time in the late hours.. I had a shower, a massage, and had my feet fixed, as a few hotspots had started to appear. The podiatrist treated and taped them while Luca Papi, snoring next to me, was undergoing the same process. I then tried to sleep in the dorm, as I needed it—my energy bar was almost at zero. Unfortunately, despite my efforts, I lay there for two hours like an insomniac, hyper-alert to the snoring, which seemed to come from at least a dozen people. Earplugs made no difference, and I remember thinking about the futility of wishing I could sleep like them. After two hours, I got up and ate some lasagne before leaving in the dark, hoping the two hours of lying down and the massage would help.

As I left the Lifebase, light started to break, and I arrived at the Tortin aid station already exhausted (not a good sign, considering there were still 80km and 5,300m of elevation gain/loss to go before Salvan Lifebase). Luca arrived shortly after me, receiving the usual celebrity welcome, with people taking selfies with him. He had obviously slept well and had a new lease of life, leaving before me. A Belgian 360 runner also arrived, looking severely sleep-deprived and massively disappointed when the volunteers told him there were no beds. I prepared to continue, and the volunteer, with a wry smile, told me to “just keep up with Luca,” assuring me the way to Lourtier was easy to follow.I was exhausted and down as I focused (not for the first time) on the psychedelic music from the jangle of cowbells. In the dark, the cowbells and, more disconcertingly, the growling and barking of nearby Patou were a common theme, and it carried through into the daylight.

As I neared the top of Col de Chassoure (2743m), Tim Wiggins caught up with me, and it was extremely uplifting to spend some time chatting with him as we moved towards Lourtier aid station. The human contact and lack of isolation gave me a new lease of life, and I skipped the sleeping option at Lourtier, overtaking Luca to stick with Tim, believing I might be OK to get to Salvan Lifebase (still 57km away). We set off on the incredibly steep climb to Cabane Brunet aid station but unfortunately lost the flags, and the route was wildly different from the GPX. We eventually arrived at a road and were told by volunteers to continue upwards, assuring us that the flags would reappear (they didn’t). After wasting at least 30–45 minutes, Tim and I decided to work out our own route up the mountain, following the “Bergwanderweg” Swiss white and red hiking markers we had seen throughout the route, realising they would also lead us to Cabane Brunet. After the stress of losing the route and time, we left Cabane Brunet. Again, there was a bed, but I decided to carry on with Tim. But this time, as with the Belgian guys, tiredness hit me, and I started to feel the cold, so I had to put on extra layers while Tim began to disappear over the horizon.

At this point, Jonas, a German runner, caught up with me. He was concerned with how little sleep I’d had, warning me it was dangerous. I told him that by hook or by crook, I had to sleep at Prassurny aid station, and if there were no beds, I was doomed. The long, hard descent to Prassurny seemed to take forever. When we arrived in the town, the flags seemed to disappear again, with the GPX being different once more. A combination of GPX and flags took me and Jonas to the aid station at around 9 p.m., where Jonas, who had arrived a few minutes earlier, greeted me with “They have beds.” He told me he had slept well but was going to stay until 3:45 a.m., and I said I’d do the same after eating turkey breast with coconut polenta. One of the volunteers managing the beds agreed to wake me at 3:45 a.m., but I got a tap on the shoulder at 2 a.m., which I surmised was due to the queue of slumped, tired bodies in the eating area who needed the bed. That said, I had slept (despite the snoring) from 9:30 p.m. until 2 a.m., and felt like a new person. Jonas had already left (he told me later at Salvan that he hadn’t been able to sleep there). I had another portion of turkey breast and coconut polenta before stepping out into the dark and torrential rain, heading towards Chapex de Lac, a town I knew well from UTMB (though I’ve yet to see it in daylight). After a few kilometres, I realised the flags were leading us in the opposite direction to the GPX. I assumed this must be due to the weather, but again, it would have been nice if this had been communicated via text or even verbally. I recognised some of the terrain via Bovine etc. as it was effectively the UTMB route to Col de la Forclaz. Despite the route change, it was still a monster section in the rain, with around 2000m of ascent followed by a big, muddy, and slippery descent to the rustic aid station at Forclaz. There were numerous home-cooked delicacies on offer here, and a few people I had been around who were struggling with the heavy rain and fatigue were uplifted by the variety of homemade food. Luca was there again, entertaining everyone, leaving and immediately returning due to the horrendous rainfall. Being English and used to the rain, I stepped out into it for the climb to Mont de l’Apille (2053m) and the long descent down to Lifebase 5 at Salvan (287.3km) for a morning arrival, and much relief knowing I had completed the longest and hardest section of the race. After a shower and fresh clothes, I went for another sports massage and saw the podiatrist. The steep, muddy, and slippery conditions were really starting to take their toll, so the treatment of blisters and taping service on offer here was crucial.

Salvan felt like entering a huge vault with safe doors. There were numerous bunks, making it a great place to rest. I lay down for an hour and a half, and I think I got around 45 minutes of proper sleep. I had some pasta with beef bolognese and set off back into the rain in the early afternoon. One of the French runners who had been struggling on the climb to Forclaz, when he told me he had hit a low point, mentioned that the route had been altered on the next section due to the weather. Apparently, they were informing participants verbally, but this wasn’t being relayed to non-French speakers. Nevertheless, I set off on the alternative route, which was effectively a huge staircase cut up a waterfall, almost leading directly to the checkpoint at Salanfe (1933m). As I progressed, I caught up with a local Swiss participant who had managed to borrow a waterproof jacket from a campsite after forgetting to take his from the Lifebase. Upon arrival at Salanfe, it was a relief to step into a warm environment, where we could hang up our rain gear for a spell and get dry while enjoying some good quality food. I learned that the final aid station at Chaux Palin didn’t exist, and there were no sleeping options at Balme (the next aid station). Salanfe was the best place for rest if needed, but after Prassurny and Salvan, I felt I could continue. I put on my still-soaked rain gear and set off alone towards Col de Susanfe (2493m), which is when I left the WhatsApp message to club members.

This part of the course was particularly stunning, featuring some via ferrata on both the ascent and descent, along with snow accumulation. It started to get dark as I began the long descent, firstly down the via ferrata (which I enjoyed), but then onto steep, muddy, off-camber trails, which had become like torrents in the rain. I could feel my feet being destroyed as I braked in the ankle-deep mud. The last few kilometres towards Morgins Lifebase were hard work and painful on my feet. The sleep gauge was low again, and although I wasn’t at the Prassurny level of tiredness, my blisters had now become my primary issue. A few kilometres from Morgins, I noticed a car stopped on the road. A woman approached, asking for help, wanting the Swiss Peaks emergency number. My phone was so wet that I couldn’t get the touchscreen to work properly, but I downloaded the SOS app onto her phone so she could call race HQ. Her friend had stopped on the tracker, and she had driven with another man to his location, finding him asleep at the side of the road. They put him in the car and drove to Morgins, which she informed me was close by. I arrived at around 3:30 a.m. The woman thanked me again and asked if she could help me, but I told her I just needed sleep.

The lifebase was great as I had my own room in a hotel. Before going to bed, I bumped into Tim, who was getting ready to head out again. He looked exhausted but told me he just wanted to get it over and done with. When I saw him at the end, he told me he’d completed the last stretch with headphones blasting out ‘What’s the Story Morning Glory’ for motivation. There was no bedding, but I got into my liner and lay down. However, I couldn’t get comfortable due to the cold and the fact I’d spent nearly 24 hours in heavy rain. I had to get up and put on my down jacket and any dry clothes I still had. By this stage, I had a bag full of sweat-drenched, muddy clothes and destroyed, soaked, muddy shoes, so I didn’t have much left for comfort.

I woke up around 7.30am, but at least half of that time, if not more, I’d been too cold to sleep. Still, it was an improvement on Thyon, Einstein, and some other places where I’d attempted to sleep. Lying down on my own for 4 hours definitely helped though. When I woke up, I couldn’t flex my right ankle properly due to the braking and the blisters on the slippery, muddy descents. The physio was excellent and gave a new lease of life to my ankle. He was from Italy and told me he loved Scotland, adding that the issue was, “396km is just too much”. 🙂 The podiatrist also fixed my feet, treated the infected blisters, and taped my feet again.

I had some breakfast and saw Guillaume again before putting on my muddy, soaked shoes and setting off for the final leg. It was 42km and 2500m, which, as my perspective had shifted so much, I’d convinced myself it was not too far. Right from the start, I knew it would be a death march. I practiced focusing on the scenery, on my breath—anything to distract myself from the pain. “Positive thoughts,” said the woman I’d helped the night before as I left Morgins.

The views on the final day were superb, with clouds sitting in the valley as I climbed towards ‘Tour de Don’ (1998m). Shortly after that, I got my first view of Lake Geneva. “From the mountains to the lake,” the slogan of the race went through my head. The aid stations had amazing food and music, and the closer I got to the end, the better the atmosphere became.

Between the aid stations at Chalet de Blansex and Taney, I teamed up with Ayako, who was the 5th place woman. She didn’t speak French or English, so it was an opportunity for me to practice my Japanese. Focusing on speaking in Japanese helped distract me from the pain. Once again, it makes a huge difference when you have a bit of company for a spell. Ayako was taking pictures and told me she was sad this might be the last time she would ever see these places and views. She also told me her friend Junko, who she had teamed up with for the PTL in 2023, was the 2nd place woman in the 360. There was a huge Japanese contingent on the 660 and 360 races. One guy I chatted to on the train told me he had done the TOR seven times; so Ultra long Ultras are definitely appealing to Japanese runners.

As we left Taney, I stayed with Ayako until we reached the descent from Col de la Croix (1757m), where she went ahead, as my blisters on the descent were too painful to move any faster. I caught up with a French runner who was hobbling down injured. He had DNF’d at 270km the previous year, so was happy that this time he would finish. Behind me, I noticed Guillaume (my roommate from Fiesch and the first person I’d properly met), whom I’d bumped into at aid stations and lifebases but had never actually run with. We teamed up for company as he was struggling with tiredness and muscle aches. We arrived at the last aid station, ‘Le Grand Pré’ (369.9km), where we had salmon filet with potatoes—another excellent Swiss Peaks meal.

Not long to go now. Three of the French runners left the aid station before me and Guillaume, and we moved slowly, winding our way up and down through the forest tracks. Lake Geneva was getting closer 🙂. As we approached the last 5km, I said to Guillaume, “Cancel out the pain, positive thoughts, focus on getting to Le Bouveret as quickly as possible.” I started to run fast with Guillaume behind me. I was reading my watch, shouting, “4km to go… 3.5km to go… 2km to go… 0.5km to go.” I overtook the three French guys but noticed Guillaume wasn’t behind me, so I pressed on. I reached the harbour, close to the finish, and could hear the cheers and music—a return to normality. As I crossed the finish line to sparks and cheers, the first person I spoke to was Luca Papi, who’d finished shortly before, and he congratulated me.

I welcomed the beer, having enjoyed a few non-alcoholic ones at aid stations, but this was the real thing. I was too exhausted to hang around, though. The final challenge was finding the bags, showers, and dorms, as there were no signs or maps explaining where to go, and it was at the other side of Le Bouveret. Eventually, I located my bags at the infamous ‘Bunker’—think sleeping in the ‘Bangkok Hilton’ (not the hotel variety😂 ). When I fell asleep on a bunk, it wasn’t too busy, but when I woke up in the early hours, there were bags and bodies everywhere. As I went to the toilet, people were strewn across the floor in the sink and table areas with bags and equipment, and litter covered every inch of space. Someone asked me if they could take my space, and I said, “I was just going to the toilet.”

I spent two nights here, with the second night being marginally less busy, but it was an absolute dump by Sunday morning, and I couldn’t wait to get out. On Sunday night, someone grabbed hold of my ankle instead of the mattress they wanted to drag off the bunk—could have ended badly as I woke up with a shock 😂. All the shorter race runners had also showered there, and it was pretty grim (as I say, the final challenge).

Luckily, on Saturday, I had a nice post-race meal at a restaurant on the harbour (included in the entry fee). I sat in the sun, soaking up the atmosphere, and beer seemed to be a free-for-all until around 5pm, when I was told they would only give beer and food to people finishing the race on Saturday. I watched Courtney Dewaulter come in on the 70km and congratulated her as she walked past the adoring crowds. I had a massage and saw the podiatrist, who told me to keep my feet dry as I had infected blisters, so I avoided a swim in the lake and the shower in the bunker, which I guessed was even worse.

I honestly cannot thank the physios and podiatrists enough; they truly were best in class and helped so many people finish. The podiatrist told me the third-place woman in the 360 had infected wrecked feet but had decided to run the marathon. 200-mile-plus runners definitely are a unique breed😂 .

As Sunday came, I dragged all my stuff outside into the quadrangle as I didn’t want to pack inside the bunker. My bag was full of sweat-drenched, muddy clothes—it truly was horrible. I went to the awards ceremony, which started with the local dance groups performing, followed by an amazing ceremony celebrating the 660 and 360 finishers, where prizes were given and everyone was put on the podium to receive their medal and a special finisher’s Compressport windproof. All the other distances received their rewards at the finish, but it was a nice touch to reward us in this special way.

The ceremony lasted around two hours, and in the middle of it, we witnessed a sprint finish between first and second place in the half marathon, who crossed the line in the midst of the celebrations. It was great to see so many faces I’d met before and during the race, like Guillaume, Jean Baptiste, Liz Hopkins (who told me Courtney had offered her encouragement when she was struggling), Luca, Ayako, Junko, Sebastian, and Maxim, and many others. Sebastian and Maxim said they were worried about me when they left me after Jungu. I took some pictures of them with their winning Duo trophy.

Then it was time for the train journey back to Geneva Airport and a return to normality. I celebrated at the ‘La Goudale Bar’ near the hotel, and the next day, I returned home with great memories and a life experience I’ll never forget. Finishing a race like this isn’t about time or position, and with more than 50% DNF’ing out of one of the strongest fields I’ve been involved in, I congratulate anyone who finished either the 660 or 360 (actually 396.91km, 28168m). I’ll always remember the people I spent time with. I’ve been in contact with a few since, and Tim Wiggins, who is a Lake District challenge aficionado, has offered to help put together a Bob Graham Round team for me next year. It’s one of the toughest mountain races in the world, so I’m truly grateful to have finished it and those that did it with me will remain comrades.

What’s next? Well, I’m doing UTS 100km and signed up for Lakeland 100 during Swiss Peaks . As I didn’t want to spend time on the form for relevant experience, I wrote ‘Swiss Peaks 360 – in progress’😂. In the realm of 200+ milers; ’Well, if anyone in the club is interested and serious about the ‘PTL’ next August, please get in touch (it needs to be a team of 2 or 3, and it’s hard 🙂).

If anyone wants to know more about Swiss Peaks, Alpine ultras, or ultras in general, then please get in touch, and I’ll be happy to advise and help: gavinpeach@aol.com. Also, I will be editing a video of the vlogs I made during the event itself (watch this space).

I hope to see you all soon, and fingers crossed I’ll have shaken off this cold and be ready for Congleton Half Marathon; I’m not expecting to pull up any trees. Thank you to everyone for tracking me and your support—it means a lot, especially when you are in the thick of it and the climbs and descents keep coming at you like waves.

Also,if there is one word I associate with this race, which I heard more than any other it is ‘Dormir’🙂. And for the last 2 weeks that’s exactly what I’ve been doing 😀.

Finally thank you sincerely to the Organisers, volunteers, physios, podiatrists, and fellow runners who helped make this 2 year project become a reality. It was significantly the hardest race and most difficult week I’ve ever had both mentally and physically, but also the most rewarding.I will be forever indebted to you all.

Route Profile

My overall time 130hrs 48mins 11secs, 53rd Place out of 133 finishers, 135 DNF. 

Only 56 finished the 660 with 106 DNF’s.