ALPN

TDS stands for ‘Sur les Traces des Ducs de Savoie’ – “Following the Footprints of the Dukes of Savoie” – A wild and thrilling 96 mile ultra adventure from Courmayeur, Italy, in the Aosta Valley, through the remote Savoie region of the French Alps, finishing in Chamonix, France

Awakened by the Struggle: A Story of Persistence and Triumph in the French Alps

By Alex Griffin | October 2024

“The point of no return is a strange place. I had never been that close to quitting. My body was raw, my spirit was decaying, and my heart was so empty. Something deeper was keeping me moving though. It wasn’t about finishing anymore. It was about leaving it all out there. It was about leaving my mark— for better or for worse. I had to make it back to Chamonix..”

TRAINING IN THE ALPS

Like many people in the ultra running world, I was stuck in the UTMB funnel. I had done a lot of tough races, accumulated a bunch of running stones, and was ready to attack the main event in Chamonix. However, I was denied once again, and after my third negative draw in the lottery for UTMB, I saw the opportunity to run TDS and took it. I knew this would be about as close as I would get to understanding what UTMB would feel like before getting accepted into the race, and looking back now, I’m glad I did it. I had fast packed the Tour du Mont Blanc a year prior, covering about a hundred miles in four days, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the mayhem that was about to ensue. TDS was a different beast entirely.

My girlfriend Kertu was set to run the Swiss Alps 100 about three weeks before I was to run TDS so I knew I would get a lot of solid training in the Alps beforehand. We spent a couple weeks in Ernen, Switzerland at ‘The Aragon Lodge’ where I was able to get all of my peak training in, bagging all of the highest peaks in the area— Eggerhorn, Breithorn, Risihorn, and Eggishorn— before moving on to Chamonix where we would spend the rest of our trip. We brought our one year old puppy Rasmus with us from California which was a big challenge on its own but worth it in the end, getting in some mountain miles with him too!

Link to my peak training day in Switzerland:

Breithorn + Eggerhorn Run | Strava

CHAMONIX

It was now getting close to UTMB week in Chamonix, and you could feel the rumble of excitement growing. It was fairly quiet when we first arrived but then about a week out from race week the city began to swell up with tons of runners and all of their friends and family, bringing a lot more nervous pre-race energy to the city— a stark contrast to the quiet vibe we had been experiencing for the last few weeks. We rented a cool little condo with a breathtaking view of the Mer de Glace and Aiguille du Midi, about a 10 minute walk from the TDS finish line (also the start/finish line for UTMB) and would definitely stay there again: Condo Rental in Chamonix, France

It was very hard to transition into a taper in Chamonix because as many people know this is one of the most pristine places on earth for trail running, and it is almost impossible to sit still and relax. I was feeling incredibly fit and all I wanted to do was run, but I stuck to the plan and began to taper down for about seven to ten days or so to make sure I didn’t over cook myself before race day. After months and months of preparation, I was mentally and physically ready to attack this daunting new challenge. The countdown had begun…

I made the decision to race without a crew. I knew how difficult it would be for my girlfriend to travel around with our puppy, and the TDS course was much more remote than the UTMB, so I believe it was the right decision. Besides, the aid stations are quite luxurious for these events compared to the classic American ultras I was used to, and my drop bag should’ve provided everything I needed that I wasn’t getting at the aid stations. So I ran TDS alone. This decision really gave me clarity as it forced me to dial-in my strategy very clearly, and in the end, really strengthened my own self-reliance. 

THE SHUTTLE

I opted for the 7pm shuttle to Courmayeur and was happy with that decision. Now that I understand all of the logistics and fine details I would probably take the 8pm shuttle.  I was familiar with Courmayeur because I had crewed during UTMB the year before, but I was still unsure of where exactly the start line was in relation to where the shuttle was going to drop us off, or where we were to bring our drop-bags. The drop bag location was yet another location on the way to the start line. So, if you’re reading this in preparation to run TDS, just some quick tips to assist you on your journey if you’re taking the shuttle from Chamonix:

• The shuttle is about 30-45 minutes from Chamonix to Courmayeur with light traffic but can take quite a bit longer if there are any accidents or bottlenecks in the tunnel
• The shuttle will drop you off at the sports center— this is not where the race starts! You will walk about a mile to get to the race start. There will be arrows that guide you from the parking lot where you were dropped off
• The drop bag location will be on your way to the start area, and you have to wait until they open the lockers before you can leave your bag there (which was around 10:00pm or 22:00). The next time you will see your drop bag will be in Beaufort, a little more than halfway into the race
• At first you will be able to put yourself in whatever position you want when you get into the starting chute, but as it gets closer to start time, they will close off the streets and it will be PACKED with runners and increasingly harder to get towards the front, so find your place, have a seat, and relax as much as you can to prepare yourself for what is about to come
• There was a random gear check in the starting chute as we were waiting, and three more throughout the race, so make sure you have all the required gear. They take this very seriously — Here is a link to the mandatory gear list, as well as the conditional cold and hot weather gear list: Mandatory Equipment

COURMAYEUR – THE MIDNIGHT START

3…2…1….LET’S GO!!!!! An energetic blast of excitement bursting through the start line with incredible force and momentum— a stampede of ultra fury charging through the starting chute!!!

Starting the race through and climbing out of Courmayeur was a magical experience. The energy was electric! Winding through the ancient cobblestone streets and being cheered on by the Italians in the middle of the night was such an honor and privilege. There was extraordinary pressure and jostling almost from start to finish but was significant at the start. I knew this beforehand but had never experienced it at any of the classic American ultras I had done. This was INTENSE and you can’t sit back and let it happen. You have to confront the competition and earn your place or you will fade into the void.  I had put myself in a good position at the start to avoid being part of any unnecessary bottlenecking. 

I got there early and sat in place where I thought I fit in statistically. There was no ego here whatsoever just a pre-planned strategy to avoid delays. I wanted to move at my natural pace and I think you can lose a lot of time and energy in the beginning of the race just trying to force your way through the bottlenecks. I had also heard from several people that the aid stations become quite depleted and run down after so many runners come through. This year brought over 2,000 runners (only 1,111 finished) and it would be prudent to have this all built into the race strategy. I was by no means trying to win, but I was intent on doing well. I wanted to respect myself when I finished. I wanted to grind. I wanted to represent my country with pride.

It’s hard to describe the visuals as you begin the steep climb out of Courmayeur. Thousands of headlamps below snaking their way up into the mountains—everyone of them on their own beautiful and painful quest to run and finish TDS. All the pressure building up to the race had been released at this point, an exhaust pipe of raw emotion off-gassing into the ether. Everything became very simple. There was nothing left to think about. All you have to do now is run. Relentless forward progress is the only formula for success in the mountains. All you have to do is keep going. Triumph awaits you on the other side. 

The race started at midnight so until the sun comes up, you are completely disoriented and never really know where you are except for a vague recollection of the map you studied beforehand. I had created what I call a mission card which usually consists of a folded up piece of paper in a plastic bag that I can reference throughout the race containing all the metrics I needed i.e. distances between aid stations, vert, terrain ratios etc. The inside of the mission card contains my mission, my purpose for doing and completing the race. These are the mental and emotional elements I begin with and cultivate long before the race starts and hold onto very tightly during the race to steer me through my darkest hours in the mountains. At my lowest point, I couldn’t even look at my mission card because I knew it would help. I didn’t want help though. I just wanted it to end. Shadows began to emerge from the deepest parts of my being, and were starting to take over.

CLIMBING INTO THE SKY

The race really began on the climb out of Bourg-Saint-Maurice. The largest single climb I’d ever done in a race. There are usually many climbs in a typical mountain ultra, but during this single relentless climb, you began to understand who was who.

There is a certain look on the face of somebody who is going to drop from the race, and another completely different psychosis in the eyes of those who are determined to finish. This was now beginning to show. I saw grown men shedding tears on this climb, and many even sleeping on the side of the trail. It was a 6,286 foot climb (1,916 meters) over 9 miles (14.5 km) straight up, in the heat of the day. After you reach the pass, Le Passeur de Prolagnon, you begin the most statistically difficult and treacherous section of the race, with mountain patrol, and even a helicopter swarming the area, really giving you a sense of how hazardous it was.  A runner died in this section in 2021—Ondrej Tabarka, a 36-year-old Czech runner.  There are chains, ropes, footholds and everything else you would normally see as a mountaineer getting up into the steep stuff, but seeing it in the middle of a 100 mile race was disquieting and demanded caution.

 You’ve made it through the pass. Congratulations. Now, the 6,000 foot descent back down to Cormet Roseland. If your knees and quads haven’t started screaming at you yet, they are about to.

What I quickly noticed was how incredibly adept the Europeans were at descending. Being one of very few Americans in the race compared to the amount of French and Italian runners, this becomes quite obvious as you progress through the race. The Europeans are mountain goats with unbelievable agility and speed on every descent! My knees had taken quite a bit of abuse during my training in the Alps and had not completely recovered as I was slowly realizing. This weakness was now being exposed, as all weaknesses are exposed when you put yourself up against the best. However, I was outpacing them on every climb—even overtaking a group of 10 runners in a tight group on the climb out of Bourg. Those guys all looked at me differently throughout the race as I would see them again and again on every descent and would pass them again and again on every climb. I had to now understand how I could use my climbing as an advantage and try to offset my slower descending. It was a baptism in humility. But I now knew the arc of the story, how it might unfold, and how I could better articulate and adapt my strategy. This was now a battle of attrition.

ANGELS AND DEMONS

“Are you really built for this?” I began to hear in my mind, “You are inferior and this race is rejecting you. Just drop from the race and be done with it.” 

The shadows deepen.

There was a horrendous torment taking over that I wasn’t able to escape. “You aren’t built for these mountains, and you don’t have what it takes to finish.”

My knees and quads then began screaming at me with incredible rage, “We aren’t going to help you anymore if you keep doing this to us.”

As I continued to fight through my mental and physical anguish, I pulled a muscle in the top of my right ankle on the steep, rocky descent into Beaufort. It began to swell up like a grapefruit, and at this point, the idea of pulling the plug and dropping from the race was becoming a real thought to me. I had never dropped from a race and I thought, if there is any race that I could justify dropping from, this would be the one. I knew that Beaufort would be the most convenient way to escape. Things were becoming distorted and my grip on reality was loosening. I hadn’t slept at all on the day leading up to the race so I was now awake for over 30 hours and beginning to hallucinate. I pulled out my phone and began making a call to my girlfriend. Before it began to ring though, I hung up. I could see Beaufort Aid Station in the distance. Something was happening to me. I began pulling in the energy and love of the crowds of people on the way in and the vibe began to shift. 

Beaufort was about 58 miles (93 km) into the race and I had about 19,000 feet (5,791 m) of vertical gain on my legs at that point. This was the biggest aid station and the only place to pick up your drop bag. I resupplied my Spring Energy gels, changed my shirt and socks, and tried to put some solid food down.

As I sat there contemplating if I was ready to continue or not, I could feel my foot throbbing with pain. It became so stiff as I sat down, I could no longer flex it. I winced in pain as I changed my sock. It was incredibly painful. I had no crew and was all alone. Watching the crowds of runners reconnect with their crews was hard to see. I felt so lonely and dejected, but this was my choice, so I dealt with it.

Then, I met an angel. There was a young girl sitting very close to me at the table I settled in at and I began to notice her staring at me very intently, noticing how badly I was struggling to hold it together. I could see such powerful empathy in her eyes. You could tell she really wanted to help me. I was trying to eat this soup with a cracker and she handed me a little spoon. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and she signaled to me that she didn’t speak English. She knew exactly what I meant though. She then moved closer and began to help me do everything I was trying to do. She went and filled my water bottles, she gave me some baby wipes, and she began to comfort me with big smiles and encouragement. It was almost impossible to hold back my tears at this point, but I maintained my composure, showing her tremendous gratitude for helping me out. This was a massive turning point. I’m not sure who she was, but I will never forget her. 

As I left Beaufort in the middle of the day, it was very hot, and I began sweating profusely right away. I was very dizzy still even after a 20 minute rest. My mind was regaining strength though and I knew I just needed to take it slow for a while and re-calibrate my strategy. At a certain point in a 100 mile race it’s important to understand the difference between the body’s need to preserve itself and the mind’s power to overcome. The mind needs to be stronger than the body at this point in the race, but they need each other, and there is a constant synergy and dialogue between them. I needed to be cautious and pay attention. I knew running through a pulled muscle in my foot was a big risk, but I also knew that once I started moving again, it would loosen up enough for me to continue, hopefully not causing permanent damage with another 15 hours of steep, technical, mountainous running still to go if I was to hit my 30 hour goal.

I realized my climbing was still very strong and knew this would be a great advantage if I was to continue on through another night in the mountains. I was able to put a decent amount of food down at the aid station, and because I chose to move slowly for a while, the food seemed to be absorbing into my system very well.  My body really seemed to like the Naak energy hydration they were providing at all of the aid stations and I was beginning to feel re-energized and fresh as I made my way through the charming streets of Col du Jolly. I still had a lot going for me and I really began to anchor my mindset around this new feeling. As I began to do the math, I realized I was right on target to reach Chamonix in 30 hours! The light began to pierce through the darkness.

NIGHT TWO: BACK INTO THE ABYSS

The sun was now fading over the horizon as we moved into the second night. The section between Col du Jolly and Le Signal was equally thrilling and beautiful. My mind was basically made up at this point to finish the race, so I was feeling a sense of liberation from that decision. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the air began to cool, and my body began to re-energize.

At this point in the race you can begin to see the headlamps ahead of you and behind you far in the distance, giving you a better sense of where you are and where you are going. The terrain in this race though is absolutely unrelenting. You are continuously being challenged without any reprieve. At night fall, every rock and tree root was also becoming very very slick as the humidity from the day began to condense. Each step you take is calculated. There is no dozing off in this race. Despite your hallucinations and fatigue becoming more and more intense, you must maintain razor sharp focus, or you will most certainly fall and injure yourself on this terrain. As I came into the Le Signal aid station, approximately 71 miles (114 km) into the race with around 25,000 feet (7,620 m) of vertical gain, there were bodies laying all over the floor trying to get some sleep, but I resisted the temptation. I had some warm broth, filled up my pockets with bread, cheese, and salami and kept moving. I was now beginning to pass many people on the descent to Les Contamines and I could begin to feel the gravity of the finish line pulling me in like a tractor beam. 

LES CONTAMINES

It was very quiet coming into town. The aid station was a bright beacon of light after running through the thick blackness for so many hours. The volunteers were so kind and helpful as I was one of the only runners there and I got some very personal attention. Again, the temptation to relax is very seductive, but I knew I needed to continue forward if I was going to have any respect for myself at the finish line. My determination to finish was a growing fire. My hallucinations were now just small distractions in comparison to my drive to overcome. I was becoming unstoppable. Before leaving, I checked my gear, tested my lights, and pulled out my mission card to look at the course profile—I still had about 16 miles (26 km) to go and about 6,000 feet (1,830m) of vertical gain left. 

As I made my way out of the city, I ran past a group of people sitting outside of a bar enjoying a glass of wine. One of the girls in the group looked me in the eyes with a sincere and loving smile and said, “Go bravely!” This was the lynch pin—a human to human moment, a sacred exchange, so rare and so powerful. I knew then for sure I would make it back to Chamonix. Now, a very steep climb out of the city and back into the cool, mystical darkness.

After the climb out of the city, you drop back down again into a valley. This is your first glimpse of the climb ahead. When you first see how steep the climb is, it takes the air out of your lungs. I still get a shiver down my spine thinking of this climb. It looked as if you were about to climb straight up into the stars. What a breathtaking and profound scene though, amid your pain and fatigue, all you can see is the headlamps snaking up and over the 45 degree 5,300 foot climb. This was the climax of the race. As you make your way to the base of the climb you can see the spotlight at the summit guiding all the beautiful people making their way up. I passed by people crying and weasing. They were so sad, so fatigued, and so defeated, but I encouraged them in my new strength, and helped people get up and moving when I could. This climb was a beautiful nightmare—like the final moments of a prison sentence before being released. It felt like an eternity.

And there you are, at the top, in pure ecstasy looking down at all the many many lights of people who are about to feel that same bliss.  A medic came up to me as I reached the summit and told me I should sleep for 10 minutes. He said I looked very tired and the next section was very dangerous. I politely refused though and kept moving. Down we go. I began the incredibly steep, jagged, and narrow descent into the final abyss of unmaintained slippery tree roots and boulder shoots. About halfway down this massive descent, I saw one guy fall really badly and probably broke is arm. He was in incredible pain but did not want my help and understandably so.  It was hard to see and I hope he’s ok. The emotions were running extraordinarily high and this wasn’t out of the ordinary. You didn’t make it this far into TDS if you hadn’t been through things in life. These were my kind of people.

THE FINAL RECKONING

Completing the descent, I confirmed with the stats on my mission card. All the numbers said I was done climbing, but my gps watch was still reading out 29,500 feet and I knew there was over 31,000 feet total, so here we go. And yep, after thinking this little road was going to just take me right to Les Houches, of course it didn’t. I began to realize that I was right in the middle of a nice little 1,700 foot climb. I was deflated and probably swore a few times. Luckily nobody was there in the darkness of that steep ravine to witness my weaknesses being exposed so audibly.

I was completely out of my mind though and my grip on reality was completely gone. The hallucinations were becoming very intense. I couldn’t tell reality from illusion. I was starting to hear little elves snickering about me behind the trees, but I couldn’t see them. Every time I came close to a creek or river it sounded like a big crowd of people, but nobody was there. The psychedelic lights in the distance were dancing and twirling and the moon was so close I thought I could reach out and touch it! With every stride, one foot was anchored in reality and the other one stepping into a phantom realm. The faint glow of my headlamp was the only constant, carving a fragile path through the oppressive darkness.

Finally, as I popped out of the tree line, I was back in civilization and everything became familiar to me as I made it to Les Houches. Then, all of the sudden, my girlfriend Kertu pops out of the void and says in her soft tone, “Alex!” I was barely responsive as I desperately tried to muster up a smile. She was so understanding and just stayed quiet. The last 5 miles running with her into Chamonix were so profound and so memorable. I began running faster and faster and faster almost to the point where she couldn’t keep up. I could start to hear the sounds of the Trient river and ambient noises of Chamonix at 6am as people were beginning to go to work and the city was starting to come alive. The sun hadn’t made it up over the mountains yet, but I could see Mer de Glace and Aiguille du Midi to my right and knew I was there, right there! After jostling with some runners who were trying to over take me on the final stretch, I began sprinting relentlessly, using every last bit of gas I had in the tank to shake them off, and they faded behind me in the distance. I was in full tilt, with bloodshot eyes and a psychotic grin on my face. 

Dropping off the trail and onto the quiet city streets, I charged into the chute at a full sprint and crossed the finish timing mat under the massive Hoka arch with a perfect view of the infamous Saint Michel Church— an image I had visualized for months. I was now in my own visualization, completing it in reality, how surreal. The finish line wasn’t just an endpoint, it was a rebirth. The person I was at the start line was replaced by someone else at the finish line, a new man, forged in the crucible, hardened by the miles, tempered by the struggle, and awakened by the quiet, burning persistence of the human spirit.

I congratulated a couple comrades I had been running with for over 30 hours and got my finisher beer. And man that beer tasted good. As the adrenaline faded though, the chills began creeping in, and pain surged throughout my entire body. The slow walk back to the apartment turned into a fury of shivers and chattering teeth, with a haze of delirium clouding my vision. It was time to fade into a blissful sleep. Goodnight world.

As I write this the next morning, I can’t feel any of my toes and my right ankle is badly swollen and won’t flex whatsoever. But, I’m alive and life is beautiful. Time to enjoy the rest of my time in Europe. Time to plan for another race. Au revoir Chamonix!

I was the 5th American to come through the finish line with an official time of 30 hrs 36 min. The total distance traveled was approximately 96 miles (154 km) and a total vertical gain of approximately 31,300 ft. (9,540 m)

Link to Race Stats:

TDS by UTMB | Strava