Henriette’s story is one of obsessive discipline, deliberate practice and a willingness to reject the conventional path. Competitive, fiercely self-reliant and prepared to put in the work when nobody is watching. But there is much more to her story than results.
From obstacle course racing and an early connection with Tromsø that involved her honeymoon, through races such as the Ring of Steel, skyrunning and the World Championships, Henriette steadily built her way into the elite of the sport. A period of serious health issues interrupted that progression, but her return produced a remarkable run of performances – including 6th at OCC and CCC, 6th at Lavaredo 80K, victory at Templiers 47K, a winter Bob Graham Round record of 17:55 across 106 km and 42 peaks, 3rd at Trofeo Kima, victory at UTS 50K, and back-to-back Transgrancanaria wins in 2025 and 2026.
But the results are only part of the conversation.
We talk about leaving a corporate career as an auditor to become a full-time runner, the role Norway has played in shaping her – from the Romsdal mountains and local races to brutal weather and hugely varied terrain.
We also get into some of the less comfortable subjects in elite sport: women’s health and RED-S, body shape and what ‘healthy’ actually means, sponsorship and the freedom to make your own choices, shoe selection, common sense and decision-making, and the pressures surrounding UTMB and the modern ultra-running landscape.
Henriette is refreshingly honest, no BS and unafraid to speak about subjects that many athletes avoid. Through the Ascend Trail, Arc’teryx, her new partnership with Raide Research and the Sufferfest film, she is also building something beyond simply being a professional runner.
An outlier, certainly. But perhaps more importantly, someone prepared to question the rules, take responsibility for her own decisions and find her own way through the sport.
Often described as the world championships of trail and mountain running, it remains the sport’s biggest stage. For elite athletes, it is the pinnacle. A race that demands years of discipline, dedication and unwavering commitment.
Of course, every runner on the start line faces the same mountains and the same distance. But at the front of the field, there is often far more at stake than a finish time. Careers, sponsorships, reputations and legacies can all be influenced by a single day in Chamonix.
The pressure is immense.
At the same time, the sport continues to evolve. Races are getting faster and faster. Training standards are rising. Recovery windows seem smaller. The margin between success and failure is increasingly narrow, and for those who aspire to a top-10 finish at the sport’s most competitive events, operating close to the edge is becoming a necessity rather than a choice.
It is a delicate tightrope to walk.
Every year, some of the sport’s biggest names fail to make the start line. Injury is nothing new. Katie Schide’s absence through long-term injury is one example. Others arrive hoping their final preparations will be enough, only to realise in the closing stages that the risk outweighs the reward. The withdrawals of Kilian Jornet, Jim Walmsley, Tom Evans and Ruth Croft significantly changed what may have been one of the strongest UTMB fields ever assembled.
Then there are the factors no training plan can fully control.
Illness swept through parts of UTMB week. Henriette Albon’s stomach issues before the start were one example, but as the races unfolded it became clear others were also walking a fine line between competing and recovering. Some started with hope and determination, only to discover very early that 2026 was simply not their year. Adriana Moser was one such example.
And then there is a different question altogether. Can athletes still have multiple peak performances in a single season?
Several elite runners arrived in Chamonix after already producing exceptional results elsewhere in 2026. Vincent Bouillard and Courtney Dauwalter had both raced and raced well earlier in the year. Yet UTMB, raced at unprecedented pace and intensity, may have represented one challenge too far. Not because they lacked ability, but because even the best athletes have limits.
The same thought applies to Francesco Puppi and Jennifer Lichter. Both have enjoyed remarkable seasons and both finished in the top five at the 2026 CCC. Outstanding performances by any measure.
But had they arrived completely fresh, fully recovered and without the physical and mental demands of Western States in their legs, would they have finished on the podium? Could they even have won?
The answer is impossible to know. Yet the question itself feels increasingly relevant.
From the outside, the life of a professional trail runner can seem ideal. Your passion becomes your profession. You travel the world. You compete in extraordinary places.
But when passion becomes a job, expectations inevitably follow. Results matter. Contracts matter. Visibility matters. The need to perform creates pressure.
Respected coach Paul Lind once said, “You can only take water from the well so many times.” It’s a simple statement, but perhaps one that resonates more strongly than ever.
At UTMB 2026, Ben Dhiman ran an astonishing time 18:16, and two other athletes also broke 19 hours. Yes, the course was adjusted, but the significance remains. Times once considered unimaginable are now becoming reality. Dhiman prepared for UTMB meticulously and in the process, ran Transvulcania and 90km Du Mont-Blanc as tune ups, he placed 5th and 2nd respectively, I wonder, was there disappointment at not winning both, or, more importantly, where they just stepping stones to the big W at the one that mattered?
Trail running is changing.
The image of ultra running as a relaxed community of dirtbags, hippies and adventurers still exists and, importantly, remains part of its soul. But at the elite level, the sport is becoming increasingly professional, increasingly competitive and increasingly unforgiving.
Miao Yao offers a fascinating glimpse into this evolution.
Earlier in 2026, she won CDH at HOKA Val d’Aran in 13:04:34 without using poles. Her reasoning was simple. She now views races around the 100-kilometre distance, CCC included, as fast-running events rather than traditional mountain ultras. To prepare, she focused accordingly. She even used Sierre-Zinal, a brutal 31-kilometre mountain race, as a speed-focused tune-up before CCC.
A former CCC champion herself, Miao went on to battle fellow former winners Toni McCann and Yngvild Kasperson for third place, later admitting it was a day of real struggle.
That, perhaps, says everything.
The barriers are moving.
Just as the four-minute mile, the two-hour marathon and now the sub-20-hour UTMB once seemed out of reach, the moment something is proven possible, expectations shift. Athletes adapt. Coaches adapt. Training adapts.
The new standard becomes the starting point.
So where does the sport go in 2027?
Many elite athletes have already responded by racing less. One or perhaps two major targets have become the model. Everything else is planned around arriving at those races healthy, fresh and fully prepared.
Yet exceptions still exist.
Rachel Entrekin’s 2026 season has been extraordinary. Victory at Coldwater Rumble 100, third place at Chianti behind Courtney Dauwalter and Yngvild Kasperson, outright victory at Cocodona 250, and then second place at UTMB.
It is difficult not to admire such achievements.
But it also raises another question.
Is it sustainable?
Rachel may be uniquely gifted. Some athletes appear capable of recovering and performing at levels others simply cannot match. Yet history repeatedly shows that athletes who burn brightest often do not burn longest.
That is not criticism. It is observation.
Perhaps the biggest story from UTMB 2026 is not who won, who lost or who withdrew.
Perhaps it is that the sport has reached another turning point.
The demands are higher than ever before. The competition is deeper than ever before. The rewards are greater than ever before.
But so too are the risks.
As trail running enters this new era, the question may no longer be how fast athletes can go.
Instead, the more important question might be this:
How long can they sustain it?
And in the pursuit of ever-faster times and ever-greater performances, what is the true cost of repeatedly going back to the well?
Yngvild Kaspersen’s win at CCC 2026 remains one of the most elegant demonstrations of restraint, patience, and self‑trust the sport has seen. By contrast, Ben Dhiman’s UTMB victory, was a masterclass in pressure, assertion, and deliberate intent. Together, they form a perfect study in contrast – two champions, two approaches, both equally valid, both equally brilliant.
The Yngvild Paradox: Doctor and Runner, Runner and Doctor
Yngvild has always carried a dual identity. A doctor. A runner. Two demanding worlds that often collide. She has openly admitted she struggles to decide which one defines her more – whether she is a doctor who runs or a runner who is also a doctor. That tension has shaped her career as much as her training.
Her trajectory since CCC 2023 has been anything but linear:
• 2025 Western States – 5th place, a breakthrough performance.
• 2025 CCC – DNF, a reminder of the sport’s brutality.
• 2026 Chianti – a brilliant run, showing her spark was still there.
• 2026 Western States – stopping just 2 miles from the finish, agonising, heartbreaking, human.
These are not the results of someone lacking talent. They are the results of someone balancing two vocations, two callings, two versions of herself.
CCC 2026: The Masterclass in Letting Go
Her approach to CCC was almost shockingly relaxed. No pressure. No expectation. She wanted to enjoy the day, run freely, and finish with a smile. That was it.
Yngvild ignored the front, she settled into her happiness zone, she ran her own race.
By Champex-Lac, she was outside the top 10 and 23 minutes behind the lead. Any analyst would have written her off. Any commentator would have assumed the podium was gone.
But Yngvild wasn’t analysing. She wasn’t commentating. She was running.
And then she switched on Pac‑Man mode.
Her legs felt great. Her stride opened. Her confidence grew.
One by one, she began to eat up the runners ahead – just like Pac‑Man clearing a screen. The gap shrank. The race changed shape.
Ahead, Miao Yiao and Toni McCann, both former CCC champions, were locked in a fierce battle. It looked like a two‑woman race.
Until suddenly, Miao Yiao came into view. Yngvild passed – calm, composed, assuming nothing.
Then Toni appeared. Yngvild passed again – sharing a handshake, then time‑trialling to the finish. Nothing was taken for granted, she learnt that lesson at Chianti – head down, push on and work hard.
It wasn’t just a negative split. It was a clinic in pacing, a study in control, a lesson in emotional discipline.
One of the greatest second‑half performances the sport has ever witnessed.
Ben Dhiman: The Opposite Path to the Same Summit
Dhiman’s UTMB victory was built on a completely different philosophy. He laid his cards on the table early. He placed pressure on himself. He embraced expectation. He ran with intent, aggression, and clarity.
Where Yngvild floated, Dhiman forced. Where Yngvild released pressure, Dhiman applied it. Where Yngvild trusted the day, Dhiman shaped it.
Both approaches worked.
Both produced champions.
Both produced masterclasses.
Two Victories, Two Lessons
Yngvild teaches the value of patience, joy, and trusting your body.
Dhiman teaches the value of assertion, self‑belief, and embracing pressure.
Yngvild shows that sometimes the best race comes from letting go.
Dhiman shows that sometimes the best race comes from leaning in.
Together, they remind us that there is no single blueprint for success in trail running. The sport is too wild, too unpredictable, too human for that.
The Takeaway
Whether you run like Yngvild – calm, patient, joyful – or like Dhiman – bold, committed, intense – the lesson is the same:
Find the approach that lets you be fully yourself. Then trust it all the way to the finish.
The sport has changed. It is faster, more professional, more demanding than ever before. The margins are razor‑thin, the pressure unrelenting, and the calendar packed with races that push athletes to their absolute limits. In this new era, even the best in the world may only get one truly exceptional race in a season – one day where preparation, physiology, psychology and luck finally align. Yngvild Kaspersen and Ben Dhiman reached their peaks through completely different philosophies, yet both reveal the same truth: in a sport this intense, brilliance is rare, fragile, and fiercely earned.
Stage 1 of the 3rd Edition of MDS Cappadocia delivered everything that makes this race so special.
After several days of heavy rain, participants were greeted by blue skies, sunshine and rising temperatures as they gathered on the start line at 08:00 to experience the magic of one of Turkey’s most extraordinary landscapes.
The opening stage covered 25km with 747m of elevation gain and two checkpoints. While the weather had improved dramatically, the recent rain left sections of the course muddy and demanding, adding another layer of challenge to an already testing route.
The undulating course wound through the heart of Cappadocia, taking runners across open plateaus, along flowing single-track trails and beneath dramatic mountain vistas before passing through the iconic Rose Valley and arriving at the bivouac.
Throughout the day, competitors were immersed in a landscape unlike anywhere else on Earth, where ancient rock formations, vast horizons and centuries of history create an unforgettable backdrop for adventure.
All 400 participants were tested by the terrain, with an impressive 64% of the field made up of women. The diversity of the event was equally remarkable, with the youngest competitor aged 19 and the oldest 74, showcasing the universal appeal of the MDS spirit.
At the front of the race, Sergio Turull, winner of the MDS Ultra 100km in January, stamped his authority on the competition, dominating Stage 1 to claim victory in 2:24:45.
In the women’s race, Maryon Pennec delivered a commanding performance, crossing the finish line in 2:57:35, more than eight minutes ahead of her nearest rival.
Tomorrow, the challenge continues with Stage 2, where competitors will choose between 19.2km, 38.7km or 55.2km routes. By the end of the event, participants will have completed total race distances of 70km, 100km or 120km respectively.
A spectacular start to the week in Cappadocia, where world-class trail running meets one of the most breathtaking landscapes on the planet.
Trail running has always been built on community. Volunteers stand at the heart of the sport, helping races function while creating the atmosphere that makes them special. But as many events have grown into large commercial enterprises, an uncomfortable question emerges: when a race generates significant revenue, should it still rely on unpaid labour? I’m not sure there is a simple answer. The reality sits somewhere between community spirit and business economics, and that’s what makes the debate worth having.
Trail and ultra running likes to present itself as a community before it presents itself as a business. That distinction matters, because the entire volunteer model in mountain racing depends on it.
Volunteering at races is noble and organic: people giving back to a sport they love. Aid stations staffed by local clubs, marshals standing in freezing rain at 3am, finish-line crews catching exhausted runners after 100 miles. The imagery is powerful. It reinforces the idea that trail running is somehow different from mainstream commercial sport.
But modern trail racing, – especially at the highest level – is no longer purely community-driven. Many major events are highly profitable commercial enterprises with corporate sponsors, media deals, merchandise, qualification systems, tourism partnerships and global brand expansion.
And that raises an uncomfortable question: If races are businesses, why are so many of the workers unpaid?
Take Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc as the clearest example. UTMB is no longer simply a mountain race organised by local enthusiasts. It is a global endurance brand. UTMB race week, the organization requires approximately 2,000 to 2,500 volunteers to ensure the successful operation of the event. In addition, there are UTMB World Series races across continents, partnerships with major corporations, streaming productions, premium entry fees, lotteries, travel packages and extensive merchandising. The infrastructure resembles a professional sporting enterprise. UTMB generate an estimated €30 million in revenue!
Yet the operational backbone of the event still depends heavily on volunteers. Without them, many races simply would not function financially.
That is the core reality that the sport rarely confronts directly.
A large ultra race requires enormous manpower: registration, bib collection, checkpoints, course marking, sweeping, medical support coordination, parking, logistics, finish-line support, drop bag management, transport and clean-up. Paying market wages for every role would radically alter race economics. Entry fees would rise sharply or profit margins would shrink.
Volunteers effectively subsidise the event.
The interesting part is not that volunteers exist. Volunteers are everywhere in society. The interesting part is that volunteering remains culturally unquestioned even when races become commercially sophisticated businesses.
In most industries, this model would feel absurd.
Imagine a privately owned bank. The owner hires executives, accountants and security staff, but then asks enthusiasts of banking to work unpaid at the cash desks because they “love finance” and want to “be part of the atmosphere.” Society would reject that instantly. The same would apply to airlines, supermarkets or hotels. Once an operation becomes commercial, labour is expected to be compensated.
So why do races escape?
Partly because sport occupies a strange middle ground between commerce and culture.
People volunteer at races not purely as workers but as participants in an identity. They often feel emotionally invested in the event, the region, the community or the sport itself. Volunteering becomes social capital. It offers belonging, prestige, access and meaning. In trail running especially, there is a strong ethic of reciprocity: “someone helped me, so I should help others.”
Key points are to support the outdoor community, maybe secure a guaranteed entry into future event, and enjoy the social atmosphere.
Volunteers, typically, are ultrarunners or hikers themselves, they want to support their friends, community, cheer, and pay forward the help they received during their own races.
Volunteers can earn discounted entries, priority for future events or a bonus compensation on apparel/ merchandise.
There is a huge social benefit, friendship and community.
Free t-shirts, hat, and/ot other merchandise and more often than not, free food and drink
Eiger Ultra Trail by UTMB (as an example) clearly state the offer via their website:
A successful Eiger Ultra Trail event relies heavily on the help of volunteers. Volunteers have the unique opportunity to actively participate in this international event, to experience the race up close as it unfolds and to be on-hand for support when 4000 competitors from 80 nations attempt to conquer the 101km, 250km, 51km, 35km, 16km or Trail Surprise at the foot of the Eiger.
We offer our Volunteers:
An unforgettable experience in a breathtaking mountain landscape
An attractive Volunteer Shirt (male and female fit available)
Free gondola or train ride from Grindelwald to the race courses
Refreshments during volunteer service (lunchbag, hot meals from Friday)
Free accommodation at youth hostel (shared room) if volunteering early morning or late evening and if the assignment cannot be reached in time by public transport.
Personal expenses of CHF 30.00 per Person, or CHF 60.00 from 20h service
Volunteer gift
If you are supporter of a competitor and volunteering for us you get a free transport ticket to the race courses.We’re happy to welcome volunteers from the age of 13 – 70. A good physical condition is necessary.
Race organisations understand this extremely well.
The language surrounding volunteers is carefully framed around family, passion and community spirit. Volunteers are celebrated publicly, thanked emotionally and woven into the mythology of the sport. This is genuine – many volunteers truly enjoy the experience – but it also masks an economic truth: their labour has real financial value.
That value is substantial.
A major ultra may require hundreds, if not thousands of volunteer hours. If those hours were compensated at standard labour rates, the event budget would look entirely different. Volunteers are not merely helping. They are replacing paid staffing costs.
Other sectors do use unpaid labour, but usually with controversy attached.
Media companies rely on unpaid internships. Fashion and film industries often offer people to work “for exposure.” Tech startups use open-source contributors whose free work later supports billion-dollar valuations. Universities depend heavily on unpaid academic labour. Charities and grassroots sports clubs naturally rely on volunteers because they are non-profit or resource-constrained.
The key distinction is this: society tends to become more critical when unpaid labour supports private profit rather than public benefit.
That is where trail running becomes ethically complicated.
A local village race organised by a community association is one thing. Few participants object to volunteers there because the event itself may barely break even and any surplus returns to local causes.
A global race brand charging premium prices while still depending on unpaid operational labour is different.
And yet it remains normalised because trail running inherited its culture from grassroots mountain events long before the sport commercialised. The volunteer ethos survived the transition from community gathering to international business model.
There is also a practical reality: many races genuinely could not exist in their current form if every role became salaried. Mountain races are logistically extreme. Remote terrain, long durations and unpredictable weather create staffing demands unlike those of conventional road races or stadium sports. The economics are difficult even before considering environmental permits, safety systems, insurance and medical infrastructure.
And this brings in the point of paid staff. The primary organizers, logistics leads, and business owners who plan the event year-round are paid along with specialized crews such as media, medical teams, mountain safety, technical contractors and so on.
At some point, the question becomes philosophical rather than logistical: When does a community event become a corporation wearing community clothing?
The discomfort around this subject often comes from the fact that both realities coexist simultaneously. Trail races are still authentic communal experiences for many people. Volunteers often derive real satisfaction and pride from contributing. The emotional value is genuine.
Yet it is also true that this culture enables profitable enterprises to operate with labour models that would appear unacceptable almost anywhere else.
The sport rarely interrogates that contradiction because everyone benefits in some way. Runners get lower fees than fully commercial staffing would require. Volunteers gain belonging and access. Race brands preserve their community image while controlling costs.
The arrangement works.
Until someone asks whether it should.
What are your thoughts on the volunteer model? Do you foresee a change in the future – not at the grass-roots, non-profitable level – but are the larger, corporate and very obvious businesses level where profit and high profits are very visible.
Whether this model can survive unchanged at the corporate end of the sport remains to be seen. I do not know the answer, but it is a question we should not stop asking.
OMM (Original Mountain Marathon) is a British mountain running and outdoor brand with roots dating back to 1968, when the original two-day mountain marathon race was established in the UK’s rugged uplands. Designed around the demands of self-sufficient mountain racing, OMM built its reputation on ultralight, highly protective equipment engineered for harsh weather and long distances. Since becoming an independent brand in 2004, OMM has developed a loyal following among fell runners, trail runners, ultramarathon athletes and fast-packers, and is particularly well known for its lightweight packs, technical waterproof apparel and innovative fabrics such as Kamleika and PointZero. While the brand enjoys near-cult status in the UK and strong popularity in markets including Japan, Scandinavia and parts of Europe, it remains a specialist name globally, prized by mountain athletes who prioritise performance, durability and minimal weight.
The Opportunity
On paper, footwear feels like a natural extension for OMM. The brand was born from mountain racing and has spent decades designing equipment for runners tackling some of the harshest terrain and weather in the world. That heritage gives OMM credibility that many newer running brands can only aspire to. By launching a three-shoe range covering Fell, Trail and Ultra, OMM is creating a more complete ecosystem for its core audience, allowing runners to pair footwear with the packs, apparel and waterproofs the brand is already known for. At a time when many trail shoes are becoming increasingly cushioned and generalized, OMM also has an opportunity to differentiate itself with products that reflect its roots in technical mountain running, lightweight performance and all-weather reliability.
The Challenge
The downside is that OMM is entering one of the most crowded and competitive categories in outdoor sports. Trail running footwear is dominated by established specialists such as Salomon, La Sportiva, Hoka, while brands such as NNormal, Altra and Scarpa continue to fight for market share. Unlike packs or waterproof jackets, where OMM already has a strong reputation, footwear requires years of biomechanical expertise, athlete testing and consumer trust.
Among fell runners and mountain athletes, the most direct comparisons are likely to be drawn with inov-8 and VJ Sport – two brands that have spent decades refining footwear specifically for steep, technical and often wet terrain. inov-8 has long been synonymous with British fell running, while VJ has earned an almost cult-like reputation for its outsole technology, widely regarded as one of the benchmarks for grip on wet rock, slick roots and muddy mountain trails. For OMM, entering footwear means competing not only against established global brands, but against niche specialists whose credibility has been built shoe by shoe over many years. Given OMM’s own heritage in mountain racing, expectations will be high, and serious runners will inevitably judge the new Fell, Trail and Ultra models against the traction, precision and durability standards already set by Inov-8 and especially VJ – notably, both who have their own outsole!
FELL – 8mm lugs – 4mm drop –19.5/23.5 cushioning
TRAIL – 4mm lugs – 6mm drop – 21/27 cushioning
ULTRA – 4mm lugs – 8mm drop – 22/30 cushioning
One potential weakness of OMM’s footwear strategy is its decision to rely on Vibram outsoles rather than developing a proprietary rubber compound and tread system. While Vibram is one of the most respected names in mountain footwear and appears on countless premium trail and hiking shoes, it is not unique to OMM. In contrast, both Inov-8 and VJ have invested heavily in developing their own outsole technologies, giving them a clear point of distinction in a highly competitive market. For VJ in particular, exceptional grip on wet rock has become a defining part of the brand’s identity #bestgripontheplanet – while inov-8’s outsole designs are closely associated with British fell running and soft-ground performance.
This raises an obvious question for OMM: why should a runner choose an OMM shoe if the outsole technology is essentially shared with dozens of competing brands? For a niche company entering an already crowded category, proprietary technology can be a powerful way to stand out and build long-term loyalty. By opting for Vibram, OMM gains instant credibility and proven performance, but potentially sacrifices a degree of uniqueness. Ultimately, the success of the Fell, Trail and Ultra models may depend on whether runners see the overall package – fit, ride, upper design and mountain-running heritage as compelling enough to outweigh the lack of a distinctive outsole story.
More to the Vibram story
However, there is more to this story… OMM use a sole unit that is unique to the OMM shoe. Vibram, along with athlete Gediminas Grinius, developed over 1000’s of km’s a sole unit – cushioning and outsole – designed to be the perfect combination – VIBRAM SOLESYSTEM. Commercially though, it was unviable until OMM saw this and eventually turned the concept to reality. With specifically developed traction lugs, a wave shape, specific descent lugs, contour lugs and a Vibram midsole with MetaFlex – OMM believe they have the USP to stand out.
There is a clear logic to the OMM approach:
*Fell shoe has less cushioning, 19.5-23.5mm and 4mm drop. The Fell shoe comes in a regular fit and whopping 8mm lugs to grip in mud and soft-ground.
*Trail shoe sits in the middle ground with a 6mm drop and 21-27mm cushioning. The Trail and Ultra shoes both have 4mm lugs but come in two widths – regular and regular+
*Ultra shoe has 8mm drop for more comfort over longer distances and more cushioning with 22-30mm. The Ultra shoes both have 4mm lugs but come in two widths – regular and regular+
OMM may well be late to the shoe game but they are covering the bases to ensure that they have a product for all.
The Fell is arguably the most obvious shoe for the typical mountain marathon runner. But, the option of Trail and Ultra acknowledges the ever changing demands and needs of their audience.
There is a quiet but important question emerging in the wake of the 40th edition of the MDS Legendary. It is not really about numbers, though numbers have triggered it. It is about identity.
For the first time, the The Legendary introduced a 100-kilometer stage, stretching the total distance to around 270 kilometers. On paper, it feels like a natural evolution. In an era where ultrarunning continues to expand its limits, 100 kilometers carries a certain symbolic weight. It is round, definitive, and globally understood. To say you ran 100 kilometres in a single stage across the Sahara Desert resonates in a way that 82 or 86 kilometres never quite does. The number alone tells a story.
And yet, those who experienced it know that numbers rarely tell the whole story.
This particular 100-kilometer stage was, by design or necessity, more runnable. The terrain was flatter, rockier, less technical. There were fewer dunes to swallow momentum, fewer jagged ridges to force careful foot placement, fewer of those long, grinding climbs. It was a different kind of test. Not easier, necessarily, but different in character. More continuous. More rhythmic. Perhaps, for some, more honest in its simplicity.
The long stage of MDS Legendary has always been the soul of the race. It is where the MDS reveals what it truly is. In previous editions, that revelation came not just from distance, but from terrain. Runners would find themselves deep in dune fields. They would climb djebels. Cross stark, exposed and unforgiving ridges. Landmarks like Djebel El Otfal were not just features on a map; they became physical and mental thresholds.
Previously, the long day has hovered closer to 80 kilometers. Shorter on paper, perhaps, but rarely in experience. Difficulty was layered, not linear. Progress was negotiated, not simply measured.
So what happens when the balance shifts?
A 100-kilometre stage invites a different kind of effort. It rewards efficiency, pacing, and the ability to keep moving. It aligns, in many ways, with the broader evolution of ultrarunning, where speed over long distances has become a defining metric. There is a purity to that. But the desert and stage racing is different, very different.
But the desert has never been about fairness.
The Sahara Desert is indifferent to rhythm. It breaks it. The desert messes with the mind as much as stride. Its difficulty has always been irregular. That unpredictability is not an obstacle to the race; it is the race. Remove too much of it, and something subtle begins to change. The experience becomes more controlled, more measurable.
This is not to suggest that the 100-kilometer stage lacks merit, the opposite. For many runners, it represents a clear and compelling challenge. It simplifies the narrative: one stage, one hundred kilometres, one continuous effort across an immense landscape. From a PR and communication point of view, MDS Legendary 40th edition was defined by a 100km stage.
And yet, one wonders what is remembered more vividly.
Is it the satisfaction of reaching a numerical milestone, or the fragmented, almost surreal memories of moving through varied and hostile terrain? The slow, grinding ascent of a ridge at dusk. The disorientation of a night crossing through dunes that all look the same. The way the body adapts not just to distance, but to constant change.
Perhaps the real question is not whether 100 kilometers is too long, or 80 kilometres too short.
It is whether distance alone should define the hardest day of the race.
There is a compelling argument that the future of MDS Legendary does not need to choose so rigidly. Ideally, the distance of the long stage should or could be defined by the terrain and route – dunes could return, not as a token gesture but as a meaningful section, a djebel could once again stand as a decisive moment within the stage. Should ebb and flow, forcing runners to constantly adapt rather than settle into a single rhythm?
Such an approach would blur the distinction between distance and difficulty, bringing them back into conversation with one another.
Because in the end, the enduring appeal of The Legendary has never been rooted solely in how far it goes. It lies in how it feels while you are out there, somewhere between checkpoints, when the landscape dictates terms and the idea of “running” becomes something much more complex.
The introduction of a 100-kilometer stage has opened a new chapter for the MDS. Whether that chapter continues, or gives way to something less obvious but more nuanced, is not merely a question of logistics. It is a question of philosophy.
Perhaps the answer does not lie in fixing the distance at all. Perhaps the long stage should remain fluid, shaped not by a number, but by intent. Its success measured not in kilometers, but in the quality of the challenge it delivers. A truly great long stage is one that is beautiful, demanding, and just uncertain enough to unsettle even the most prepared runner—one that tests the body, certainly, but leaves its deeper mark on the mind.
For years, entering a race has felt simple. You find an event, sign up, pay the fee, and start training. The idea that anything might go wrong rarely enters your mind, certainly from a business point of view. Of course, you may have a change of personal circumstances, an injury for example – but, the race not happening, that is rarely a consideration. Advance payments have been part of the fabric of the sport for so long that most people barely register them as a risk.
But when something disrupts that pattern, even once, it has a way of shifting how we think. For the majority, these moments feel less like a crisis and more like a quiet recalibration. A warning sign! It’s not a collapse of trust – but more a subtle change in thinking. However, if you are a runner who has made payments and lost everything – trust will be eroded and this has a huge impact in forward thinking.
In the past, Covid an exception, most runners didn’t question where their money sat after they entered a race. It was understood, implicitly, that the event would take place and that the organiser would manage whatever sat behind the scenes. The mechanics of cash flow, margins, and risk were invisible. What mattered was the start line.
Now, that invisibility has thinned a little.
It’s unlikely that large numbers of runners will suddenly start combing through company filings or attempting to assess balance sheets and viability of a company. That level of scrutiny belongs to a minority. But something more gentle may well take hold:
A hesitation before committing far in advance.
A second glance at unusually heavy discounts.
A quiet preference for organisers with a long, steady track record.
But, as recent events have shown, established and track record is not a guarantee.
Trust will still exist, but it may become more selective.
For runners, there are also a few simple ways to reduce exposure without losing the ability to plan ahead. Insurance is the most obvious, particularly for higher-cost or international events, where cancellation cover can soften the financial hit if something goes wrong. Paying by credit card rather than debit can offer an extra layer of protection too, especially in the UK where consumer protections may allow you to reclaim funds in certain situations. Beyond that, a more risk-aware approach can help.
Hotels, travel and logistics will almost certainly be looked at with more scrutiny and less commitment. For example, using specific websites that allow booking of hotels and/ or travel where cancellations, with no impact, can be made almost days before being needed.
We may well be looking at a substantial shift in thinking, and this will impact on event organizers.
At the same time, the reality for organizers hasn’t changed. If anything, it has become more exposed. Events are expensive to stage, and most of those costs arrive early. Permits, insurance, equipment, staffing, logistics. Long before a runner crosses a start line, much of the financial commitment has already been made.
Advance entry fees are not a convenience – they are, in many cases, the mechanism that makes the event possible at all. So, what is going to happen if the runner changes the approach to booking and commitment.
That creates a delicate balance. Runners want certainty – we love to secure a place, plan ahead and formulate a plan. Organizers need commitment. If one side begins to hesitate, even slightly, the effects ripple outward.
Cash flow tightens.
Planning becomes less predictable.
Decisions get pushed later.
In a system that often works twelve months ahead, even small delays in confidence can create friction.
There is a risk, at least in the short term, of instability. Not dramatic or immediate, but enough to be felt. Smaller events and newer organisers are likely to feel it most.
Yet there is another side to this. This could be turned into a positive.
Moments like this can prompt a more sustainable way of operating. Organisers may become more cautious about expansion, more disciplined in managing costs, and more focused on building financial resilience rather than chasing rapid growth.
Runners, in turn, may make more deliberate choices about where and when they commit their money. A slightly more informed participant base, paired with more transparent and measured organizers, could strengthen the ecosystem over time.
But there is something worth preserving too.
Endurance sport has always run, in part, on goodwill. There is an unspoken agreement between organiser and participant. You trust that the event will be there. They trust that you will commit early enough to help make it happen. Strip that away entirely, and something important is lost.
The likely outcome sits somewhere in between. Not a collapse of confidence, but a tempering of it. People may pause, think, and choose a little more carefully.
Organizers may work harder to earn that early commitment.
Advance payments will still happen.
Races will still fill.
Plans will still be made months, even years, in advance.
But perhaps with a slightly clearer understanding, on both sides, of what sits beneath the surface.
Screenshot
And then, just like that, overnight, A cancellation of Tenerife Bluetrail by UTMB – this brings a different kind of reality into focus. Here, there’s no financial mismanagement or organisational failure to question. It’s simply the fact that some things sit beyond anyone’s control. Safety has to come first. But the impact is still real.
Travel has happened, runner’s are in hotels, months of training has been shaped around a single date, and then, overnight, it’s gone.
Nature hits, this comes under Force Majeure – is a contractual clause freeing parties from liability when extraordinary, uncontrollable events, such as natural disasters, wars, or pandemics, make fulfilling obligations impossible – situations like this may well add another layer to how people think about committing to events in the future.
This is not a loss of trust in organizers but a growing awareness that even well-run races carry external risks that are sometimes beyond everyone’s control.
In that sense, this situation doesn’t contradict the earlier discussion, it deepens it. The question is no longer just “can this event go ahead?” but also “what happens if it can’t, for reasons no one can control?”
Will this nudge runners toward a more flexible approach? Not out of fear, but out of a clearer understanding that certainty, in endurance sport as in nature, has always been a little fragile.
The 2026 Marathon des Sables – The Legendary is not just another year in the desert. It marks 40 years of the race. That alone tells you something about what’s coming. This edition matters. It will be longer, tougher, and built to celebrate the history of the event properly.
As we move through March, I will release weekly articles to help you sharpen your preparation. This is the first of four. The aim here is simple: give you clarity. No surprises. No guesswork.
Photo by Ian Corless
The Shape of the 2026 Race
If you raced in 2025, you already experienced the longest edition in MDS history. In 2026, the format stays similar but the distance increases again.
Six stages. Seven days. All timed.
Photo by Ian Corless
In previous years, the charity stage was not timed. That changed in 2025 and continues in 2026. Every stage now counts.
The long stage returns to Stage 4, just as it did in 2025. This time it will be 100km. Read that again. One hundred kilometres across two days in the desert.
Photo by Ian Corless
While total distance has fluctuated over the years, 250km has often been the benchmark. For 2026, you should plan for approximately 270km plus or minus. It should not shock you. But it will test you.
One positive? Depending on how quickly you complete the long stage, you may have almost a full day and night to recover before Stages 5 and 6. That recovery window could be valuable.
Daily stage distances are rarely confirmed in advance. It remains unclear whether exact distances will be released before arrival in Morocco. Historically, that information is kept quiet. Still, it’s not hard to estimate how the race could look.
Photo by Ian Corless
A likely outline might be:
Stage 1: 32km (Day 1) – total 32km
Stage 2: 38km (Day 2) – total 70km
Stage 3: 36km (Day 3) – total 106km
Stage 4: 100km (Days 4 and 5) – total 206km
Stage 5: 42km (Day 6) – total 248km
Stage 6: 21km (Day 7) – total 269km
Total: approximately 269km +/-
As in 2025, expect sand. A lot of it. Expect the Merzouga Dunes. Do not expect Djebel El Otfal.
You now have a working template to mentally prepare for the challenge ahead.
Before the Race Even Starts
Your race does not begin at the start line. It begins with logistics.
Photo by Ian Corless
In the final 2 to 3 weeks before the race, taper training back so that you are fresh and strong. Also plan for heat adaptation, this could be specific heat chamber sessions or a series of sauna sessions or similar.
Photo by Ian Corless
You are responsible for arranging your own accommodation before the official transfer from Ouarzazate to bivouac one. If you fly into Marrakech, you may need a hotel there as well. There are free transfer buses from Marrakech to Ouarzazate. Arrive in Ouarzazate at least one day before required, have a good hotel night and time to relax and prepare before the transfer to the desert. MDS will confirm the dates and times for transfers etc.
From there, the structure usually follows this pattern:
Day 1 – Bus transfer from Ouarzazate to the desert bivouac. You settle in and stay overnight. This is self-sufficient. No meals are provided. Bring enough food for arrival day and admin day. There is no weight restriction at this point, so bring what you want.
Day 2 – Technical, administrative, and medical checks. Overnight in bivouac, still self-sufficient.
Day 3 – Stage 1
Day 4 – Stage 2
Day 5 – Stage 3
Days 6 and 7 – Stage 4, the 100km long stage
Day 8 – Stage 5
Day 9 – Stage 6, medal at the finish, bus transfer back to Ouarzazate. Overnight hotel with half-board.
Day 10 – Free day in Ouarzazate, awards ceremony and gala evening. Hotel half-board.
Day 11 – Airport transfers. End of the adventure.
Bivouac Reality
From the moment you step into the bivouac, you are self-sufficient. Water is provided. Everything else is your responsibility.
You must bring food and drink to cover arrival day and admin day before racing begins. You do not carry this food during the race, so be smart. Bring proper meals. Rachid, for example, makes a Tagine in camp.
You also have access to your luggage before admin checks. This is valuable. Bring spare kit, extra layers, backup options. You can fine tune your equipment in real desert conditions.
And do not assume MDS = heat. In 2025, we had rain, strong winds and sand storms.
Recent editions have shown how unpredictable conditions can be. The October MDS 120 Morocco race in 2024 saw rain and flooding. The Atlantic Coast edition had extreme wind, cold temperatures and rain. The desert is not always hot and dry. Prepare for variation.
Before admin, you can adjust your race pack. After that, your pack must meet regulations:
Minimum weight: 6.5kg excluding 1.5 lts of water.
Minimum food: 2000 calories per day.
All mandatory kit must be present.
No exceptions.
Water Strategy Has Changed
Since 2024, water provision has evolved.
Photo by Ian Corless
Once Stage 1 begins, water during stages is effectively unlimited. You are no longer handed sealed 1.5L bottles at checkpoints. Instead, volunteers in blue coats pour water from large containers into your bottles.
If you stand at a checkpoint and drink a full bottle, they refill it.
Typically, checkpoints are spaced around 10km apart, terrain permitting. However, if conditions demand it, additional water stations may be placed between checkpoints, for example at 5km. This flexibility is important to combat excessive heat.
Photo by Ian Corless
For the long stage, there may be a requirement to carry additional water capacity. This could be supplied in a 1.5L bottle. Plan ahead. Either have spare capacity to decant, or a system to carry a full bottle.
After each stage, water is rationed. You receive one 5L bottle. That 5L must cover:
Post-stage hydration
Dinner preparation
Breakfast preparation
Water allocation to CP1 the next day
If you want to wash, that also comes from the same 5L. Prioritize drinking and eating. Washing is optional. Hydration is not.
Salt Is Now Non-Negotiable
The race rules require 14 broth cubes. They are salty and mandatory.
In 2024, this change was questioned. By the end of the race, feedback was largely positive.
Not all cubes dissolve well. Test them. Many athletes use ‘Knorr’ because it dissolves reliably. Build a salt replacement strategy that works for you. This is a self-sufficient race. You must manage your own electrolyte plan.
Feet: The Deciding Factor
Along with dehydration, damaged feet are one of the main reasons people do not finish.
Your shoes must fit correctly. Your socks must suit you. You must know how to treat hot spots and blisters. Desert sand magnifies small problems quickly.
Ignore your feet at your peril.
Advice – A thumb nail of space above your longest toe is ideal. Note, I say longest toe – this may not be your big toe! A wider shoe is a good idea to allow for toe splay. If a shoe is too big, your foot will move when walking or running. A moving foot causes friction, friction means blisters.
Photo by Ian Corless
Make sure your shoes have gaiters so no sand can get in the shoe.
Safety on Course
The race operates under strict safety protocols.
Photo by Ian Corless
Fast response buggies are positioned to access difficult terrain quickly. 4×4 vehicles are spread across the course.
Every runner carries a tracker attached to their pack. This allows the organization to monitor your position in real time. It includes an emergency button for immediate assistance.
There are also medical runners on course. These are trained medical professionals competing in the race. They wear a different colour race number so you can identify them. They can provide immediate care if necessary. In addition, the full medical team is equipped to respond anywhere in the desert.
Photo by Ian Corless
During stages, water is not rationed. If you need more, you can have it. At key checkpoints, iced water is available for cooling and is poured over your head by blue coat volunteers. Orange jackets manage medical incidents.
Mandatory Equipment Means Mandatory
You must carry:
Pack such as WAA Ultra Bag 20L
Minimum 1.5L water capacity
Sleeping bag
Head torch plus spare batteries (charger or solar charger allowed)
10 safety pins
Compass with 1–2 degree precision
Lighter
Whistle
Knife
Topical disinfectant
Signal mirror
Survival blanket
14 broth cubes
Sun cream
200 euros or 2000 dirhams
Passport or ID card
Original ECG document and medical certificate
Roadbook (provided on arrival)
GPS tracker
Pay close attention to deadlines and rules for ECG and medical forms. The regulations are strict.
Calories: The Real Numbers
The rules require 2000 calories per day across six stages. That equals 12,000 calories minimum to comply.
However, with the rest period during the long stage, 14,000 calories is a more realistic minimum. You may carry more. For example, a small and slight women weighing 50kg has very different calorie needs to a tall, muscular 90kg male. Understand your calorie needs.
You must be able to prove calorie totals. If you repackage food into lighter containers, keep the nutritional labels.
To break it down clearly:
Stage 1 – 14,000 calories remaining
Stage 2 – 12,000 calories remaining
Stage 3 – 10,000 calories remaining
Stage 4 – 8,000 calories remaining (long stage)
Day 5 – 6,000 calories remaining (rest day, still requires 2000 calories)
Stage 5 – 4,000 calories remaining
Stage 6 – 2,000 calories remaining
On Day 5, you may still be moving during the long stage or recovering in camp, but you still require 2000 calories. On Stage 6, you technically only need breakfast and race snacks.
Essential Personal Kit
Beyond mandatory equipment and food, you will need:
Shoes with gaiters, Velcro sewn securely in advance
Hat with potential neck cover
Sunglasses with strong protection and good fit for sandstorms or take extra goggles
Watch
Warm layer – windproof and possibly lightweight down jacket
Foot care supplies
Hygiene products
Toilet roll or wipes
Lip balm
Blindfold
Ear plugs
Spoon
Pot or bowl
Stove
Fuel cubes
Sleeping mat
Pillow
Flip flops or similar
Note – If you plan to NOT heat water, you will not need a stove of fuel cubes. However, you will still need a bowl or something similar to eat food from.
Photo by Ian Corless
For repairs, consider:
Zip ties
Gorilla tape
Super glue
Sewing kit
Cord or thin rope
Equipment can fail. Plan for that.
Final Practical Advice
Keep your pack as close to 6.5kg as possible. Extra weight adds unnecessary stress, especially in the longest edition to date with a 100km long stage.
Limit luxuries. If you take one, make it a lightweight MP3 player with reliable battery and earphones.
Accept the conditions. You may not wash. You will get dirty. You will smell. That is normal
Start conservatively. Ease into the race.
Photo by Ian Corless
Poles can make a huge difference, but only if you know how to use them properly. Front runners may not need them. Most people benefit from them.
Learn to walk efficiently. Many arrive expecting to run 80 percent and walk 20 percent. In reality, it is often reversed.
Protect your feet from day one.
Take a sleeping mat. In the desert, your job is simple: run, eat, sleep. Good sleep improves recovery. Recovery keeps you in the race.
Stage 1 of the 2026 The Coastal Challenge Costa Rica set the tone in the way it always does. It reminded everyone, very quickly, that Costa Rica plays by its own rules.
The day began long before sunrise. At 02:30, alarms cut through the darkness as runners gathered for a 03:30 departure, quiet conversations, nervous energy. There is something uniquely disorienting about starting a race day in the middle of the night, especially when the real work will not begin for several more hours. The long drive to the coast and Quepos was filled with anticipation and the kind of silence that comes when athletes are saving energy and thoughts for later.
By the time the start line finally came into view, just after 08:00, the sun was already making its presence known. The heat and humidity were not waiting for anyone. They never do. Stage 1 has a reputation, and once again it lived up to it. Starting late in the morning is always a challenge here. Bodies are not yet adapted, pacing plans are optimistic, and the Costa Rican climate is unforgiving if respect is not shown early.
From the beach start, the course wasted no time in revealing its character. Soft sand gave way to gravel roads, then into dense rainforest where the air felt heavier with every step. Climbs were sharp and relentless, descents technical and punishing on tired legs, and water crossings offered brief moments of relief before the heat closed in again. This was not a gentle introduction. This was pure Costa Rica.
In the Expedition race, Ramon Rosello took control early and never let it slip. He dictated the pace with confidence, moving smoothly through the terrain while others struggled to find rhythm. By the latter stages of the course, he had opened a substantial gap, finishing in a commanding 3:57:03. Behind him, Jon Shield fought hard in the conditions, crossing the line in 4:14:02. It was a clear statement from Rosello on a day where patience and experience mattered as much as speed.
Attention had been on Erick Aguirro going into the stage, with many expecting him to lead the day. However, a lingering injury told its own story. Though still competitive, Aguirro was unable to respond when the pace lifted, eventually finishing fourth behind Jesus Cerdas. On a course like this, even the smallest physical issue is magnified. Stage 1 has a way of exposing weaknesses, and there is little room to hide when the heat begins to bite.
In the women’s Expedition race, Denise Zelaya delivered a strong and controlled performance. She handled the conditions well, maintaining focus and discipline as others faded, to cross the line in 4:47:47. Janina Beck followed in 5:19:25, digging deep through the final kilometres as the accumulated fatigue of the day took hold. Both athletes showed the importance of measured pacing on a stage where ambition can quickly turn into survival.
The Adventure race brought its own drama and determination. Toni Clark led the women with a time of 4:29:41, showing resilience and strength across the varied terrain. For the men, Sammy Francis topped the standings in 3:45:28, navigating the course with efficiency and confidence. Across both races, the story was the same. Those who respected the day were rewarded. Those who did not paid for it.
Stage 1 is always tough, but it is especially brutal because the runners are not yet adapted to the environment. The heat punishes fast starts. The humidity steals energy quietly and persistently. Even seasoned athletes find themselves recalibrating expectations within the first hour. This year was no different. Faces at the finish told the story clearly. Relief, exhaustion, and a newfound respect for what lies ahead.
Costa Rica is at the heart of this race, not just as a location, but as a character in its own right. The diversity of the landscape is extraordinary. One moment you are running along the coastline with the Pacific at your side, the next you are climbing through thick jungle where the sounds of wildlife surround you. The beauty is undeniable, but it comes with a cost. Every climb, every descent, every humid kilometre demands something in return.
As runners made their way into Rafiki Lodge, recovery became the immediate focus. Cooling down, rehydrating, and reflecting on lessons learned. Many arrived with sore legs and humbled minds. Stage 1 has a habit of reshaping race strategies, and this year it was no exception. There was a shared understanding among competitors that the race had truly begun.
Tomorrow brings Stage 2, and with it, a much earlier start for the Expedition runners. Those early hours promise more comfortable conditions, at least by Costa Rican standards. The heat will still come, but later. For now, the priority is rest, refuelling, and preparation. The Coastal Challenge is not won on the first day, but it can certainly be lost.
Stage 1 from Quepos to Rafiki Lodge delivered everything it promised. Heat, humidity, challenge, and beauty in equal measure. It reminded everyone why this race is so highly regarded, and why Costa Rica demands respect. The journey has only just begun, and already it has left its mark.
IAN CORLESS 