A DNF doesn’t mean failure. Following an ankle injury during the MCC in Chamonix, an experienced trail runner and coach reflects on when to stop a race, how to make better decisions under pressure, and why listening to your body matters more than reaching the finish line.
I’ve been a running coach for a number of years now, and even before that I was always the person encouraging friends in their running adventures. I’ve given out plenty of sage advice over the years, but one of my favourite pieces has always been this:
You never need to worry about a DNF – as long as you are running your own race.
If you’re injured or unwell, the medics will pull you. If you get timed out, then you were doing your best and there was nothing more you could give. Either way, the decision is taken out of your hands.
And then the MCC happened…
I’m not really a racer
I’ve never been particularly big into racing. I much prefer my own adventures, at my own pace, without the pressure that comes with big events.
And yet, somehow, there’s something magical about UTMB week in Chamonix that keeps drawing me back every year.
I know UTMB attracts plenty of criticism. Some of it I think is fair; some of it, if I’m honest, feels a little like sour grapes. But whether you’re active on social media or simply live somewhere near the Chamonix Valley, it’s almost impossible not to be intrigued by the circus that descends on the town every August.
I ran the CCC in 2023 and had a great race after a solid block of training, which gave me a real confidence boost in mountain running. In 2024 I ran the MCC in a reasonably respectable time, although, given that it’s a considerably less challenging course than the CCC, I’ll admit my training wasn’t quite as focused.
The last couple of years have also brought a fair bit of ‘life’, which has naturally meant running has taken a small step back. And I’m OK with that. I’m not a professional runner and my livelihood doesn’t depend on my race performances. I use races more as a reason to get out the door, a goal to work towards and, selfishly, an excuse to spend some time in the mountains.
The MCC
2026 was the first year that the MCC became a ballot even for locals. I was lucky enough to get a place; Si wasn’t. So, on Monday morning, he dropped me at the bus stop in Le Fayet for the journey over to Martigny-Combe.
One of the things I like about the MCC is that you can register on the morning of the race. It means you can avoid the anxiety-inducing Chamonix furore until the finish. It also takes place on the Monday, before the main UTMB hype really gets going. I knew I wasn’t as fit as I had been in previous years, but I knew the course well. I also know my own strengths and weaknesses in the mountains, so I didn’t expect too many surprises.
The first climb gains around 1,000m and takes you up to the Col du Forclaz, which has become one of the great viewing points for many of the UTMB races. After a short balcony traverse, you climb again towards the Col du Balme. I was slower than on my previous attempt, but that was expected. I was being disciplined with nutrition, using my poles and generally trying to run a clever race rather than a fast one.
My first real mental hurdle came at the Col du Balme, when I discovered they had run out of drinks. This was despite not even half the field having passed through. A slightly stressed phone call to Si resulted in the very reasonable reminder that I don’t normally take water on a 10km run – which was roughly the distance to the next checkpoint.
Fortunately, a kind spectator gave me about a third of a can of Coke, and I headed off towards the descent to Argentière. I managed to get some more water at Montroc and continued towards the third and final checkpoint.
And then, about 300m before reaching it, everything changed.
The fall
On a fairly flat, non-technical section of trail, I managed to roll my left ankle hard and hit the ground. Some spectators helped me back to my feet and asked if I needed the medics. I told them no. I was so close to the checkpoint, and I’d turned my ankle plenty of times over the years.
I knew that initial sharp pain can sometimes subside surprisingly quickly. An ankle can remain sore but still be perfectly runnable. So I got my poles out and hobbled towards the checkpoint. I called Si for the second time, this time in considerably more pain, and told him that I thought I wanted to drop out.
He could hear the hesitation in my voice and, rather than simply agreeing, urged me to be absolutely certain before making the decision. And there was a good reason for that.
I was only seven miles from the finish. I had four hours before the race cut-off. The remaining route was almost entirely flat or downhill and, under normal circumstances, would have been a fast finish.
So I walked into the Argentière checkpoint… And then I walked out again. I was determined to finish, even if it was going to be slow.
When your Everest is the last four miles
Within a mile, I realised I couldn’t run. Not even a few steps.
A little further on, I was in considerable pain whenever the trail became anything other than completely flat and smooth. By two miles, I was moving at a snail’s pace and had several runners stop to ask if I needed help. After about 2.5 miles, I called Si again.
My race was over.
I could barely weight-bear, and those final 4.5 miles had somehow become my own personal Everest. Si came to collect me. The UTMB app has a remarkably straightforward ‘withdraw’ button. At that moment, it seemed almost ridiculously easy. Within a few minutes I received a phone call confirming my withdrawal and checking that I was OK.
Was I OK?
Well, my ankle was extremely swollen and my ego was considerably more bruised. But I knew I would be fine.
When I got home, I finally took off my shoes and socks and saw the full extent of the damage. By then I could barely walk and had developed the shivers.
In the week since the race, the severity of the sprain has become much clearer. And I have not regretted my decision to DNF for a single moment. In fact, I strongly suspect that attempting those final 4.5 miles could have caused considerably more long-term damage. Looking back, I can also see that there were several important factors in how I made the decision.
What I learned from my DNF
1. Know your own body
I know my body pretty well, and I have a reasonably high pain threshold. I’ve wanted to quit races before. I’ve even told Si that I wanted to stop. He has always been pretty good at recognising the difference between me having a bit of a moan and something genuinely being wrong. This was very definitely the latter. Knowing yourself is an important part of knowing when to continue – and when to stop.
2. Don’t make the decision in a rush
I didn’t immediately call it. I had food. I had water. I had time. I genuinely tried to rally before accepting that my race was over. You cannot always make good decisions when you’re hungry, dehydrated, stressed or caught up in the immediate shock and pain of an incident. Give yourself a moment to assess the situation properly if you can.
3. You can call your own DNF
I’ve always said that a DNF would be taken out of my hands by a medic or race official. I now humbly accept that you can call your own DNF. In hindsight, I suspect that if I had been assessed by a medic, they may well have advised me to stop given the swelling and difficulty weight-bearing. But my injury happened out on the trail, without witnesses, and although there would have been medical support at the Argentière checkpoint, I never actually saw them. Sometimes you have to take responsibility for your own decision.
4. Be careful about stopping at a checkpoint
This one might sound slightly controversial. Some people might think I should have stopped at Argentière. I’m actually glad I didn’t. Checkpoints are comfortable places to stop. There are people, food, water, medical support and a general sense that everything is going to be OK. It can be very easy to make a decision based on the immediate shock of an injury when you’re surrounded by all those things.
If you are capable of safely moving on, getting back out onto the trail can sometimes give you a clearer picture of whether you genuinely need to stop. If you still need to quit once you’re back out there, you can at least have greater confidence that the decision reflects the reality of the situation rather than a knee-jerk reaction to the initial shock. Obviously, this doesn’t apply to a serious injury or situation where you need immediate medical attention.
5. Don’t use swelling alone as your barometer
My ankle swelled dramatically. A week later, it was still swollen. But the body is an extraordinary thing. Much of that initial swelling is the body’s natural response, creating protection and effectively forming a temporary splint around the injured area. I’ve seen Si’s ankles balloon after an ankle roll and then watched him run relatively comfortably the following day.
Pain is different. Pain is something you need to listen to.
So, am I disappointed?
Absolutely.
I’m disappointed that I didn’t finish. I’m disappointed that an innocuous bit of trail brought my race to an end. And, yes, my ego took a bit of a kicking. But I’m also completely at peace with the decision.
Injuries are part of being a runner. No matter how good your kit is, how well you know the trails or how much experience you have, there will always be an innocuous little rock, root or hole that seems to have been placed there specifically to catch you out.
That’s mountain running. I’m not defined by a DNF. But equally, I definitely don’t plan on making a habit of them!
Written by Karin Voller
