Tour du Mont Blanc
Tour du Mont Blanc
7 days. 111 miles. 33,500′.
I open my eyes to the sound of silence. The storm has passed. Bulging beads of water line every inch of the inside of the tent fly, seeming to defy gravity as they sag directly over my face. Any sudden movement would be a surefire way to wake up on the wet side of the bed. After a night of the heaviest raindrops I ever heard, it was time to go through our now-familiar routine of packing up a soggy tent.
Doing my best to avoid the threatening blobs from falling on our precious down quilt, I gingerly unzip the tent door and birth my way out into the world. To my surprise, a few stubborn stars refuse to fade with the rising sun, and a pink horizon suggests that we might just get a break from the rain on our first 20-mile day.
Emily crawls out behind me, wearing every layer she has. Few words are spoken — we know the drill. I fire up the stove to boil water for a quick muesli breakfast as we begin cramming our damp gear into our 40L packs. My quick-dry pack towel is already soaked, but I keep at it — rub, wring, repeat — until the fly is as dry as it’s going to get. We shake off the last drops, break down the tent, and force it into our packs with a grimace and frozen hands. The sun is still hiding behind the towering peaks, but we shoulder our loads and set off into the cold morning to begin day three of the Tour du Mont Blanc.
We had now been in and around the European Alps for 18 days and we were feeling the fatigue. A couple of big treks in the Austrian Alps and the Dolomites, countless hours on buses and trains, and one too many days navigating Venice and Milan, had us starting the TMB with our tanks half-empty. To make matters worse, we had both come down with a nasty upper respiratory illness that had us laid flat for four days. We had to burn our one flex day in our tightly packed itinerary to push our start back by 24 hours—a gamble that still left us feeling less than ideal as we set out on a 7-day trek around the Mont Blanc Massif.
On the summit of Fanggekarspitze in the Austrian Alps
3-day trek around Tre Cime in the Dolomites
Our mission was simple — and we were determined: complete the Tour du Mont Blanc fully self-supported. No baggage transfers. No cable cars or shuttles. One hundred percent human-powered effort. We had no accommodations booked and only a loose plan for where we might stay each night and how far we’d go each day. As outdoor athletes and coaches, we wanted this to be a true test of our training and fitness and a chance to collect real data on how we can better help others prepare for this trek.
Starting Half Empty
Day 1: Les Houches to Les Contamines
Distance: 8.4 miles
Elevation Gain: 2,200’
Time: 4 hours
Day 1 started with rain and a lingering cough. We had finally slept through the night without waking in feverish sweats, but we were still weak, still coughing, and still not fully recovered. The last thing our bodies needed was to slog up the 2,800-foot climb out of Les Houches with fully loaded packs, compromised immune systems, and a cold September morning reminding us that we are in the mountains.
We sat in our small room refreshing the weather forecast every five minutes, weighing our options. This was the first major fork in the road — stick to our purist goal or make the call that might save our trip. Most TMB hikers skip this climb entirely, taking the Bellevue Cable Car instead — a 37-person lift that shuttles tourists and hikers up the mountain, cutting two and a half hours of steep climbing off the day. As I coughed up another round of phlegm, reality set in: if we wanted to complete the TMB, we needed to start smart, not stubborn.
This was not an easy call. We had trained for this climb, pictured it in our heads, and promised ourselves we’d hike the entire route. No shortcuts. But sometimes the hardest part of an endurance challenge is letting go of your ego and adjusting the plan.
I asked myself, What would I tell a friend or client right now? “Push through the pain! Sick or not, go for it!” Of course not. I’d tell them: Preserve yourself for the long haul. It’s not just about today — you’ve got 111 miles ahead of you. Be smart. Listen to your body.
Taking the Bellevue Cable Car in the rain
Officially on the TMB
So we swallowed our pride, stepped into the Bellevue Cable Car, and let it whisk us out of the Chamonix Valley and into the clouds. As we watched the trees whizz by, we said “We’ll just have to do this climb when we get back to Les Houches!” Looking back, taking the Cable Car was the best decision of the entire trip, without it, we likely would have blown up before the real trek even began.
Exiting the cable car, we were greeted with a light mist and our first Tour du Mont Blanc map. We stood there for a moment, tracing the loop with our fingers and quietly wondering if we could shake this sickness somewhere along the way. The trail began with a slick, muddy descent toward Glacier de Bionnassay — an odd way to start a trek that would include over 33,000 feet of climbing. Our measly little cable car bump suddenly felt insignificant.
Despite still being far from 100%, we managed to avoid the dreaded brown skid mark so many hikers wore like a badge of honor after sliding on their asses in the mud. We passed group after group as they fought to stay upright in the slippery soup of glacial mud and cow patties. It was a good reminder of the deep reservoir of fitness we had to draw from. Even operating at what felt like 50%, we still had enough in the tank to stay balanced, climb, and keep moving forward.
Starting our first climb to Col de Tricot
Warming our souls with vegetable soup at Refuge de Miage
The rain held off as we began our first official climb to Col de Tricot, the clouds stubbornly clung to the high peaks, obscuring the alpine views. Instead of stopping at the col and getting stuck in the inevitable hiker traffic jam, we kept moving, beginning the 1,800-foot descent toward Refuge de Miage. We ordered steaming vegetable soup and hot tea, warming us from the inside out. We shouldered our packs once more for another 1,000-foot climb around Mont Truc, followed by a steep, quad-pounding 2,300-foot descent into Les Contamines for our first night on trail.
While we had planned to camp every night on the TMB, illness and weather forced us to pivot. Instead, we found a small, charming French chalet about a 15-minute walk from town. 63 Euros for a full kitchen and a hot shower? Worth every penny. It wasn’t the purist plan we’d envisioned, but we knew we needed every edge we could get to recover and set ourselves up for the many days ahead. After 8.5 miles and 2,200 feet of climbing, we ate well, slept dry, and went to bed ready for a bigger push tomorrow.
Finding the Rhythm
Day 2: Les Contamines to Les Chapieux
Distance: 13.5
Elevation Gain: 4,700’
Time: 5 hours 30 min
The morning dawned clear — a welcome surprise after a forecast that had shown nothing but rain well into the night. Our lungs still rattled, but we were improving, and our sights were set on Les Chapieux, where we were committed to camping rain or shine.
After three miles of flat road walking, we began the long, gradual climb to Col du Bonhomme. This is one of the most forgiving climbs on the TMB, taking over seven miles to gain 4,400 vertical feet before topping out just over 8,000 feet. As clouds rolled in, we passed group after group of saturated hikers, rain dripping from their ponchos and pack covers. We had neither. My lungs burned as we marched briskly uphill, each breath dislodging what felt like the last remnants of the illness. Maybe this was exactly what our bodies needed: “lè vert detox”.
We took a brief tea break at Refuge de la Balme, hydrating before the final push to the Col. By then the rain was steady, the trail a messy medley of puddles and mud, and a biting south wind whipped over the pass. The stone shelter at the Col was packed with hikers seeking relief. We exchanged a quick glance, shrugged, and pushed on, traversing the ridge toward Refuge du Col de la Croix du Bonhomme. The rain finally tapered as we hunkered down behind a rock, munching on crackers and dried fruit while the wind tore at our hoods.
First big climb on the way to Les Chapieux
Clearing skies at Col du Bonhomme
A steep 3,000-foot descent into Les Chapieux patiently awaited us. As we dropped into the valley, Aire de Bivouac des Chapieux came into view. Just a simple field beside the raging Torrent des Glaciers, but to us, it looked like paradise. Camping here is technically free, but we happily tossed five euros in the donation box — a bargain compared to the 80–100 euros per person that most huts charge for a crowded bunk bed. We pitched the tent, inflated our pads, and just as we zipped the door shut, the sky unloaded yet again, dumping buckets of rain.
When the storm finally let up, we crawled out to cook dinner — a humble meal of minute rice and a can of beans we’d bought in Les Contamines. Just hours prior we were the only tent in the field and by now, a small city of nearly 40 tents had sprung up around us. Shuttle buses came and went, ferrying soaked hikers down to Bourg Saint Maurice for a hotel bed or forward along the route to skip a section of trail. But this, cooking by a glacial river, camping under storm clouds after a solid day of hiking in the Alps, was exactly what we had signed up for.
Final descent to Les Chapieux
Camping in Les Chapieux
The Road to Courmayuer
Day 3: Les Chapieux to Courmayeur
Distance: 20 miles
Elevation Gain: 5,520’
Time: 8 hours 48 min
We woke up with two things on our minds: condensation and Courmayeur. The heavy rain through the night, paired with ten hours of breathing, had left enough water on the tent fly to practically fill our Nalgenes. As we packed up, I contemplated the route ahead: twenty miles, one major pass, one more big climb, and a whole lot of vert. But with the sun inching out from behind the 12,516-foot Aiguille des Glaciers, and with our health finally turning the corner, we felt supercharged with positive energy.
The first four miles out of Les Chapieux were unusually quiet. “Where the hell is everybody?” we wondered. After passing hundreds of hikers yesterday, we had expected more of the same today. The only thing hogging the trail this morning seemed to be cows. Then, looking down the valley, we saw a steady line of vans and cars shuttling hikers closer to the base of the climb up Col de la Seigne. “Ahhh, that’s where they are.” We didn’t mind. Empty trails and big views were a welcome way to start what we knew would be a massive day.
As we neared the French–Italian border at Col de la Seigne, we began what David Goggins would call “taking souls.” Emily might admit to feeling like a predator hunting down prey on big climbs, but we don’t push the pace out of ego. It’s simply the pace that feels most natural. We often talk about the delicate equation of pacing, effort, and timing. Go too slow, and yes, you’ll conserve energy, but you’ll also spend more time on your feet, more time exposed to the elements, and more time eating into your recovery window. Go too fast, and you risk blowing up before the day is done. Having the fitness to move quickly but sustainably lets us cover more ground in less time, giving us margin to deal with whatever the trail throws at us later, and increasing our window to refuel and recover for the following day.
Feeling stoked on our way to Courmayeur
Emily making new friends on the trail
Cresting the Col, we were rewarded with sweeping views of the Aosta Valley and, at last, the 15,766-foot summit of Mont Blanc. We escaped the wind-scoured pass just long enough to whip out the OAT banner for a quick photo. It wasn’t a true summit, but the moment felt symbolic: grit, determination, and empowerment all rolled into one. Looking out across the Italian side of the range, it was easy to feel overwhelmed by the sheer distance ahead. But on the TMB, like anything else in life, the only way forward is one step at a time.
A warm descent quickly had us stripping off jackets and gloves, trading them for our now stinky sun hoodies and shorts. We cruised past Rifugio Elisabetta and stopped for lunch at Rifugio Combal. Two plates of vegan pasta pomodoro and hot ginger tea gave us the carbohydrates we needed for our final big climb. Fueling on a long endurance effort like the TMB is a delicate balance: eat too little and you’ll bonk hard; eat too much and you’ll waddle your way over the next pass. Emily learned this the hard way. A few too many noodles had her stomach churning. She persevered as we pushed on, linking up the yellow TMB diamonds as we crossed the half-marathon mark with over a vertical mile of climbing on the day.
Col de la Seigne
Refugio Elisabetta with Aiguille des Glaciers in the background
Views of the Aosta Valley
Another big climb from Refugio de Combal
By mile seventeen, we hit the steepest and most technical descent of the trek so far. Hungry, tired, and ready to ditch our full packs, every root and rock became a mental puzzle. After another hour of careful footwork, we finally spilled out onto the streets of Courmayeur, tired and satisfied.
After camping in the rain in a crowded bivouac field, we were desperate to dry out our gear. With an even bigger day on the docket for tomorrow, we ditched the purist plan and found a cheap hotel room. This wasn’t about saving money or proving anything, it was about taking care of our bodies and setting ourselves up for success. We raided the local market for plant-based snacks, rice, beans, and a bushel of spinach, then cooked dinner from our window overlooking town. That night, we fell asleep full, warm, and ready for Day 4.
Emily crushing the Grand Col Ferret
Dinner with a view in Courmayeur
Grand Col Ferret
Day 4: Courmayeur to La Fouly
Distance: 20.5 miles
Elevation Gain: 6,760’
Time: 9 hours 40 min
After eating as much as we could manage for breakfast, we slung our packs onto tender shoulders and walked out of Courmayeur. The streets were still quiet, the town just waking up. “Where is everybody? What about all the other trekkers we saw at breakfast?” we wondered, realizing this was one of those sections many hikers skip. The switchbacks wasted no time, winding through lush larch forest in the warm morning sun. Despite logging more than forty miles in the last three days, we felt good, strong even, and crushed the 2,700-foot climb to Rifugio Giorgio in an hour and forty-five minutes.
After a quick snack break, we began the high traverse through blueberry-covered hillsides toward the famous Rifugio Walter Bonatti. The trail rolled gently, the views of Mont Blanc filling the horizon. Gratitude for our now fully recovered bodies welled up. What a gift to be out here, to see this stretch of trail that so few people ever get to experience.
We rolled into Bonatti at mile eight with 3,200 feet already climbed. Rehydrating with tea bags we had pocketed at the hotel breakfast, the reality of how far we still had to go set in. As we hoped back on the trail, three runners in ultralight vests danced past us, making our 40L packs feel like bricks. After a few more miles of undulating high country walking, the trail twisted and dropped a thousand feet to the valley floor.
First big climb of the day out of Courmayeur
A cup of tea at Rifugio Walter Bonatti
The September sun was blazing now, so we stripped off our shoes and socks and waded into the milky glacial torrent. Pure heaven. The icy water burned at first, then numbed our feet, pushing blood back up into our tired legs and foggy brains. It was a full reset, one last chance to collect ourselves before Grand Col Ferret, one of the most challenging climbs on the entire TMB. And we were already five hours into the day.
We laced our shoes and began the 2,700-foot slog toward the Italian–Swiss border. Shuttle vans dropped fresh hikers at the base of the climb, their shirts freshly laundered shoes still spotless. No shame in catching a ride, but they missed one of the most spectacular stretches of the entire route.
Up ahead, three familiar silhouettes bobbed up the trail — the same trail runners we’d seen earlier at Bonatti. An unspoken race was on. We weren’t chasing them, but there’s a certain fire that lights when you’re running on grit and see a chance to reel someone in. At mile 14, with over 6,000 feet of gain behind us, I turned to Emily and said, “This is what separates the trainers from the clients.” Not a dig — but a reminder that as coaches, we owe it to ourselves and our athletes to practice what we preach, even in the hardest conditions
Soaking in the views from the high route
Emily nearing the top of Grand Col Ferret
Breath and footwork in synchronicity, we slowly overtook the first trail runner. Like a semi-truck passing a sports car in the slow lane. While we don’t chase other people on the trail like the Tarahumara chasing down deer, I would be lying if it said it didn’t light a fire under my ass from time to time. After another nearly two hours of climbing, we reached the 8,300’ Col as we made our first steps into Switzerland. It would be all downhill to Camping des Glaciers in La Fouly, but a long, tedious downhill at that.
Traversing narrow hillsides and scrambling over rocky sections, we eventually realized we weren’t on the official TMB trail, but the high route was worth it if it meant avoiding pavement. Hungry, dusty, and running on fumes, we broke the 20-mile mark walking straight into the only market in town. We grabbed a loaf of bread, a bag of gnocchi, and a can of beans, then retreated to pitching our tent at Camping des Glaciers. Our sun hoodies, shorts, and socks were stiff with sweat and dust with no end in sight. We were officially morphing into stinky dirtbags. We ate, reviewed the map for tomorrow, and collapsed into the tent. Day 4 had wrung us out, but we were doing it again tomorrow whether we liked it or not.
Traversing Swiss hillsides on our way to La Fouly
The final few miles of road walking to Camping des Glaciers
The "rest" Day
Day 5: La Fouly to Lac Champex (Arpette)
Distance: 11 miles
Elevation Gain: 2,200’
Time: 4 hours 20 min
Crawling out of the wet tent once more, we were greeted by the chilled air spilling down from the glacier. We had slept in (by TMB standards) until 7 a.m., desperately catching up on sleep after 40 miles and 13,000+ feet of climbing in the last 48 hours. Our faces were puffy, our legs heavy, and we were running on fumes. With frigid fingers, we packed up on auto-pilot, agreeing that today would be our “rest day”, only 10 miles to Lac Champex, then just a bit further up to Relais d’Arpette.
After a shot of espresso from the only open café in town, we started the day with a mellow 2,200-foot descent winding through Swiss chalets and along a glacial river. It felt like a gift — the first time in days we weren’t climbing immediately out of camp. Of course, what goes down must come back up. On legs that felt completely tapped and stomachs that had never quite caught up after yesterday’s effort, we began the 1,800-foot climb to Lac Champex. Sweat poured down our backs as we worked uphill through a forest dotted with enormous mushrooms and wooden carvings of owls, squirrels, and other forest creatures… no, we weren’t hallucinating.
Our pace had slowed to a measly 1,000 feet per hour, glacial compared to previous days, and Emily’s toe pain was getting worse with every step. By the time we reached Lac Champex, she ditched her Altras for Bedrock Sandals just to give her feet some relief as we shuffled around the lake on the paved road.
The hike to La Fouly
Emily finishing the day in her Bedrocks
With impeccable timing, we walked into the only grocery store just 10 minutes before it closed for its 3-hour midday break. We raided the shelves like the starving hikers we were: a 500g bag of pasta, cans of beans, bread, trail mix. Packs heavier but stomachs still empty, we gnawed on a two-foot-long baguette as we trudged the final stretch up the Arpette Valley.
At Relais d’Arpette, we checked in for camping on a grassy field pitched at an angle steep enough to ski on, not exactly the recovery setup we were hoping for. Then we noticed a row of tiny wooden huts, barely four and a half feet tall, each just big enough for a small bed. For 20 euros, we gladly ditched our soggy tent and upgraded to what felt like the Taj Mahal. With rain and cold temps in the forecast, it was hands-down the best decision of the trip so far.
A much needed mobility session at Relais d’Arpette
Glamping at Relais d’Arpette
By early afternoon we had our gear spread out to dry, socks steaming in the sun, and foam pads rolled out for a long-overdue mobility session. A few minutes of stretching, bottle-rolling, and breathing felt like medicine for our beaten-down bodies. This is the stuff no one talks about — nervous system down-regulation, recovery for the joints and hips, making sure tomorrow’s big hike doesn’t turn into a problem.
Meanwhile, we performed surgery on Emily’s shoe, carving away at the offending seam with a Leatherman, hoping it would create enough space to walk pain-free. We would have to wait for tomorrow to find out.
The rest of the evening was a cycle of eating, hydrating, and stretching. We ordered the hut’s chili végan and roasted potatoes, then capped it with an unorthodox feast of pasta, beans, and zucchini from the market. As the rain hammered the tin roof that night, we lay in our little wooden shack, deeply grateful that we wouldn’t be packing a wet tent at dawn.
Through the Window
Day 6: Lac Champex (Arpette) to Argentière
Distance: 17 miles
Elevation Gain: 6,370’
Time: 9 hours 12 min
At first light, I peeked out the window of our wooden shack to see a fresh dusting of snow across the jagged Swiss Alps under a cloudy sky. After refueling and getting plenty of sleep, we were ready for another big day. Packing our bags with a roof over our heads felt downright luxurious, and we strolled into the breakfast buffet determined to top off the tank. Today’s objective: Argenière via Fenêtre d’Arpette, a steep and narrow col at 8,800 feet.
This route isn’t part of the traditional TMB, but we were eager to get higher into the mountains and optimistic the morning fog would burn off. A light mist dampened our sun hoodies once again as we started the 3,700-foot climb. Surprisingly, our legs felt springy, and we found ourselves back in our cruising rhythm — pole plant, step, breath. The higher we moved up the narrowing valley, the more the clouds rose with us, unveiling the jagged 10,000-foot peaks surrounding us. Near the snow line, the trail morphed into a boulder field, forcing us to stash our poles in one hand and grab the frozen rocks with the other. By the time we hit the final switchbacks, the clouds were blowing east and we topped out into a stiff, glacial wind.
Snow capped peaks of Val d’Arpette
Approaching Fenêtre d’Arpette as the clouds lifted
We ducked behind the leeward side of a large rock for shelter. The solitude and airy exposure of the col made it the perfect place for a small ceremony. Emily pulled a small vial from her pack, her dad Mark’s ashes. Since his passing in February 2024, this has become Emily’s ritual: climbing to the most badass corners of the world and leaving a piece of her father behind. Watching her scatter the ashes into the biting alpine wind, I couldn’t help but feel that he was right here with us. I have no doubt he is proud of what his little Oregon girl has accomplished.
After gagging down what was left of yesterday’s stale baguette, we turned to face the descent. A patch of blue sky appeared, the sun warmed our faces, and we practically skipped down the rocky switchbacks. These were undoubtedly the best views of the trip thus far, and we weren’t even on the official TMB route!
As we picked our way down the 3,000-foot descent, the opposite hillside came into full view — endless switchbacks etched into the slope. I pulled up Gaia just to be sure. “Yup… that’s us.” The glacial high drained out of me as quickly as it had come, replaced by a sharp shot of anxiety. We had just finished a 3,800-foot climb, and now we were dropping 3,000 feet only to claw back up another 3,000. And of course, you know what would come after that… “FUCK.” It felt like a gut punch. But like the undulating nature of the trail itself, my morale shifted just as quickly. The dread melted into a kind of gritty excitement. “This is exactly what we came here for.”
The descent dragged on with rocks, roots, and mouth-breathing trekkers climbing in the opposite direction. Emily’s toe pain returned with a vengeance. By the time we reached the valley floor, she was limping. We both worried how we were going to cover another 13 miles to Argentière if she was already hobbling.
Emily soaking in the views on the other side of Fenêtre d’Arpette
Descending from the col looking at our next climb
At the bottom of the descent Emily ripped off her shoe, desperate for relief. That little piggie needed more room. Unable to tell if it was the stinky fondue or her footbed, I pried out the sweaty piece of cork and started carving away. After a few minutes of surgery, Emily jumped around like a kangaroo, testing the new modifications. “Oh yeah! I’m ready to go!” I laughed. Save that energy for the climb, sweetheart.
The climb was hot and sticky, clouds building overhead. Our rhythm returned. Head down. Breathe. Pole plant. Step. Repeat. For the last 90 miles, I had contorted my foot and ankle to step on tens of thousands of rocks, and this piece of limestone seemed no different until, THWACK. Suddenly, I was face down on the rock, arms overhead. I lay there for a moment and thought, “Man, this sucks.” My already beat-up shoulder throbbed, but there was nothing to do but get back up and keep climbing. Emily offered sympathy, but honestly, the best medicine was just walking uphill and letting the trail provide the punishment I deserved.
A steep section of trail with cables to cling to
Hiking through blueberries in Switzerland high country
Higher up, the trail turned into a 40-degree rock path with a hundred-foot cliff to one side. We grabbed the fixed cable with both hands and hauled ourselves to the top. Good thing we climbed Yosemite’s Half Dome a few weeks ago. The technicality of the trail was relentless as we contoured around the mountainside, mentally fried from hours of precise foot placement. We found ourselves begging for a flat road, anything smooth. Then the blueberry bushes turned crimson, the larch needles showed their first hint of gold, and gratitude flooded back in. Fall had arrived.
As we approached the French border, we got our first glimpse of Refuge du Col de Balme. The eerie concrete hut with red shutters contrasted by a darkening sky resembled something of a cruel boarding school for poorly behaved French children. We hoped for soup, but were greeted by a closed sign and the persistent bitter wind. No choice but to keep moving. The first raindrops started to fall as we rounded the corner.
The anxiety crept back in. I dreaded another wet night in the tent — cooking in the rain, pulling on filthy trail clothes in the morning, starting the day already miserable. Almost on instinct, I pulled out my phone and opened Booking.com. Within seconds, I found it: Hotel de La Couronne, a cushy room with a queen bed for 103 euros. Only one left. My brain started racing. Could we justify the splurge? Would it throw off our plan? Did we really want to sleep in a wet tent before our final big push to Les Houches? I reminded myself that very few people camp the entire TMB. Most stay in huts or hotels every night. Surely we could allow ourselves this one. Then I saw the magic words: Breakfast Included. That sealed it. I booked the room and felt a wave of relief wash over me. Suddenly, the next two hours of hiking in the rain didn’t seem quite so bad.
Refuge du Col de Balme
Rain returned for our final descent to Argentière
The Finale
Day 7: Argentière to Les Houches
Distance: 15.7 miles
Elevation Gain: 5,350’
Time: 7 hours 55 min
Waking before sunrise, we spotted a few headlamps flickering on the summit ridge of Mont Blanc. I couldn’t help but wonder which was harder: climbing the mountain, or walking around the whole damn thing. With another big day ahead, I was leaning toward the latter.
We gorged ourselves at breakfast with muesli, bread, orange juice and scrambled eggs, an insurance policy against our empty snack bag. We learned the hard way the grocery stores are closed on Sundays in France. We shouldered our packs on the cold humid morning of our last day on trail, and began hoofing back up to the alpine. Deep blue skies with lenticular clouds forming over Aiguille du Midi made for magical views. We kept a moderate pace and for the first time in a while, it felt like Type I fun.
The 2,800-foot climb passed steadily, and before long we were on a contouring traverse with Mont Blanc looming across the valley. The trail was packed with friendly day hikers in bright jackets unloading one by one from the La Flégère cable car. For five miles we cruised the “Nepali flat” terrain, dodging roots and slick rocks, feeling lighter than we had in days. Last night’s hotel stay was worth every euro.
Starting the final day with a big climb
Back in the Alpine
As we hunkered down behind a chairlift near the closed Altitude 2000 restaurant, we dug out the beat-up Clif bars that had been rattling around the bottoms of our packs for a few days. We joked that we never eat Clif bars at home, but out here they tasted like the best thing we’d ever had — chewy, sweet, and exactly what we needed.
Fueled by rice syrup, we started what we suspected was our final big climb of the TMB: a 1,700-foot push to Col du Brévent, topping out at Restaurant Le Panoramic at 8,160 feet. There was relief knowing this was the last up, but my legs were toast and every step felt like work. If we had seen our pace compared to a few days earlier, we would have taken our own souls and left us in the dust.
At the top of the Col, we got our first view of the long, meandering descent toward Les Houches. All that stood between us and finishing the TMB was a “measly” 5,000-foot descent; how bad could it be?
After the first 1,500 feet of descent, we rolled into Refuge de Bellachat, perched dramatically on a steep slope above Chamonix. We ordered a double Rösti (a giant, crispy potato pancake) and savored every bite of salty carbs and every sip of tea. It was a brief moment of bliss before completing the loop.
The final climb
Working our way down to Les Houches
But as we’d learned, nothing on the TMB comes easy. Beyond the 10-mile mark, with over 5,000 feet already on our legs, the final descent turned steep and rocky. Steel cables bolted into the rock reminded us that a slip here could have consequences.
Finally, the trail eased into dirt road and then pavement. Les Houches crept closer with every step, the excitement building despite the fatigue. We crossed the same bridge we had nine days earlier, arriving feverish and unsure, and I reveled in how good I felt now — even after 100+ miles and tens of thousands of feet of climbing and descending.
As we rounded the corner into town, there it was: the iconic TMB start arch. No fanfare, no cheering crowd. Just us and one other hiker, who kindly snapped a few photos of us with the OAT flag. And that was it. No celebration, no beer garden, just a silly photo in the middle of town and the sudden realization that it was over. We walked on toward the Rubicon Chalet, joking about the anticlimactic finish and feeling that strange mix of pride and emptiness. The trail had taken us right back to where we started… What was the point?
Classic end of TMB photo at the Les Houches arch
Stoked to return to our favorite accommodation in Europe!
Coming Full Circle
Les Houches to Col de la Voza
Distance: 6 miles
Elevation Gain: 2,300’
Time: 1 hours 44 min
The alarm buzzed at 5:30 a.m. Neither of us moved. For a second, I thought about rolling over and forgetting the whole thing. But we knew we had to go — not for Strava, not for Instagram, but because we’d set an objective, and we were going to finish it. We pulled on our sun hoodies, laced our shoes, clicked on headlamps, and stepped out into the cold, dark streets of Les Houches. No breakfast. No coffee. Just the quiet satisfaction of knowing this was the last thing standing between us and a complete lap around Mont Blanc.
The town disappeared behind us as we climbed dirt roads up the ski slopes. Our legs were still heavy despite a full day of recovery and calorie loading, but moving uphill without packs felt almost easy. Just over an hour later, we reached Col de la Voza right as the sun broke over the horizon. We stopped, looked back toward Chamonix, and let it sink in: we’d started this trek sick, we’d taken the cable car, we’d wondered if we’d even make it through. Now we’d pieced it all together. Somehow this moment felt more like a finish line than the arch in Les Houches. The box was checked. Mission accomplished. We could finally go home satisfied.
Looking down on Les Houches and the Chamonix Valley
Nearing Col de la Voza at Sunrise
Callus the Mind
The question always returns: why do we voluntarily sign up for the pain, the suffering, the misery, the sweat, the tears, the endless discomfort? The answer is always the same: growth. Seven days on trail gave us tremendous insight into what it really takes to be physically prepared for an adventure like this. In the months and years to come, our time on the TMB will shape OAT’s programs, help us better connect with clients, and fuel the creation of authentic, valuable content.
Yet the technical lessons seem to pale in comparison to the mental and emotional growth. This trip was not just about hiking 111 miles through the Alps — it was a vehicle to go inward and learn what we are truly capable of. As we sat on the bus from Chamonix to Geneva, we noticed the calluses on our feet, but more importantly, the calluses we’d built on our minds.
Again and again we were forced to solve problems, make decisions in the moment, and trust both our ability to adapt and the Universe’s ability to provide. The grit you develop on a multi-day objective like the TMB translates to every part of life. “Real world problems” lose their weight as your mind focuses on the basics — food, shelter, comfort — and you remember that everything is temporary.
The grit one develops on a multi-day objective like the TMB translates into every facet of life. Your real world “problems” seem to vanish as your mind hones in on the core necessities of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs; food, shelter, comfort. When you’re deep in the pain cave and feel that you cannot go even a step further, the only thing that can get you through is the team you surround yourself with (even if that is your own mind) and the deep knowing that everything is temporary. This too shall pass.
Whatever your version of the TMB is, go find it. Pick something hard. Train for it. Show up open-minded, flexible, and ready to transform. Growth is the only possible outcome.
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