Taking on the Tor: Why We Keep Going When It Makes No Sense
330 kilometers. 24,000 meters of elevation gain. Three days and nights in the high Alps.
The fact is, the Tor des Géants is nearly twice the distance of the Tour du Mont Blanc. But distance alone doesn’t tell the story. In terms of time, technical terrain, altitude, sleep deprivation, and sheer psychological strain — it’s an entirely different game.
It sounds impossible.
An irrational challenge.
An obsession.
So why would anyone say yes?
The Scale of the Impossible
The Tor des Géants begins in Courmayeur and loops around Italy’s Aosta Valley, tracing a brutal yet breathtaking route past some of the most iconic massifs in the Alps — Ruitor, the Matterhorn, Monte Rosa — before finishing beneath the southern face of Mont Blanc.
It’s not just long.
It’s high. Technical. Wild.
Runners climb above 3,000 meters repeatedly. They pass glaciers. They navigate exposed alpine passes in the dark. Unlike more mainstream ultra races, this one demands autonomy, mountain experience, and resilience that goes beyond fitness.
Calling it “two UTMBs back to back” is a dramatic oversimplification.
The physical commitment is different.
The sleep strategy is different.
The psychological depth is different.
It’s not just a race.
It’s a mountain expedition disguised as competition.
Training for 20 Years
When asked how long it takes to prepare for something like this, the easy answer might be “four or five years of endurance training.”
But the honest answer?
Twenty years.
Because preparing for the Tor isn’t about stacking mileage alone. It’s about years of mountain days. Long trail explorations. Learning how your body responds to fatigue, cold, altitude, doubt.
It’s about understanding pain — and knowing when it’s part of the process and when it’s a warning sign.
And sometimes, the mountain teaches you that lesson the hard way.
When Everything Falls Apart
In November 2022, a paragliding accident changed everything.
A triple fracture in the foot. Thirteen screws. Two plates.
The kind of injury that makes you question not just your season — but your identity.
Rehabilitation wasn’t just physical. It was psychological. Learning to trust the body again. To walk. Then jog. Then run downhill. To test limits gently, cautiously.
Four-hour outings became eight. Then ten.
A comeback race proved it was possible. But the body wasn’t the same. The ankle didn’t fully bend. Compensation patterns emerged. Fatigue hit differently.
And then came another setback — a DNF at Hardrock 100.
For the first time, failure entered the conversation.
What if the body couldn’t handle it anymore?
What if the mountain chapter was closing?
Day One: Pain Is Normal
By the time the Tor finally began in September 2024, the mindset was clear: patience.
No chasing competitors. No obsessing over splits. Just internal pacing.
The first 24 hours were brutal — humidity, rain, slippery terrain, relentless climbing. After 147 kilometers and 14,000 meters of elevation gain, pain was inevitable.
But something shifted.
The body accepted it.
You’ve been running for 24 hours. Of course it hurts.
Pain became information, not panic.
The Letter
At 268 kilometers, exhausted and descending, a spectator handed over a letter.
Inside: accusations of cheating. A threat to publicly complain and release images. A demand to withdraw by midnight “to save face.”
In a race where pacers are banned, confusion had arisen over accredited videographers following the runner.
In that moment, fatigue wasn’t the hardest opponent.
Doubt was.
Why are we doing this?
Why make a film?
Why expose yourself?
Why keep going?
Anger replaced clarity.
And yet — forward was the only direction left.
The Night That Changes Everything
By the final night, something clicked.
Sleep deprivation brought hallucinations. The forest blurred. Time stretched. Competitors moved ahead and fell back.
Then, on a steep alpine climb — the kind of terrain that defines a mountain runner — meaning returned.
This is why.
This suffering.
This exposure.
This raw edge of human endurance.
On Brison Pass, time was clawed back. Minutes turned into opportunity. By kilometer 280, first place was reclaimed.
From there, it was no longer about defending position.
It was about finishing the story properly.
Winning Isn’t What You Think
After 69 hours, 8 minutes, and 32 seconds, the finish line in Courmayeur appeared.
But something profound happens at the end of races like this.
Winning becomes secondary.
Crossing the line is the real victory — for the champion and for the final finisher alike.
In a race of nearly 900 runners, everyone who returns to Courmayeur is transformed.
That’s the beauty of ultra trail running.
It’s not elimination.
It’s completion.
Why Keep Going?
Over two years of injury, doubt, public scrutiny, and personal questioning, one truth remained constant:
The mountains are not about proving something to others.
They’re about rediscovering yourself.
The Tor des Géants wasn’t just a race victory. It was a reclamation. A reminder that setbacks don’t erase identity — they refine it.
Sometimes we chase podiums.
Sometimes we chase meaning.
And sometimes, on a cold alpine pass at 3,000 meters, in the middle of the night, exhausted and uncertain, we realize:
We keep going because that’s where we feel most alive.
François D’Haene finished the Tor des Géants 2024 in 69:08:32, after two years of recovery from a triple ankle fracture sustained in a paragliding accident.
But more importantly — he finished.
And in the Tor, that’s everything.
Film from Salomon TV
