HOKA Chiang Mai Thailand 100 by UTMB®️ : The Selfishness That Transforms 🇹🇭
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When you climb so high emotionally, even after covering the ground for hours, it's hard to bring your feet back to earth. We needed time—and we still haven't fully come down—to absorb and express all this WOW.
HOKA Chiang Mai Thailand Elephant 100 by UTMB. 100 kilometers. 5,000 meters of elevation gain. Two monumental 1,200-meter descents that decide everything. The wild beauty of northern Thailand. Ancient temples. The generous smiles of volunteers. Pure wonder in the face of such splendour.
Running a 100-kilometer race is a deeply selfish act. We devote countless hours to training, make all these choices, then on race day we run for ourselves. To push beyond limits, discover our inner strength, give ourselves a reason to live. Pure ego in motion.
Then we receive the smiles of volunteers. People take care of us, spectators cheer us on, our loved ones wait for us, our friends follow us on social media. Everything revolves around us. Crossing that finish line remains a self-centred gesture... and even knowing that, we're filled with wonder. We want to do it again and again.
Because in this egocentric quest lies an answer to life and its purpose that few things offer with such honesty and brutality. Running shouts who you truly are right in your face.
And why feel good about this assumed selfishness? Because knowing yourself, taming yourself, challenging yourself, fighting yourself, picking yourself up—this is how you become the person you want to be for others.
Every time my legs said no and I said yes, I learned the perseverance I owed to my projects. Every time my mind wanted to quit and I kept going, I understood the resilience I would offer to those who doubt. Every time pain screamed and I listened to my body without giving in to panic, I developed the patience and listening my loved ones deserve.
In this overwhelming me-me-me, we find ourselves, and only then can we truly be there for others, exist for them, stop judging, start understanding.
We become a better version of ourselves with every kilometer. A more loving spouse, a more empathetic partner, a more sensitive neighbour. We receive, we give. We nourish ourselves to better nourish others.
There's a wealth no bank account can measure: the time we choose to live fully. Not the time we accumulate while waiting, but the time we inhabit now, with our legs still running, our hearts still beating strong.
One breath. One step. Then another.
When we take on a race like UTMB's Chiang Mai Major, we cross paths with thousands of souls on a quest. Each will emerge from these Thai mountains a little more human, a little more capable of giving.
Because that's the magnificent paradox of ultra running: in this deeply selfish act, we discover how to stop being selfish.
A Spectacular Event
HOKA Chiang Mai by UTMB isn't just a race. It's a two-week celebration, an ultra festival that transforms northern Thailand into the world capital of trail running. Ten different races. Twelve thousand runners from around the world. Two weekends of pure magic: the first at Doi Inthanon National Park, Thailand's highest mountain, the second at Pao Park where our appointment with ourselves awaited.
The organization was impeccably perfect—well-oiled, thought out in every detail. The race village buzzed with energy, street vendors offered a thousand flavours, festive music created that electric atmosphere. The spectacular, grandiose finish site invited collective celebration. Sophie, Thailand's iconic MC, infused that energy that makes everyone feel important regardless of their placing. Volunteers gave their hearts with smiles that weren't professional—it was pure generosity. The villagers cheered us like family.
And at the centre of it all, a giant elephant—a majestic symbol reminding us where we were, in what magical country we had chosen to come seek our limits.
Thank you, Chiang Mai. You didn't just offer us a race. You offered us the space to become better humans. You stole our hearts. We surrendered them willingly, joyfully.
The temple
9 AM, December 5th. In the courtyard of a mythical temple, 1,500 souls wait. We slept here the night before, lulled by incense and prayers, as if the sacred was preparing our bodies for the ordeal. Dawn rose gently over traditional rooftops, morning mist still wrapping the distant mountains.
Francis and I exchange a glance in this cosmopolitan crowd. In this pre-start silence, everything is said. We came here for ourselves, and we make no apology for it.
Sophie infuses the final energy. Her voice resonates, three languages blend, the atmosphere becomes electric. Around us, faces from everywhere—athletes from Thailand, Singapore, Japan, Europe, America. Twelve thousand people over two weeks, all seeking the same thing: to find themselves by losing themselves in these mountains.
The starting gun tears through the air. The jungle swallows us whole.
The privilege of giving everything
Francis: At the start, I made a decision that would change everything: stop calculating. Stop protecting. Just give, without measuring the cost.
That's true wealth—being able to afford burning without counting. No need to save my energy for some hypothetical future. Today, now, I can give everything because I'm free to do so.
The first climbs came, brutal under the already hot sun. My heart climbed with the altitude, and instead of holding back, I leaned into it. I welcomed pain like an old friend returned to remind me I'm alive, that I choose to be here.
The course was wildly beautiful—crossing northern villages, skirting terraced rice fields, climbing through dense forests toward ridges where mountains unfolded infinitely. The elevation profile was perfect, intentional, each climb preparing for the next, each descent offering just enough respite before the next battle.
Then I found myself running with the women's elite. These incredible athletes whose exploits I followed, whose names I knew. And I was there, among them, my heart beating harder than it ever has.
Tears came. Not from pain, but from pure wonder, visceral joy.
I am rich. So rich to be able to live this moment.
The warmth of this generosity
Elisabeth: The Thai jungle doesn't negotiate. Heat arrives like a solid wall, reminding you you're just a body among these eternal mountains.
My legs felt strong in the first kilometers, carried by the start's energy, by the beauty of sunrise transforming the jungle into a cathedral of light. The trail had been carefully chosen—technical without being dangerous, varied without being repetitive, magnificent at every turn.
Volunteers at aid stations welcomed us with smiles that weren't professional—it was authentic kindness offered without measure. "Strong! You strong!" a volunteer told me, and in her eyes I could see she truly believed it.
This impeccable organization, these generous smiles, this infinite patience—all so we could pursue our quest. And in this paradox, something profoundly human revealed itself.
The First Descent—Intelligence of the Body
Chiang Mai 100 is decided in the descents. The first arrives mid-race—1,200 meters testing everything: legs, technique, ego.
Francis: My body was already speaking after hours in the heat. I could have pushed, barrelled down like a madman, proven something. The urge was there—strong, insistent. "Show them. Show yourself." But something in me chose otherwise. I listened. Preserved. Measured each footfall, each turn. It wasn't prudence—it was intelligence. Experience whispering: "You'll need these legs later." Tears came—not from pain, but from deep recognition. For the privilege of being able to listen to my body, understand its signals, be rich enough in time to fully live this moment.
Elisabeth: Intimate conversation between fear and desire. Wanting to fly. Fearing the fall. Finding that fragile balance where the body launches without breaking. I was learning something I'd bring back to my life—accepting measured risk, trusting even when the mind screams danger. Landscapes flowed past—villages clinging to hillsides, valleys stretching infinitely, mountains undulating to the horizon. Sunset set the sky ablaze, transforming suffering into living tableau.
The Night—When the Race Is Reborn
Kilometer 60. Aid station A13. The drop bag awaits like a promise—fresh clothes, new provisions, this saving pause that marks rebirth. Night falls on the jungle, and with it, a different race begins.
Headlamps light up, transforming the trail into a moving constellation. The jungle comes alive differently—mysterious sounds in the undergrowth, cracking, furtive movements. You're no longer alone with your thoughts. The nocturnal forest speaks, moves, lives around you.
Elisabeth: This is where I meet Jean-Marc. Our lamps cross, our rhythms align. We cover kilometers together, our conversations becoming the fuel that carries us. This unexpected sharing, this mutual energy—this is what night offers when you accept not running alone.
We naturally cluster with other athletes. Not from weakness, but from instinct—that primitive wisdom knowing that together, in darkness, we find strength. Groups form, dissolve, reform according to paces and climbs.
And what a climb. The one preceding the final descent takes everything we have left. But night offers magical compensations: panoramas we'll see only once, under this full moon transforming mountains into silver cathedrals. The sky sparkles with a thousand stars. Day's heat has given way to welcome warmth.
The regular sound of footsteps. Breath finding its rhythm. The headlamp drawing the path.
Each step becomes meditation, each breath a silent prayer.
The Final Descent—Giving What Remains
Kilometer 85. The last great descent. 1,200 meters to the line. Now or never.
Francis: No more preservation. No more calculation. No more "you'll need your legs." The 5,000 meters of positive elevation weigh in every muscle, but I refuse to slow down. I give everything—everything that remains, everything I've saved, everything I thought I no longer had. My retirement is now. Not in twenty years when my knees won't hold—now, while I can still barrel down feeling wind on my face, my heart exploding in my chest. I feel alive—completely, totally, without reserve.
Elisabeth: My legs destroyed. Every climb since kilometer 70 has been a battle. Doubt settled in somewhere after aid station A15: "You won't finish running. Why make yourself suffer like this?" The voice was persuasive, tempting even. Walking would be so much easier. But something in me—stubborn, maybe stupid—refuses to finish any other way than running. Activate. Unroll. Dig. I let my legs decide, stop thinking, exist only in pure movement. I catch up to runners—each leading their own battle, seeking their own truth. And in this collection of individual quests, something magnificently human binds us.
Then the finish emerges from darkness—this spectacular site lit like a festival of lights. Ambient colours dance in the Thai night. We cross the line in darkness, welcomed by this luminous celebration that never stops. Almost there. No—we're here.
The Finish
And we stay. We settle under twinkling lights, savouring this moment where effort meets pure beauty.
The HOKA Chiang Mai by UTMB finish site defies all description. Packed grandstands where spectators cheer every line crossing. Music pulses in the night air. Volunteers still smiling, tireless after so many hours. The village becomes a meeting place—no question of leaving right after crossing the line, we linger, we enjoy, we watch others arrive. Food stalls offer a symphony of flavours, the post-race meal transforms into a shared banquet, savoured collectively.
The ceremony brings together elites and amateurs—these athletes whose exploits we admire share the same podium, the same joy. Something beautiful in this equality: we are all seekers, simply at different speeds.
24th man, 28th overall, 3rd in category. 12h27.
These numbers? Insignificant compared to what I discovered. Being able to let go of control and trust. Understanding that giving myself entirely teaches me how to become a better husband, better friend, better human.
52nd woman, 275th overall, 5th age group. 18h33.
Solid to the end. This time taken for myself sends me back transformed.
"I learned things," Francis said.
"Me too."
The Transformation
A race experience profoundly true, with an emotional vividness no one can describe, a story forever understood only by the one telling it and the trail covered. That final smile saying everything without saying anything. A story written in our muscles, sealed between us and the mountain.
For Francis: true wealth isn't in accumulation but in total expenditure. When he allowed himself to burn everything without reserve, his body responded with unsuspected capacities.
For Elisabeth: taking this time for yourself isn't theft but investment. Becoming better for others begins with knowing yourself.
In these two weeks, among these 12,000 athletes crossing Doi Inthanon and Pao Park, we encountered thousands of souls on a quest. Each will emerge from these Thai mountains a little more human, a little more capable of giving.
Because that's the magnificent paradox of ultra running: in this deeply selfish act, we discover how to stop being selfish.
Chiang Mai stole our hearts. We surrendered them, willingly, joyfully. And already, we know we'll be at the next start line.
UltraNomades – We ®️U.N.
