Written by David Caulfield - http://transvulcania2015.blogspot.fr/

 

The First Water Station: Los Deseadas, was reached at kilometre 18. I had with me a GoPro camera on a chest mount; it was the first time using it thus I was only learning it’s abilities. A quick check of the battery and I was dismayed to see that it was very low; keeping it in standby rather than turning it off eats the power. Fortunately I had planned for this and had with me a portable charger to keep my Garmin alive for the full duration of the race. There was easily enough charge in it to fully restore the GoPro’s battery in just one hour. The views at this point were really beginnin to open up; Mount Tiede on Tenerife could be seen as could the other Canary islands, La Gomera, El Hierro, Gran Canaria and Lanzarote. The ground around us was black pumice (the volcano we were on having erupted as recently as 1971) and orange rock interspersed with the acid green Canarian Pines. The course continued on an uphill trajectory over more black sand from which dust would rise giving the appearance of the ground smouldering as if the volcano beneath was still venting. The sun was now up and with it came the heat. Another forest and on a downhill section I fell on what was a very straight forward trail. I hit the ground at good speed and the natural reaction to immediately get up proved that there were no race terminating injuries. 

Bloody Hell: Pressing on without spending too much time looking at the damage, it was only when I got to the second aid station that I had a look. Running shorts were stiff with dried blood from my thigh, one of my elbows and both knees were bloodied. They weren’t obviously painful so I didn’t regard them as a major issue. Having read previous year race reports I knew that the organisers would insist on taking me to the first aid tent if they caught sight of blood so I kept out of their line of sight. It had taken me 3 and a half hours to make this aid station; slow going.

  The food on offer

The Never-ending Climb to Roque de las Muchachos: What followed was easily the most difficult part of the course. 16 kilometres to get from 1,500m to 2,426m (the highest point in the race, Roque de Las Muchachos) doesn’t sound that bad however that is not how it panned out. There is much, much more than 1,000m of climb over this section. The course takes runners up and then back down, up then back down, again and again and again. As this slog ensued and then continued for much longer than I thought it would Roque de Las Muchachos took on a mythical status as I started to have serious doubts it existed. Added to the mix was nausea that hit me shortly after leaving the 32 kilometre aid station. As I climbed I found that I HAD TO stop every so often and spend a few seconds to recover. This is not something I am used to doing. When I drank or ate, cramps would ensue. It’s not easy to be robbed of the ability to keep going and having to stop, to feel lifeless. This is when the mental battle started…a battle that didn’t end until I crossed the finish line.

 

 

Casualties of the Heat: The temperature was at it greatest in these hours (30°C) and due to an error made by the race organisers there was a 15km section on this part of the course with no water station. Many runners suffered badly as a result and the sights I witnessed I started to doubt had really happened in the weeks after the race. They were however confirmed in other race reports I have read and from the video footage I recorded. I saw racers lying prone on the ground utterly spent. First aiders had them wrapped in emergency blankets although there was no way they could have been cold! I saw a helicopter evacuating collapsed runners off the peak. In other cases I saw runners throwing up having drunk water too quickly after a prolonged period of not drinking. Some locals had become aware of the situation and of their own volition drove to the top of the volcano with water and were rationing it out to runners as they past. I had to rely on the generosity of a German tourist who very kindly gave me some of his water. It is reckoned some 200 runners dropped out over this portion of the race.

 

 

 

 

Racing to Make the Cut-off: As far as I knew the cut-off for reaching the high point of Roque de Las Muchachos was 5 p.m. I had never entertained the possibility that I might come close to missing this time but as I battled illness, 30 degree heat and exhaustion it was becoming evermore likely. On many occasions I rounded another bend hoping to see the final uphill only to see the course descend for a time before climbing again. After almost eleven hours the Roque de Las Muchachos aid station was finally just one climb away but there remained just ten minutes to the cut-off. There was no way I was going to make it; I pressed on hoping against hope that the cut-off was 6 and not 5. The heat continued to be horrendous. As I entered the aid station I asked the organisers whether I was on time. I was!! I suspect they had extended the cut-off due to the extreme conditions and the 15k unaided section.

The Big Descent: In addition to the food offered in earlier aid stations there was pasta on offer here. However I couldn’t stomach anything so instead drank lots of coca cola which didn’t seem to have much effect. I sat for a good fifteen minutes in the hope I would start to feel better. I knew the symptoms of heat stroke and it wasn’t that I was suffering from, nor was it extreme dehydration. As I sat there I was aware of runners submitting their timing chips and quitting the race. There was NO WAY I was going to do that, not after eleven hours of torture. I was going to finish! A few jugs of cold water over the head and a couple of painkillers and I set off on the 18km descent. The tablets worked leaving me wondering why I hadn’t taken them sooner. There was a good bit of the downhill that was runable and the heat was dropping off so it made for better conditions. A large portion of the downhill though was very technical and having fallen twice already I was afraid to push it too far. I passed a good number of runners on this section but with 4km of downhill still to go the exhaustion and nauseousness started to kick in again. I finally made it back down to sea level but the big welcome had thinned out considerably as it was now 9pm. The winner had passed this point at just after midday!!!

The Final Test: There followed a section through a dry river bed and then the final uphill of 350m which was a real sting in the tail. My legs and body were not interested in going uphill anymore and I had to stop multiple times to rest on my trail poles. I was almost to the point of staggering. Once into the streets of the town the course levelled out and I was able to run again! I passed all of the runners that had passed me on the uphill over the final 2km. The magical finishing straight didn’t end as I’d imagined it (little in life does - no bitterness felt :-)). A medal was hung around my neck by a pretty girl who told me I was a winner. I didn’t feel much like a winner and looked even less so; covered in dust and dirt, blood on both knees, elbow and thigh and a gaunt look that alarms me now looking back at the finish line photo.

Banged Up Abroad: I was led away to the medical tent (I forgot to return my timing chip and collect my finishers’ shirt) where I was cleaned up, disinfected, bandaged and released back into the wild. It was only now that I started to feel pain. As I made my way to my car I noticed that the locals look upon the ultra runners with a sort of reverence and awe. This became particularly apparent when I found a fast food caravan near to my car and decided to buy something. The procedure was to take a number and wait in line however when they saw that I had just finished the ultramarathon I was immediately boosted to first in the queue and served right away!

Mistakes Made and Lesson Learnt: I didn't hydrate enough. I underestimated the fuelling requirement  and this was exacerbated by nausea which dampened my inclination to eat. I shouldn't have worn a singlet, my hydration pack rubbed the sun protection off resulting in sunburn.  I should have had more water poured over my head and gotten my hat soaked. Some training in very hot weather would have helped.
Best Bits of Kit: Gaiters: given the surface encountered, gaiters were a necessity, I saw those not wearing them having to empty their runners of sand and volcanic pumice. Trail Poles: when the legs are fecked the arms can lend a hand using poles, even the winner used them. Charger: this kept my Garmin going throughout the whole race, it would usually die after eight hours. 
Advice: There's no need for a heavy duty head torch, you only use it for one hour at the start, and if you have a bad day maybe forty-five minutes at the end. Try and get near to the front at the start line, this way you will hopefully avoid the worst of the bottleneck when the trail narrows. Drink from early on and refill at every opportunity. Fuelling, if gels are your thing and you can stomach the brand provided during the race then there is no need to carry your own. I would strongly recommend the use of trail poles, practice using them on training runs. Carry salt tablets.

Why We do These Things: If it is so hard and painful why do we do these things? That's a perfectly good question...usually asked by a non-runner. Looking back on my experience I will never forget and never regret doing it. The memories, thought processes and feelings of positive self belief I have taken from it will live with me to the end. It is a life experience not many have the privilege of enjoying. 
The Organisers and People of La Palma: deserve the last word. The organisers were superlative and could not do enough for you. The post race fall out regarding the dropped water station was dealt with in a very transparent way. The support given by the locals was nothing short of amazing, I crossed the finish line at 10 p.m. and was made feel as if I'd won. Thank you. Would I recommend this race? Hell yeah, you'll love it (in a pain ridden sort of way).