Written by Jeroen Wigard - http://jeroenwigard.blogspot.fr

The week before the start of Trangrancanaria the thought set in that maybe this would be my last long ultra trail race. I was simply not sure I would be able to do it, still having my DXT 2016 failure in my head.  Yes, I had trained quite well and was in quite good shape, but mentally DXT2016 had given me a big blow. The question 'why am I doing this', which visited me many times, was hard to answer.

Now a week after the finish I can give the answer to that question :-). Within the 25,5 hour the race lasted for me, I had seen so many beautiful mountains, villages, landscapes, climbed a lot of steep hills, ran down on them, cursed all those stones over and over again,  met another of my hero's (more on that later), had the greatest ham cheese sandwich ever and experienced many other things. The best word to describe the race after finishing was 'WOW!!'. But lets go back to the start. 

Transgrancanaria is a race over 124 km including 8000 height meters, starting in Agaete on the north side of the island and finishing in Maspalomas on the south side. The organisation took care of transporting us to the start, where we arrived 1,5 h before the start, which would take place at 23:00 on Friday evening. It had been rather nice and warm in Maspalomas but the North side of the island is always colder and so was today where it was very windy and cold. Happy to dive into a bar for a coffee and afterwards pack myself in some extra clothes and sit down just in front of one of the bars, which were packed with runners. I was calm, tried to sleep, not wasting energy to everything around me (one big party with music, very engaging speaker, lots of anxious runners).

30 minutes before the start I moved to the startbox after removing my spare clothes. Fortunately the startbox was so packed that it was hard to freeze. Turning on the obligatory red backlight, checking if everything was right and ready for some major suffering. Still not looking forward, but no way back now, even a bit curious about this adventure. Some more music, some very cool speech in Spanish: no idea what it was about. And finally counting down. 3,2,1,go The adventure starts!

The first km is comfortably on a road, but then the first big mountain hits immediately. A climb of something like 1200 meter within 10 km. My strategy was simple: to get through the night in good shape without injuries, such I could start moving up during the day and not waste time in aidstations. So I settled in a comfortable rhythm on this rather steep climb. The path was pure single track most of the time, so there was no real possibility to pass or be passed. Still at occasions runners were passing, wasting precious energy by moving through more difficult terrain without much gain. I stayed nicely were I was, enjoying the view of all the white lights in the back and red ones in front of me, forming a large 'lightsnake'.

At the top there was the first aidstation; with great help from some of the volunteers who filled my bottles I made it faster than a formula 1 pitstop and left within 15 seconds :-). What followed was what I was warned about: a very technical steep downhill, where many runners typically end their race. Fortunately it was getting less crowded. Indeed technical, and indeed very very steep. I took it easy, and was still being passed once in a while. A cute looking girl came flying by and jumped into the group just in front of me; then she changed into a mountain goat and accelerated. 'You can be cute, but you are not leaving me in the dust....', so I changed gears as well. She knew what she was doing, so I tried to copy every move and was now racing down the mountain, taking all the shortcuts she was taking. So far for good intentions of taking it easy.... I even managed to pass her, but then had to stop suddenly for a queue. This was a section were a rope was used to get down a wall of 5 meters. ca 50 runners in front of me. A quick estimate based on the about  20 seconds per runner it took to get down the rope, warned me this was going to cost me 15 minutes. So I looked for an alternative route. Another guy just had found that route, I followed and passed a lot of runners in one go. This brought us down to the second aid station. Bit more than 15 seconds, but I still left within 2 minutes. I had passed 76 runners on the way down the mountain and was now in the 400th position. 

Now the second big climb was in front of us. I  settled in a rather low speed, as I felt tired and it again was very steep (yep, one pays the price for racing down a mountain....). Looking around me showed I was not the only one: this looked like a scene from the walking death. Even though I was slow, I kept passing people, but was also being passed. The fact that I was about 45 minutes in front of my own target schedule made me feel rather good. After the top it would be about 10 km of rolling terrain until the next post, Artenara at 33 km. It was getting rather cold with hard winds while we were running in the clouds with little visibility. Fortunately the route was very well marked. 

However after Artenara, which I passed in 395th position, I was getting so cold that I finally changed to my jacket. I started to suffer, could not eat anymore from my energy bars and was getting a bit in problems. I was hoping for daylight soon, but that would first come at 8 o'clock. I was very happy to arrive in Fontanales, while feeling like I had to throw up. As I could not, I decided to sit down and force some food in me. I ended up eating a soup and a ham-cheese sandwich. This sandwich saved my race and was more worth than all of the fancy energybars I was carrying. Not sure what was in it, but it delivered me the energy for the next 50 km (must have been the Spanish ham :-) ) . 

Now slowly a new day started, with daylight coming through, but most amazing, the sound of the birds singing. It was fantastic: running on small paths going up and down, passing an occasional house, with cactus and palmtrees everywhere and then the sound of those birds. Not tried anything like it. Beforehand I had feared this point of the day as I typically get very tired at dawn but the great ham-cheese sandwich plus the birds made me feel 110% alive and awake. Enjoying this I made it to Teror at 56 km (moved to position 367).

After Teror followed a long climb to Cruz de Tejeda and then down to Tejeda, where I was looking forward to get, as I had stayed there some days before the race with my wife and son. I found again a good rhythm and moved up yet another large hill. Views were spectacular. Above Teror we could see all the way down to the sea, while when we got above Tejeda I could see Roque Nublo and Roque Bentayga in the same view. Spectacular! At Arinez there was the curious event of crossing a rally race (as in car race!) passing on the same road as we passed. Interesting combination. This is what the red obligatory red light is for?

After the familiar grounds of Tejeda, we would get to the highlight of the course, Roque Nublo, a giant rock pointing like a thumb on the top of a plateau with a fantastic view. We left Tejeda through a familiar route, as it was the same route I had hiked with my wife and son. Now I moved considerably slower than at that time, and while we could see Roque Nublo almost all the time, we had to walk all the way around it before getting there. It was hot and I actually for the first time ran out of water. Started to suffer again, but it could not be far to the large depot of Garanon, I thought. I was wrong. It took ages. While the surroundings were breathtaking, I was more crawling than walking. 

Just before reaching Garanon at 82 km, A runner came racing down a hill, where I was going up. He yelled ' You are doing good!'. Just as he passed I realised this was Gediminas Grinius, winner of the ultra trail runner world tour 2016 and one of my big hero's. Nice! After meeting Timothy Olson at the number pick up, I meet a second hero in the same trip. No time for a selfie though this time :-). Happy to finally make it to Garanon, in 318 th position, I sat down, had a large bowl of pasta and a lot of coke.

After Garanon there is just a 250 meter climb left to the highest point, the route profile says. What the route profile does not say is that this climb is covered in very little horizontal distance. They seriously put a path straight up the mountain. I estimated it to be at least 40% steep. Somebody got learn how to make corners and curves in a path please.... but I made it and then the good news is that it is mostly downhill from here.

However there are downhills and downhills. This one was covered in stones, technical and steep a lot of the time. I ran where I could but had problems with all the stones, so while some runners could just race down I had to walk many places. Arriving at Tunte at 94 km I was met with a scary sight. What first looked like a body bag being carried out of the aid station, appeared to be a runner, alive and wrapped in black plastic, having a neck brace on. Hope he/she is doing well. 

Now it was just 30 km left. I could see I would make it to the finish, but at what time was the question. 27 h was feasible but faster would be nice. So I pushed from this point on. Still the path was not very runnable until the last 7 km, but I would run where I could, and otherwise move as fast as possible. I ended up having my fastest 10 km in the last 10 km :-). 

200 m before the finish a runner with a big headlamp came up to me. That annoyed me, as I wanted the finish stage for myself so I even managed to my own surprise to throw out a sprint and finished in 25:33:59 (position 309). Just after the finish a lady, asked me: ' would you like a beer' and found a cold beer for me and even turned off the lights on my backpack. This shows the friendliness of the volunteers during this race, which is not expressed very much in this report, but a big thank you from me! Also big thanks to my sweet wife, who picked me up right after the finish, as walking 2,5 km to the place we stayed would have taken some hours :-)

Aftermath: I surprised myself. I typically go down at the end of a race. This time I could push the last 30 km. So a big learning there. The race surprised in its beauty and in its being different. Hard to describe, but it is contesting with Lavaredo on my favorite ultra trail now..... And no, this will not be the last ultra trail. Definitely not :-). Would not like to miss this in my life.

Written by Tom Wright - http://life.tomwright.me.uk

Nadia proposed a race abroad to celebrate my 40th on the proviso there was sun and it fell in March. The grandparents/babysitters were in town. Only two races fitted the bill: Antiparos 100km - a lap race around a Greek island; or North Face Transgrancanaria. I didn’t have a qualifying time for the former and while the latter was full, being the third leg of the Ultra Trail World Tour, it’s shorter sibling, the Advanced course, had spaces. At 85km and 4800m ascent this was as big an undertaking as I had faced and once registered I hastily got to work running up and down hills to get elevation experience in my legs after a lethargic start to winter.

First views of Gran Canaria’s volcanic mountains on the flight in. Roque Nublo is just visible in the centre of the image.

We found a package tour for a long weekend, flying from Birmingham, and staying at the H10 on Playa Meloneras just a 10 minutes walk from the Expo centre where the race registration and finish would take place. The grandeur of the event was apparent from the outset as celebrities of the ultrarunning world convened on the small resort. Before we even left Las Palmas airport I had introduced myself to Talk Ultra’s Ian Corless who just happened to be stood next to me at the baggage belt. His voice had rung through my ears on countless long runs as I plugged in to the de facto ultrarunning podcast so it felt surreal putting a face to the voice and I will admit I was a somewhat starstruck as I fumbled my introductions. Not without taking heed of Ian’s warnings of the technicality and difficulty of the course I would face. The press were based in H10 so we got many more opportunities to chat running with Ian as well as spotting Nuria Picas, Brendan Davies and a few other big names from the sport at the Friday morning press conference.

Friday lunchtime I jogged over to the Expo centre to hand in my drop bag while Nadia made far more sensible use of the sun’s rays to top up her vitamin D. A chance to acclimatise to the heat of the day perhaps. Ten minutes in and my back was dripping with sweat. The air temperature was around 24 degrees and there was little breeze. The Expo was buzzing with anticipation. There was no queue and I regretted registering the previous evening when Nadia and I, both exhausted from a 5am journey, had queued amongst a throng of Spaniards for 30 minutes to collect my race number and timing chip. The Advanced race formed part of the Spanish Ultra Cup hence seventy percent of the field was Spanish. The organisers announced that athletes from 71 countries were taking part across the five races that formed the weekends challenges so despite the Spanish dominance it was certainly an international affair.

An afternoon sat poolside in the shade ensued. Having come from an English winter, I didn’t want my race curtailed by sun stroke! Dinner was a sedentary affair at the all you can eat buffet for fear of food poisoning and by 10pm, thanks to a cerveza and house red, I was, for once, actually sound asleep. Thanks to several weeks of early morning commute reciting my race day routine I had expectations of a smooth affair. Surprisingly, despite a lack of caffeine, the 3am start went well. Awoke to the ringing chimes of Major Tom; scoffed a Lizi’s granola (just add water); contact lenses applied to squinted eyes; 10 minutes lubricating; 5 minutes applying sun block; another granola; teeth brushed; donned kit; checked pack; jog to Expo for 4:10am coach…

I was drifting in and out of sleep as the coach came to a sudden halt and we were ushered on to the dark streets of Fontanales. I had shared the journey with Martin, an English runner currently residing in Norway, who had chosen this event as his inauguration into ultra running. The chit-chat had been interspersed with brief spells of reflection. The last time I ran Spanish mountains was Montgo’s rugged pathways. I was excited at the prospect of visiting similar terrain and bringing some of the expertise I had developed there to this challenge. The start was still an hour distant and time drew slowly. At first I composed myself in a dark corner of the village nibbling at a Chia Charge bar mentally reciting my strategies. The air was cool and I huddled under both my Montane marathon jacket and Minimus smock, being the only two layers I chose to bring.

For the past few weeks, as usual, I fastidiously studied a map of Gran Canaria and virtual fly overs of the route on Google Earth. I had a broad idea of the main challenges and where opportunities to make up time would arise. Simply stated the course was an uphill marathon followed by a downhill marathon. The contours gave clues to a few hurdles over the second half. The main unknowns would be: the terrain and the sun. The longest I had previously run under a Spanish sun was twenty miles but that was self supported. Most feed stations here were close together. There was, however, a long ten mile section on the back half of the course we would face in the heat of the afternoon. My plan was to eat solid food on the long climbs, try and eat a hot meal at the half way point and turn to shot blocks and gels on the more arid back half. I would keep drinking regularly with a mix of Nuun (calorie free) and High5 (calories). There you have it - a plan of sorts.

I reconvened with Martin for a quick coffee at an overflowing café. Before converging on the slow-moving queue for the toilet. We made our way down the steep hill to the start and as our reckoning drew closer time accelerated. The sun was just starting to pierce the blackness of night. A relief as I chose to leave my Black Diamond head torch tucked away in the bottom of my Salomon pack. Huddled towards the back of the five hundred strong field the countdown begun.

Ready and raring to go

Cinco… cuatro… tres… dos… uno…

Fontanales to Teror (752m ascent)

The hooter sounded and we were off. Well, the elite athletes were off at a sprint back up the steep road. We had several minutes wait before finally shuffling under the starting gate, to the pulsating thump of the DJs music, past the throng of cheering spectators and off into the hills. 

As the road quickly gave way to trail I learned the value in jostling for a position on the start line. We hit a severe bottleneck. It was single file traffic at best on a gradual incline and pace was very slow. Worryingly the pace hardly picked up as we went downhill! 

So for the first few miles I struggled my way past runners at every opportunity sometimes squeezing by on the inside with an expressive gracias, other times making use of short sections of road to run fast. It was gratifying to finally stretch out the legs after several weeks of tapering but Dave’s words at the RAT the previous summer still weighed on my mind and I was wary of exerting my quads so early in the race.

The first long descent was a sharp collection of switchbacks underlaid with smooth boulders. I threw caution to the morning breeze on several tight bends opting to leap over boulders simply to gain a position eager that I might free myself from the procession. But to little avail. The trail bought us into a desolate village and the first long climb of the day. Barely a spike on the profile yet on the ground it felt long as we weaved up the lush wooded valley in the shadow of Mount Lentisco.

Looking back at the line of runners I estimated I had moved into the middle half of the field. The exertion of the ascent had me sweating heavily and I was relieved I chose to run in just a mesh vest and arm warmers. I tried to keep focus in the moment but couldn’t prevent my frenetic mind wandering to the much bigger climbs to come beyond Teror. At least the legs and the back showed no sign of tiring at this early stage and once over the summit it was more downhill queues into Vallesco and the first feed station.

A crowd of runners were gathered around the water/coke vats in the village and I saw little need to stop as I switched my handheld to a full bottle from my pack. So I ran straight through the feed station and hit the next small climb. 

As the long descent to the first checkpoint began I hit more bottlenecks and this time it was far too narrow to overtake. We weaved through some fairly dense and lush vegetation on the easy going trail. I heard a frustrated shout in English from behind as we moved very slowly down hill, limited by the pace set by those in front. Descending is my strength and I too began to feel exasperated as the minutes seemed to slip away. Unfortunately, as trail gave way to tarmac and the road widened, I continued to neglect my quads and ran fast down the steep tarmac slopes into Teror.

Entry to the feed station in the town square was lined with a bizarre collection of giant inflatable cartoon characters. From the Simpsons no less! Yet far more impressive it stood in the shadow of the Basilica de Nuestra Senora del Pino - the cathedral to the patron saint of the island. A marshal stepped forward and scanned my number with a high tech looking, but oversized, laser gadget while a young helper kindly filled up my water bottles. Tables were lined with nuts, crisps, cheeses, fruits and meat cuts. Conscious of my heavy sweating I grabbed a handful of salted nuts and set off on the first big climb of the race.

I would like to have explored this pretty little town if only there had been more time!

Teror to Cruz de Tejeda (1275m ascent)

Specificity! I hear it all the time but repeatedly fail to apply it to my training plans. Besides, how can you train for a 1000m ascent in Cornwall? Eighty metre hill repetitions just aren’t the same. I learned this in 2014 running the Black Mountains and Brecon Beacons. That realisation was about to reach a whole new level as I set out from Teror on the first major climb.

Teror seems a fitting name for the town at the base of 4000 feet of climbing that would take us past El Penón at 1640 metres. The tarmac road gave way to steep steps. I was moving pretty well amongst a group of runners and felt comfortable with progress at a steady pace. We briefly joined the GC-42 road and then bore right onto a track lined with eucalyptus. Simon Darmody, fifteenth at last year’s Lakeland 50, came up alongside me. He was that frustrated English man but embarrassingly noted that the runner holding us up had in fact been running the 125 km course. We chatted briefly. I started to feel the lactic acid building in my legs and a slight sensation of cramp in my quads so, as Simon jogged on I bade farewell and resigned to power walking. We passed Cruz de la Hoya Alta and I took a few moments to take in the sweeping view back down the valley before continuing the climb.

The two crosses, one wooden and one metal standing proud over Teror.

We took a rolling path along the mountain ridge. The climbs short and steep with numerous switchbacks interspersed with brief descents. Two steps up, one step down!

There was little protection from a building Saharan breeze on the crests and this added to the challenge but kindly kept the temperature bearable. The sun was obscured by an omnipresent haze. The calima I later learned - a rare annual event that sweeps dust in from the African desert. Unfortunately it looked like visibility would be poor today and the colours of the mountains a little desaturated. So with my sightseeing plans disrupted by meteorological anomalies I buried my head down low, pushed hard on my thighs and soldiered on.

It felt alien having so many runners in close proximity well into the race but gave opportunity to gauge my progress and everyone appeared to be moving slowly. I occasionally glanced at my watch as the average pace rapidly fell from 12 minute miles to 15 minute miles. My heart sank a little. This was well outside my projections for a finish in daylight. There were distance markers on the course every 5 kilometres and it felt a very long time since I had seen one. Contemplating this I came upon the feed station at Talyon. It was bustling. There were a few runners sat in chairs. This was enticing but before the temptation consumed me I hurriedly topped up my electrolyte infused bottles, grabbed another handful of nuts and took flight.

Just down the road the 65km sign finally came into view. It was scant consolation knowing there was still so far to go. With all this climbing my cup was certainly half empty today. Negativity was having a big impact on my confidence and my performance.

Great only 65km to go!

Then the climbing returned in earnest. A really steep slog weaving through a desolate landscape of felled and scorched trees. My speed through the feed station saw me break away from the group of runners I had been with but now as my inexperienced legs grew weary I was reeled in. If I pushed hard up hill I felt pangs of cramp again. I put this down to the salted nuts and vowed to stay clear of them for the rest of the race. The track briefly joined road where a small crowd of spectators had gathered. The atmosphere was exciting and this gave me a brief lift amidst exclamations of vamos and animo. Then the climbing just got worse under the shade of a pine forest. As the straight path became further switchbacks my pace slowed to a crawl. Twenty runners must have overtaken me on that stretch. Nearly all of them, bar a couple of ladies, using poles.

It was a lot steeper than it appears! Or at least after nearly 1000m of climbing it felt a lot steeper.

The focus hides the pain I was feeling inside!

Finally, after 10km of almost continuous climbing we hit the summit. It took a few minutes to feel my legs again and I eased into the descent aware of the exertion my quads had already undergone and very aware of the steep drop off the narrow path (were one to trip). Not being a feed station the checkpoint, and another large scanner, came and went.

Cruz de Tejeda to Roque Nublo (917m ascent)

The next two miles were easy going rocky trail as we plummeted into the Tejeda caldera. A chance to pick off runners that had bettered me on the climb. Legs restored I felt comfortable with a little gravitational assistance. The panoramic mountainous terrain reached into the hazy skyline. The Spanish philosopher, Miguel de Unamuno, described the region as ‘a tremendous upheaval of the entrails of the earth’. Rock formations spewed out across the landscape and holding court the monolithic Roque Nublo. An impressive basaltic plug majestically rising 80m above the plateau. The landscape truly was a ‘Petrified Storm’ and I was excited at the prospect of visiting the rock. Although it looked another very long, big climb!

Looking up to Roque Nublo with El Fraile (The Monk) the smaller volcanic neck on the left.

Arriving at Tejeda feed station my thoughts turned to nourishment. I was hot, thirsty and hungry but reluctant to consume more salted nuts. So I turned to large quarters of fresh, home grown, oranges. They hit the spot as I consumed two whole oranges worth, sucking out the juice and discarding the pith and skin. Not sure this would greatly benefit my calorie intake but it tasted succulent and was readily digestible. I had been struggling for some time to eat Clif bars and flapjacks which were all too dry. There was a queue for water and I found myself having to stand firm to hold my place in the bustling pack. The route continued downhill on tarmac as we battled an incessant wind whipping through the valley. One sudden gust took my cap off which fortunately landed in the face of a runner on my tail rather than blowing clean over the edge into the valley below.

Fortunately the unforgiving tarmac was short lived and we were back on a gravel track which gave way to more steep rubble strewn switchbacks as we took a trail up the valley and around the western side of the Roque Nublo plateau. Sheltered from the wind the temperature quickly rose. I struggled to eat a Chia protein bar - too dry also. Again the same runners were overtaking as my pace became sluggish.

Even an elderly man just out for a walk moved faster than me up the steep ascent! This at least made me chuckle and I texted the fact, along with my progress, to Nadia. 

11:39: “an old man is going up hill faster than me now! x”

I allowed photo opportunities as a means to catch my breath and let the legs rest convincing myself that once on the plateau it would be a short run to the hot feed station at Garañón where I could recuperate. Despite the haze the views were inspiring. There was even an occasional eccentricity. High up on the mountainside, a green wooden door cemented into the hillside!

There be hobbits living here

Slow ascent on rubble switchbacks

In the shadow of the rock we passed through more pine forest with rock and root strewn trails.

Looking south-west Mount Aserrador rises out of the haze

The last part of the climb was gradual and I found my running legs. The terrain dramatically changed from root laden wooded trails to a bizarre volcanic amalgam of sharp protrusions and rounded boulders on the plateau.

It was a short diversion to the timing control under the rock. Once my number was scanned I asked the marshall to take a photo for me. I had studied Roque Nublo on Google Maps with my daughter, Olive, and here was proof that I had succeeded in my climb.

Roque Nublo to Pico Nieves (492m ascent)

The track descended quickly off the plateau followed by some undulating woodland trail before dropping down to the impressive Los Hornos dam. Crossing a reservoir of cool water was a cruel twist when feeling so parched. Around this point I started feeling decidedly queasy. I stopped to drink some electrolyte and moved on slowly.

The heat of the midday sun was getting to me, despite being 5000 feet above sea level. I tried to convince myself it would soon be downhill all the way but the foreboding climb to Pico Nieves and another marathon of distance was overwhelming. I had already ascended and descended the equivalent of our highest Welsh mountains twice - this felt like more than my legs could handle. One more short climb and I stumbled into the feed station at Garañón to a large supportive crowd. Several people called out ‘Animo Tom’. At first I was confused how they knew me until I twigged the letters T.O.M. were engraved across my number around my waist. I don’t know if it was hydration or not enough calories but my mind was confused and I really needed to sit down.

Collection of my drop bag was efficient, I found a spare chair and took the weight off my legs. My bag had a change of clothes, a USB battery cell to top up my Ambit, some food (mainly gels and shot blocks), more Nuun tablets and sun cream. I helped myself to a bowl of pasta with a few new potatoes and observed those around me.

The hut felt a little like a war zone. There were beaten up bodies everywhere. Some runners were on mats in the corner stretching. A few nursed bloody wounds, others had their heads buried in their hands groaning. A few were packed up ready to get a lift back to Meloneras having volunteered their own DNF. Tempting! But the pasta was an instant hit and I shook myself out of this malaise. We had flown 1800 miles to be here not accounting for the road miles at both ends. Considerable time, effort and money had gone into my entry. My family were following me at home on the live tracker. They would have seen me go past Roque Nublo. I owed it to them to continue. Olive would be asking why had I not reached Pico Nieves yet. After all it was only 5km.

I stood up with determination, hurriedly doused myself in suncream and smothered block on my nose and lips; discarded my wind jacket in the drop bag and grabbed some spare electrolytes; handed in my drop bag; topped up my bottles and bladder. Reinvigorated I departed Garañón ready to tackle whatever the island dished out.

First up, the steep climb to Pico de las Nieves, the highest point on the island at 1949m. Once again the path was lined with pine trees the track littered with woodland debris which at times made grounding quite challenging in my deep lugged Roclites. Having spent twenty minutes at the feed station I found myself surrounded by new faces and everyone was taking the ascent very slowly. My legs appeared grateful for the rest and took to the challenge with some aplomb. We climbed 250 metres in just over a kilometre. Finally 6 hours 52 minutes since leaving Fontanales I stood in the shadow of a giant golf ball at the top of Gran Canaria. This time there was no handheld scanner, we just ran through a gate that registered the chip embedded in our numbers.

Relief flowed through me. I had reached the highest point of Gran Canaria. Now a chance to test my mettle against the technical descents. 

Downhill all the way!

Pico Nieves to Tunte (251m ascent)

Before starting the descent I felt the urge to go to the toilet for the first time all day. A chance to assess my hydration behind a pine tree. Dark but not deadly! Assurance that I was sipping enough water. Then, I decided to check the live tracker on my phone. I was 170th overall and 47th (out of 132) in the M40 category. Being the only British representative in this category I felt it was my duty to improve over the back half of the course. I also knew the kids would be checking the tracker at home and I had slid quite a few places since Teror due in part to my slow climbing and the twenty minute rest at Garañón. So jumping a few places might raise some excitement on the sofa.

Initially the descent was rocky, steep and technical before levelling out in further pine forest with plenty more roots obstacles. From Llanos de la Pez we joined Camino de la Plata, a well walked route used by pilgrims to traverse the island. I had watched YouTube footage of the cobbled trail winding through the cliff side and looked forward to the experience. For now, concentration was called for on the uneven terrain as I watched every footstep and maintained a good pace, picking off runners one by one. There was enough breeze to keep the heat at bay. 

Then we left the woodlands behind and a surreal lunar landscape, devoid of any vegetation, revealed itself.

I couldn’t resist stopping to take a photo and a few more on the cobbled switchbacks. Despite the calima dust, the landscape was imposing and it was incomprehensible the challenge involved to build this path up such steep cliff  faces. The cobbled stones appeared to be resting atop each other which allowed plenty of opportunity to catch toes and further batter the feet. The sharp switchbacks were also steep and punishing on my quads.

The cobbled pathways of steep switchbacks intersect the near vertical cliff as a well trodden access route between the fertile north and the arid south of the island.

Camino de la Plata follows the ridge line south to Cruz Grande.

Looking back at the cobbled switchback that veers up the side of the mountain

The visual spectacle was enough to overcome the pain I was feeling in my quads after four miles of descent on rock hard terrain. The flora was quite different to the northern pine forests with all kinds of unusual succulents and flowers. Maybe it was the light reflecting but one plant actually appeared covered in silver spray paint. Deceived by my heat addled brain?

Much of the flora of Gran Canaria is unique to the island

We cut south across a ridge to Cruz Grande and then a rubble track wound down to Tunte. I found I was catching my toes repeatedly and both big toenails felt bruised. The wind faded and temperature rose rapidly as we descended. Despite regular sips of liquid my mouth and throat felt parched from the dry, dusty air. How I longed for an ice-cold drink. Sucking my way through a pack of Clif shot blocks did little to energise me. Mentally I had enjoyed this section but physically I was feeling exhausted again and the legs and feet were aching. Perhaps a bit more climbing wouldn’t be a bad thing!

A tarmac road led us around the town’s periphery and another short quad burning descent finally bought us into the feed station.

I made a beeline for a bucket full of ice water and put my hat in it. Then I scoffed a handful of orange quarters, grabbed some ice cubes and placed them under my cap, filled my bottles and made a hasty exit before a spare chair enticed me.

Tunte to Arteara (706m ascent)

At fourteen kilometres this was the longest section of the course and it started with another long gradual ascent as we cut through the mountain side to the Degollada de la Manzanilla pass. A gradual incline took us under the impressive rock faces of Morro de las Vacas. I tried to jog a few sections but generally found myself power walking. Runners spread out quickly after Tunte and no-one was passing me now. For the first time I really felt like I was out here by myself.

Another switchback leads to the Degollada de la Manzanilla pass

Nearing the end of the climb I saw a little card on the path saying “smile”. This was the cue for an official photographer. I did more than smile, I even put in a little jog - probably the last time I ran anything steeper than level for the rest of the race!

From the pass I had an opportunity to look down through the dust laden haze on the giant caldera which houses San Bartolomé (Tunte). Before joining a gravel road that ran for several miles in the eastern lee of the mountain. I have little recollection of this section of the course. It was dry, barren and very hot while the brume restricted panoramic visibility and dampened the visual experience. The vegetation was a lot less diverse than the fertile subtropical valleys north of the mountains. My legs were tired but so long as the track was level I continued to run, clinging on to two runners in sight about 200 metres ahead of me. When the track descended I found myself catching and then overtaking them despite my downhill speed being heavily restricted by aching quads and battered toes. Roclites weren’t such a good idea after all. Something with a little cushioning would have been most welcome on these gravel tracks.

Then as my mind wandered my right foot caught another rock and I lunged. The cramp was agony, the toenail torture. But somehow I managed not to hit the deck. I was determined to get through this race without bloodshed. 

I was longing to reach the heady drop-off to Arteara. This was the steepest section of the course and I had naively assumed an opportunity to make up some of the time lost climbing the central mountains. 

The descent looked treacherous, long and very steep. This was not the kind of terrain for making up time! The rocky path was similar to the Cornish coastal trails I train on and my experience appeared to help, as, despite a slow pace, I was picking off a lot of runners. Most were walking. I was hopping amongst the stones trying to pick out the safest path to land my feet ahead of me. A couple of times I almost overran the tight switchbacks and ground to a halt as loose rubble spilled over the steep precipice. It was pulsating and exciting. What a thrill this would be on fresh legs!

By the time I arrived at Arteara I was up to 125th place overall.

Arteara to Machacadora (358m ascent)

Once again I settled for a handful of orange slices and was immediately on my way. The day was fading fast with approximately 2 hours of daylight remaining and 19km to the finish.

As I followed the dry river bed of Barranco de Fataga through a line of tall palm trees, memories flooded back of the dry river mouth in Valencia. A sudden change in vegetation heralded our pending departure from the mountains as the course now gradually wound downhill to the urban sprawl of Maspalomes. Do not underestimate this last fifth of the course! 

I think I mis-managed my nutrition throughout the day and all energy was spent. I walked and was content to continue to do so for the final few miles to the finish. It would seem an ultra cannot be run on oranges alone!

Then a text came through from Nadia.

5:16pm: ‘Ella has just shouted “come on dad” at the computer’

Instantly I welled up. It was Ella’s strength and resolve when she was incubated in Spain that first allowed me to conquer my irrational fears of mountain running. Then around my 40th birthday in November Ella had been frightfully sick and intubated for several weeks. This combination of events had bought me to where I was today. I challenge myself with these events to inspire my children and test my own strength and resolve. Ella is only just learning to talk and briefly visualising her, curly mat of hair, shouting at the computer bought tears of joy. I had purpose again and a race to finish.

A man of spiritual inclination may have looked deeper into what happened next.

There were near 3000 competitors taking part and before the race I had only met one of them before. That was Michael (Carraz) who I had briefly run alongside after the hot feed station on the Brecon 10 Peaks. He, and his wife Laureda, were far stronger than me that day and went on to top ten finishes. I knew, via social media, that he had returned to run the 125km course for the second consecutive year. What were the odds that as I looked to my left there he was walking along beside me! Perhaps, statistically, the fact we both had intent to run sub 12 and 20 hours, to earn our respective miniatures would suggest there was a chance we may encounter each other over those last slow miles.

The conversation helped another unexpected climb pass quickly. We had both resigned to the fact those miniatures were unattainable. Eleven miles of gradual downhill in 90 minutes would be tough on a good day. But with heavy legs, hungry and probably dehydrated a thirteen hour finish would be achievement enough.

On reflection only once had I run with another runner for any length of time and that was my inaugural ultra on the Gower in 2012. Mike dictated when we ran. Getting going was the hardest part for me on painful legs but once I had rhythm it got easier and I would dictate our pace. So we both bought unique prowess to this temporary alliance and through our collective experience the journey’s end came closer.

But how long did that final feed station at Machacadora take to arrive! 

We passed one runner from the 125km lying on the side of the road. He said he was fine and just needed a little rest. Mike admitted that he would have gladly lain down alongside him. Mike also confessed he was having trouble with his kidneys and peeing blood. That did not sound good. What that guy, and all those runners had been through. My tribulations pail into insignificance in comparison! In honesty this dusty, rocky leg of the course provided little satisfaction. Lack of views as we just ran through the barranco with high cliffs on either side. I really just wanted to get out of the mountains now. I had had enough. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my throat was dry from the calima. I was spent!

Machacadora to Maspalomas (52m ascent)

I walked in to Machacadora. Michael jogged in ahead to meet up with Laureda. The feed station, in the middle of nowhere, was a hive of activity with pumping music and a veritable feast of nibbles to fuel runners for the last few miles to the finish. I topped up my bottles scoffed more orange and was raring to go. Michael was comfortably sat in a chair and I said my farewells. What a surprise when he leapt up and declared he was with me. We headed off the access road onto a track as Laureda honked her car horn in support. I was feeling broken but the fact Michael had joined me I felt necessity to run. The underpass looked a kilometre distant and I promised myself that if I could just run to the bridge I would have a break. There was urgency to this plan as the sun had now drifted below the horizon and dusk was rapidly falling. Mike assured me once in the river bed we would have street lights to guide us the last few miles to the finish.

The underpass came and went. I tried to sustain momentum as we entered the river bed but I felt mentally weak and the urge to walk was overpowering. Michael was concerned about our pace and, determined to break 21 hours, ran on ahead. I promised I would catch him after a short break. So after sharing the last 100 minutes of the course I watched Michael gradually fade into the distant darkness of the never-ending river bed. As courses go this was certainly a tough twist to end the adventure. The dry bed ran for two kilometres over uneven paving stones. While the terrain was nothing compared to the rugged paths of the mountain, on tired legs it took great concentration. And quite frankly I had very little concentration left to give. I noticed a lot of broken bottles littered along the bed and this was enough incentive to rally one last time and stay on my feet. 

Following Mike’s departure it took some time to gain composure. I consumed a caffeine gel and put some trance on my iPod. Light was fading fast and the distant street lights did little to illuminate the way. Gradually I picked up my pace. Relief came when I scrambled out of the bed and onto the promenade. Despite everything my body had endured I promised myself I would run the final two miles. More fool me as the organiser’s had one final surprise. An apparently unnecessary detour across 200 metres of beach! As I ran into the soft sand I sensed surprise from a few spectators on the promenade. This added to my determination to keep running and the pace might have been slow but I dragged my legs across that soft beach and back onto the final stretch of promenade. Passing the lighthouse I banked right along the shop fronts overtaking another couple of runners. Pace was improving as I sensed the finish approaching and a last pulse of adrenaline fuelled energy flowed through me. Then I was marshalled across 200m of gravel track with no street lights. I couldn’t see a thing but it was too late to start rummaging around for my head torch. Why I didn’t just dig out my phone I don’t know. I lifted my legs high in the hope I didn’t catch an unsuspecting rock and break blood so late in the day.

The music was pumping as I rounded the final bend. The atmosphere was like nothing I have experienced. It was inspiring. Crowds of spectators still cheering runners in and I put on a little burst of speed to the finish line passing a few more runners as I went. Somewhere in that throng was Nadia. For the first time she would see me finish a race. Again tears welled up. I wondered if the kids were still awake at home watching the live stream of the finish. 

Then, in the space of a few seconds. It was all over!

I finished Transgrancanaria Advanced course in an official time of 12:50:49. I was 129th overall and 36th in my class (M40).

The Aftermath

It has been nearly three weeks since we flew out to Gran Canaria and as is so often the case the adventure feels like a distant dream. This report has allowed me opportunity to cling on to that dream. When I started running coastal trails, and then marathons and finally stepping up to ultras in the UK, I never imagined I would one day run an event on the scale of Transgrancanaria. 

Would I go back? Michael said: “It will be easier to think about doing again in a couple of months when we have forgotten the suffering :)”

After the race I found Michael slumped on a step. He may have been beaten inside but on the surface he carried a huge smile and looked like he could do it all again! 

The race was excellent value for money. We got a wealth of goodies - teeshirt, buff, visor, finishers gilet, medal - and a good selection of photos at a reasonable price (compared to some of the UK events). The support on the course was exceptional. I really felt I was part of something, rather than just out for a very long run.

The course was as challenging as expected. The climbs long and steep and the descents really technical. The last 10 miles were not fun! For a race they bought an additional challenge since the terrain really allowed fast running if the legs were capable. For a plodder they just bought more pain!

The legs are still suffering but maybe one day when the pain has gone I will start contemplating another attempt at earning one of those sub 12 hour miniatures. Or maybe even tackling the monstrous 125km course!

Another hard-earned medal for the collection

Written by Scott Harris - http://runninganimo.com

Silly rain. I hide under my buff as the rain gently falls focusing on the task at hand.

I recall the elevation profile which I’ve committed to memory, how far apart each of the aid stations are and the 50k or so of the route I know. So focused am I, I barely notice a photographer half a metre from me taking a photo. I’m staring intently straight ahead, not at anything in particular just the race plan I’ve settled upon. I have times in mind for arriving at Teror, Tejeda and then Garanon. Beyond this I haven’t really planned. I know I haven’t trained as much as I should have since the start of the year. I push this negative thought from my mind as another photo of me is taken close up. My attire must be slightly amusing or maybe it’s unusual to see an Englishman dislike rain. Someone starts shouting “Fran” holding up a dropped race number. I maintain my focus as we all start to shuffle forward to the start line. The countdown begins. I remind myself to be patient, to run my own race and to not get ahead of the schedule I’ve set myself.

We’re off! 430 runners charge out of Fontanales. The pace is I as expected but I just settle into what feels right. It doesn’t take long to fully appreciate the impact the rain is having on the route. Descending is difficult as I slip and slide trying to maintain my balance. I can’t really extend my stride due to fellow runners so I’m forced to try breaking more than I’d like. At one point both of my feet are sliding from underneath me but I manage to stay upright somehow. It reminds me of the race I did in Madeira, slippery, wet and steep. Soon the downhill becomes an uphill and I realise it’s going to be a long hard day.

I don’t stop at the first aid station in Valleseco. I start to recognise where I am which is comforting. I overtake a couple of people on the start of the descent recalling where I need to be vigilant to a couple of left turns. The rain doesn’t impact this downhill part which makes it much more enjoyable. Both turns are well-marked as I get closer to Teror. I’m happy with how long it has taken me to get here but now it’s time for the first long climb of the day up to Cruz de Tejeda. I know most of the climb apart from the initial part where steps are waiting. My calfs start to ache, I’m slightly disappointed they do this early.

I alternate between walking, power hiking and a little bit of running as I continue up the climb. Mentally I know this is the first hurdle. The second being completing the climb up to Roque Nublo. I top up on water at the Talayon aid station and push on. I look up every now and then but try to only think about the two metres I can see under my visor. Last time I was here doing a recce in early February I ran most of this part, it’s frustrating that I’m not now, doubt creeps into my mind. I look up again to see blue sky waiting at the top of the climb. Whenever I come to Gran Canaria this is often where the weather changes and I’m very pleased to see today is no different. I hit the top of and take the short section of road as the sun warms my face and spirit.

Just before I re-join the trail I overtake someone wanting to enjoy the descent into Cruz de Tejeda. The sun is out, I’m on very familiar trail and I run downhill with a smile. Extending my stride, speeding up leaping over rocks rather than going round them. I hit the road section and quickly pass through before beginning the descent to Tejeda. It feels like home. I know this section well after living in Tejeda as I  prepared for the race last year and returning twice since. I have to turn my autopilot off as I approach Tejeda knowing the route will probably be different to what I’m used to. It is. I run past the apartments I’ve stayed in knowing exactly how far this section of road is before the route becomes trail again.

I should get to Garanon in 5 hours 30 minutes as planned. I take my time on the climb up to Roque Nublo. There is little shade on the climb as mid-day approaches. The race is going well and I’ve little to complain about as I enjoy the views. I keep climbing and can see Tenerife in the distance with one side of Mount Teide covered in snow. I’m soon at the top and continue on towards Garanon.

The plan is to replace my food , top up on water and re-apply sun tan lotion. Unfortunately I got a little burnt on a recce a couple of days before the race. I double check I have everything I need and repack my drop bag only to rip it! I ‘ve no idea how to repair it before leaving. I stare at the tear for a moment wondering if I should try to repair it but unsure as to how? I find tape in the drop bag I had in case my feet needed attention and use that as best I can wasting a few minutes that I probably should have spent eating.

The very steep climb out of Garanon isn’t fun. It hurts, I don’t enjoy it and I can’t wait to begin the descent. I stop a few times looking over my shoulder to see how others are doing. I keep going hands on knees leaning forward. As I approach the top I see a snowman! Never thought that would happen in Gran Canaria.

I start the descent knowing this will determine the remainder of my race. It’s goes okay but I’m not running as fast as I want to, I regret not eating more at Garanon which I probably would have if it wasn’t for ripping my drop bag. After the next aid station at 51.2k I start to struggle. Even an easy hill gets the better of me. It gets steeper yet and I’m glad I didn’t put any expectations upon myself from here. The gap to the aid station is only 14.6k but it feels significantly more. After the long climb there is some easy running but I have no speed. I keep going knowing there is some very technical downhill just before the next aid station. It is the most technical terrain I’ve raced on slowing me to a walk on a couple of occasions. I let a couple of people pass who are clearly more comfortable than me on this terrain.

At Artera now with only 17.4k left. This is the part I did a recce of a couple of days before the race.  Mostly flat with a bit of downhill. I top up on water and leave trying to find the speed that normally returns to me during races of this length but it isn’t there. I do what I can knowing the time I had in mind isn’t going to happen. Mentally this doesn’t help. The visions I had of myself charging towards the finish line from here clearly isn’t going to happen. I continue on settling in to an okay speed having been on my feet for most of the day. It isn’t until shortly after passing the last aid station that my mind awakes. The terrain becomes more engaging as I have to pay attention. I find more speed and determination running down the canal wondering where this strength and power has been hiding! If only I felt like this after the long decent from Garanon!

 

.

I have new motivation as day light starts to fade. I’m not getting my head torch out, that isn’t happening.

I look at my watch, slower than last year. Damn it! I just want to finish and get it over with having not particularly enjoyed the second half of the race. I cross the finish line before dark in 11 hours 29 minutes taking 54th place. Tired, frustrated, grateful and looking forward to sitting down.

It was a good race even if it didn’t go quite as I had hoped. There is a good chance I’ll be back next year better prepared and ready to tackle a new route. It’s a beautiful island, with good organisation, well stocked aid stations and well marked from start to finish.

Full results here

My race report is on Run247. Plenty of content here to keep you busy whilst you rest your legs.

It was nice to meet up with Laureda and Michael who both took on the 125k race. Far braver than I!

Written by Chris Baynham-Hughes - http://baynham-hughes.com/

With so many incredible races around the world to chose from the challenges for distance runners never end. Take the Bob Graham for example, the same run can vary from a hot crystal clear day (rare) to zero visibility, strong to insane winds, torrential rain and subzero temperatures (time to call it off). The world is a natural playground full of mountains to climb, deserts to cross and conditions to thrive or risk death. These days you name it and somebody has put a race around/ up and over it; who says we are sensation seekers!

The trip to Transvulcania started when I saw this YouTube video after last year’s race.

I immediately posted it to Facebook stating it should be on the list. With normal friends this would have been fine, but Tin Wilcock picked up on it and next thing I know I’m in Croydon away on business phoning Laura to see if a trip would be authorised through fear that the race would sell out!

Fast forward to 5am Friday 10th May and I find myself sharing a cab with Tin and Sam Robson to the airport. Armed with hand luggage, a cardboard box, 2 bin liners and a roll of parcel tape we met with local ultra legend Richie Webster and manufactured our shared hold luggage. Not realising we only had a 6kg hand luggage limit we frantically had to ditch weight before the bags were weighed and then put it all back in on the sly. Yep it’s sneaky and against the rules, but it found us on the plane with no extra charges.

Friday we spent travelling and registering only to find that (a) we didn’t have a seat on the bus, and (b) our Spanish was not good enough. It had been a planes, trains and automobiles day (albeit taxi, plane, hire car, plane, hire car) faffing aside we got to bed with about five hours before wake up.

Walking down to the lighthouse at Fuencaliente there was no doubt this was going to be a special event. I’ve never experienced a big European razzmatazz style event, in the UK it’s usually turn up in a field and somebody says; “off you go then”. Here we found warm up compares and music, a remote controlled flying camera to take in the enormous crowd of 1600 runners ready to take on the 83KM course along with a bit of pushing and shoving. The results from the flying camera can be seen between 3:18 and 4:20 here: 

My plan was pretty straightforward, I’m terrible for nervous energy and adrenaline surges at the sound of the gun so getting as close to the front as possible for the first climb as the narrow tracks would make it very difficult and risky to pass was critical to me having a good day and conserving energy.

I also wanted to get as much of the course completed before the sun came up as I knew heat would be the biggest enemy of the day.

Headlamp beams illuminate the start from Fuencaliente lighthouse. Transvulcania 2012 © Transvulcania/La Palma

Knowing heat would be an issue I’d dashed out a rush order for a batman style utility belt arriving on the Wednesday I’d had time for one run with it before the race… it’s good to try new kit on the day though right? Luckily I’d made the right decision and the Nathan Trail Mix 4 and my Nathan hand held was all I needed. My Review is here, but in summary it was stable enough to be comfortable, lightweight, low surface area and everything was easy to access – recommended kit!

We were off! (see previous YouTube link) Adrenaline surge and the usual frantic running around people (why go to the front if you are not going to go out fast?) on and off the trail probably using up far too much energy, but it made for a lot of fun. The surface was a nightmare to run on; black volcanic sand and mini football sized sharp volcanic rocks just sap energy but I sound found a rhythm. All i had to do was keep going on the incline (average 10%) to 2000m and I’d have the main climb and almost ¼ of the overall distance in the bag.

The first village the race hits is just over 7KM in and the streets of Los Canarios are lined with people – Tour de France style. It’s fantastic how proud the people are of their island’s race and how they cheer on the runners – it’s no exaggeration to say they genuinely make you feel like a super human and look upon you with heartfelt admiration… inspiring stuff! I never tired of hearing “Venga, venga, venga” despite that nagging feeling in my mind that Venga may be a reference to the Venga boys! The other shouts of “ánimo!” were also constant (I translated this in my mind to “Animal!” as for some reason that motivated me well).

Sam overtook me at the village and was cracking on. I was happy in my rhythm and not looking to push myself to the red just to keep up. Good sign that my ego was firmly in check! Sam has been putting in a load of impressive performances – the last being a second place snatched from the jaws of victory through a series of navigational errors during the147 mile Viking way. He’s been going out hard and, whilst I feel I’ve got my fell racing speed back, I’d not run really long for quite some time.

I necked a drink and cracked on surrounded by people that either have money to burn (£120 on a pair of shorts anyone?) or were sponsored. Whilst the Spanish economy is struggling, the ultra runners certainly are not! It was hard not to put a huge smile on my face as we broke into the woods. The sand and soft moving ground was still underfoot, but the trees made a change from the moonscape and provided cooling properties.

The sun rise was beautiful and energising. Golden rays penetrated the trees and the sweat started to increase. I realised that I’d forgotten to tape my nipples – a huge error when only running in a vest. I started to panic a bit as rubbing is one of the few things that can take me out of the game.

The incline was runnable in most places and I was picking off runners – the fells certainly helped in this respect, if only I was a little further on in the season and had not been out so long post Dragon’s back. I found I was taking big chunks out of people on the downs and the flats until I finally saw some medicos and stopped for some tape. Charades ensued – note to self, save yourself 5 minutes and 50 places by knowing the word for tape in Spanish.

Checkpoint 2 done and I still hadn’t drained the 1.2 litres I started with in my belt. At the time I wasn’t too worried as it had been dark for most of the time. I filled my handbottle with a zero tab and a homemade powder (Maltodextrin and Fructose 2:1) and 2 of my belt bottles (300ml each) before finishing the first big climb. 2 hours 40 minutes into the race and I’m feeling good.

Ahh, descent at last, I’m flying past people and I think I’ve finally taken back the places I lost getting tape. The paths begin to roll and there are some fantastic single track sections. The views last for miles and it’s mostly in the shade. Every couple of minutes I pass a random spectator encouraging me to speed on, but my mind is on my feet and the sand I can feel in my shoe. Do I stop and empty or risk a blister? The first rule of long distance events is to manage any rubbing as soon as it is identified or, preferably, before! Muscular aches/ fatigues, bonking, etc. are all things that can be managed, but the most seemingly innocuous of rubs can take you out of a race as you just can’t take the pain; It’s why boxers target any open wounds. I stop, loose countless places again, but at least my feet are free from the irritant and a quiet confidence returns as my mind relaxes again.

Up ahead I can hear the next aid station, it’s probably 1KM away in the end, but what a ride! The path has varied from great runnable downhill single track to wide, steep, sandy uphill but coming into that aid station is the memory that will linger. Beautiful single track, overtaking people, anticipation of the baying crowd set up Tour de France style along the edges and then the reality of all those elements intensified through the realisation it’s for you was just epic. (7:03-7:45 on the YouTube video gives you a taste as do these:

***Video to be uploaded***

For me it was worth everything just to run into El Pilar. What a highlight.

I raced through El Pilar, grabbing a couple of powerbars and some fruit, encouraged by the crowd I didn’t stop for fluid as I still had plenty. Mistake. Firstly I was to find that powerbars are truly disgusting. Secondly I’m just not drinking enough. Charging out onto the wide dusty path I felt the adrenaline subside and the heat take it’s place. As the sun punished me I was left taking stock of my food and fluids. I’d planned to take enough food to get me to the aid stations and a few spare gels, but I’d assumed powerbars would be edible. I also knew I’d made a mistake by not forcing myself to drink. Too late, done now, move on.

From El Pilar to the Observatories at Roque de los Muchachos I started to struggle. I knew I didn’t have the miles in my legs to keep going with real strength and the heat was beginning to get to me. The paths go up and down on steep switchbacks, but it’s mostly up as the shade is slowly stripped away. My GPS was also showing that I was less than 2/5thinto the run. Something I now know not to be true (for some reason all our GPS readings came out very short). Psychologically I dipped thinking I had more to go than I did, combined with the expectation of how I would feel not matching how I actually felt.

Richie Webster is a true Ultra veteran having run almost every race I’ve heard of and a truck load that I haven’t. His experience really counts and one trick I’ll take away is that he carries with him a laminated course profile. If I’d have had this I’d have known I was closer to the 25 mile mark rather than 20 miles, but I’d also have known where each future aid station was. All I remembered was that they were about every 8KM apart.

I was drinking much better now, but it was too late. A big group of middle packers passed me and I struggled to respond or even keep up. I then made another mistake at a check point where despite stopping for a couple of minutes and taking on fuel I didn’t double check I had everything before I left. In my head I’d filled all bottles, in reality I’d just filled my hand bottle. Luckily they put on an extra aid station 5KM later which I reached pretty quickly. The fear of running out of water still haunting me and preventing me from draining what I had. My downhill was still good though and I would catch up/ overtake countless people on these sections. Knowing there was a big long downhill coming meant I stabilised psychologically and just dug in. I can churn out miles and it’s really all about constant forward motion – that’s what I did.

When I race I never take a stereo – I prefer the sounds of the race and the natural environment; the bird song, the creaking of trees, the sound of my progress through long grass, the silence. Most races I’ll get chatting to somebody for a period then find my own space again – a conversation helps the miles fly past. Here I felt really quite alone; there were no audible natural sounds, no birdsong, conversation was sparse/ none existent when I craved it and… well, I found myself wishing I had my stereo as I slogged out the mid-section. I even resorted to singing to myself (in my head mind, I’m not a loony). I guess the lack of English speakers surprised me and my interaction of “mucho calor”, “Si, Si” wasn’t cutting it – if I ran it again or a race like it I’d take an emergency stereo to help with any tough miles; it was just the lack of natural sounds  I found really eerie – It took me a while to put my finger on it but I think that was it.

I finally arrived at the observatories. There was a classic series of false summits and “it’s just around this corner” thoughts as the sound from the aid station travelled for miles. I ran the final switchbacks (showing off to the crowd… ego still in check?) much to the rapture of one particularly vocal spectator. My Spanish is limited but I picked up that I was the only person foolish enough to still be running at this stage.

Mentally I was ready for the downhill. I’d spent the last 30 minutes on the bring of cramp and still hadn’t had a wee yet. Considering how much I felt I was drinking now this unnerved me and the constant mini cramp episodes when in a certain position told me all I needed to know. Flashbacks of the agony I felt whilst climbing Trefan on the DBR haunted me but I managed to put that experience to good use and kept it at bay.

This is the major checkpoint en route. Food ranged from fruit to pasta and the drinks from water to coke to powerade (why drink something blue I thought as I finished my bright green drink – the irony). I tried to cool off and many people had stopped for an extended break here. As I had an improvised shower and dunked my buffs (full one for my neck and 2* ½ buffs around my wrists) my temperature did come down but not for long. I faffed around, torn between sitting down and cracking on. I triple checked my water position and how far to the next aid station then headed out.

My expectations of immediate downhill were shattered as the path continued to climb, eventually the descent began. I’d thought this would be the time to make some places up but my legs weren’t working properly and certain positions triggered the cramp. Oh dear! Out of nowhere all the people that have been poor descenders had suddenly turned into gazelles, skipping past me – how did that happen?

My temperature was soon up again. I drank my electrolytes and tried to enjoy the down, but with the temperature soaring with every meter of altitude lost I was struggling.

Every now and then I’d pass somebody in a worse state than me, but they were few and far between. This section did have some very runable gradient and usually I’d have made some real time here. It wasn’t as technical as I’d expected and the forest surroundings were very welcome – without this shade it would have felt like I was descending into Hades.

I’m inadvertently making this run sound horrific – it wasn’t, I loved it, it was just very hard to really run despite it being runable in most sections. A lack of acclimatisation and simply being too white to be there was the real problem, the other part was failing to keep on top of my fluids – the trail is beautiful and I’d recommend a visit and trek to anyone! The race organisation, atmosphere, marshals, medics, etc were absolutely first rate. I couldn’t fault it at all – it’s definitely a race to do!

I finally reached the aid station at Torre Forestal de El Time and having decided a long time ago that the race was over for me and it was now all about enjoyment, I stopped to cool off. I must have been there 20-30 minutes just sat there in the shade getting dunked in water every now and then. Several causalities came and when in this time – a Spanish lady arrived with double vision which was a shame as she had been going really well, but any race like this is not about doing well for a period, it’s about finishing well overall. Many people ran better than me at the DBR, but they didn’t manage the overall race and thus didn’t finish. In that case it’s about knowing that you’ve got to get up every day and do it all again. All of these races are experience and you learn more from a fail than a finish, but it is nice to finish! Does this make me run too safe and within myself? Probably, but I don’t fear a DNF, I don’t think it is an embarrassment or anything like that. Frankly there is enough machismo in ultras as it is. People are out there doing amazing things; e.g., running 50 miles, yet the conversation will quickly turn to 100 miles and beyond, or not needing water/ food for super human distances or people taking a ridiculous event and doubling it or more. At the end of the day there is always someone, somewhere doing something crazier than you, so the trick is to get over it, not get involved and find what you enjoy.

Back to the race. Whilst I was at the Torre Forestal de El Time aid station I saw a bloke being stretchered off to an ambulance. He looked British but no words of English were spoken so I didn’t feel right to approach him. I’d had a friend request on Facebook just before the event by Ant Bethell and we’d agreed to try to all meet up for a beer after the race as he was going out on his own. Seeing this guy had nagged at me, for some reason I was convinced it was him, but it just didn’t feel like the right time to ask as he was being put in the back of an ambulance, in my mind it would go something like:

“Erm, excused me, are you Ant Bethell?”

“Why yes I am, but I’m a bit busy right now”

“Quite right, sorry. Toodle pip!”

I left it. Turned out it was him – a real shame as he had spent almost all of the race in the top 50 (given that there were something in the region of 50 elite runners this was no mean feat! The heat had got him and chronic cramp had set in).

Time to get going, I couldn’t sit here all day, but the going was slow! Keeping the cramp at bay meant I couldn’t put my legs in certain positions required for downhill movement. At one point I cramped, yelping out and scaring the life out of the guy in front. It was just about survival now.

I’d got running again when a bloke collapsed 20 yards in front of me. He got back up with the help of four Spaniards and I’d figured I’d leave them to it until I got closer and could see he was an English speaker. He was Canadian and I took him on. A Belgian guy with fantastic English also stopped so we helped him to the next road crossing and the medicos.

It was such a sad sight. He was determined to keep going and we couldn’t get him to stop. I suspect he won’t remember any of it and was just on auto pilot. In his mind he was so close to the end and just wanted to finish. He was desperately trying not to cry which he just about managed but I almost didn’t. Flashbacks to day 5 of the DBR put me in his position emotionally in an instant. Exhaustion removes any mental defences against extreme emotion, but I just about managed to pull myself together. The Belgian chap kept telling me to go on and I know a crowd is not wanted so once he was with the medicos I cracked on. Happy knowing he was safe and my explanations of ‘Calor’ had surely helped 

The very final section down to the beach was a cruel set of steep switchbacks. With a good set of legs it would have been ok-ish, but on tired legs it was torture – it went on forever and the heat just intensified with every step. It was worth it for the final aid station though – loud music, incredibly attentive and helpful marshals and shade! I had been contemplating a detour for a dip in the sea all the way down, but there was a young boy who was delighting in pouring water over anybody who wanted it.

I made another long stop to try to cool down, probably 15+ minutes just enjoying the atmosphere before finally setting off again. My legs felt fresher and I started taking places; gaining upwards of half a mile on some people before hitting the incredibly steep cobble switchbacks to the finish. At one point near the top a family had a hose running and from 20 yards above our heads we had a tremendous cold shower. Never has this been so welcome!

Shortly after the shower the road pretty much levelled off. Leaving about a mile to the finish. Closing in on the finish the streets side cafes were full of people drinking in the sun and cheering on the runners. Shouts of “ánimo, ánimo” and “Venga, venga, venga” intensified. I took another place down this road before entering the final corners begging for the end. The red carpet finish was great – high fives everywhere and a feeling of having really achieved something. Managing to keep the cramp at bay, finishing strong rather than walking it out and having really enjoyed it – despite the struggles. I confess I crossed the line with my arms in the air as if I’d won – there were cameras about and besides I was saluting the crowd as much as anything else.

 The finish was decked out with cold paddling pools, showers, masseurs and medicos. Massage I think!

I tried to get my shoes off. Folded in half at the waist, having to immediately straight ever 2 seconds as some part of my legs cramped making comedy viewing for the spectators. After several attempts I got them off, showered my legs and got in line. I saw Sam just as I got on the table. He’d finished in 11:03:35 (158th) See his race report here. In the end this was just 14 minutes ahead of me rather than the several hours I’d expected. Seriously surprised given my torrid middle to end – we agreed to catch up later as my masseur was ready to go.

The first attempt… ok, the first touch and my foot spasmed into cramp. I gritted my teeth and tried desperately to translate cramp into Spanish. My toes were locked in different directions so it was pretty obvious. She tried again, the agonising cramps immediately started again and her actions of stretching the foot to stop the cramp caused cramp in my shin, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her. After the third time she disappeared off to the medico tent. I was asked to stand and immediately my whole left leg spasmed. I was there, teeth gritted, whilst they casually discussed what to do. I pointed to my leg which was quite literally dancing – the muscles were contracting involuntarily back and forth as per this video from Ant Bethell I’d never seen anything like it before. I was told I would go on a drip and a stretcher was wheeled over. I felt a total fool.

I passed Sam – his shock apparent and his concern touching, but I just felt like a total idiot for getting into that state. As I lay waiting for an IV my legs went through wave after wave. I gripped the drip stand and gritted my teeth trying not to scream. To my surprise the tent was full with a number of local (ish) runners taking up the beds. I apologised to the medico who casually replied; “Don’t worry, it’s normal” brushing it off as if they expected to treat every runner.

Fair play, the Medicos were fantastic. After it was determined that I had no allergies and that I was not sikh (felt a little random given my shaved head!) I got a bag of saline and a bag of muscle relaxant – combined with 3.5 plates of the finishers Paella and some cola it’s the best recovery package on the market! Next day I could have run again. Bonkers.

Turned out it had been eventful for both Sam and Tin too with Richie the only one to escape unscathed. Sam had similar cramp issues and had fallen over as a result a couple of times on the way down cracking his knees at one point. Tin ran off a cliff (I’m not joking!) after slipping on volcanic dust, thankfully bouncing to within an inch or two of safety – his knee bleeding badly it looked worse than it was but mixed with his Union Jack rock tape (strapping for his knee) resulted in plenty of extra shouts and gasps at the ‘crazy English’ running the race. He also provided the best story having lost his hat early on in the race. Running without a hat, his head had boiled. Near the observatories a camera man in front stumbled and Tin helped him. Turned out he was a Channel 4 camera man. To cut a long story short Tin agreed to stop and have an interview in return for the bloke’s cap. After babbling incoherently for a bit the chap asked him if he could describe what it was like to be a part of the race. The camera recorded as Tin replied; “It’s like running up a volcano… and it’s f***ing hot!” The camera stopped, Tin got his hat. Despite summing it up in what has taken me almost 4500 words to do, I doubt it will make the show!

Race Stats:

Distance: 83.3 km (51.8 mi)

Cumulative elevation gain of 4415 meters, and elevation loss of 4110 meters

Position: 179

Time: 11:17:14

Click to enlarge

Written by Ashok Daniel - https://ashokdaniel.wordpress.com

“The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.” ― Christopher McCandless

After a long day travelling to the remote island of La Palma, Phil who was supporting his friend Rodney picked me up at the airport. I met Phil at one of the Highland fling training weekends and we’ve been in touch through Facebook. They’ve been on the island for almost a week and knew the place quite well and Rodney dropped out last year so he was determined to finish this time. The place is stunningly beautiful and less touristy/trashy than the other Canary Islands as it’s harder to get to but there’s a reason it’s called the Isla Bonita (Beautiful island). It has some of the most varied and technical trails in the world and gives you a real sense of skyrunning as you are literally running above the clouds for most of the race. It is also the most mountainous island in the world. Although technically its part of Spain, its just off the coast of Morocco in Africa and often around the time of the race we get the hot winds along with the Saharan smog to the island which certainly spices things up, this natural phenomenon is called ‘Calima’. Transvulcania has quickly become an iconic and prestigious Ultra distance Skyrace which is part of the Skyrunner World Series and despite being ‘only’ 73.3 km with 4500m of ascent, the race offers a unique challenge in a stunning island with runners often experiencing issues with heat, dehydration, fainting, heat stroke and the technical nature of the course making things harder. It also hosts two other races the Media (24km) half marathon and the Marathon (42km) along the Ultramarathon race route.

Pre-race shenanigans at bib collection!

Elevation tatoo of the course, it went uppppp and then it went downnnnn! (Photo by Jamil Coury)

Got a good nights kip at the hotel & met up with the guys in the morning, we went down to the start at Faro de Fuencalliente to have a look at it when it’s bright since we start in the night and don’t get to see how beautiful the terrain is. Hiked the first two kilometres and took pics and bumped into Jordi Saragosa who was taking some shots of the salomon team who were also running down, we chatted about Kilian Jornet’s & Nuria’s trip to Nepal and his own experiences of suffering from altitude sickness during last year’s Hardrock 100, despite his issues he still drove around the course to support Kilian during his record-breaking run.  After that we headed off to Los llanos for bib collection, met Chris and Nicky Mills here and it was great to bump into familiar faces. Didn’t waste much time and got the bib & an elevation tattoo which I personally think is a great idea for mountain races. Got back to the hotel after having lunch near the finish line when both the lads got sun burnt sitting outside (I got burnt during the race) I really enjoyed how relaxed life was on the island. Bumped into Jamil Coury who was staying close to my hotel and had a chat with him about Hardrock 100 & Barkley, he’s the only runner to go out on loop 4 this year. He’s such a humble human being and it was lovely to have met him. I remember Phil saying “if that guy was anymore chilled out, he’d fall into a coma!”. After sending them off I went to the nearby hotel to meet up with Ian Campbell who was doing the live coverage for iRunFar and we had a good chat about the race and the challenges it’ll pose, the thing I love about races is that it feels more like a family gathering when you meet up with friends or make new ones!

The lighthouse at Faro de Fuencalliente during daytime, the volcanic ash made it look very pretty!

Jamil soaring up las deseadas, Photo By : Jordi for Salomon running

After trying to sleep early and procrastinating, I did manage to get a couple of hours of shut eye before waking up at it’s-way-too-early-o’clock (2 am) to eat breakfast and slather myself in Vaseline before getting the bus at 3 am. Met Kris again who was hanging out with Phil and Rodney yesterday, we were chatting to an American runner who was way too excited about this race at 3 am in the morning. After trying & failing to get some sleep on the bus, we were dropped off at the start at 4.30 am. It was quite cold and windy, people were sitting down huddled against each other near the light house, greeted Chris Mills and then bumped into Scott Harris. He’s been training on the island for the race and had a last minute injury scare, after a quick chat I met Donald and his tartan pants! Saw Jamil sitting there in colourful shorts too and told him that you both have a common taste when it comes to shorts selection (Rich coming from someone who wore yellow tights in his last race!). We were sitting waiting around for the race to start. The start felt like a disco party with dance music and projection lights that projected onto the cliffs (similar to TGC but there was more life & passion here). I felt like a kid watching all the elites warm up next to us, from the steely gaze of Luis Alberto who looked like he was ready for war to the friendly charm of Emelie Forsberg. They won the race in the end. The American guys seemed the most relaxed as they’re used to running low key events and the hype didn’t get to them.

At the startline with Kris, still trying to wake up! (Photo by Kris Duffy)

The magical lights that ascend from the Lighthouse at the start

Early on trying not to trip on my poles en route to Los canarios Photo by Atlantis

I lined up close to the front, as I didn’t want to end up being squashed as the trail quickly narrows down to a single track. The atmosphere at the start was incredible and it was magical to see all the headlamps, knowing that the first ten miles are uphill (and the first 50k too!) I took it easy and settled down into a steady power hiking rhythm after the crazy start where everyone sprinted the first 500 metres before the trail narrowed. I was surprised how hot and humid it felt even within the first 20 minutes, tried to keep up the water intake and knew it’ll only get worse once the sun rises. The underfoot conditions were testing as the volcanic dust required A LOT of effort, it was like two steps forward and you sink one step backward. I ensured not to get out of the trail as the rocks are really sharp and a slip could mean that I’ll need a few stitches!  The conga line kept going until we reached the first checkpoint at Los Canarios, which had only liquids. I refilled my bottles and soaked in the atmosphere. It felt like a block party with the entire village out on the streets to cheer the runners on, some people were still in their pyjamas and they generated A LOT of noise! It funnelled at certain sections like the Tour de France where you really feel the support with everyone going “Animo Animo, vamos champeone” or “Venga venga”. You could feel their passion for mountain running and they are very proud to host one of the toughest mountain races in the world, you’d never get such an atmosphere like this anywhere outside Europe. The only races I can think of that would have as good an atmosphere and ambience are probably some of the races in the Alps and Grand Raid de la réunion (Another island which is extremely passionate about mountain running). Think Zegama marathon in Basque country also has an incredible crowd support although it’s a much shorter race but alot more steeper and technical.

Enjoying the sunrise while climbing Las Deseadas

The climb on the volcanic ash up Las deseadas volcano. Photo by : Salomon running

Las deseadas summit (Photo courtesy Kris Duffy)

After crossing the village we kept plugging along uphill on volcanic ash. As we approached the summit of the volcano of Las Deseadas, there were people shouting behind “El paso por media marathon” which I think meant let the half marathon runners pass. The top three passed us and they were literally sprinting up an 8000ft volcano from sea level! After picking my jaw off the floor, I shouted support at the most famous beard in ultra running, Rob Krar. Oddly enough he won the Canyons 100k a week before on western states trail and was sprinting up a volcano a week later. He acknowledged and they quickly vanished, he went on to finish 2^nd. About 100m from the summit we saw a helicopter come out of the horizon and they were filming us. I could almost touch the chopper! That’s when you really feel like you’re doing a big Euro race. We reached the 2^nd checkpoint (16km) here and refilled bottles and kept moving.

The chopper! (Photo credit: Kris Duffy)

Enroute to El Pilar

After the summit it was a fairly long descent into El Pilar, which is also the half marathon (24km) finish line and this section has the most runnable single track in the entire course. There was a massive turnout there and I soaked in the wild screams and blaring party music. After quickly refilling my bottles and eating some fruit, I left quickly and knew the next section had less climbing. But the heat was rising and it was a fairly undulating uphill, so ran some bits and power hiked the steeper sections. I kept eating and drinking and was feeling alright, saved myself for the bigger climbs ahead. Once we reached El Reventon (30k checkpoint), I had the volunteers pour a jug of ice water over my head to cool myself (I basically did the ice bucket challenge at every check-point after this and LOVED IT!).

El reventon CP above the clouds! (Photo by Kris Duffy)

After drinking up and eating a little I left for the next CP which was supposed to be 12.5km away and with almost everything being uphill it’ll take ages so I tried to conserve water consumption. Think this was a flaw by the organisation to scrap the checkpoint they had in between these two CP’s to make the race harder. By now the heat was really getting to everyone and we took rest breaks when we found a shady tree to keep core temps under control. I was starting to feel dehydrated but kept pushing and about half way people were queuing up at Punta de los roque (about 36-37k) which was a emergency medical hut but since people were begging for water they filled half a bottle to keep us going which was a God send as I had run out of water by then and didn’t fancy drinking electrolytes.

Stunning view from Pico de la nieve Photo by Ian Corless

On the way up to Pico de la cruz! (Photo by Kris Duffy)

As we got higher, there was no shade to take cover so we had to keep moving. I was starting to feel abit dizzy with heat exhaustion and was getting frustrated that we had crossed 12.5k a long time ago and the CP was nowhere to be seen, it came eventually after 17k (4.5k more than the original plan and almost all of it was uphill!) at Pico de la cruz. I saw some people getting a heat stroke and lying motion less on the side of the trail but the emergency services did a good job. There was someone from the mountain rescue team out on the trail almost every 2k even at the high points. I knew this was turning into pure survival as I had lost appetite to eat or drink due to the stinging heat which only got worse at a higher elevation. Eventually I took a 30 minute break at the checkpoint to sort myself out, think around 250+ dropped at this checkpoint due to heat stroke/fainting or dehydration as it was further than the mentioned distance (17k instead of 12.5k). I knew I had to keep moving as we were at one of the highest points in the course and the altitude and the heat were making me dizzy. I kept things simple as I knew once I reached the next checkpoint at Roque de los muchachos (51k) it was all downhill (but it’s one technical downhill!). Kept putting one foot in front of the other and tried to keep it together especially with eating and drinking. There were supporters out on the trail giving out Powerade and cola before the zig-zag climb to Roque which is the highest point on the island. We could see the observatories here and the place looked really cool with the clouds below us. Since it’s above the clouds it offers scientists a clear view of the sky during night time.

Climb up to Roque with the observatories in the background (Photo by Kris Duffy)

Still looking the part near Roque!

The adoring support at the most random places! (Photo by Kris Duffy)

After almost an eternity I got to Roque de los muchachos (2400m+) and tried to use the toilet as I felt my stomach wasn’t processing anything, had a plate of pasta after that and felt nauseous but knew I needed some food in the belly for the next stretch. Was chatting to a couple of Brits who were pulling out there and tried to talk them out of it but they were having none of it, I don’t understand how some people say “It’s just so hot and so bloody hard!”, well you chose to run a race in a volcanic island in Africa during summer, what else did you expect?? The girl seemed fine, she just mentally couldn’t deal with how hard the marathon was and I did feel sorry for her in the end, it always breaks my heart to see people drop from a race. (The Transvulcania marathon starts from El Pilar (24k) to Tazarcorte (68k) and is probably one of the hardest mountain marathons in the world).

The exact reaction of the girl I tried and failed to coax at Roque de los muchachos checkpoint

Just past the checkpoint caught trying to find something in my rucksack!

Right after roque while starting the descent, after posing I remember throwing up after we passed the supporters :D

After getting everything down I got up and immediately threw up at the bin with my stomach starting to cramp, well atleast I learnt how to projectile vomit now! After emptying the system, I started to get full body cramps due to the water loss and they took me to the medical tent. They tried to put a drip on me with saline but I refused as I felt I needed to descend and the altitude might be causing these issues so drank 3-4 cups of electrolyte and kept it down in front of them and got out of the CP. 10 minutes later I threw up again and the trail got very technical, with cramping and zero energy I couldn’t run on those technical trails so I had to tip toe downhill and walk certain sections. I realized then this was going to be a long and sucky day! The wheels well and truly came off en route to El Time (61k), I stumbled and fell thrice but didn’t break anything. I stood up and kept going until the 4^th time I slipped on some supremely technical and gnarly trail. My lower body started to seize due to cramping and the humidity at lower altitude (still at 1300m) lead to more sweating and salt loss, I rolled to the side of the trail and curled up in a ball. I remember at that moment everything seemed so peaceful and still and I passed out for a couple of minutes, got woken up by a bunch of runners who passed me and they put a cream on my legs to stop the cramping and force fed a tablet (salt I think?). They told me to sit for a few minutes before trying to walk down to the checkpoint, which was a couple of kilometres away. I forgot about racing and just enjoyed the view on the side of the trail, everything hurt and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to finish with my quads and calf starting to seize. I still had a 2 hour cushion over the cut-offs which I was eating into and chatted to the people passing me to assure them I’m still alive and kicking!

My thoughts while lying on the side of the trail

I remember laughing at myself for paying good money to go through this and eventually got on my feet and jogged into the checkpoint and went straight to the medical tent, got some cream applied on my quads and calf’s and took a nap for 15 minutes before getting some food and spent about 50 minutes fannying about at that checkpoint debating whether to drop or not but mentally I was still positive and kept telling myself “finish it so you don’t have to come back again you eejit!” I remember the marshals were abit worried at my state and sent a volunteer to run with me, as I was abit delirious and to ensure I didn’t fall off a cliff during the descent. But I started drinking electrolytes and then passed a few people, I presume that guy turned back at some point as I didn’t see him after a few kilometres or ran with some of the guys I passed who looked in worse shape than me. Still it was a good gesture by the organisers to take care of their runners. I remember moving fairly well as we descended a couple of thousand feet and I could see tazacorte from there. The last kilometre is the zig-zag vertical kilometre route and it looked spectacular. I enjoyed the views while carefully descending down it and into tazacorte for a huge cheer. This was the marathon finish point and I had about an hour and half to get to the finish with 5k to go (mostly uphill 400m climb). I drank 2 cups of coke and had one piece of watermelon and ran with a couple of Spanish guys into the dry riverbed which was aptly named the Ravine of Sorrows (I later found out an Italian runner was airlifted after passing out in this section due to the stifling heat and humidity, so finishing was by no means guaranteed even if you got so far!).

The stunning view of Tazacorte from the steep descent (Photo by Kris Duffy)

Heading into Tazarcorte, my biceps looked ripped after all that water loss! ;)

The dry river bed, it was dark by the time I got here but extremely humid at sea level (Photo by Kris Duffy)

As we were in sea level, we could really feel the heat and humidity, we were furiously power hiking on the loose riverbed. It looked amazing and we were making decent progress and kept passing people, I started to cramp up again when we started the long ascent with switchbacks. Kept taking breaks and let those guys go ahead and ran with another Spanish runner who looked like he was hurting (I think probably by now everyone looked like death!). We buddied up and eventually crawled up it to the top of the torturous climb with zero breeze. I remember that guy saying we were almost there and we got onto the Los Llanos stretch, it was a long road which goes into the city centre where the finish line is. We had plenty of time so just kept moving and chatting. He seemed emotional and he said he’s run this race 3 times and this will be the first time he’s finishing it. He told me he was having the perfect race and I got abit emotional and hugged him. (That moment really puts things into perspective for me and I didn’t mention any of my struggles to him) I knew how much this finish meant to him and he’s a real hero for coming back to try it again and again! We were high fiving the kids who were cheering us on along with the locals who sat at the cafes and bars. Once we got close to the finish, his daughter and wife came to hug him and he told me to go ahead and he wanted to run with his daughter. I went on to the finishing straight and got a heroes welcome with the entire town still out at the finish line as they had a concert going on until the cut-off time, it really felt like a massive party. I was really glad to finally see the finish line after a long day, it was good to see Depa screaming at the finish (I remember him from UTMB when he was doing the Spanish updates for iRunFar) and got the medal from the Race Director. I finished in 16:39 hrs and went into the finisher’s section to throw up promptly into the bin. After the euphoria of finishing settled, I was still cramping and the humidity only made things worse. They told me not to eat anything and just keep drinking water. Tried to get a massage only to hilariously cramp up while getting on the table but the guy was really nice and we had a chat about this amazing island. The best thing about this race is the support and how knowledgeable the people are, they know so much about Skyrunning/mountain running and appreciate just how hard this race is. After changing into dry clothes I got the bus back to the hotel and threw up on the bus and at the hotel too but had a good night’s sleep before a long day of travelling to get back.

The adoring support en route to the finish, it was dark by the time I got there but the crowd was still there! (Photo by Kris Duffy)

Running into to the finish looking like a drowned rat from my own sweat!

Finally after a long day of running and visiting medical tents I got around :D

I had a rough day and my race didn’t go to plan but the beauty of the island and the energy of the people got me to the finish line as I felt this epic experience deserved a finish. It’s funny how only 2 weeks ago things went to plan during the Highland Fling but the wheels came off here, in hindsight I should have just ran a good time there when I felt good instead of holding back. There’s an amazing community in La Palma and a real mountain spirit, it was a privilege to run in La Isla Bonita and I am very grateful to run on such a brutal course. I can see why the current champion Luis Alberto said ‘There’s magic in Transvulcania’, you can genuinely feel it before,during and after the race. The volunteers and supporters went out of their way to make it an incredible experience. I think wanting to quit and suffering and finishing is what ultra running is all about. It’s about things going terribly wrong and figuring out how to get through it. I’ve done well in races and it doesn’t affect me as much when things go to plan but experiences like this humble you and you start to appreciate the little things in life, like an ice bucket challenge at every checkpoint! I wasn’t peeing blood nor did I have a bone sticking out so it made sense to get it done regardless of the time, although I didn’t have control of certain things like projectile vomiting and dizziness but I could still persevere & keep it together mentally and I am very proud of that fact, I’m still young and learning at this level so hope to build on this for future challenges as I can draw on this experience during racing and more importantly in real life too.

Overall despite my personal struggles I would highly recommend the race to any trail runner as the you’ll get to experience a very different type of volcanic trail here and once you’re on the island, food and accommodation is very reasonable. It would be a great help if you knew Spanish but you can get by with English + universal sign language & everyone at the race understands English to an extent. Although it looks quite complicated to get here there are direct flights from Manchester & Madrid or you can fly to Tenerife and get a relaxing boat ride to the island which some of my Scottish friends did and highly recommended the experience but do carry sun lotion with you! Almost all my friends apart from me combined this with a vacation to make the trip worthwhile and it’s a must-see destination for any adventurous traveller. It also helps you acclimatise to the heat if you go there early.

I’d to thank my parents and my aunt and uncle (Sam & Esther) for their love and support, my coach Paul Giblin for his guidance & sage advice and all my friends and family for their continued support and encouragement regardless of how well/terribly I perform at these things as I like to remind myself often that just finishing these challenges is an achievement in itself, if not there’s always a DNF after party that we can arrange ;)

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” – Viktor Frankl

The Bling was pretty cool for all the torture the course dished out!

Finish line close-up shot of me caked in salt & volcanic ash and looking about 30 years older and trying to keep my mouth shut so I don’t throw up at the camera!

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

 

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).