DAY ONE
It's rapidly dawning on me that a few sessions with the treadmill set to an incline doesn't prepare you for a mountain ultra. My legs seem to be staging a coordinated strike, my calves refusing to work as I would like on the up hills, cramping painfully if I venture to toe off the ground, whilst my quads scream in agony with each foot strike on the downhills.
I'm on the 3rd and biggest climb of day 1 at the Ultra-X Azores 110, a 120km 2 ultra on the Portuguese island of San Miguel, located in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The industrial action being taken by my legs on both the ups and downs is unfortunate since I am rapidly finding out that flats are in short supply. I knew what I was getting myself in for, or certainly should have. It was there in black and white when I signed up, 110km (which increased by 4 and 6km each day in the week prior to the race) over 2 days with 4090m of elevation, but right now as I struggle to put one foot in front of the other with 28km to go it has become apparent that there may have been a slight miscalculation.
I signed up for the race on the back of an incredible week in the Sahara at MdS. I knew there wouldn't be time this year for a full week away so the 2 day race in the Azores seemed the perfect event. Any indecision was swayed by the stunning photos showing what to expect on day 2 of the course, circling the volcanic rim above the Sete Cidades, a pair of emerald green crater lakes.
Friday morning started with an early 4am wake up to be on the 6am flight to Lisbon, a power nap in the lounge in Lisbon before meeting up with David, a friend who had foolishly listened to me tell him over dinner about the ultra I had signed up that would be 'great fun'. Another couple of hours flying and we were in Ponta Delgada. The race rules require you to have your kit checked on the Friday afternoon before the race, so we got our race bags together and walked through the charming little backstreets, with the traditional Portuguese Arte Manuelina architecture, all white clay, colourful tiles and a patina of decay, familiar to anyone having visited mainland Portugal.
The kit check, was pretty non existent, and consisted of ticking our names off a list, and attaching a tracker to our bags. After a delightful meal we retired early to our hotel accommodation to arrange our kit, ready to meet the coaches that would drive us to the start line early the next morning.
After a short ride we arrived at the start point in the beautiful hot springs at Furnas, one of the most active geothermal areas in Europe. Hot gases streamed from the many fumaroles, filling the air with a hint of sulphur whilst Fire by Kasabian blared from the sound system. Standing at the start line and taking in the surroundings was when it began to dawn on me that just because this was 'only a 2 day' event didn't mean it was going to be easy. All the way around us in every direction, were steep climbs. This place is bloody mountainous.
A quick brief from the race director and we were off. I knew I was going to fast, was making the rookie error of looking at the people around me and making judgments about which athletes I should be faster than. The first 4km followed paved roads climbing gently, I forced myself to slow a little but was conscious that I didn't want to get stuck behind slower athletes when the path narrowed. We took a right turn along the banks of a Lagoa das Furnas before entering into the forest for the first climb of the day. The track turned off the road and became narrow as it wound its way steeply up the side of the ridge. My early pace to avoid getting stuck behind slower runners was now backfiring in a big way - I was the slower runner, my legs burning from pushing up the hill far faster than I should have been to keep the sound of the two runners behind me just back far enough.
My plan had been to run the flats and downs and walk the ups, using poles to spread the load on the climbs. But there I was, running up the first major climb, poles still neatly tucked away in my running belt. We reached the top of the climb and the path opened out, I was sweating in the humid forest air with my heart rate already thrashing along for the last 3km at 170. I slowed down and moved to the side allowing one or two of my pursuers to pass. I had been stupid, but was sure I had recognised my stupidity early enough to not be fatal to my chances of getting to the end. The course continued high along the ridgeline with some spectacular views across the middle of the island and down towards Furnas.
The sun was shining as the course wound its way along the spine of the island, with gentle ups and downs and varying terrain underfoot as we navigated roads, forest path and field. Coming into focus ahead was the second of the 3 major climbs, a towering mountain rising out of the centre of the island but things were looking up, I had control of my pace and was beginning to run my own race and taking in the ever-changing scenery, from ancient forest as the course descended into a crater lake, or the heather moorland that left me open to the diving attacks from gulls protective of their nests.
After the climb the course descended to another mountain lake, this time the view passing in and out as clouds blew through on the wind. The path began to hand rail a viaduct, which my rational brain knew must indicate that the path was level. How come then that I felt like I was running up hill? The viaducts gave way to thick forest, with a carpet of fir on the ground muffling every footstep making it eerily quiet. The thickness of the forest was damping down any sound from outside other my own breathing, broken every now and then by the sound of waterfalls crashing through the forest fauna before small, handrail-less bridges concentrated the mind after 30km of running.
The forest track continued, deciding steeply toward the 3rd aid station that would signal the big climb of the day, the climb I had been warned to consider at the last aid stop. I passed my bottles to be filled by one of the volunteers and clocked an athlete getting some treatment to sore legs on the massage table. The frivolous luxury of it! Stopping mid race for a massage! I returned my bottles to their pouches and set off downhill, my quads starting to protest. The path turned a corner before darting skyward at an angle no path had any business at, come to think, it seemed more likely that I was following a drainage run off the hill rather than a path made clear by countless feet passing through.
So that is how I got here, on the big climb of the day with legs that are refusing to work as I move forward up the climb my quads have now joined in the cramping, seeing it as a much more effective protest that just the burn. It dawns on me that aside from the stupid early pace I have also not had enough fluids or salt tabs. I re-hydrate then continue 50 or so metres before stopping to stretch out the cramp in my quads. For the first time in my ultra running career I'm starting to have doubts about finishing the stage. I push on another 50m and stretch again. Let's just go 50m at a time. We are now climbing out of the forest, trees making way to grasses. As the path shallows a little, I find I can walk again without the 50m pitstops, its still steep enough that I'm not bothered that I'm not running and the mantra I had in my mind throughout MdS came to mind; 'Run if you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must, but never stop.' (Courtesy of the legendary Dean Karnazes)
I take the walking time as an opportunity to fuel, enjoying a white chocolate and macadamia nut Clif bar and taking in the spectacular view out over the mountain lake. I can see the path leading down from the peak I visited only an hour or so ago. Free from the cover of the forest the wind now blasts at my side as I ascend the ridge towards it's peak, only visible momentarily through breaks in the cloud layer that has descended on the mountains. The electrolytes and fuel are starting to lift my mood. The peak is in sight and the rest of the route, maybe 20km is predominantly downhill. I can practically taste the finish line!
The peak of the climb is underwhelming. Dowsed in cloud with occasional showers it is wind and cold, and without much to see. Not for the first or last time I make a mental note to check back on the website for the images that sold the event to me, here's what you could have won. The trial heads back down, wet and slippery from the rain the track forbids any hope of letting go and flying down the hill, each step demanding that my quads decelerate my 77kg, again and again. I decide that it's time to get my poles out. I usually reserve them for the ups but my quads will welcome the assistance. The path dries out but remains steep and technical as we enter another biome, this time a temperate rainforest, all coniferous trees and mosses. I'm moving pretty quickly, placing poles left then right when it happens. A small slip and snap as I steady myself on my pole. It takes a second to realise that I'm feeling no pain before I look at my pole to see the carbon fibre split wide open at the folding join.
With the mountains behind me I push on, running the flats and walking the ups, my brain in the background recalibrating what consistutes an up. The course so far as been a continual feast for the eyes, with mountain, forest and lush vegetation that now has given way to farms and tarmac road. The other athletes around me are in varying states, some passing me as I enviously eye their pace, thinking how much quicker they will finish this boring part of the route. Others offering up the other side of the coin, reminding me that, actually maybe I'm not in such a bad place. I jog passed a guy on a relatively steep downhill as he hobbles slowley backwards in defiance of his quads protetstions. I consider it for moment but decide that I would rather live with the stabbing in my thighs and make it end that little bit quicker.
I reach the last checkpoint, chuckling to myself about how none of the web page images showed the kilometre I just covered, running alongside the dual carriageway, a dual carriageway bathed in sunlight unlike the view from mountain summit. The checkpoint team are jovial and helpful, as they have been the whole day. They send me off with a topped off water bottle and some disagreement about the distance left to run. I decide to trust my Garmin and immediately realise that by following the runner 200m in front of me I have run off course . I stop and see some course flags a few hundred metres down the hill to my left. I yell out to the guy in front that he is off course and turn down the hill into the woods, happy to be back in the wildlife.
Before the long a hill comes into view which I suspect is the site of the finish line at Pinhal da Paz. I'm still slow on the ups but have a spring in my step on the flats now in the last few kilometres. I'm sure most ultra runners are aware that course designers are sadists, and it seems whoever set this course is no different. After a particularly uninspiring section along a busy road we pass a petrol station and turn right and contend with traffic coming both ways and nowhere to run but on the road. At this stage the traffic induced adrenaline shot is welcome as we turn left onto a quiet, narrow, tree covered road that lifts sharply up, the steep gradient continuing as the road disappears around to the left. Really! At this stage in the race! I put my head down and power up the climb figuring there is only a couple of kilometres left.
The finish line is in a forestry reserve and as the walls come into sight I get the first feeling that I have made it, the fatigue in my legs seemingly draining away as I bound round a corner into the carpark that welcomes visitors. I crest a small hill on the path covered in lush green bushes and trees a see a wide field open up in front, with the welcoming sight of the blue Ultra-X finish arch. I'm cheered in by a mass of 3 or 4 people and am then guided by a very friendly team member to my collect my drop bag and be shown to my tent.
I had entered the event to try and recapture some of the feeling of MdS but this was a different beast entirely. Where MdS felt like an adventure, this felt very much like a race. Perhaps the 2 day format lends itself that way. Day One was savage, far harder than any of the days MdS threw at me, even the long day. But then again, perhaps I had just been lucky in the desert with brutal winds but relatively low temperatures. Camp life is business like in the Azores, proper comfy tents and toilets and hot water on tap to make our evening meals. No water ration to manage or hexamine cookers. There is little time to bond with your tent mates either, with tents being assigned in order as you arrived. I share with 3 nice guys in a 5/6 man tents but by the time we have sorted our kits and eaten some food it was time to sleep before we started again the following morning.
Going to sleep I could feel the fatigue in my legs. I had run my second longest distance ever, with the most climbing ever, and now had only 13 hours to recover. What could possibly go wrong? At least tomorrow I would get the spectacular views of Sete Cidades from the rim of the crater...
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