This was my hypothesis, so it was necessary to test it out. And what better race to target than a race that is considered the hardest marathon around, and that calls it's finishers "survivors" - the Maraton Alpino Madrileño just north of Madrid Spain.
I just wish I spoke more Spanish.
After spending a few days in Madrid, we drove to Cercedilla to check in and sleep. The first climb of the course hunkers just outside of town, waiting for the dawn's assault of runners.
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There was so much to do before leaving on this trip, that I didn't look at the course map, the course profile, I didn't memorize the aid stations... Basically, I just took Ken's word for it that it was hard. Really hard. A flat marathon takes me 3:30, and a hard mountain marathon took me 4:39 the week before, so.... I had no idea. Ken suggested 7ish hours. From the race map we got in our packets, it looked like there was aid every 3-6 kilometers. Um, that's a lot of aid - every 2-4 miles. I guess it must be hard.
I'd forgotten salt tabs, and so set about finding the next best thing - a super magnesium electrolyte shot at the race expo, and green olives. If I was going to be out there 7+ hours, I would need something!
Going into the unknown with this race was freeing. It was definitely a case of ignorance is bliss. The list of things I knew was finite:
I was sure I could finish - eventually. Ken even assured me I wouldn't be last when I asked.
The race was approximately marathon in length, give or take a mile.
There were mountains - number uncertain.
I had enough food with me to be ok for 8 hours. I had enough water for 2 hours.There were aid stations.
I was ready to have fun, to keep my eyes wide open, and to run.
Again I had no expectations. There was one out-and back section of ~2 miles early on - I hoped to see Ken there. That was it.
The DJ got us rounded into the start corral - to enter we had to scan our rather large and annoying wrist cards. I was excited to start, and happy to be there to share it with such a wonderful partner.
The count down, and then the gun, and we trotted out of the corral. We quickly left the streets behind and started up a trail. A wide single track at first, then narrowing a little. The thought suddenly entered my head that maybe this was a little nutty. I was in Spain, I didn't really speak the language, so communication might be a little tricky. There were only 3 people I knew here - one in the race ahead of me somewhere. And two teenagers in the half marathon that started an hour later. No real way to get ahold of any of them. I didn't bring their phone numbers with me. I laughed at that half-empty way of looking at the world - almost everyone here seemed to speak english. I could understand most Spanish, especially written. I could ask for water and other aid station foods. And it was a well organized race. Pretty obvious what I was doing and where I was going, no need for a long discourse on philosophy. If I needed help, I was pretty sure I could pantomine what I needed, and I was pretty sure such a long standing race would have resources in case of emergency. And the RD had met Ken several times. What, really, was there to worry about? Other than my funny accent?
I was surprised by how not alone I was. Usually climbs readily spread out the field... but this field of 370 I stayed in a long line of people for a long time. We came to streams, and most waited patiently in a line to cross hopping from boulder to boulder. After the first stream, I went around the line and found my own boulders, passing a half dozen people each time. I hiked and ran, and felt really good. The marathon the week before didn't weigh on my legs. The single track wound up, rolling slightly, crossing streams, weaving through green meadows, around great gnarled oaks and small pines. We passed through the edge of the small town of Puerto de Navacerrada, and then started climbing for real.
Straight up the ski hill. I didn't feel like I'd trained right for this. On my plan, I intended to do ski hill repeats in prep for Leadville. I haven't done any yet. Those would have been perfect training for this race. At least I had been pretty consistent with the hill repeat workout - 10x1 min up one of the steepest trail hills around. I knew from what Ken had said, and my review of the map and profile from the night before that I'd be doing a lot of climbing, so I kept it steady without pushing too hard. The trail was pretty nasty - loose dirt and loose rock in a lot of places. Certain to provide lots of enjoyment when we get to descend on this at mile 20 ish. A few people passed me, and I passed one or two. Mostly, we were sorted out but we were still together. People in front of me, people behind me, even after 6 miles.
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| I was having a blast! really! |
We duck off the climb to the left, and start going down through a rocky meadow trail. At the AS, they swipe our little wristcards. It's had to find a groove here, but I pass a few more people whose groove is worse than mine. Down down down, into a pine forest with a nicer trail, down to Cotos. The Aid station is at the base of a ski resort, and they stop me to swipe my wrist card too. I took a couple of the liquid glucose sticks they had here. I thought I'd bring them back for Bones and Dreadpirate as curiosity items. They were just clear liquid in an orange plastic sleeve, about 2 Tbsps. No real flavor. Which I only found out because the helpful AS volunteers had already opened the glucose sleeves, and so I found glucose running down my hands from the two I took. Sorry Bones, Pirate, no euro-glucose for you!
And where do you go from the base of the ski area? Up, of course. I tucked in behind someone, and we hiked steadily to the top. He tripped at one point, but I couldn't come up with how to say "are you ok?" in Spanish, so I just said, stupidly, "Oohh!" About 20 paces later, I tripped, and he says, "Esta bien?" I was, and now I knew what to say if it happened again. Near the top the trail turned rocky again, with slabs of rock dotting the meadow, some loose, some not. On the out and back section I kept an eye peeled for Ken, until I hear, "Hola Guapa!" and I say "Hola Guapo!" It's good to see him and it looks like he's having fun running down the tricky mountainside. He tells me it's 5 min to the turnaround, so I start moving a little faster to get to the downhill quicker! At the Turnaround AS, they ask my number. I respond in French. Ooops. Then correct myself and say it in Spanish. Apparently my accent has given it away though, as the volunteers respond and cheer me on in English. Oh well, at least I'm trying! Soon after, the guys who were running near me at the AS start up a conversation in English too. They were really nice, and inquisitive - had I just come for the race? Where in the US was I from? One of them had a friend in NY that they had visited for a month.
The views from the tops of these mountains were fantastic. You felt like you were in the middle of nowhere. The mountains were not high, but green, and covered in a carpet of yellow flowers. We circle back to the base of the ski area, where crowds of people cheer us all on like we are racing for something really important. They yell at me, saying "venga chica, venga guapa, animo!" It was so fun, and totally different to have a cheering crowd at an ultrarun.
After a short road section, we duck onto some single track. It rolls at first, and I pass several people as the trail angles up. Soon I'm hiking as fast as I can paralleling a stream underneath sandy rocks. I pass a few more people - I think they must have started out too fast. I feel remarkably fresh and the work feels really good. I look up, and see where the trail tops out, then put my head down and work for it. Getting there, the AS is just off to the right, so I head that direction... and my eyes raise up and up following course markers that get lost in the STEEP BOULDER FIELD runners are now scaling.
really.
I laugh, and jog up to the base of this impossibility, and start scrambling using hands and feet to climb boulders that are table sized to VW bug sized. After a few seconds I stop brushing my hands off after I use them because I never stop using them. I have never done this in a race before. I manage to pass a few more people here. I just feel good. Sure, I'm getting tired, but this is so much fun, to be out here and moving. I'm all smiles. Once at the top, I start pseudo-running again, picking my way across the rocky ridge. I see I have another gentle climb ahead, and then I tell myself - it's all downhill! Except, when I get to the rounded hill top, there's another rounded hill top that runners are heading up. Dang. But away I go, happy to go a little downhill before doing more uphill running. I hiked much of that last hill, actually, my legs were feeling heavy.
I was really looking forward to descending the ski hill that we had first climbed up. Until I got there. The loose rocks and dirt had me skidding and sliding and tip-toeing down in my shoes-that-are-not-at-all-good-trail-shoes. A few people bombed past me here - I was jealous. Soon enough I came to the paved part, and picked up speed. I looked at my watch when I got back to the small town of Puerto de Navacerrada. Hey! I think I'm going to beat 7 hours!
Awesome, lets keep moving! And I did, running all the way to the finish. What a relief to cross the streams without a line of people. How great to cruise down this single track alone and feeling good. This section seems compressed to me, before I know it, I'm at the edge of town, straining to run up a small grade, and then rounding the corner. Done!
I finished, or survived, in 6:27 or so. Ken finished feeling great well ahead of me, and was there at the finish. All the little differences make running a race in a different country feel fresh and exciting. It was so much fun to rehash the race with Ken and the boys, remember all the people I talked to and all the surprises.
Maraton Alpino Madrileno: Highly recommended!
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