Races and stuff.

[Bierzo Baggie]

“Ran” the Truchillas-Vizcodillo mountain race last Sunday. This is my second favourite race so it warrants a decent write up.

The Route
The course is 100% off-road and much of it is unrunnable.
Km 0-3. Wide stony track. Steady gradient.
Km 3-5. Rocky path through abundant vegetation. Steep and very difficult to run.
Km 5-6. Bog followed by a lake and the end of any semblance of a path.
Km 7. Stiff climb up the course of a mountain stream which soon disappears under a sea of rocks.
Km 8. Moorland. Gorse. Runnable but you can’t see where to put your feet.
Last few hundred metres. Huge pile of rocks and boulders. Some of them wobble when you step on them.
All this takes us from 1200m to 2122m and the summit of Vizcodillo.
It’s an out and back race so Kms 8-16 go in the opposite direction.

Some comments and observations from this, my fifth participation.

The Weather
Daylight revealed low cloud and mist. It had rained heavily over the preceding days and the mountainside was damp and exuberant. The stones would be treacherously slippery. I half expected the race to be diverted to an alternative route on lower ground. However the organizers assured us that it was clear on top. The rains had cut out a gully from a previously tranquil little stream and a rickety wooden bridge had been washed away but they’d fixed ropes to help us cross. I suppose this sort of scenario is normal for fell races in the north of England but most Spanish mountain races I’ve done have been warm, dry affairs so this one was going to be different.

The Attire
Off-road running shoes with very little cushioning.
Ron Hill trackie bottoms to avoid getting scratched by the gorse bushes.
Montes Aquilianos T-shirt.
Cap from Vigo which read “eat fish.. it’s good for you!” or something similar.

Ascent
This was the first time I’ve “run” on this sort of terrain since tearing ligaments in my ankle last June. Was pleasantly surprised to find my climbing capacity still very much intact. When I reached the top of Vizcodillo and looked back there was the spectacular sight of a string of competitors snaking its way upwards through the moorland and I calculated that I must have been in the top half of the field.

Jesus Christ
Just before the summit I became aware of some bloke dressed up as Jesus clambering up the rocks just behind me. I couldn’t work out if he was being blasphemous, being pious or paying homage to Monty Python. Or maybe it was the altitude..

Descent
The descent was a different story and I was overtaken by all the “proper” mountain runners. At one point I slipped on a section of wet turf and banged my shin against a rock. I reckon the Ron Hills might have even saved me from a stitch or two. Will consider taking shin pads next year. The ankle held out heroically throughout.

Encounters with the One-eyed Fell Runner
The only person I could keep up with in the second half of the race was a guy called Cristino who I’d met a few times before. He’s a rock climber, a race organizer and a qualified mountain running official. Occasionally he runs. Anyway, I made some blasé comment about us both being crap at running downhill and his response went on the lines of “well, my excuse is I’ve only got one eye… what’s yours?”
Now you try hopping down a steep succession of wobbly rocks with one eye closed. It’s incredibly difficult to judge distances. Add mist and water and the difficulty multiplies. I take my “fish is good for you” hat off to that man.

Thunder
Was relieved to reach the stony track again. This is more familiar terrain for me and I was able to lengthen my stride and reclaim a few places. Behind me the sky darkened and rumbled and gave added incentive to get back before the deluge.

The Finish
Finished the race just before all hell broke lose (torrential rain, hail, thunder and lightning. Maybe somebody had upset Jesus?). I was given a bottle of water, an apple, a magazine and a very smart, purple “technical t-shirt”.
Now call me a straw-chewing, 5-bar fence leaning country bumpkin if you wish but I didn’t actually know what a “camiseta técnica” was until they gave me one at Vigo last month. It sounded to me like something that Gromit might wear with his robot trousers (ex-Nasa?).

Postscript
The race made the local papers the next day because 2 runners forgot to turn around at Vizcodillo. Instead they went straight on, managing to get lost in the mist and reappearing 8 hours later and soaked to the skin in some far flung village in the neighbouring province of Zamora.

The Photos
Didn’t bother farting about with a camera this year. I had enough on my plate just getting through the race. Did manage a photo at the start with my two travelling compañeros from Ponferrada, Jose and Jorge. Both were taking part in their first mountain race. Jorge in particular has all the necessary qualities to be a great descender (long legs and a complete disregard for his own safety). Unfortunately he broke his big toe and was awarded a free ride in the ambulance on finishing.
The other photo is from last year’s event.

Next bit of action will be the Aquilianos on June 2. I’ll be walking the short route.