Zegama-Aizkorri 2011

[Bierzo Baggie]

The grim reaper wears the number 000 pinned to his shirt. Hallucinating in the hazy heat I read 666.

And suddenly The Pixies are screaming in my head;
“And if the devil is six, then God is seven, then God is seven, then God is seven.”



No, Frank Black, God isn’t seven. God is 3, number 333 to be precise. God is a Basque shepherd. God has just shot past me with a knotted hankerchief on his head!

Funny what the heat can do...

The wild cheers from the summit of Aizkorri tell me that the shepherd has arrived and he must be at least 5 minutes ahead.

AUPA AUPA EUTSI EUTSI

My initial reaction was to give up. This was the end. Aizkorri was a fine place to finish my race and I’d got halfway. But then one last surge of adrenaline pushed me forward.

I thought of the long journey I had made to Zegama.
I thought of the tough Sunday morning sessions in the Aquilianos.
I thought of my family waiting expectantly at the finish line.

But most importantly I thought of the cheese, the generous dollop of Idiazabal cheese awarded to all finishers. You can’t go to the moon and come back cheeseless, can you?

So, it was thinking of cheese that drove me to the top of Aizkorri with the grim reaper on my trail. Hardly had time to gulp down a cup of water before hitting the rocky ridge, 2 kilometres of scrambling along the limestone wall.

A stocky guy sweating profusely propels himself past me.
“We’ve only got half an hour to reach Aixurri,” he calls urgently.
Aixurri is the peak at the end of the range and the big descent comes immediately after. Half an hour sounds like plenty of time but the grim reaper is putting the fear of God into everybody!

Risk a cheeky glance backwards.
“You’re not going to chuck us out now we’ve done the hard part are you?”
The grim reaper smiled. “You’ve got 20 minutes.”

Descended horribly. My right knee was aching. In more than 20 years of running my right knee has never ached. It’s aching now.

Reached still waters. Pastureland, calm alpine meadows dotted with cows.

“The Lord’s my shepherd, I'll not want; He makes me down to lie. In pastures green; he leadeth me. The quiet waters by.”

Here I was able to make up time and when I looked back the grim reaper was a distant speck, walking with another fellow in black. If the other fellow was a second grim reaper then I was briefly the last person actively taking part in the race.

Pass a guy sitting on the floor with cramp. Encourage him to walk on with me but end up leaving him to the men in black.

Anaraitz is the final climb. Pass another guy sitting down. He says he’s feeling sick and waves me on. Emerged through one last sea of rocks where I got a man with a dog to take my photo.



I reckon I’m home and dry now. There are still 12km to cover but it’s nearly all downhill through the forest, usually my favourite terrain. Out of the sun’s glare I start to run more regularly. Meet up with a Catalan who is hobbling. The shepherd can’t be far away. Hear music from the village, still a long way below. Think of the cheese.

At the last drink station a fellow on a deck chair calls me by name.
“León province,” he says “I did the military service there.”

“You said the same to me 8 years ago, and that it was full of soldiers and priests,” I replied.
Everybody laughed and I sat down on an adjacent deck chair and we chatted for a couple of minutes. I’ve a feeling he was Alberto the race organizer. We shook hands and I was on my way.

Come out of the woods and descend a concrete track into Zegama. High five my daughter and my nephew and cross the finish line.
7 hours 38 minutes. I’m last but 3. But I’ve earnt my cheese.