June.To run or not to run?

[Bierzo Baggie]

This is one I never miss and it’s difficult to classify. A long walk? An ultra-mountain marathon? A non-competitive hike? Whatever you call it, it generates addiction and you usually end up coming back for more.

The Aquilianos Challenge started 10 years ago as an all-day endurance test for walkers and mountaineers but has evolved into something resembling a race. Local runners compete for the honour of getting around the course in the fastest time. Others (myself included) repeat year after year and try to improve their Aquilianos PB.

There are two options. For the so-called “long route” (and it’s long…66km with over 2500m of vertical climbing) the challenge lies just in getting round within the 16 hours time limit. Walking all the way at a good pace with few stops you’ll finish in about 15. The second, more humane option is of 44kms and avoids the 4 mountain peaks that you must conquer in the long route but it still involves 1200m of climbing. I’m down for the “short” route this year.

Saturday morning. 5a.m. and the alarm clock rings. Didn’t actually need it as baby Lara had already woken us for an early morning feed. Promised to be back for lunch and headed up to the town hall where 350-odd participants were already mulling around in the darkness. Some are dressed for walking with lightweight mountain gear, walking poles and light rucksacks whilst others are dressed for competition with state of the art off-road running shoes, shorts, vests and water-bottles tucked into bum-belts. Amongst many familiar faces there are a mixture of speedy road runners and grisly fell-runners. Say hello to the ones I know. Tino Pinilla the miner (I wonder if he’ll work a full shift the next day) Pedro the lumberjack, Carlos the copper and his sidekick Ignacio the string-bean. This year I can also see seasoned athletes (young and old) who don’t normally take part in such rugged events. Luciano the dentist for instance is a sub 2:40 marathon runner and Chus Alonso was a recent Spanish half marathon vet 40+ champ. Lots of lyra-clad girls too and others who I see on my Monte Pajariel jaunts such as Eduardo “lord of the paths” who is one of the founding fathers of the event.

6 a.m. and we’re off. The runners disappear into the darkness leaving a cloud of dust and the smell of muscle-rub. Of about 350 starters maybe 50 tear off as if it were an Olympic 1500m final. I join the walkers with Val, a friend from the town of La Bañeza and with Paco from Seville. The early morning air is cool and pleasant and after half an hour the dawn chorus is in full song and the first rays of sunlight bathe the surrounding vineyards. The Aquilianos range lies ahead distant and unattainable. I’m glad I’m not going there this year.

We press on, first climbing the northern flank of Monte Pajariel and then dropping down to the narrow valley behind. Dad would have loved it. I curse Ben Nevis. We follow the course of the River Oza until the first food and drinks station and then a short, stiff climb takes us over to the next valley. Two villages follow, Valdefrancos and San Clemente both hemmed into little valleys where time has stood still. Houses cluster together with thick stone walls and huge wooden beams supporting roofs of coarsely cut slate, much of the villages seem to be built from locally extracted materials from the pre-concrete era.
Finally leave the stream for another tough climb which takes us up to 1000m and the semi-abandoned village of Montes de Valdueza and another medieval time-warp. Here after 20km is the second food and drinks station and it marks the point where long and short routes part company (up to now everybody has followed the same path). Picked up a small rucksack and after a stop of about 20 minutes (must admit, I got stuck into the sandwiches) we set off again, this time climbing through a dense wood of chestnut and hazelnut. Here it is dark and humid but we eventually come out onto a wide forest trail bathed in sunlight. Above us is a series of rocky crags which the locals call “the 12 apostles” and somewhere above the apostles are Pedro the lumberjack, Carlos the copper and other long route participants hammering it out over the highest peaks.

Once we have reached the highest point of our circuit and the track levels out I start to alternate walking with a bit of running. Leave Paco and Val who plan to make a day of it and head towards the abandoned village of Ferradillo. Ferradillo is one of my favourite places, a secluded ghost town of crumbling houses and an empty church, all in the shadow of the serrated limestone edge which I can see from my kitchen window far below in Ponferrada. Its last inhabitants descended to less inhospitable locations at the start of the 80s and it defies belief that people actually chose to live in such a remote spot in the first place. No road, 6 month winters, no electricity and no piped water. The only ones who stayed on were the cows who congregate in the shade of a small copse and observe the procession of strange grunting humans running past in the midday sun with numbers on there chests. Very odd. Moo.

Look at my watch. It’s 11:30. Other years by the time I reach Ferradillo my legs are too tired to tackle the 600m of vertical descent that follows with any guarantee of safety and my progress involves a succession of stumbling, lurching movements made whilst trying not to break an ankle or my neck. This time, having walked for much of the way my legs feel stronger and I feel confident enough to attempt a fell-runner’s descent and for once, I actually enjoyed it. Almost an hour of leaping, jumping, sliding and at times almost flying. With practice your descent technique improves and your ankles grow stronger and probably for the first time ever I feel really confident. I almost feel like a fell runner. Reach the final drinks station and then the final section is the familiar Monte Pajariel trail which I run every week. It’s hotter down here and with the battering my legs have taken I slow down considerably but still manage to run the flat and downhill bits.

A spot of the usual rock hopping takes me across the river to Ponferrada and then up past the castle to the town hall where it all started. The first three runners from the long route (remember, that’s 22km and 4 mountains more than mine!) have already arrived and look as fresh as daisies. Carlos the copper and Ignacio string-bean crossed the finish line in 6:45 and Pedro the lumberjack was only 2 minutes behind them, demonstrating the clear superiority of the fell runners on their own terrain. Local hero Chus Alonso, a full one hour faster than Pedro in a road marathon, gave up at the first summit and Luciano the dentist fell in the first 10km. He managed to finish but ended up with 7 stitches in his face. Tino Pinilla got lost after Ferradillo and was found in some far flung village hours later.

My final time for the short route was a discreet 7:15. More importantly I got home for lunch as promised and in the afternoon we pushed the pram up to the town hall to watch the constant trickle of Aquilianos survivors shuffling home, applauded by the people on the café terraces or by the other finishers who had stayed on for a post-event beer or two. This continued until the limit time of 10 o’clock by which time we’d gone home again. Lara didn’t seem very interested and fell asleep.

Total running time. Probably between 2 and 3 hours running, usually downhill. Does that count as a long one?