|
RE: Alto Sil
It is 8:45am. I’m in the Plaza del Pueblo, Santa Cruz del Sil. There’s a trail running party going on.
Lots of folk looking the part, lots of gym toned bodies, lots of core strength, hell, I’m picking up an inferiority complex!
The most lurid colours known to man, multiple accessories with straps, strategic pockets in unimaginable places, compression socks everywhere...
Ahead lies 33km and over 1800m of vertical climb.
Every year the race organizer gleefully tampers with the previous year’s route and makes it steeper, rougher and longer, almost to Zegama-esque proportions. One year I will meet the limit of my capabilites. Confident that it won’t be this year though.
A field of 450 or so set off and soon stretch out as far as the eye can see like a gaudy, multicoloured millipede in some videogame, snaking up and down firebreaks.
Trot a while alongside Higeno “the historico,” an ever present 60-something who defeated cancer itself on his way here. We chatted briefly of how barely 10 years ago there were only 2 races of this type on the calendar and you’d know most of the field by name. Now there’s something every weekend with each trail running extravaganza trying to surpass the previous one.
A lot of spectators out today cheering us on. In the village of Paramo del Sil they’re waving cowbells. It’s bedlam.
A long climb follows up to 1600m where we shuffle through snowfields. A lot less snow this yearthough, affecting hardly 2km of the total circuit.
Descend to Primout, an abandoned village once populated by hippies until the Guardia Civil kicked them out.
Then the emblematic river section, hopping stones, grabbing at overhanging branches and clambering up the river bank where necessary. This year a rope had been strung across the final section and I happily clung on to it.
The last big challenge was Peña Negra, the Black Peak, 400m straight up from the valley floor, short, steep and nasty. Grabbed a stick from the floor. It was a gnarled, twisted branch which had suffered fire damage. It held my weight though. Tottered upwards at 40 minute km pace. Yes, you’ve read that right, it was that steep. Or rather, I was that fxxked. Slowly, slowly, snail... up Mount Fuji.
Near the top I met a man who was sitting down. In these places there is always a man sitting down. There is always some poor fxxker who’s worse off than you. He tottered alongside me for a few steps before sitting down again.
At least 20 people passed me on that last climb. At the top I cast away my mighty staff of power and growled. But deep in my heart I knew that one day that man sitting down will be me.
Next, several kms of descent with plenty of mud and water to negotiate. Arrived back to the Plaza of Santa Cruz in 5 hours and 21 minutes. The “escobar” is not far behind me, sweeping up tailenders and generally pissing everybody off! But I’ve kept him at a safe distance and my ticket is booked for another year.
Didn’t take my camera with me this year. It’s a great race for photos ....
|
