Summer running.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Busmayor was a new race and a pleasant surprise on the 2009 race calendar. I would put it under the category of trail running as there were no real technical sections, just a succession of wide stony tracks across open moor-land, of the sort well-frequented by four wheel drive vehicles and quad bikes. On this sort of terrain the road runners had the upper hand over the mountain specialists although there was still a lot of stiff climbing with at least 600m ascent over the 18 kilometres, possibly more.

Parked the car in a meadow next to the start line. Here there was no flashy inflatable arch with race sponsor and digital clock. Instead there was a banner with the word “bienvenidos” (welcome) strung across the road with the help of a few ropes and poles. It was misty on the hills and drizzling lightly. There was a proliferation of umbrellas and walking sticks. The event had attracted more people than I’d expected and most of them were walkers, many with their kids…or grandparents. This all created a fine family atmosphere. A shame mine didn’t want to come.

Due to the inevitable pre-event chaos we set off half an hour late at 10:30. This time I took my camera tucked into a little pouch. The first 500 metres took us along the road next to tidy allotments and monster cabbages. I noticed that the leading pack was running very slowly so in a moment of improvised madness I sprinted past them , turned around and tried to take a couple of action shots whilst running backwards. Several “históricos” of our local running scene were there in the front two rows; Basurko, the ultra-running butcher, Paulo Cape Verde, a couple of top tri-athletes from León, the man called Gus, Pedro lumberjack… This would be the only time ever that I’d be leading these guys in a race and probably the first time anybody has ever led them whilst running backwards.

Then the first slopes arrived and like Tour de France climbing aces they all shot off in a cloud of dust. I ran for most of the way with a stout little fellow from Cacabelos but he left me for dead on the uncomfortable stony descent as I longed for something narrower and less monotonous.

The beech wood came and went and I hardly even noticed. It’s a tiny one really compared to the vast forests of Asturias and the Basque Country but it’s most unusual in its geographical location. In fact the little beech wood of Busmayor marks the western-most frontier of the noble Euorpean species Fagus Sylvatica and probably attracts more tree-buff boffins than ordinary tourists.

At the top of the long, long climb the local mayor was waiting in his landrover. I asked him the name of the nearest peak and he told me it was “El Faro” but he didn’t seem too sure about it. A rollercoaster of firebreaks followed before the long, painful descent back to Busmayor.

The finish line was a red line painted across the road in front of “El Centro de Turismo Rural”. Here I joined Pedro lumberjack for a beer. He was puffing away on a cigar and looking every bit unlike the great athlete that he undoubtedly is. He even kept quiet when they mistakenly awarded his third place veteran’s trophy to the little man from Cacabelos.

Then there was food and drink a plenty. Basurko the ultra-running butcher played master of ceremonies, the prizes were given out and everybody went home. Next race, probably in August, but maybe not.