In For A Penny, In For 128 Clicks. Transgrancanaria Classic Race Report [PHOTOS]

How long is this kilometre?

A rocky path brings me to the place we reached with Magda four days ago running down from Roque Nublo. From here the race route follows the course of our training run. It's past the hottest time of the day so my speed increases. Just before 6pm a marshal measures my time under the famous rock. – Two kilometres – he answers my question about the distance to the dropbag station.

Two clicks further down, below the car park, there is a small artificial lake. A photographer on its other side takes a snap of me. – How far to the checkpoint? – Dos kilómetros – he calmly answers. – ¡Venga! – he adds with a more animated voice, like all the numerous supporters standing along the course.

In fact there is only one km, but steeply uphill. I speed up, run into the campsite and enter the aid station at 6:46. A marshall yells at us to hurry up because they are closing soon and who doesn't leave before 7pm will be disqualified. I will hear from a fellow racer this bloke was really rude when she was here.

I quickly grab a bowl of pasta and eat like a pig to leave on time. Many racers decide to quit here. I skip my dropbag, still having enough supplies. Later someone will tell me there was a bit of a mess with the dropbags anyway. Time is running out so I have to go outside to put on my jacket and headlamp.

Forest through the trees

At the other side of the road we still have to climb the highest point of the course at 1830 m just below Pico de las Nieves. We have also trained here with Magda. I switch my headlamp on and quickly run down all the steeper descents. At one of them I catch up with Agata, who I met before during this race. She is running out of energy and only wants to reach the nearest civilisation. I make sure she doesn't need me to stay with her and she has the organisers' phone number. She insists I go on and just tell the nearest safety team about her.

So I run, taking advantage of the downhills, especially the long and steep one that leads to the road, where I overtake a lot of runners. I pass Mahdi who is sure he can finish it. Unfortunately he will drop out because of a foot injury. According to the chart, I will gain 66 places at this stage. When I meet a safety team on the road, I tell them about Agata. They promise to call the sweeper. I don't know yet she will get a new life and go as far as Ayagaures.

This 16-kilometre stage is the longest one, and its second half is worse. It's a never-ending undulating path. After so many hours each next hill seems harder. The distance marker showing 30 km to the finish means there are only 3 km remaining to the next checkpoint. They must have magically extended however, or I maybe I'm just so knackered and slow. Minutes pass slowly and each bump is followed by another one, invisible at the route profile.

At one of the climbs I meet a French runner sitting beside the path. He complains on stomach problems and asks me to tell the checkpoint crew about him. But where the hell is the checkpoint? An Englishman I catch up with doesn't know it either, and he is even more knackered than me. Finally a few hundred metres further, at the top of the hill, I can see the forest... or rather the checkpoint through the trees. First a pale glow, then the tents.

The place is in the middle of nowhere, even though apparently it has a name: Hierbahuerto at 101 km. It's 10:23pm, i.e. 22 minutes to the cut-off. I was supposed to make up some time but as I mentioned, the last 3 km were a wee bit extended. I get moving quickly, especially that the next 10 km will be mostly downhill with just one little bump. Got two and a half hours for it, and now I should really catch up on time.

Use your superpower

It starts sharply downhill on a rocky path, so I run as fast as my tired legs can. On the white dirt road at the bottom of the valley the moon shines so bright that I can switch my headlamp off. One kilometre-long climb takes me a long time. I've mentioned I'm knackered, haven't I? It's somewhere here that Magda texts me she's already in our apartment and goes to bed. I understand that she's finished sub-24h. Been thinking about her a lot. I'm happy to read that but don't wanna wake her up.

A nice descent down the other side makes up for the effort of the climb. Then it's flat for a long time, but finally in the light of my headlamp I see a sign warning of a technical descent. Things become interesting at once. I run down a very steep scree and only the reflective lights let me find the trace of the path. Sliding rocks and rubble in the dark make me concentrate. I'm too tired to run flat out but I still overtake a few runners. On the tarmac road below I catch up with another Polish runner Irek. We both hope the buildings ahead of us can be the checkpoint but a marshall tells us it's another kilometre below, showing us a turn down the slope. In fact there will be 2 km including the streets of the town...

Another "technical descent" warning prompts me to speed up. I throw myself down the slope, now seeing more rear red lights to pass. – ¡Paso! – I shout from time to time, also thanking runners for giving way. Quite often I leave the path into a more difficult terrain to overtake several people at a time. Prickly pears scratch my legs but my speed seems safe. My self-preservation instinct still works. It's not Glen Coe Skyline ( https://www.festiwalbiegowy.pl/biegajacy-swiat/scottish-job-my-glen-coe-... ) where I had to throw caution to the winds to make the intermediate cut-off. Those two downhill sections however give this race a real skyrunning flavour.

Everyone has a superpower, so they say. Mine, besides mental strength perhaps, is downhill running, even when I'm knackered. Why not use it whenever I can?

There is still a long tarmac run-up to the Ayagaures checkpoint at 111 km. 25 minutes till the cut-off at 1am. Ain't made up too much. Those who can't run downhill really fast must be losing here a lot. Quite a few racers won't make this cut-off even though it's so close to the end. Only 434 racers, i.e. 64 per cent out of 674 taking part, will finish Transgrancanaria Classic.

Walking up the wide dirt road I tell myself it's the final push and then it's just the home straight remaining. Now I know I've made it. Against all odds. Up to the start line I didn't know if it made sense. At the halfway checkpoint I half-consciously wondered if I can make it or not. What let me finish it – muscle memory, experience, or just mental strength? This mule mentality which allows me to push on without unnecessary musings and what-ifs? Not always a good trait, but sometimes it proves useful. In for a penny, in for 128 clicks!

Moon in zenith

A short descent brings me to the bottom of the canyon going as far as Maspalomas. Thirteen flat kilometres from your worst nightmares. A bit like the starting section but way longer. Dry river bed with stones of all sizes sliding under your feet. Do I need to add that in the middle of the second night of yomping some of them have faces? I realise it when one rock welcomes me with a deadly grin. I return the smile and push on.

I walk all this stage alone. I'm too knackered to run, maybe except those short bits when the stones make way to solid surface. The moon in zenith is almost full and looks really cool. I feel grateful I can see it, that the Force is still with me, and simply for being here.

Already in Maspalomas, under the motorway bridge I've got to start running or walking down the dry bottom of a storm water canal, on rough concrete, a bit like irregular cobblestones. I leave it for a while for the time check 3.5 km before the finish, only to get back to the bottom a while later. Irek overtakes me here, as he must've got a new life just before the end.

The two final kilometres go along the boulevard. I start running to be through with it faster, and even overtake two racers. We give each other high fives. Joy of the moment, gratefulness, euphoria, feeling of immortality, being totally knackered, emptiness in my head – a bit of all the above. Made it. The final 500 metres on the beach somehow close the brace with the sandy start in Las Palmas. The whole Gran Canaria on foot, ocean to ocean, just like Tenerife two years ago. I don't like the word "conquered", you can't really conquer such challenges. They only let you conquer yourself if you approach them with humility.

I cross the finish line at 4:15am, with the 29:15:51 time and a safe 45-minute margin till the cut-off. Warm welcome from the organisers makes every finisher feel like the winner. I help myself to the snacks and beer and we take pics with Irek and Daniel who finished a while before me. My hometown mate texts congrats and asks what happened to Magda. Only later will I learn she dropped out at Ayagaures 'cos her legs got extremely sunburnt. You can't be sure of anything in ultrarunning...

The day breaks when I knock at the door of our apartment after a three-kilometre walk. – Congrats – says Magda, opening the door – at least you made it. – Cheers – I reply – you've been brave too. But no race has wiped me out so much since Łemkowyna 150 and Runmageddon Ultra.

Now I don't know yet how much it really destroyed me. And that it will take me a few days to fully realise I have finished it.

You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

[Desiderata]

Kamil Weinberg

Photos by author and Magdalena Bień