Meanwhile my wife Greta wanted to go to Spain to walk the Camino, a 500-mile traditional pilgrimage route. The stars aligned this year and we decided to do both. First up was Val d’Aran. Me and running buddy Joey signed up for the 55k (34-mile) PDA race (short for Peades d’Aigua, which means Water Footsteps in the Aranese language). We knew the course would be challenging, with 10,000 feet of climbing and 11,000 of descent and a 13-hour time cutoff.
But I felt I had done enough bleacher and hill training to prepare myself for the pounding I would take on this challenging course. So we all flew to Spain, taking care to put all our race essentials in carry-on bags and checking only non-essential gear. That turned out to be a great plan as the airline did end up losing our bag!
Two days later we were at the start of the biggest trail race either of us had ever taken part in, with over 1,500 participants!
There were three emcees at the start, hyping up the runners in Spanish, French, and English. It really was exciting to be a part of such a huge event! Joey was in the first wave at 7:30, so I watched him start and then quickly lined up for my own start at 7:45.
Before I knew it, we were off and running through the picturesque streets of Salardú before heading out for the trails. The first mile or so was paved, but soon we began heading up into the proper mountains that loomed above the valley. Here’s the elevation profile of the race:
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| [Map from 2023 edition; might be a bit different] |
We had 2 hours to get to the first aid station at Bahns de Tredòs, 500 meters (1500 feet) above the start line. I had made a cheat sheet—a little card with all the important data from the race, most importantly the pace per mile I would need to make it to each aid station before the cut-off time. Overall I would need to average about 20 minutes per mile—not a problem on a flat, smooth surface, but often a challenge on steep, rough terrain.
There were so many runners in this race that occasionally the trail would get backed up with runners as the runners ahead encountered a difficult bit of terrain. At one point I was at a complete standstill waiting for the runners ahead to climb the first really steep section of trail. I was shooting for an 18-minute pace, and despite the halting nature of the pack, I easily hit that goal as I arrived at the first aid station. My plan was to get some Isotonic, an electrolyte drink that was We supposed to be at every aid station, and see how that went down since I had never tried it before. However there was a lot of confusion at the station, with so many runners and different languages spoken, and I ended up with lemonade.
On the way out of the station, we had a flat-ish, runnable road for a quarter mile or so, so I took the opportunity to get some actual running in. I must have stumbled over a pebble, and before I knew it I was flat on my face. “I’m fine,” I shouted to no one one particular. A fellow picked up my hat, which had fallen off, saying “here you go, mate,” so I guess he was Australian. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him though, for he soon dashed off ahead of me.
It wasn’t long before the course got steep and technical again. At each difficult pitch, the group slowed to a near-standstill. I tried to take the opportunity to get some calories down, but the lemonade wasn’t agreeing with me. In hindsight I should have consumed some of the gels I had in my pack. I was worried about running out, but at this point I should have been focusing on the energy needed to get to the next checkpoint, which could end up being my last if I didn’t get the energy I needed to move fast enough.
This was a beautiful area, with several gemlike lakes. I kept thinking I should take a photo, but I didn’t want to let anyone pass me, lest I get caught behind them at the next traffic jam. There were also several race photographers along the course. As it turned out, this was a good call. The race photographers got some really great shots!
Meanwhile I still needed to make sure I got to the next aid station on time. I had to make it to the Colomers aid station by 1:00, 5:15 after the start. This was about 14.5 miles from the start, again needing about a 20 minute per mile pace. But it also involved over 3,000 feet of climbing and 2,000 feet of descending from the previous aid station. Very little of these trails was runnable, so I basically had to power hike this terrain at what would be quite a brisk walk even on level pavement.
On the climbs I could easily hold my own, but whenever we started descending, a herd of runners would soon be on my back, and I felt obligated to let them by. After summiting the Coth de Podo at 8,500 feet, it was basically a non-stop descent to the Colomers aid station at 6,400 feet.
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| Steep! |
By the time I made my way to the station, I was within a few minutes of the 1:00 cutoff. I was still unable to find any of the Isotonic energy drink so I just scooped up a bunch of the (very good) chocolate provided, filled up with water, and grabbed a couple of granola bars for the road.
Next aid station was Mount Romy, 7.5 miles away, and I needed to average an 18:00 pace to make it there by the cutoff at 3:30 pm. Fortunately it was a decent gravel road heading out of the aid station, and I took the opportunity to eat a granola bar as I walked briskly uphill. Unfortunately this didn’t last long, as there was a tape across the road and trail markers arrayed straight up the side of a mountain. I was exhausted, and this route seemed so steep that I could hardly imagine climbing it at all, let alone at an 18:00 pace. I briefly considered walking back to the aid station and dropping out. But I had to give it a try. I started up the hill.
The hill was so steep that I could touch it if I extended my arm straight out. At least the footing was relatively good; it was basically stepping up on tufts of grass. A few hundred feet up this climb and we were stopped by rescue workers escorting a runner down. She was moving under her own power but needed two rescuers to help her down. When they passed, I kept moving. Eventually we reached a trail with more reasonable switchbacks, but it was still a very steep climb. My pace had slowed to 40:00 per mile, and I needed to be moving at an 18:00 pace!
This continued on for an excruciating long climb. Surely we must be close to the top. Cresting yet another ridge, the woman ahead of me screamed “no! No, no, no, no, no!” She was speaking Spanish, but somehow I got the gist of her sentiment. I made my way over the ridge and my suspicions were confirmed: there was another huge climb ahead of us. At this point, I was defeated. I stepped aside a took a little break. I needed to average an 18:00 pace and I was doing a 45-minute pace. There were still nearly 5 miles to the aid station and I had just over an hour to get there. But still, it was absolutely beautiful in these mountains and I was absolutely thrilled to be here. I decided to just focus on enjoying the run, and not worry about pace. I took another break, took a photo, and continued on, letting others pass if they wanted to.
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| Endless climbing |
I reached the next summit, Tuc Salana, at 2:19. I had until 3:30 to get to the aid station at Mont Romies, over 5 miles away and 2,000 feet below. First would be a punishing descent, the steepest I’d yet experienced in the race.
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| It was steeper than this looks! |
Slowly I picked my way down, logging a 30-minute mile and leaving me just 40 minutes for the next 4 miles. Mercifully, the trail flattened out and I was finally able to run a bit. Perhaps if I had been better with my nutrition I could have run more than I did. I began a pattern of running two minutes, walking one minute, and kept it up for a couple miles. Eventually I had to go to one minute in and one minute off, but I was actually passing some people. I pulled off a 12:30 mile and a 13:40 mile—but I needed 10-minute miles. Then we were done with the flat section and the trail once again turned downwards. My pace slowed.
Finally I arrived at Mont Romies, 30 minutes too late. My race was done. I took in some water—lots of water—and began to wonder how I was going to be transported off the mountain. Then I overheard the race timer telling another runner they weren’t actually stopping anyone from running here. We could try to make it to Arties, 5k away, before the cutoff—but we now had just 25 minutes. I don’t think at that point I could have run a flat, paved 5k in 25 minutes, let alone a 5k on steep, technical, rocky trails. But it was also clear that no one was going to give me a ride!
I was blistered, beaten, and exhausted, but I started down the trail. I’d like to say that after a few minutes I started to feel better, but I really did not. I just made my way down, another 1,800 feet of descending, until the trail finally flattened out a bit as I neared town. I was running through the streets of an alpine village, and folks sitting in cafes were cheering me on. But it was too late. I trudged into the aid station, and the race timer smiled and gave me a thumbs down. I was 35 minutes past the cutoff. He cut the bar code off of my race bib and sent me into the aid station to recover. I drank a couple warm Cokes as I texted Greta and asked if they could pick me up. Hopefully we could still see Joey finish the race.
Thirty minutes, a liter of water, and a beer later, and we were at the finish line waiting for Joey to finish. The race was hard on him too, but he finished the race, well ahead of the cutoff. At least one of us was able to experience the thrill of finishing the toughest race either of us had ever attempted. I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t join the ranks of finishers, but I’m truly glad for the experience. Look for me next at a ROAD marathon. How does New York City sound?
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