After the Tenerife BlueTrail was cancelled, I had a burning desire to find a replacement adventure. There were two driving forces – firstly filling the ‘gap’ and overcoming the disappointment of not getting to use my energy in Tenerife. And secondly, I need the training and mountain exposure… whilst out in Tenerife I was fortunate enough to get a place in TOR330 through the third and final allocation of places. If you’re not familiar with it, it is Tor Des Geants, a 330km run in the Aosta valley, Italy with an elevation gain of about 25000m. It’s not a stage race, so you complete it in one go, but you are able to manage your own sleeping needs at the ‘life bases’ every 50km or so over the 6 days you have to complete the run. Naturally this terrifies me and I’ve not got long to get into better shape to tackle that race. So mountain exposure is a must!
I quickly found the Sierra Nevada event that was in two weeks time. It ticked the boxes on logistics accessibility, dates, elevation and terrain, oh and places were still available. So I signed up to the Ultra which was about 95km in distance. Sierra Nevada ultra is a little unique in that unlike most races, it has a noticeable difference in elevation gain and loss across the route. Whilst we’d climb about 5000m in total, we’d descend much less (about 1500m less) as the race was point-to-point finishing at a ski resort.
There is a specific kind of atmosphere at an ultra start line. You arrive often in the dark, heart thumping with nerves and excitement, surrounded by a hive of activity. At the Sierra Nevada Ultra, the atmosphere was electric—music was pumping, and a foam machine filled the air with white clouds, and spectators were forming a human tunnel of support that stretched well beyond the start pens. But as soon as the countdown began, the party was over, the nerves dissipated and the work began…
The start was fast and frantic. We surged out of town on main roads, quickly gaining elevation as the city lights began to shrink behind us. The night was strange—warm but whipped by a persistent cold wind. As we transitioned from the roads into the natural parks, the views were breath taking, even in the dark; looking down at the shimmering grid of the city from the dark silence of the trails is a perspective you only get at these hours.
As always, one of the best parts of the early miles was the company. I spent some time chatting with a few people including a Dutch lady tackling her first ultra. We started chatting after a slight wrong turn and me stopping to take a photo of a goat in the night, it took me a while to determine it was a statue! She was absolutely smashing it—so much so that in the final stages of the race, she came flying past me on an uphill. Watching that kind of strength blows my mind.
The first 60km were, dare I say, lovely? The Terrain: Wide, runnable paths that invited speed. The Rhythm: Long, steady inclines followed by flowing descents. This allowed for a faster than usual pace to be held for longer. I hit Pinos Genil, 60km in, about 9.5 hours, feeling strong enough to not worry about time and take a proper reset with my drop bag and take on some much-needed fuel. Although, the cold pasta was difficult to eat.
At this point, about 2/3 of the route in, the Sierra Nevada decided to show its teeth. The “runnable” trails vanished, replaced by more rocky terrain and some technical descents that demanded concentration and a more cautious pace. At one point we skirted a massive, stunning reservoir, but the beauty was just a brief distraction from the mounting vertical gain.
Then came the finale: the climb into the Pradollano ski resort. Due to incoming bad weather, the organizers earlier made the call to cut the route short, skipping the highest peak. Honestly? I was glad. The climb that remained was still one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
We strapped on our crampons and began the relentless slog up the ski slopes. This wasn’t “walking”; it was a battle of attrition. The snow was soft, and with every step, I’d sink to my ankles a slide backwards a fraction. It was slow, draining, and heavy. It felt never ending and full of false dawns as we’d turn a corner and climb some more.
By the time I reached the top of that slope, I was done with the mountain. I took a pause and caught my breathe and then I didn’t hold back on the descent—I just let loose, flying down the slushy incline with everything I had left. I wanted off that slope and across that finish line. The descent took a fraction of the time.
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. As I crossed the finish, the heavens finally opened, and the rain came pouring down. I quickly got changed in the streets of the resort and found the bus back into Granada. A massive shout-out to the organizers. From the logistics to the incredible finishers’ jacket (which I’ll be wearing with pride), they put on a class event.
Run With Dai 