Running in the Atlas Mountains is a passion of mine. As anyone who follows this blog will know. It began as a way to keep fit for mountaineering, and developed into a major part of the running tours we offer in Morocco.

I first got into mountain running in my early thirties when I was training as a Mountain Leader. It was at that time that I set myself the goal of running a mountain marathon before the big four-0.

Now, what really attracts me abut running in the mountains is the ability to get out somewhere really remote and be alone with nature and the elements. So races have never really attracted me. However, as the age of 40 approaches, I found my self wondering when and where to aim for this goal of running a mountain marathon.

The Ultra Trail Atlas Toubkal became the main goal, as it poses a serious challenge, whilst being in an area which I know pretty well. However, for the past few years it has happened in September, right after the trekking season in the Alps ends. No one believes me when I say it, but I actually lose fitness when I work the Alpine trekking season. Weeks of plodding along slowly with a heavy rucksack aren’t very conducive to maintaining a high cardio fitness.

This spring, I was coming to the end of the busy trekking season in Morocco, when a friend of mine reminded me of the annual trail races happening in my town. I’d been involved in helping out with these races in previous years. On the Thursday I heard that there was a 66km run happening on the saturday. The thought came to me… what if I just did it? After all, I have less than a year to go before 40. And I wasn’t unfit, I was regularly running 25-30k. I tried to push away the thought that I had never run more than 35k before.

And so, I applied for my place on the friday morning, with no preparation other than my regular running, but  great sense of optimism that it would be ok.

6:50am Saturday morning: The race contestants are gathered at the start line. Mostly moroccan, there are just a few other nationalities present. Last selfies are taken and a hush comes over the crowd. There are 49 participants.

7am. The countdown happens, and the contestants file out of the gate. There is a little jostling but mostly quiet. One of the french runners remarks, “This is the kind of silence we get when starting a 66k. We all know what we are in for!”

As we jog the first few kilometers along road and then 4×4 track, the runners find their pace and spread out. The hushed anticipation continues as we head into the forest and the first uphill section.

The trail is very well marked and we are soon on a narrow singletrack, dodging between pine trees. The trail starts going uphill for a while before dropping back down through the woods, across two roads, and down into the depths of the Anoughal valley. I jump to cross the river and inadvertantly take a blow to the head from an overhanging branch. For a moment I stand there, dizzy, frustrated that I may have compromised the race. I touch my head, and my fingers are covered in blood.

Well I didn’t come here to be injured, I came here to run an Ultra, my first ultra marathon in Morocco. So I wash the blood off with river water, pull my cap over the wound, and carry on.

The first checkpoint is ahead in the berber village of Sidi Hssein. No-one notices my injury, so I eat a few dates and carry on. The words of the organiser are ringing in my head: “Make sure to eat and drink lots at each checkpoint, finishing a trail this long depends mostly on nutrition.”

The next section of trail is one of my favourites in the area, which I regularly lead clients on. I even have it set as a Strava segment. As I get to the end of the 7km balcony I realise I am already quite spread out from other runners.

The next part of the trail goes with a blur. There are some steep uphill sections and a really steep gully to descend. Fortunately the Moroccan Red Crescent are out, watching in case any runners hurt themselves on this technical section.

Then begins the longest ascent of the whole run, the 800m climb up to Bergerie Amardoul and a welcome lunch stop. I ran past several people on this uphill section, including some who were obviously struggling. The constant ups and downs of an ultra trail such as this can be disheartening, even to those who grew up in these hills here in Morocco.

I made myself stop for fifteen minutes at the halfway point and eat a good meal of pasta and soup. It’s essential on an ultra trail run to eat well, you hit a stage where the body simply needs lots and lots of fuel in order to keep going, it’s no longer about the physical fitness to keep running.

After the midway point, a long ridge section ensued. Mentally, I was still fresh. Getting to the midpoint was the hardest part, now it was just a case of finishing the race. I didn’t see any other runners from this point until the end, we were now extremely spread out.

The descent from the ridge was fast, but I burned out my quads with all the braking. This was to prove painful for the last twenty kilometers, but otherwise I was fine to keep on going. The town of Amizmiz was visible far off to the Western horizon.

By this point in the race, the only thing I could focus on was getting to each checkpoint. It’s far easier to focus on doing the 10k distance between each point, knowing that there is food and drink available, rather than thinking how much longer the entire ultra trail was.

At the last checkpoint I was told that there was an italian runner two minutes ahead of me. “Overtake him and you will be the first non-moroccan runner to finish the race!” I was told. However, it was all I could do to just keep moving at my 10km/h slow shuffle.

Finally, I ran into Amizmiz and the last 3k of the race. There were police making sure that runners crossed the roads safely, and then I could hear the cheering of the end line. I took a moment’s rest just 500m before the finish so that I could come in triumphantly, and then I was running down the fenced-off final 100m, and into the end. As I saw the crowds of supporters cheering and heard my name being called in, the emotion of the past 66km finally broke and I felt a huge surge of relief – I had done it! I was almost in tears. I had finished the Ultra Race!

With a time of 10h 45mins, that was the longest run I had ever done. But I was so pleased to have finished, and to know that I was fit enough to do something like this. After many years of running and gradually increasing the distance I was able to run, I had acheived my goal of running an Ultra. Even more special, I hadn’t ever actually run a normal marathon before this!

The feeling of elation lasted the whole of the next week as I began the slow process of recovery. But that’s a story for another blog post!

Thanks for reading, keep on running!