One succesful day: Gauja Trail

Around this time last year, the trail running community in Latvia got the news that the country's first UTMB event would be taking place. Oh, wonderful... but I honestly couldn't have cared less. Who hasn't run in Sigulda or Cēsis? Countless pairs of running shoes have been worn out on those trails. I've raced there, trained there, hiked there. I seriously doubted there was even a single kilometre left that could still surprise me.

Still, last autumn my boss managed to convince me that if something is happening for the first time, that's reason enough to be part of it. After that, it would just become another race on an ever-growing list. For some reason, I bought into it. What's wrong with me? Weak character, I guess. That's what I blame. And my boss. Him too.

I have to admit, at first I didn't see it as a major goal. My target for the first half of the year was the 24-hour race in Roja, and for the second half, the 100-mile TransJeju. Gauja was just there in between. I treated it as another training step on the way to Jeju.

But once Roja was behind me and my trail training began, something changed. Not only in my physical condition, but in my mindset too. I felt good on the trails. Training in Sigulda no longer felt like punishment. I actually enjoyed it, and before long I caught myself no longer looking at Gauja Trail as the frog I had to swallow before getting to Jeju, but as an adventure I was genuinely looking forward to.

On Friday evening, straight after work, I rush to Cēsis to pick up my race bib, so I won’t have a single thing left to worry about on race morning. And Cēsis catches me completely off guard. For a moment, I feel like I’ve somehow landed in a little village abroad. Everything is bright, beautiful, and buzzing with smiling people. Against the backdrop of a white church, stands the finish arch. Kids are splashing around in the fountain right next to it, while on the banners behind the podium, Viktor - currently perhaps Latvia’s most popular trail-running model - is casually basking in the spotlight. Ha! Fox-Pace discovered him first, after all. We’d better invite him for another photo shoot before some impressive brand gets its claws into him  or, even worse, before he starts taking his chip-eating duties seriously.

At the bib pickup, I am so lost in thought that I don’t even recognize that they are being handed out by this year's 24h running champion Gita. Realizing that the start pack contains only the bib, a t-shirt, and a drawstring bag, I demand a bonus hug from her - you never know when it might come in handy.

Overnight stay is planned at Inga's place in Sigulda. On the way, something goes haywire. My stomach starts feeling squeezed and I feel like vomiting. Oh, seriously? Why? Everything was going so well! This was supposed to be an easy and enjoyable run! Panic creeps in, but there’s not much to change really. Lakto instead of dinner. Briefing for a suddenly acquired support team, and shortly after 22.00 we are already off to sleep. Inga has arranged the support team for me - her daughter will help her, and her boyfriend, so he wouldn't get bored, will support me. Ideal. At the Līgatne checkpoint, they will deliver frozen hydration bladders and extra food for the rest of the way. Well, if I can eat anything at all. If not, this will be an extremely short race.

Waking up, I feel well-rested, but my stomach hasn't quite dropped its tantrums. Still, I don't worry. I don't care how I run this, I've tuned in to enjoy every beautiful kilometer of the course. For breakfast, half a yogurt and a waffle. I pull my pack as tight as possible so it’s not particulary clear what is causing the abdominal discomfort. Why is it so damn heavy? Inga's is way lighter, but… it’ll probably be fine. We head to the start location by car - no point in trudging an extra kilometer on foot.

In the castle yard, there are crowds of people and the atmosphere is, if not festive, then full of pleasant anticipation. We arrive practically at the last moment. Familiar faces, photos, hugs, I want to get going so badly - bring on those trails! The start area fills up quickly, the countdown, and then, as Diņķis plays, we can set off on our adventure.

The beginning is downhill and fast. I, on the other hand, am dumb enough to run at full speed. I had decided not to do that. But, woman, are you doing this for the first time? Some kind of herd instinct. But it is beautiful - no sun, fog here and there, and the air is extremely humid. No wonder, it poured heavily during the night and at this early hour it is already quite warm. Gauja bridge, Gūtmaņala cave, the tunnel under the highway, chatting with Guna. We concluded that it has been a very long time since we ran a race together. Guna Sprūde will always be associated for me only with great things - TDS back in 2015 and the Mont Blanc circuit hike before that. Guna is damn strong, and on the climb to Turaida she leaves me in the dust. No matter, shuffling in the line of climbers uphill, I manage to exchange a few words with the wonderful Iveta Šķiņķe. When I finally grow up - I want to be like her! Iveta really inspires! On Dainu kalns, one can again engage in reckless pace catching and chatting with acquaintances met by chance, because why think about consequences so early in the morning?

Such beautiful trails! It's a genuine pleasure to wind along them. My stomach doesn't particularly want to cooperate, but it has to take marmalade bars regularly. The pace is still too high, but I like everything so far. The Sigulda loop just needs to be run so the race can finally start for real. The only truly anticipated thing here is the bobsled track, because they only let us run around in it on such grand occasions. Shortly before it, I meet Guna again and we can conquer this attraction together. Oh, this is nice, near the very top a thought flashes through my mind for a moment - would it even be possible to scramble up if the track was covered in ice, like in the winter season? What nonsense is that?

Guna rapidly pulls away and disappears into the distance. Strange, I'm not even that slow. Lost in thought, I miss the turn that leads back into the trails, luckily I realize quickly, but notice that already quite fast the tight flow of runners has thinned out immensely.

The small half-climb to Sigulda hospital means only one thing - the sweet treat of this segment is coming: Ziediņš. Before that, understandably, we must trudge down the Pilsētas trase. Shaking our way down, two supporters in inflatable dinosaur costumes greet us. Yeah, wonder how good the visibility is in a suit like that, and if you happen to trip on the steep hill, does such a dinosaur roll all the way to the bottom, or does he still have a chance to pull himself together on the way? Without finding that out, I move on. Near Ziediņš, two Polish runners raise their heads and gasp in disbelief. Squeezing past them, I smirk to myself: “Well, there’s your flat Latvia, you easy rock chasers!” My goodness, this climb has never been this much fun! The supporters are screaming, drumming, and making noise as best as they can. Although I don't want to waste energy needlessly, sometimes I still raise my head to look into the faces and posters of these lovely people. No, I can't manage to read anything, or perhaps under such strain I can't process the information. Thanks anyway! This is so encouraging! I only get confused at the very top, where suddenly the steep stairs route is diverted away from the stairs, you almost have to get on all fours to hold on. Having climbed to the top, I reach the checkpoint, where I realize that nothing is over yet. Toilet break, unsuccessful search for cola, and filling up the system. Can't linger long, but after such a forced climb, it's hard to get it together and start running again. Here, on the other side of the checkpoint, a few fun dinosaurs or posters would have been useful too.

I can't get back into the rhythm for too long. Behind Sigulda castle, I gather the courage to stuff down another marmalade bar. It helps. Some endless stair paths up and down, enthusiastic groups of supporters every now and then, until finally I am out of Sigulda on a flat enough trail and running properly. The kilometers pass quickly enough, but the trail not so much. Some boring weeds. I feel almost alone, very rarely someone overtakes me or vice versa. Approaching the checkpoint, the situation changes and suddenly both over-takers and those to be overtaken appear again. The trail winds into a spruce forest, carpeted in soft green moss. Oh, it looks like something straight out of a fairy-tale book. I run as if in a dream. 

The checkpoint at Ratnieki wakes me up. I have to eat, fill up the system, and finally drink some cola too. Nothing works out fast. I fumble around with something and get angry at myself. What happened to me? Do I no longer know how to behave at checkpoints?

Further on, the road is very runnable, but I am trotting excessively feebly. Well, maybe not as weak as that foreigner who trudges along the road watching some videos on his phone at full volume. Seriously? If I had the courage to take my eyes off the toes of my sneakers for once, I would rather look around. It's nice here after all. I need to get my act together. When the trail leads back to the river, I decide to eat a SIS cookie for a change. In training it worked great, but now, I am completely stuck. Neither can this tiramisu wonder be chewed nor swallowed, it sticks to my mouth and makes breathing difficult. What stupidity. I torment myself putting it in piece by piece, occasionally dropping to a walk. A man in a funny hat catches my attention, because we keep switching places. Maybe it's time to chat? He turns out to be Korean, came across half the world just for this race. He isn't very talkative, but it's enough for me, suddenly I get a charge of energy and bolt away never to see him again. Probably the cookie, which finally freed my mouth, has kicked in. I run like a champ, the route has led onto an asphalt road and I start passing so many people that I lose count. No asphalt is forever in a trail run like this, though, but for a while, before we are lured into the winding paths of Līgatne, the running is still top-notch.

A final view of the Gauja and - off we go, into the woods! I am surprised at how much I enjoy this section despite it being winding, hilly, muddy, and generously decorated with fallen trees. It is exciting! There is no doubt the organizers wanted to show us every tiny rock outcrop of the Līgatne river, building countless small bridges over it. In one turn, I notice a familiar back and decide to say hi, but right at that moment the guy turns off the trail to pee. Ah… awkward moment. And in general - conditions are not equal for everyone, I have to crawl who knows where to hide, because if I did something like that, nobody would think anything good of me for sure.

I continue along the trail, which fails to leave me indifferent. I run with my mouth open and marvel, even if at times I have to slow down or slide significantly. Well fine, Inga and I had scouted this little section a bit the week before. So the element of surprise is missing. When the stairs leading to the observation deck overlooking a neat view of the Paper Mill are reached, it is clear that the checkpoint is close. Another small loop and once again a crowd of people, a lot of noise, and a hug from Guna. She is already moving on.

Where is the support team, what exactly am I supposed to do? I make a silly mistake - I sit down. Thought it was just for a moment while I eat the marmalade, but it feels like I sit there for eternity. The hydration system is a total win, though. While I eat, I hold it on my lap and it serves as a great cooling compress for my knees. Afterward, placed on my shoulders, it presses against my entire back, effectively cooling it. The freezing cold gulps of water that become available to me as it slowly melts are also worth gold. Before moving on, I fill up 2 more small flasks with the sports drink available at the checkpoint, I have a reasonable suspicion that an alternative energy source is needed just in case. In the end, all the fussing around with bottles and marmalades took a whole 15 minutes. That's what happens when you have no plan at all on how to act at checkpoints, and I, quite honestly, really didn't have one. Plus, I hadn't instructed the support team not to listen to my babbling, but to drive me back onto the course. A good lesson for the future.

The next section starts with a climb and you don't necessarily have to run right away. At the top, when you can break into a run, the only drawback of the frozen bladder reveals itself - it bounces against the back quite painfully. Near the small cemetery, I spot a weary Dutchman and ask how he likes the event. He confirms that he does. I ask again why it can't be seen on his face then and, receiving a smile in return, I take off running. Ooh, sudden surge of energy! Everything is great from here on out. The forest road winds lazily, showing me nothing overly exciting, until suddenly I am at the entrance of the secret bunker. Dazzled by the sun, I feel quite disoriented inside the bunker. Ah, there are some arrows here after all. Around another bend, I run into a tour group. Stunned, I stop because they are blocking the arrow. They look at me, I look at them. The awkward moment is broken by a girl from the group, slowly extending a finger in the direction of running. Oh, thank you! I trudge along, but this moment stays deeply etched in my memory.

Outside, it seems the sun has become too bright. Time for me to put on some ugly hat too. I absolutely detest them, but nobody wants sunstroke either. A long stretch of gravel road where, trying really hard, I attempt to pretend I'm a runner. Nobody here intends to pamper us with flat roads for long. Into the woods and off to the river. Kind of hot. Everywhere the trail brings us conveniently close to the water, I scoop water into my bucket hat and, slamming it onto my head, indulge in a refreshing splash. There is active traffic on the river. Both serious-looking kayakers and entertainment seekers on various rafts are floating along, shouting loudly in the rapids. Annoying noise.

Ahead, I spot the silhouette of a woman in yellow. That is way more interesting. I decide to catch up. So there is a task and less urge to switch to walking. The trail leads away from the Gauja and starts feeling agonizing. It is soft and hilly, also quite overgrown. The campsite at the point where the Amata trail definitively begins comes with cheers and ringing bells, but gives no way to understand how far it is to the Zvārtes Rock checkpoint. For some reason, I haven't kept the kilometers allotted for this section in mind. Is it important? What is important anyway? Eating, probably, because I don't want to turn this adventure into an endless stroll. And drinking, because my kidney stones don't take holidays, they lurk every time I happen to foolishly dehydrate. I have emptied both flasks of sports drink and tackle the marmalade. Dang, it won't go down! Tiny bites only, surely that counts too. Turn after turn, steps and downhills, until ahead I see the yellow figure again. Ha, I had already forgotten about her!

She turns out to be another Dace, and as a bonus to this meeting, almost as if out of the ground, a photographer pops up in front of us and starts clicking away. So civilization is not far. Very soon we run into the checkpoint.

Right - gotta finish the started marmalade bar, fill up the system, and secure a supply of sports drink. But well, I really would have liked to linger there less. That chair, it was practically inviting me to drop my heavy bottom there! After leaving the checkpoint, I ask a couple of standard questions to a trail-weary Canadian and, puffing my cheeks, get to running.

Well, I wished! The tempting turn onto the gravel road reveals a merciless uphill. After shaking around for a moment, I decide it's better to power walk. Suddenly I feel terribly lonely. At checkpoints and elsewhere, so many people have their supporters driving along and cheering them on. I get such a strong urge to hear something from Mr. Veips, even if just the traditional: "Run, come on!" or: "Stop whining!", that tears well up in my eyes. Yes, I know he can only make it to the finish today, but I am already sobbing out loud. As if emotional drama weren't enough, my quadriceps have started hurting unbearably. To the point where every step is, honestly, suffering. Why so? Not enough time spent in the weight room? Will have to give that a bit more effort before Jeju. Wouldn't want to find myself in the middle of a 100-miler with unusable quads. I am, by God, too old for that.

I trot past a pond where something resembling a... yacht is basking. Wait, what?

For a good while, I've been switching places with a Pole. His legs are reportedly no longer usable. Well, that happens on trails like these. But carefree chatter distracts a bit from the pain, and at least on downhills and clear straights one can gather the strength to trot. The Pole stirs up every now and then and overtakes me. I start calling him the Polish zombie, because almost every time he announces he is about to die. 

Winding paths no longer bring joy. Crossing a stream without a bridge gets me completely irritated, but a moment later I turn back to scoop water into my ugly bucket hat for much-needed refreshment. However, the fact that I am now completely wet makes me angry on the spot. Eh! I think I want to go home!

Right about now, those legendary Cēsis hills arrive. I scramble up one, then another, and there it becomes clear where I am - to reach the last checkpoint, one has to run up Ozolkalns. Just a small catch - I am already on Ozolkalns, need to run down and then up again. Kind of mean. We wobble down together with the Polish zombie. Can't go straight up either, gotta loop through the forest because some scrubby, old bobsled track obviously must be viewed. Well, thanks! Everything sucks. Finally, the last steep piece of the hill. A group of fans tirelessly drums and shouts something, probably nice. I don't see them. Don't really have the strength to lift my eyes. The Polish zombie is probably faster than me.

I can't sit enough at the checkpoint reached at the top of the hill. Chatting with acquaintances among the volunteers, taking photos, and drinking cola in a relaxed manner. I also pour some into one of the flasks. If those are the only carbohydrates I can get down right now, better to have them at hand in an emergency.

9 km left. Somehow I lumber down the hill, marveling at how extremely painful and stiff my body can be. Unbelievable. Can't marvel for long though, Cēsis hills haven't said their last word yet. When the very tip of yet another hill is reached, a rather nasty view opens up where again one has to run down lower just to scramble up higher. Ah, whatever, every step brings me closer to the finish line. In my head rings: "To the gallows we march" from "Vella kalpi".

Approaching the top of the hill, Pēteris Cābulis catches up with me. Oh, something new, I have run with him together precisely never. A supporter cheerfully asks Pēteris from the top of the hill something that, not to quote precisely, sounds roughly like: "Rate the service Gauja Trail…" To which Pēteris answers with an expressive: "Pft!" Everyone laughs, but I have gained a companion for the remaining kilometers.

Being my companion on the last kilometers of an ultra mostly means listening to lamentations and enduring swear words. The more tired I am, the ruder I get. We also discuss various future plans and that somehow makes time pass faster. Respectively - we are still slow, mixing running with walking, but we aren't stuck in time. I feel Pēteris has more life in him than I do, yet even after insistent prompting, he still doesn't leave me. That's good, I am definitely benefiting a lot right now from having company. I wouldn't push myself so hard to run in places if I were alone. And I wouldn't think of pouring out excess drinks myself if I know for sure I won't need them before the finish.

The remaining kilometers are becoming fewer and fewer. Nothing indicates the approach of the town center, though. Right here, sometimes a couple of steps ahead, sometimes behind, runs the Polish zombie too. Although "runs" would probably be too strong a word for that mode of transportation. Somehow clinkering along, wide-legged. But who here looks like a runner right now anyway? Those are all at the finish line long ago.

I only believe in the finish line when I see Cēsis Castle. Ok, it's not far at all anymore. A polite passerby announces that only the 50 very last steps of today remain. I lose count trying to figure out if that was a lie or not. Oh, indeed, behind the church the finish arch is revealed and I dash toward it shouting loudly. Yes! It's finally over! 91 km on these wonderful trails completed in 13 hours and 19 minutes. Eh, I had calculated I should fit into 13 hours, well, exceeded it a bit, shouldn't have hung around the checkpoints for so long. I spot Mr. Veips in the crowd. He missed my finish moment. But for that, he arranged with DJ Žanis to play a fun song for me. Sweet. I also get a photo with the DJ.

I collapse onto a bench at the edge of the square. Don't really know what I want now - to eat, vomit, or take a shower. Probably a hot shower, but such a wonderful extra, unfortunately, isn't granted to those who don't know how to finish within 12 hours. Bummer. I am terribly wet and smelly. Having sat on the bench to the point of shivering, I gather my courage and, with Mr. Veips' help, make it to the car. Didn't throw up after all. All in all - a successful day!

Credits for photos: Mareks Gaļinovskis, Andris Jermuts, Jānis Zilvers, Jānis Spurdziņš, Daiga Kalniņa and, of course, mr Veips!

Running skirt & top: Fox-Pace