Experiencing the heat of a volcanic run

In life there is much more that unites us than separates us. Uniting people is one of the many things I love about sport. Sometimes we are separated by competition, separated by the constraints of where we live, by lack of time, expenses, money and the busyness of life. Sometimes we place our own constraints, our own barriers, our own limits, but in the background of all this we are united by a common goal, to compete, to do one’s best, to have fun, to partake, to enjoy, to feel good, because we love what we do.

For some, the goal is to win, for some it’s to make the team, for some it’s to stay healthy, strong and fit, for some it’s to represent their families, clubs, county and country. Wherever you are, wherever you have been and wherever you are heading to, sport has this wonderful way of bringing people together, is a wonderful way to explore new places, and will always be there. People make lifelong friends, new friends and rekindle old friendships all through sport. The wonderful thing about competing abroad is that while you will see some familiar faces, you meet new competitors and opportunities arise from events.

After my recent Lanzarote race, some of the Spanish club land over, full of the chat and just enough English to get some information from the Irish, about what we do, about how we train, about the mountains. With the World Mountain Running championships on the horizon, the common interest attracts discussion; some share knowledge, some want knowledge and some want to train together. I don’t have to be asked twice. There are many mountains in Lanzarote I have yet to explore and when an opportunity arises to run up one of these volcanic giants, I am going.

Every Friday the Spanish trek group head for the hills far away; I have no excuse, a lift from my hotel, an early start, everyone will sleep soundly. These people train at sunrise and I won’t be long sussing out how the competitors train.

Friday morning arrives but when here on holiday, you wouldn’t know what day or what time it is. If I was back home, a Friday mountain adventure would be alone but today I’m told that Montana de Ubigue in Teguise is our calling. I await outside the hotel, it’s pitch dark but gradually the sky is lighting up in an array of yellow, red, orange and blue colours. The waves are crashing against the rocks, the early morning runners are in abundance along the prom. Today for me it’s trail runners, my running belt, sun cream and sweets, because I know an adventure awaits; hours on a mountain out here is like a day’s work back home. These people train high up on the peaks, in basking sunshine, against a gale force wind and have an engine that just keeps going. Me, a West of Ireland lass, who runs in a vest and shorts, will melt out here today and so I bring a supply. The lift arrives, a carload of eager Irish and Spanish runners together, high from caffeine, excited for the trip ahead. I’m excited but a little anxious as I’ve no idea what’s involved.

Our destination is a volcanic peak in the outback of Lanzarote. I start to ask the questions, the history talk begins, the anxiousness turns to excitement because this is different, this will be awe inspiring and this is me. I’m absolutely loving this running terrain where it feels like road but easier, where it feels like Knock ma but higher, where the surface is rocky but bouncy, where the trails are hot but beautiful and where the downhills are faster than the track back home.

Any story that begins with once upon a time grips me and so the scéal begins. 40 million years ago an underwater eruption began forming the geological foundations of the islands. Lanzarote began 15 million years ago, with cliffs, mountains, sea shores, islands forming by the regular eruptions, the beauty surrounding us as we travel through the paths today. We meander through the barren landscape between Teguise and Tachiche, recognising two of the mountains, both places I have ran races in, one just as unique as the other. The mountains on one side, the volcanos to the left, to me they look the same because we don’t have mountains like these back home; not a green field in site, not a ring fort or tree, briars or bog or a marshy wet surface to be seen, only reds, browns, rocks, pebbles, ash and stones, that we will run over today.

We arrive at Montana de Ubigue, the sunrise beaming up over the horizon. Three more cars are ahead with Spanish, English and two Irish – brilliant, what an exciting group. The common goal of mountain running unites us today and will possibly divide us briefly in the future but now, together we will aim to reach a peak. This trek, I’m told, is very different; we will first go around the mountain before heading up, to reach the safe path where our climb begins. The car abandoned on the side of the road, where the goats roam free, where the front door of houses are wide open, where the locals sit outside sipping coffee, this is a different way of life and I kind of like it.

On getting out of the car, a strong, sharp, sandstorm-like wind takes the talk off me. I slather on the sun cream to protect me from burning, the sunglasses to protect my eyes from the sand and my running belt to fuel me. Today I’m not planning to be a camel, more like one of those hardy goats behind me. We begin to trot, I feel like the kid goat, gradually moving along the flat exposed trail. This feels brilliant, I love it, and I run up front with two of the leaders, a triathlete from England living here for 15 years to train for his sport. What better place than here – with an ocean swim each morning, cycling against hills and wind, and running the mountains galore.

We push against the elements, the harsh but refreshing wind cooling one down, the blaring but beautiful sunshine brightening the day, the uneven but bouncy terrain helping one to move quicker. I take two steps for his every one, but shelter on his shoulder and learn from the chats. Two miles done, to the left a concrete, man-made bridge that goes on for miles, a pipeline that runs through the Tachiche volcano, transporting water from the hinterlands to the city in Arrecife. This magnificent workmanship was of significant and vital importance for people on the island until the current, modern seawater plants arrived.

We begin our climb up the mountain, I tip toe over the sandy stones, the pebble ash, the rocky terrain, and as the leader pushes on I run on feel. I don’t look up or around, just focus on my movement, my arms pumping strong and my legs feeling good – I know I am running up all this today. Our leader begins to slow and then stops and now I’m worried about leading but I’m told to keep going and so I do. I don’t push it, just enjoy it. I look back, the gang are coming in dribs and drabs, each on their own journey. I enjoy some alone time to think, to reflect, to see where I’m going; a lot has happened, a lot lies ahead, but I am very thankful for so much.

Right here, right now, things are simple. Some might not think so but out here, nothing exists, there is nothing to think about, only reaching the top. In the daily world, on some occasions, the end of summer enters the mind, the returning of school, the jobs at home, the sadness of the past; it can be hard to get some thoughts out of the mind even just for a while.

I look up, I’m nearly at the top. This makes me smile, this makes me push on up to the summit. It changes the mind; one thinks of achievements, of facing future events, of jumping in the hotel pool back at base, of the taste of fresh fruit, of spending time with loved ones, on seeing family. I’m there, I’m at the top, I look around for miles, mountains, volcanos, white buildings, oceans, and the lava river from the Tachiche volcano. This is another world. The name of Montana de Ubigue is of aboriginal origin because this place is like the outback in Australia.

The leader arrives, the group follow. Standing on volcanic lava flows, surrounded by white flowers, the smell of garlic, not like back home, this is Ajo de bruja (witches’ garlic), also called Allium roseum; the buds are pink with white flowers and yellow stamens.

We pose for amazing pictures at the top before our descent begins. I tuck in behind the leader again and with the wind at our back this time, I stay behind; I could easily take off on this terrain with the slippery, sharp stones underfoot similar to running down from the cone of the Reek, so I trek down cautiously.

I’m excited to get back, back to my family. I enjoyed my Spanish run outing today.

Next Friday I will enjoy the green, green, grass of home, under grey, blue skies, united with lifelong sporting friends, but I will someday return here for more. I know that there is much more that unites us Irish and Spanish trekkers than separates us and yet the differences between us are as unique as our landscapes; they divide us in competition but bring us together in training and sometimes our own challenges make us tougher than we realise.