Maratón de Argentina
South America’s trail running Mecca shows its beauty (42.3km)
Chapter 4 Dale Dale Argentina (4/9)
Komoot GPX San Martin de los Andes (42.3km)
In a dark avenue of trees, park lights illuminate a jogger, struggling through the Racecourse after dark. November drizzle smoothers him. The sharp autumn wind ruffles his clothes and shivers down his arms.
Trees sway and branches shudder at the thought of losing their leafy insulation in the coming days. Winter is coming.
That jogger is me. And I have a stitch. But this pain is pure and real and above all, a relief. It's restorative. Tiny tears of joy trickle from my eyes. It's so good to feel the body working hard.
Prior to moving to Northampton in 2017, I had embraced exercise at all ages. Playing tennis or football, commuting to university by bike, spending evenings in the gym or weekends out hiking.
However, during my first term as a new teacher, I was entirely consumed by the workplace. Taking books everywhere, failing to rest properly, and, at my lowest point, being locked inside school on a Saturday afternoon after marking all morning.
I had quite literally forgotten to use my body.
Never again.
Returning to a warm home after that run, it didn’t matter that I was far from friends and family; that there was rubbish lying on the street outside the door; that we hadn't sorted a proper table to eat at in the living room.
A spark had been lit that will take some burning before it fades.
In the five and a half years since that day, running has taken on vital importance in my life. In fact it’s hard to imagine life without it. The running bug has me in its grip, and I have no desire to be set free.
A first marathon in 2018 (252km in total that year). A first ultramarathon in 2019 (943km in total that year).
Last year I ran 2350km. Or, an average of 6km per day.
Therefore, given my twin dreams to both run in the world's most incredible landscapes and yet do so in a sustainable manner, the 10,000km Arriba project was an alluring prospect: multiple marathons in many countries with only two flights book-ending the journey.
That’s settled. The running shoes are coming too.
Runs 1 and 2 were straight off the plane in our São Paulo stopover. Navigating a haphazard concrete jungle of 12 million people required dodging roadworks and a shocking number of homeless people swathed in blankets, many face down and unconscious in bus shelters. The heat was intense.
Next, an icy pre-dawn saunter along the shores of Lago Nahuel Huapi in Argentina. I had planned a morning tracing the sun’s arc above the lake’s surface, but forgot about the time difference. It stayed dark the whole time.
In Chile, an injury inducing 5 miles in Coyhaique, 7 more beneath Quelat Glacier and a short 4k at Cochamó completed the set.
But the true goal had always been long distance. A 5k test of my ankle in the Argentine mountains had me ready.
We had one day off in San Martín de los Andes. It was marathon time.
El Parque Nacional Lanín is full of forests, volcanoes, mountains and water bodies of varying blue neon shades. Because of this, San Martín is arguably the trail running Mecca of South America. Home to the Patagonia Run, whose longest distance tops 100 miles, its reputation as one of the continent's greatest running locations is assured.
We missed the official race by two weeks, so today I head out alone to fulfil that dream.
There's a LOT of elevation going on. The path climbs up through mixed pellín, coihue, raulí and lenga oak forest to give a birdesye view of Lacar Lake, still cool beneath morning mists. The air is cold in the shade which maintains frosted forest carpets until after 1pm.
It’s a quiet route. I encounter only bereted farmers driving cars from the last century and isolated Mapuche farm dwellings where I make sure to gain permission before crossing their land.
In the hours traversing the region’s hills in steadily warming sunshine and dusty gravel roads, I reach a level of satisfaction that I can't get from cycling.
On the return escape, it’s a straight 5k shot around the lakeside curve of Ruta 40 (one of Argentina’s great roads). At this stage of a marathon I tend to experience a rising, irrepressible urge to run with arms outstretched, leaping over obstacles with the knowledge of a finish line nearby.
Intense moments which drive emotions to the surface. Often the closest I get to pure joy.
I push on, dazzled by sun, infused with Jungle (Keep Moving) and galvanised by Foals (The Runner). Back towards empanadas and a fresh pint in the town below.
The legs now protesting, but the end is near. The pain is temporary, the experience will never fade.
Out at 9, back after lunch. That’s all the time it took to log another lifelong memory.
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