Futangue Challenge 60km, Chile - 3rd place - Full Report

I'm in bed with a Latin man. It's about 3:30am and he is sitting bolt upright and making strange popping noises with his chewing gum, whilst staring fixedly ahead.

I sit up and join him and a rush of stars comes past the window, as we take a big sweeping curve around the edge of Lago Ranco. The taxi comes back into focus, and I let the chair flick back up from its reclined position from where I had been sleeping.

An hour or so later I'm standing in front of a log fire in an old barn. It's desperately dark still and I'm rubbing Vaseline over myself and staring deep into the fire's embers. There is a call to the start line, a briefing about a stray vicious dog that we will encounter before the night is over; then headlamps on - and we are off.

Km 10

We are racing through a deep, rutted riverbed. Several competitors seem to have run out of battery already, and are running in the mangled shadows of those whose head torches are still working. We patter across a stream - keen to keep our feet dry for the remaining 50km still to be run.

Km20

First light throws up an impossible childlike sketch of a top-heavy mountain. Its vertiginous parallel sides transform from a fantastical outline to an undeniable solidness, as the contrast grows between lake, and rock and sky. I round on a beach and tip-toe the quickest route through a litter of loose stone and driftwood.

Km30

The damp mulch of many a millennia in Parque Futange is soft underfoot. The gradient is steep but demandingly runnable and the heat of the day arrives as I climb up through the cloud cover.

KM38

I'm piling downhill as quick as I can - back towards the clouds. An ocean of these puffy whitecaps seems to stretch out in front of me - cutting the mountains tops off - marooning them like suspended islands on a stormy sea. The sky is then momentarily thrown up in front of me; reflected in a lake that appears through the silver tress.

Km45

I use the entire contents of a water bottle to clear the vaseline and suncream out of my eyes; showering myself on the climb, as I cool myself down. A doctor at the next aid station, mistaking this for wild caucasian perspiration, thrusts my index finger into a machine and shouts some numbers back to me - before giving me the thumbs up. I launch into the next downhill, careering with wild arms, and fast feet through the knotted trails of virgin forest.

Km 55

Above the clouds again, on the top of Cerro Mayo, I have only 5km of steep descent to complete but I'm confused by the effort and the beauty of it all and spend a few minutes spinning around, tripping over my feet, swimming in the spectacle of it all. I get the camera working and eventually begin the descent.






Km60

I cross the line in third, taking a moment to adjust to no longer needing to squeeze energy out of my legs and breath into my lungs, for the first time in 6 and a half hours. I congratulate Enzo Ferrari and Cesar Montoya (right) on their joint first place, and wait for my friend Rene to cross the line before we embrace each other for the sweatiest of hugs.

There is beer on tap and the cloud begins to break up. The afternoon stretches out; limbs tighten up. The heightened sensation of purpose, and singular concentration, begins to dilute in the noise of the crowd and barbecue smoke and then, slowly ebbs away altogether.