In Portugal, we already took part in the UTRSC marathon in Santa Cruz on three other editions, with mixed fortunes (2021, 2023, and 2024). The chance came up to combine that race with a weekend in Portugal and I signed up at the last minute, taking advantage of the affordable price (35 euros).
It’s an evening race, starting at 6:30 PM from the municipal park of Santa Cruz, which falls under the municipality of Torres Vedras. Alongside the 42 km, they offer more manageable distances of 22 and 14 kilometres.
The change in the race’s name is because they’ve chosen to capitalise on the appeal of the “gravel” variety, defined as a not-too-technical type of trail that runs along dirt and gravel paths in coastal areas, seeking a balance with nature.
After a short briefing—practically inaudible to most of us—about a hundred athletes across the three categories take the start.
I start calmly, immediately noticing that the initial route doesn’t follow what I remember from other years, which used to take us into a dune area. Now we head out of the village among greenhouses and farmland—a stretch that before we’d face after completing the first lap.
I maintain a good rhythm, feeling that at this stage the course seems easier than in previous editions. A few kilometres later, I see we’re heading towards the abandoned monastery, where the first aid station is located. There we tackle the steepest climb. It’s an area we used to face at night on other occasions. Once we reach the top, we head down towards Santa Rita beach. From there, the route is almost a straight line to Santa Cruz, through dune and others asphalt sections, not forgetting a few uphill sections and staircases.
The first lap of 22 kilometre, takes us back to the Santa Cruz Municipal Park, where we pass through race control. Almost two and a half hours have passed. There are 20 kilometres left, most of which will be run in the dark.
With very few runners entered for the longest distance, it soon becomes clear that I’ll have to use my navigation skills to not miss any of the fluorescent ribbons marking the route. Despite being careful, I don’t take long to run the wrong path, forcing me to backtrack to the last ribbon. I take the opportunity to change the batteries of my headlamp, which were already dead.
With more light, I continue, occasionally seeing the beam of a runner who has been slowly catching up from behind. She is a woman, who overtakes me just before we reach the last aid station. There I refill my pack, already empty—even though I was carrying a litre and a half of isotonic drink, not feeling like I had drunk that much. At that point, they tell us there are still 11 kilometres left. It’s a surprise, because I was thinking that we were closer to the finish. I overtake two runners lingering there a bit longer, and continue along the course.
At this point, we approach a small village, and there I follow the descending road that branches off to the left. After a few hundred metres, not seeing any more ribbons, I backtrack to the village, where I double-check the marker ribbon, and head back down the same road. On this second attempt, I run into a car—fortunately with one of the organisers—who tells me I’m following the wrong path, and for the second time.
I start running behind his car, and he points out a ribbon pointing in the exact opposite direction to the one I was taking. He tells me that it is going straight ahead, following the coast all the way to Santa Cruz.
Somewhat more encouraged, though with an extra two or three kilometres in my legs, I tackle the final part of the race. Whoever said “straight” didn’t mean “easy”—I still have several climbs and descents through the beach areas until I reach the outskirts of Santa Cruz. My watch already over 5 hours, and feeling once again the possibility of going over the cut-off time of six hours.
In the end, that doesn’t turn out to be the case, and I manage to cross the finish line in 5h32m06s, in 19th position out of 22 finishers in the 42-kilometre distance. I thus clock my worst time in this race, on a different course—in my opinion, less beautiful—and feeling that, perhaps, this will be my last dance here.
After several intense weeks of races, in which this would be my fourth marathon in five weekends (with a backyard in between), I assume it’s time to take a small break before tackling the next one, presumably in a month, in Bascones de Ojeda.