This piece was featured in the travel section of the Irish Daily Mail.
Running plus wine plus sunshine, sure what could go wrong. With large scale running events like the Marathon du Médoc in September each year and the International Marathon of Beaujolais in November, its not surprising that smaller wine related runs are also being held. I spotted the Lanzarote Wine Run in an inflight magazine. Running I like, wine I like, so it was hardly a stretch to combine the two. On a whim, knowing little about it I signed up.
Now I’m no stranger to running. My first marathon was in Venice, my second in Belfast and I’ve signed up to my third, the aforementioned Marathon du Médoc. In between I’ve completed maybe ten half marathons. I’m no Action Man, but at 43 I’m essentially running to keep the midlife midriff spread at bay.
The Lanzarote Wine Run is a two-day festival (June 16th and 17th) of food, wine, music and of course running situated in the village of Uga. It was created to support the Save La Geria campaign. The strategy of which involves the agricultural, tourist and cultural sector in the recovery and sustainable exploitation of the protected area. Participants can choose from the 23.7km long run, a 12km short run or a 12km walk. The population of just 1,000 doubled in size for the weekend as eager runners and walkers descended on it.
Preparations were well under way when I arrived on the Friday afternoon. A large tent was taking shape, which would house the main stage and runners race pack pick up area. Rows of smaller individual tents were home to numerous local wineries and food producers from the immediate area and beyond. An outdoor bar was being set up and barriers erected along the road which would funnel us runners towards the ever-ticking clock displayed above the finish line. Nothing about Uga is fast paced (not even my running). It’s a place that feels like a siesta could happen at a second’s notice, and that level of peacefulness filtered into my mind as I looked on.
For the weekend I was staying at Casa El Morro a short five-minute stroll from the town. Set into the hills, its more retreat than holidays complex. The ethos here is very much to commune with nature, respect it and live among it.
Accommodation consists of seven individually designed cottages and a large yurt set among lush gardens dotted around an impressive central Canarian courtyard. Everything about it encourages you to relax. The cottages have terraces with sun beds, barbeques and comfortable day beds packed with cushions for the inevitable nap you will have.
Steps lead down to a saltwater swimming pool enclosed on one side by a bright burnt orange coloured wall, on the other by panels of glass which give you sweeping views of the vista before you. Sun loungers are positioned around the sides of the swimming pool and Bali beds are nestled in the four corners. Large terracotta pots hold a mix of cactus and Aloe Vera plants. A door at the end of the pool leads to a hidden sauna. I knew immediately I was going to spend a lot of time relaxing there.
In search of something a little different I chose to spend three nights in the incredibly comfortable Mongolian yurt. Raised above the ground on a wooden platform, the roof of the circular structure is held up by four intricately carved and painted Tibetan poles. The only natural light comes from two wooden doors set at the front, both of which have a separate top panel which open to form the perfect picture window. The yurt has two single beds and two double beds. The master bed, a wrought iron frame directly faces the doors and has a net canopy covering it. Lying in it, you realise it is perfectly positioned between the Tibetan poles to allow you watch the sun rise and set through the glass door panels.
The bathroom and kitchen are in two separate buildings, mere steps away from the front door of the yurt. The bathroom with large carved wooden framed mirrors and a luxurious shower has the feel of a spa. The kitchen is simple and stocked with all you need to prepare meals or indeed barbeque, which was my preferred option. It feels like simple living and it is.
On the Saturday the festival began. Music played, glasses were clinked and local dishes of Canarian stew, salted fish and papas arrugadas and mojo were served. Children’s runs took place throughout the day with children aged 4 to 10 taking part. In the background the walkers and runners queued to pick up their race packs. Each contained a plastic wine glass. At the time I didn’t quite comprehend the significance of that plastic wine glass. That I would learn the hard way the next morning.
Buses left Uga from 7.30 on the Sunday morning to head to the start line at Bodegas La Florida in the La Geria region of Lanzarote. I should have guessed by the small number of runners heading for the long run that it was not going to be easy. The route, which I imagined would be flat was the complete opposite. Rookie mistake on my behalf. I should have researched it better.
9am on the dot we set off. The grey-black volcanic soil was proving to be challenging terrain. It stretched out before me like a vast river of ash. It crunched under my feet as I dug my toes in and tackled the hill in front of me. Less than 5km in, it hit twenty-two degrees. Through the scattering of cloud, which I was secretly praying would remain, the sun beat down and stifled the air.
An hour ago, I was listening to music and drinking a cool crisp glass of white wine on the terrace of the winery. The thought of it had me salivating for more. The water I was sipping from the hydration pack slung over my shoulders was doing nothing to quench the thirst. Approaching the first water and wine station I realised my second rookie mistake. That little plastic wine glass was the only thing you were given to drink either water or wine with. No cups, no bottles, just a large plastic container with a little tap on it, and beside it bottles of wine sitting in bucket of ice. I stifled a scream.
The heat was rising and so was the ground. The trail went from spongy volcanic ash to jagged rock and upwards it went, raising at one point to 379 metres. My training back in Dublin was mostly flat, with a 20km run the week before taking only 1.50 hours. This was a whole other beast. Parts of the trail were barely marked, and not a race volunteer in sight. Runners had spread out to such an extent that at points along the way I was completely on my own.
My initial notion of thinking I’d be having a leisurely run in the sun while sipping cold glasses of wine was a distant memory by 10km in. The dust had dried my throat and the sun cream melted on my head and dribbled into my eyes, which stung. My lack of wine glass meant, save for drinking from the bottle I wasn’t getting any wine either. That was the part that hurt the most. A wine run with no wine, it was just cruel. How could a long run in Summer temperatures not have a better system in place I wondered.
Another thing the organisers didn’t seem to believe in was marking out the kilometres along the way. Not a single sign did I see until I was close to the finish line. The Spanish it seems are little more relaxed about regulations. It wouldn’t happen in Ireland I was thinking (yes, I’m now that person). Not one to be outdone every time my hydration pack ran low I took it off my back and filled it up under the tap, much to the amusement of the people at the stand. I may have also picked up a bottle of wine and swigged directly from it. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that.
By 15km the hundreds of walkers who started closer to the town were mingling between us. Not a care in the world with them, strolling along all fresh faced with their wine glass in hand. Clearly, I was the only one who didn’t grasp that piece of knowledge. I’ll blame it on the language barrier rather than admit I am just stupid. As I ran passed groups of walkers they kept shouting ‘vamos’ which any runner will know, does give you a little burst of energy.
To keep it interesting kilometres 20 and 21 were all uphill. Sure, why wouldn’t they be, it’s the perfect time to throw another hill in. At the crest of the hill I spotted Uga below me. Yes, the Spanish had redeemed themselves and the last few kilometres were all downhill. I was never so happy to see a finish line as I was at that point. Sweat was rolling off me, my calves burned, and I was covered in dust. Three hours it took to complete, way longer than expected. I did get a shiny new medal and immediately grabbed a glass of wine. It was a wine run after all and I had missed nearly 24 kilometres of free wine, I had some making up to do.
I learned a few valuable lessons that day. First, I should actually study the route of a run before I sign up for it. Being ill-prepared is just plain stupid. Second, the Spanish are not overly concerned with regulations, but they do have siesta time, so I suppose that balances things out. Third, a hydration pack is your best friend if you are running in warm temperatures. I picked mine up on sale in Halfords for €13 and it held a litre and half of water.
Fact File:
Both Ryanair and Aer Lingus fly daily to Lanzarote. Prices vary depending on the time of year. Accommodation in Casa El Morro was based on two people sharing, costing a total of €197 for three nights, special they were running in June. Entry to the race cost €39.