is there poodle in my noodle

Hello faithful followers from Ainsa in Aragon, a Spanish medieval town located roughly half way between the Atlantic and Mediterranean Oceans. The area is renowned for its roast lamb, and the dramatic backdrop of the towering Pyreneen mountain range to the north.

Highlights in the region include the Ordesa y Monte Perdido National Park; a canyon and waterfall-strewn conservation area in a setting worthy of the American West, with peaks reaching over 3,000m.

The 34-hour ferry journey to Santander gave us a chance to rest our legs and enjoy spectacular views across the ocean from our microscopic cabin.

Recuperation was in need after last weekend’s run on the rolling Jurassic Coast in Dorset, starting near Lyme Regis and culminating in Poole.

Set as a multi-stage event over three days, the 84-mile “challenge” advertised itself as a non-competitive affair with plentiful cake and sandwiches. Great, we thought, that sounds like a low-octane glorified picnic where we could rumble along with other middle-aged folk and discuss our growing inventory of running-related ailments.

The format of the event set about 40 ‘walkers and slow joggers’ off first, with the remaining 40 ‘faster joggers and runners’ leaving two hours later each day. Brimming with misplaced self-confidence and a deep misunderstanding of the racing pedigree, we opted for the latter group.

During registration – a rather intimidating and serious affair – it quickly became evident that our category was designed exclusively for elite waddage; athletes of the highest calibre and those in training for the UTMB in Chamonix.
The race organiser’s insistence that it was not, in fact, a race brought little comfort as our cohort of nimble mountain goats sped out from the starting gates, and we were left eating their dust. Meanwhile the slowest walkers in the first group were averaging 18 minute miles – that’s really quite fast for a race that packs in almost 5,000 metres of ascent.
Still reeling from the fallout of March’s extended birthday celebrations and an underwhelming training regime, we spent almost the entire race alone, and minced in at the back each day as the sun was setting on our comparitively woeful efforts.

But what a great time we had! Sunshine, stunning views, and good vibes abound – and I think overall we placed somewhere in the middle (despite feeling like the biggest losers each day 😂). We were really lucky to have Kiki meet us on the finishing line and buy us a pint of restorative ale.

With shredded quads, blistered feet, and a sliver of dignity still intact, we drove off to Portsmouth to catch our ferry.

Plans for the next few weeks include heading over the French Riviera, where we will do our best voyeuring at super yachts and haughty Frenchies, and also get stuck in with some easy multi-pitch climbing, before winding our way through Italy and down to Greece. But not before calling out the RAC tomorrow after a myriad of warning lights came on. Glad we got the gold standard breakdown insurance! You couldn’t make it up 😂