The race I couldn’t miss

On the 25th anniversary of a race that helped shape my life, and the joy of returning even when the body does not answer as expected.

At the end of January, I received a text message from Ainhoa:

“Hey Kilian, this year Zegama holds its 25th anniversary. We want to do something special, and among all the ideas, the one that excites us most is to bring together as many of the past winners as possible since the first edition…”

I didn’t need to read any further; my decision was already made.

Zegama is a quiet village of barely 1,500 inhabitants, deep in the Gipuzkoa province of the Basque Country.

It sits in a valley overshadowed by the towering limestone walls of the Aizkorri massif: a landscape that is raw, green, fiercely beautiful, and frequently shrouded in heavy mist and relentless mud.

For 25 years, every May, the village has transformed, welcoming tens of thousands of trail runners and mountain enthusiasts to witness 500 runners charge through its mountains.

The race was born in 2002 out of local necessity. The village was facing the quiet crisis of rural depopulation, a familiar story in many mountain regions. A local group of friends, the Asociación de Amigos del Aizkorri, wanted to breathe life back into their home, showcase the wild beauty of their mountains, and give the community a shared purpose. They drew a 42-kilometer line over the peaks, across brutal limestone ridges, through ancient beech forests, and back down to the village square.

Alberto, Ainhoa’s uncle, a forest ranger and the race director for the first decade, was the mastermind behind it. He once said:

“Zegama arose from the need for a village to survive. At the end of the last century, Zegama registered 22 deaths compared to only 4 births. Today, the population has increased from 1,200 back then to 1,500 now, and between 25 and 30 children are born in Zegama each year. None of us in the village had any connection to mountain running; we’d never run. I had heard that some races were held elsewhere, like the Aneto, Galarleiz, or the MAM. I suggested to the Sociedad de Montaña Amezti that we should do something similar. One day, I sat down at the kitchen table, grabbed a map, and that is how the Zegama-Aizkorri marathon route came to be. We are Basques, from Gipuzkoa and Goierri, and this is Aizkorri. We are people who support sports and the mountains wholeheartedly. In our town, everyone who can stand goes to the mountains. The volunteers are still local, and we are sure that will continue to be the case; the whole town is involved.”

It is this strong grassroots connection that mobilizes the entire village, from the elderly to the children creating a unique atmosphere for every participant. What makes Zegama the undisputed “cathedral” of mountain running is the fact that it has remained completely true to those local roots, not dependent on a marketing budget or artificial hype. The organization today is still run by the same group of passionate locals (or their daughters and sons!) who started it nearly a quarter-century ago.

The genuine love the region has for its mountains was evident from the very first edition, drawing thousands of spectators to cheer on the runners. The corner of Sancti Spiritu, situated at the halfway point on the climb toward the Aizkorri summit, has become a mythical pilgrimage for trail lovers.

I remember it as if it were yesterday: listening to friends and teammates like Xavi Cadena, Anna Serra or Agusti Roc describe what it was like to run through the wall of sound at Sancti Spiritu. “It’s the Alpe d’Huez of trail running,” they said. “Nothing compares to it; you have to experience it.” That was 2007, my first year racing internationally in the Skyrunning World Series. At the time, Zegama was the series finale in September. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of spectators. Despite the rain and the bitter cold on the summits, thousands had hiked for hours just to stand there, cheer for every runner, and celebrate the sport.

For me, it was a life-changing moment. As a teenager, winning at Zegama and taking the Skyrunning World Series title, following in the footsteps of athletes I looked up to, like Mario Poletti, Ricardo Mejia, Rob Jebb or Agusti Roc, was the moment I realized I could have a future in this sport. But mostly, I just loved racing at Zegama.

That’s why, when Ainhoa sent me that message, I didn’t hesitate. We had to sort out some family logistics, but eventually, everything fell into place. I told her I couldn’t miss it and that I would love to race.

I arrived in Bilbao on Friday night. I told the taxi driver I was going to Zegama, and he asked, “Where the race is?”

About 10 kilometers out, we started seeing camping cars and vans lining the roads. It was past midnight when I arrived, and the streets were still full of people.

I entered the Ostatu, the only hotel in the village, located right by the start line where most of the elite athletes stay. I snuck into the room silently; Elhousine, my teammate at NNormal, was already asleep.

In the morning, Elhousine and I went for a short shakeout run. The air of the deep Basque forests and the mud on our shoes brought back a flood of memories from the 12 years I’ve been running here.

Between press, friends, and the general pre-race madness, the evening arrived quickly. We went to bed, but outside our window, the party continued late into the night. We woke up early; the street was silent, but not for long.

At 9:00, the race began. After a traditional Basque dance and the opening chords of Vangelis’ Titans, the countdown started. Runners surged forward. A turn to the right, then one to the left, passing people as we did a loop through the village before hitting the first steep, immediate climb.

I moved up, spotting Remi Bonnet and Adrien Briffod at the front.

I caught them, and when Remi accelerated, I followed. I didn’t feel great, but I wasn’t doing poorly, either.

However, once we crested the climb and hit the flat, rolling terrain, I knew I was in trouble; my left leg wasn’t responding. I held a steady pace at my threshold, but eventually, Adrien and Elhousine passed me, followed by Robert, Taylor, and Pattis.

The climbing felt okay, but the flats and downhills were a different story. By the time I reached Sancti Spiritu, I realized that because the second half of the race is mostly non-technical flats and descents, I wouldn’t be able to race at full tilt.

I shifted my mindset. I decided to simply have a great day, soak in the atmosphere, and thank all the spectators whose cheering has given me wings for decades. I enjoyed running the ridge with Manu Merillas.

There we were still in podium positions, but I was very aware of the problems I would have in those last 20 km, so from there, I slowed down to prevent further damage.

I chatted with friends cheering on the sidelines and watched in awe as Tove passed me, flying toward an incredible record. I heard that Elhousine had taken another win after an amazing battle with Pattis.

I crossed the finish line in 42nd position, happy and grateful to have experienced the magic of Zegama once again.

But once the noise passed, I knew it was time to listen to what my body had been trying to say for weeks, and get my knee properly checked.

To be continued in part 2.

All photos by Víctor Pérez Pelayo, except for the 2007 Zegama archive picture.