I wasn’t even aware of the location of Ještěd. It should be somewhere in Bohemia, considering so many carons in a single word. I apologise to our Czech brothers. It’s beautiful down there.
But step by step. In 2022, I met the Race Director Honza Dušánek at the Trialcamps around Mont Blanc in Chamonix, France, who gave us T-shirts after our arrival in Prague. Along with the Trailcamps headline, I could not omit a large headline #DYCKY JEŠTĚD. Since I’m a curious person, I started to search for the meaning of the headline on the T-shirt. I’ve found out that, along with the Trailcamps, Honza was also organizing a race under Ještěd (1,012 m above the sea level). Ještěd is a hill situated in northern Bohemia to the south from the town of Liberec. There is a TV tower built on its top with an observation post in the high-tech architectural style. An overhead ropeway with pairs of cabins plies to the top of the hill and the Nordic World Ski Championship was even held there in 2009. Its ski jumping part was held in the Ještěd site which is, by the way, a ski and ski jumping centre. But enough of history, all the other facts can be searched for upon one’s interest. Since I’m fond both of running and racing, I promised Honza during the camp that one day I would register for his race. After one year, I realized that my promise hasn’t been fulfilled. We met again in this summer, and I felt guilty for failing to keep the given promise. I registered for the race immediately. The Skyrace is organized by Honza with various lengths of the trails and in various seasons: spring, summer, and winter. Since I’m a fan of long trails, big elevation differences, and technically demanding terrain, I registered for the Winter Sky Race with the length of 22 km and elevation difference of 1,180 m.
For someone too much, for someone too little, we are pretty different. I was looking forward for the race. I was rather surprised by the duration of driving to Ještěd, when, as indicated by the guidance system, the trip with the distance of 450 km should take 5 hours; I didn’t allow for this, and my family didn’t allow for this at all. Am I willing to travel such a distance for a race with the length of 22 km? Promise is promise, we shall go. Hoping everyone is fit, otherwise we need not go. Our dog joins us, our accommodation is ready; the weather forecast indicates snowing both the whole way and on Ještěd. We’re falling a bit behind our schedule, but we can handle everything bawling at the kids being bored on the rear seats.
Running conditions are perfect. Wading through the deep snow, at some places up to my waist, steep icy slopes of Ještěd, forest roads covered with snow hiding a surprise – a puddle full of mud above my ankles, wind on the top of the hill and under the ropeway with the intensity of hurricane. Thank God that little snowflakes were gently falling at the Christmas market in the centre of Liberec accompanied with nice Christmas music, smell of food and tea can be felt around, and the Christmas atmosphere was thus just delaying the inevitable – the race which should perfectly check my will and winter clothing at the end of my running season.
Choosing the right trainers was a key element. I quickly buy anti-skid (light trail running) shoe covers and choose Salomon S/LAB Sense SG8 with high socks attached to the shoe; they are extremely light and have quite a good sole for optimal traction on various surfaces. I’ve managed to consult my choice with a sales assistant in the Trainers Truck and I’m ready. I need not use the shoe covers, there’s no ice anywhere and the snow won’t be trampled as my plan is to stick to the head of the peloton. I won’t be the first one, indeed, I’ll let younger and more persistent runners to trample the way through the deep snow. In the cold weather, clothing should be chosen carefully; my energy should be spent for running, not for heating my body. I’ll take long stretch running trousers, warmer socks, a long sleeve thermo T-shirt, and a hooded waterproof windstopper jacket with the water column of 20,000. A cap and a pair of gloves are out of question. Running up the hill, I’ll get sweaty, and I’ll unzip the jacket, and running down the hill I’ll be protected from the wind, the jacket will stop the cold air.
It’s -2 °C, it’s snowing, and a cold side wind is blowing. At the start, I see runners wearing shorts, even some hardy men without T-shirts. They want to run the entire distance of 22 km. I stop and think for a while, but I cannot understand them anyway. So, I rather focus on the start. The heavy atmosphere at the start could be cut with a knife, but the strong wind and snow blow it down to the valley immediately. We stick together under the gate with the headline Skyrace to get warmer and the Race Director Honza is launching Czech hits after one another to warm us up before the start. The drums are drumming, music is played, we’re clapping our hands, jumping in the pre-start euphoria, and listening to the countdown… 4, 3, 2, 1, Start! We’re running.
I hit the track sticking to the head of the peloton, I can see some 9 to 10 runners ahead of me. I’m keeping my pace, not speeding up, not rushing. I’ve learned my lesson from so many too quick starts. At every world record, the first half of a race is run slower than the other. No world record will occur here. The trail is covered with snow, slippery, and wet. But the running is fine. The nature under the snow is beautiful, the snow covers every “mess” in the forest. There’s a strange magic in the winter silence. It’s deadly, but also relaxing. Branches of the trees are bending down under the weight of the snow, plains are full of mounds, a solitaire tree or stump can be seen from time to time, one can hear forest birds staying for the winter.
After a short ascend after the start, we’re running relatively down the hill, sometimes ascending the side cart tracks. The roads are full of mud and puddles hiding their dirty tricks under the snow as a fox trap. I’m trying to avoid them but sometimes one or both of my feet break through the snow cover ending in water. At first the ice breaks, then water splashes, and immediately thereafter the icy cold spreads inside the trainer. Nevermind, I’ll warm the water while running to produce heat. My trainers are getting frozen, coated with a thin crust of ice, and harden. My feet do not get warmer. My heels and toes are continuously getting hardened, and I can’t feel them anymore. Nevermind, I’ll put them in motion running down the hill treading on my heels. Running up the hill I will push it through my tiptoes.
We’re running, I catch up with runners and overtake them. It seems that I’m moving forward from my previous 9th place, I think now I’m somewhere around the 5th and 6th place. I can hear them shouting “come on, you can make it”, my rivals are cheering me on.
This is the beautiful thing about trail runs. The other runners supporting you when you’ve got your day and you’re doing well. The community is one whole, and all its members stick together. Something like that is rarely heard on a track (tartan circuit), there’s greater rivalry and enviousness there. The nature has its magic, the hills give us humility, and bad weather gives us understanding and tolerance.
I’m reaching Ještěd for the first time, shit, I’ll have to come back up here once again. Nevermind, it’ll be from another side, so it’ll be new for me. It’s blowing. It’s heavily blowing. I must bend over not to be blown down from the hill. I’m passing the aid station on the top of the hill quite quickly. Wow, I appreciate you being here the whole day in this weather and cheering us on. It gives me strength. I’m running down quickly, I’m good at rundowns. I’m taking the runners over; my heels falling and pumped up become more and more defrosted. Now we’re talking. This is the flow, high moment which can stay with me until the finish of the run or disappear after a while. I continue getting under the hill, under the chairlift directed towards the top of the hill; I’m hitting the road for the second time. The flow is away. Every step means sinking in the snow, I’m stepping under the chairlift with burning thighs using them as a support for my arms to save some power. My face gets frozen from the side wind with snow, I clench my fists to prevent them from getting frozen, my originally light and airy jacket turns into a frozen armour. Desperate, I look up. I can’t see anything but milk. The fog and snow make the trail marked with long yellow flags absolutely invisible. The wind coils marking among the dense branches of the trees and I’m just hoping that I’m still on the trail. I didn’t download GPX of the trail, what for? I can hear the chairlift and voices of the skiers above my head; they’re surely looking down thinking that I’m a fool, maybe they’re even laughing, I can’t hear. Everything is taken away by the wind immediately.
What’s the power pulling me up, making me to finish the race, to reach the finish line? I’m trying to connect with them at least by my thoughts. Throw me a stick or a rope, I’ll catch it, and pull me up, the rest is up to me. No, no pulling up, I would be ashamed at the finish for such non-permitted assistance. The chairlift is high enough, my utopian idea in the state of tiredness and despair helps me just for a while shut my mind to the hopeless conditions on the hill. I’m on the top, but not completely, I’m still running down and up again. I’m climbing a steep slope on all fours. Frozen hands, jacket, and shoes, everything is slipping, I’m grabbing the rocks to prevent falling down. Bent over, I’m avoiding mountain pines and fallen branches; the race is no fun anymore, I want to have it done. I’m not giving up, I just want to have it done. A volunteer on the trail cheers me on. I’m shouting: “How far is it to the top of the hill?” He replies: “Another three hundred metres and you’re there, perfect, keep moving, you’re the fourth or fifth”. Wow. It’s quite something, new power passed through my entire body and stayed there. I speed up and I’m on the top, I cross a tunnel where I’m almost blown away, and then just downwards.
Down to the finish line, I’m running, flying, my arms moving in all directions, my legs turning aside and moving forward breaking the physiological limits. But I’m handling the trail. I take over some runners from a shorter trail and I’m already hearing the commentator, I don’t understand the words, but the sound is spreading around the forest, and I know that the finish is within reach. I take a short look over my shoulder whether I’m not followed by somebody who can take my position just in front of the finish line, and it’s done. The 5th place in total. I’m ringing the bell. Finish! I’m at home. I’m happy. Evka (my partner) welcomes me, just like at any other race, with great screaming and joy. I feel both her and my joy. Her embrace warms me. The medal is hung on my neck. Our kids are inside the warm building. They take their eyes from Netflix and say super, with no emotion. Who cares about the race… Let’s go home.
I’m on the winners’ podium, the 2nd place in my category, I must wait for the announcement of results. I’ll receive some prizes too. I’m happy. I put on, change my clothes, I’m shivering, eat some food, drink something, and wait. I receive the prize and I’m looking forward to sleep in the hotel. Quite a day.
The end of the year of a rich racing season was perfect. Organizers of the race and every volunteer who assisted along the trail or at the start deserve one big THANK YOU and a medal. The weather showed its power and persistence of volunteers. We runners always somehow finish or give up the race, but the crew must be on the trail and must not leave, they help us or show us the way or save our lives by giving us water. That’s why we should thank them. And they do all of this with no reward.
I’m looking forward to the next year and I book the date in my calendar right now. What we can expect from our Czech brothers in the next year can be found at https://jestedskyrace.cz/.
