THE TRAKA 100
the baby distance
The baby distance they said. I picked it anyway and it was the right choice.
This year I wanted to race race. For me ultras are usually a personal challenge, but every now and then I want to push against other people, not just against the clock or myself. Knowing how much I had trained this year and what suits me, I knew the Traka 100 was the one I would have the most fun on. That should have been the end of it, but the noise around gravel right now is all about distance. 200km in a day is the new normal, some people will tell you that is not even a challenge anymore, and I literally heard someone call the Traka 100 the “baby distance”, hahaha. For a moment that got into my head. It did not last. Deep down I knew the 100 would be the most fun for me, and at this point that is what I actually care about.
I thought I knew what to expect. I did not. It surprised me how fast people are going now, fast climbing, fast on the flats, fast on the downhills. It also surprised me how much you can suffer in 3h 23m and how much fun you can have at the same time.
We started around 800 riders. The first 5km were neutral and we were already pushing like hell. No one was saving anything, and right there I realised that pace was going to be the pace for the whole race. The first half is where all the climbing happens, so mentally I split the race in two. On the climbs I held back, because that is where I burn the most energy for the least time gained. On the flats and the downhills I pushed like hell, because that is where I can gain time without destroying my legs. I executed that plan exactly, at least for the first half. The second half is flat-ish and rolling, more suited to me on paper.
I lost a bidon on the first gravel descent, so I had to stop at the km 43 feed zone to refill. I was in a group of 12 to 15, and I knew they were not going to stop, so I pushed ahead, arrived first, filled fast and chased back on. Out of that group, 6 to 8 of us were doing the actual work and the rest were sitting on. We all knew it, we all accepted it, and the pace through Girona’s gravel and singletrack was honestly perfect.
Then the legs started to go. Little by little I felt the power leaking out. Staying on the wheels got harder, and I fought that feeling for maybe 20km. This is where the race actually happened for me, not in my legs but in my head. I knew there was one last climb at km 85, short but stupid steep, the kind of thing that punishes anyone arriving on empty. I had two options. I could hold on as long as possible, look strong for another 10km, and then blow up on that climb with cramps, watch the group ride away, and probably lose more time crawling to the finish than I would ever gain by clinging on now. Or I could let the group go on my terms, while I still had something left, and ride my own race to the line.
I dropped myself. That is harder than it sounds when you have spent 50km earning those wheels but it was the right choice. I rode easy to the bottom of the climb, took it slow, got over the top without a single cramp, and from there I had enough in the tank to push to the finish. So I did.
If I am being honest, I probably did push too hard on the flat parts and I paid for it in the back end. But it was so much fun that I do not care. I enjoyed it, and I came away with a very good memory of the day, which at this point is the goal of these events for me. P51 overall!
My Pinarello Grevil F9 set up
