After my 2023 DNF at mile 14, I was signed up for the 2025 edition of Ultra Trail Vipava Valley the moment registration opened. I spent a week at home with fevers and antibiotics (which seems to be becoming my pre-race tradition), then packed up my bags and Dad, who had been wanting to see Vipava Valley since the first time I was there, and embarked on the eight-hour drive to the gorgeous little town of Ajdovščina in Slovenia. (It would be six hours if Austria had finally fixed its freeways… why do you have to pay for them if they’re not fit for traffic anyway?)
It was to be a cold year with the course marking team posting pictures of snow and hail. The compulsory gear list was updated to include extra warm layers and other necessities you may need when trying to race in freezing temperatures. We walked around the town in ski jackets, the warmest ones we had, watched the 100-mile and 100-kilometer races start, then slept in our ski jackets to banish the cold.
In the morning, after a breakfast of oatmeal and with a banana in one hand and a thermos in the other, I headed to the start line of the Gladiator, UTVV’s 60-kilometer race. My fingers were frozen but the sky promised a clear day. Which lasted for the first fifteen or so miles.
During these miles, I met a local runner whom I met the year prior; his friend couldn’t make it this year due to an injury. We ran together for a few miles, in and out of the first aid station, and then wished each other a good race when I slowed down to take some food in and he pushed on to get to the top of Sveti Socerb. That hill turned out to be about as much fun as the year before, with its straight-up deer-trail qualities. (I swear Slovenia has never heard of switchbacks—and must admit that I both kinda love and kinda hate it.)
At the second aid station at mile 14, the best thing in the world happened. I ran into the aid station—and straight into the arms of a guy who was already there. It was Maico, my DNF friend from the year before. We didn’t know we’d both be back here. It was the loveliest surprise. We laughed and caught up for a little while, then he headed out while I stayed to fill up on fluids and fuel. The sweet volunteers took pictures of us and cheered us on, having remembered us from the year before.
I was on my way up Nanos when the wind picked up and I noticed that a wall of cloud and rain was coming down the valley. I took my rain jacket out just in time not to get completely drenched. Eventually, I caught up to Maico who was sitting down, taking a break. He waved me onward, saying he’d catch up. He did for a little while, then fell back and I didn’t see him again.
Nanos was covered in fog, sludge, and snow. It was windy as f***. The clouds and fog rolled in and out, and hail, rain, and snow took turns pelting us runners as we tried to make our way between Strmec past St Hieronym’s and to Vojkova koča. This second half of a continuous uphill 10K was completely devoid of trees, letting the weather have a go at us.
The beyond-slippery trail led us on the edge of the cliff that would take you directly back down into the valley if you slipped. It was the longest 5K of my life. Weirdly, I had some perverse kind of fun as my fingers nearly froze off and I could do literally nothing to stay dry. If you can’t beat them, join them; and after a little bit of resistance, my mind finally stopped fighting and joined in on the fun. Type 2 fun, to be sure.
When I finally made it to the aid station on the top, the volunteers shoved a huge cup of boiling hot soup in my hands and sent me to the one little room that was available there to take a break from the elements. A few runners were already there, changing clothes, trying to dry off, and sipping on soup. Let it be a tell-tale sign of how bad the weather was that nobody there said a word, the usually chatty and cheerful trail runners all silent and exhausted.
I took the opportunity to put on an extra layer, then headed out as soon as I stopped my nosebleed as to not get too comfortable. I hoped Maico would be alright.
I looked forward to the supposed downhill—and, for a little while, there was one. It was even runnable once you convinced yourself that slipping and breaking your leg would probably be the nicer way to get back down and so I ran. Until another uphill came up.
A series of muddy ascents and descents marked the way back through the heart of Nanos. Again, there was snow and ice and mud everywhere and I picked my way along the trail, successfully avoiding falling down. That is, until I saw a nice and sandy service road, cheering for the opportunity to run again. As I walked through the cow gate toward the road, my foot slipped and I absolutely ate it. With mud up my shirt and everywhere else, I picked myself up, cursed like a sailor, and let out one indignant scream of frustration before finally reaching the nice, smooth service road.
I started to run and I can’t say if I actually felt good or if I was just looking forward to descending back into the valley with its balmy weather and 10°C temperatures (about 10-15 degrees more than on top of Nanos). I ran even in places where it would have probably been better to slowly pick my way, ready to be done with the nonsense weather. The race couldn’t just pick normal weather—it was either scorching hot or freezing cold and there was no in-between.
I kept running down the rocky trails. When I knew I was nearing Vipava and its aid station, I started to realize that unless something really serious went down, I would make it. I sent a voice message to my coach. The moment I said it out loud, I knew I had it in me to finish.
At the aid station, they had ✨bathrooms✨. Like, an actual porcelain toilet and soap and warm running water. Having been dealing with some, shall we say, bathroom issues the whole way down from Nanos, I can’t stress how much of a reward that was. I ate. I drank. They had actual hot black coffee. It was the best coffee I’ve had my whole life, drunk from small paper cups and with a few leftover pieces of coffee beans getting stuck in my teeth.
I put away my gloves and headed out with an elderly runner, a local who told me about his life in many different places in Slovenia, about its people and its wine, and about many other things. We then split up, him going ahead and me slowing down to eat again. There was one last hill left and I really didn’t want to bonk.
I knew I was going to make it unless I royally messed up. A surprise mini aid station with one single volunteer and a ton of oranges popped up and I ate so much of the fruit he had to think I was mental. Then again, he was volunteering at an ultra race. He’d probably seen worse.
The sun neared the horizon and I put on my lucky running hat. It’s a crocheted hat from one of my friends back in America whom I crewed during his multi-day adventures. Back in my jacket because it started to get cold again, I ran down, down, across a field and straight into Ajdovščina. I started to sniffle as I ran through the streets, past cheering people, and then, finally, under the arch that remained elusive the year before.
Finally, with this sweet redemption, I proved to myself that I wasn’t going to buckle under everything that had happened in the two years prior.
Hit the Road with Me 