Madeira Island Ultra Trail 115km: My Race Report

After my race in Charlevoix last fall, I seized the opportunity to sign up for a race in Madeira, a Portuguese island off the coast of Morocco, between the Azores and the Canary Islands. In short, put it on your list of destinations to visit as soon as possible, it’s a simply incredible place.

We didn’t have the luxury of hesitating, since the race was sold out in less than 48 hours after registration opened in September 2022.

1,000 spots filled for the start of the MIUT 115 KM and 7,000 metres of positive elevation gain (D+).

The elevation was going to be a huge challenge. I had never done more than 4,400 m of elevation in a single outing and I’ve never considered myself a fan of big climbs and heavy D+.

So I knew what to focus on for the months of preparation leading up to the race. My focus was on having legs strong enough to climb and descend the slopes of the graph below and to make it all the way to the finish line.

My 2023 racing year is built around the Bromont Ultra 160km taking place in early October. MIUT is an elevation-focused prep and forced me to have a very active winter. I have a 100 km in August in Saguenay that will serve to test where I’m at in my preparation and to build my confidence for the 160 km. I’m keeping open the possibility of a race of my choice in June/early July depending on where we are at that point in the year, just to have fun and spend a long day outside.

Winter training went super well. Thanks to coach Nico, who doses my weeks nicely, and without a single niggle to keep me from preparing for MIUT. I managed to enjoy some great weekends playing outside for a long time, hiking, backcountry, snowboarding, running, snowshoeing, cross-country skiing.

Arriving in Madeira 3 weeks before the race, I was able to spend a lot of time on the trails to get a taste of the big race.

KM 0: After a week of drastically cutting back on training, eating, drinking (water), resting and waiting for the race, we finally reach D-Day. There are nearly 1,000 participants on the start line; I’m with Vincent & Nico, and we’ve told ourselves we’ll try to do the whole route together from start to finish, with target times at each checkpoint to land a race somewhere around 25h (Nico had secretly aimed for between 25 and 27h in his head).

The race starts at midnight in a sea of runners through the streets of Porto Moniz, in the northwest of the island. We make 2-3 passes on the sidewalk, thinking we’ve gotten past most of the front half of the pack. We turn a corner and see hundreds of blinking red lights from the runners ahead of us. It’s super impressive when your biggest race so far was 300 participants total!

First 15 km for 1,500 m of D+, that’s considered a good weekend training outing. In this case, it’s our start of the race, with 100 km and 5,500 m of D+ still to come after that. The climb happens slowly, there are lots of runners one behind the other, and passing isn’t always easy on the single-track trails. The atmosphere is oddly quiet. Very little chatter on the trails, it’s very silent. Everyone is focused on their next step and their next breath. Nico has a little wave of fatigue (obviously, it’s 2-3 a.m.). Vincent isn’t very patient on the climbs, he likes to set his own big-climber pace. We’re making good progress and we find our big climber again at the first aid station. No worries for the start of the race, the tone is set.

KM 15: We descend the next 8 km for 800 m nicely. There’s still a line of runners in certain sections, which breaks the rhythm a bit, but hey, we’re not going to start complaining here. We quickly attack the 2nd big climb of the night, a 10 km for 1,400 m of D+. We’re moving well, and Nico warns me to watch out for the “false rhythms” set by the people ahead of us. It’s easy to stay comfortably behind people, but once you’ve passed them, you realize you were much slower than your usual pace. Thanks coach.

At over 1,400 m of altitude at 5-6 a.m. with the dew, the cold starts to reach my extremities. Someone who gets cold easily by nature, I put off putting on my jacket. I notice my body is spending a lot of energy trying to warm me up, and because of that I can’t eat the way I’d like to either, but the aid station is only a few kilometres away still. I grin and bear it, but I regret a little not having brought gloves with me.

KM 33: This is the first aid station where we’re allowed outside assistance. Émilie is supposed to be there with a few extra supplies, but we’re more than an hour ahead of our schedule. I had a feeling she wouldn’t make it in time. We found out afterward that she got there only 10 minutes after us!! But hey, no time to mess around, I regain the use of my hands under the heater and we start a descent of 1,400 m of elevation. We witness a suuuuper beautiful sunrise. We take 1 minute to appreciate the show; a few people pass us, but nothing is going to keep us from taking a good deep breath in front of this view. I had made myself promise to enjoy it as much as possible during the race. We can see the mountains in the distance, the ones we’re going to attack midday. We descend super well, plus being alone for several km.

KM 43: We join the common route of the 85 km race, which started in the morning from São Vicente. Gab is part of that race; we know he’ll come catch up to us in several hours, somewhere around midday according to our joint estimates. In the end, it doesn’t even take 30 minutes for him to reel us in. He’s on a mission and also ahead of his schedule. The 4 of us stick together until the aid station where Émilie and Noémie are waiting for us. Gab sets off pretty fast so as not to stick too close with us. We take the time to have a good aid station stop, it’s breakfast time, mushrooms and rice on the menu.

KM 50: Next stop Curral das Freiras, a 15 km for 1,000 m of D+ and 1,000 m of D- that takes a little longer than expected. The heat is starting to poke its nose out. Progress is going well, but we’re eager to reach the aid station. Once there, I feel a bit more “seized up,” I’m cold with shivers and I seem to be the only one with this sensation. I change shirts, still cold, and I wait for Émilie to tell me I’m having a heat stroke so I can stop; instead she tells me I’ll warm up in the sun… (advice from a nurse on vacation, do not try this at home).

She knows me and has seen me in worse states. Nothing worrying in her eyes.

I eat very little, I make up for it with Gatorade.

KM 65: After a good 20-25 minute stop, the 3 of us set off again for the climb up the famous Pico Ruivo. An 11 km for 1,500 m of D+ awaits us; we know it’s going to sting, but after this “split,” most of the elevation will be done and there’ll be more to descend than to climb. I drink water ++, I dunk my head in the streams along the way to cool off a bit and it seems to work. My appetite comes back and I take the chance to gobble down some applesauce. We enter a eucalyptus forest and it smells sooo good. There’s not too much sun and the weather is cooling down, exactly what I needed.

Despite having dreaded it since the race prep, we have a superb climb. For the first time I put in my earbuds and play Half Moon Run’s new one, “Alco,” on loop in my ears, I feel invincible. There’s always a moment, a “check point” in a race where you tell yourself that from here on, I’m definitely finishing the race. This was that moment.

KM 75: The crossing from Pico Ruivo to Pico Arieiro goes wonderfully; I knew the section from having hiked it 2 weeks earlier, so I’m on familiar ground for this 7 km. Nico cracks us up with his vertigo on the steep metal staircases. The last uphill part is still good work; we let out sighs every 2 seconds because we just can’t believe what we’re living through in such an incredible panorama.

The MIUT aid stations are, all in all, repetitive; they lack a bit of the surprise we’re used to in Quebec races. I kept waiting for a little veggie-pâté wrap like at Gaspésia 100km or the grilled cheeses at UTHC. It stays rice & mushrooms every single time, plus the classic fruit/crackers. Efficient, but predictable.

Once past Pico Arieiro, we meet up with Émilie at the aid station. She hasn’t seen me since my little heat spell earlier in the day. She’s waiting for us with homemade grilled cheese and pasta pesto. I love her.

She tells us about Gab, who tore down the section we’re about to do; he’s progressing really well too, and we’re very happy to hear that, we know he’s going to reach the finish line much faster than expected.

KM 84: We start the big descent of 2,300 m over 26 km. The pasta pesto quickly turned into an energy boost in the legs; we devour the downhill km that runs along the “levadas” and the mountain-bike trails. The descent is long, but gradual. We’re moving very well, but the Europeans are oddly gifted at descending; we cross several who drop us easily. Many are on the 85 km route and have fresher legs, but it’s impressive to watch. We’re not used to descending over very long distances back home. That’ll be another point to work on when I get back.

The last 5 km to Porto Da Cruz are, honestly, endless. We can see the town, we know where the aid station is, but the course makes us do a thousand and one up/down detours; it starts to play on our minds. Not to mention we literally pass within 20 metres of our Airbnb… let’s just say we turned the corner quickly so as not to be too tempted!

We finally reach the last aid station. There are 15 km left…. 15 looong KM. The 3 of us are nicely wrecked by the fatigue. I take a 3-minute power nap, forehead resting on my poles. Émilie takes wicked pleasure in snapping a photo of us to keep this moment in the history books.

KM 101: We slap our cheeks 2-3 times, 2 sips of coffee that gave me a good bout of nausea, and we set off again. We have a 350 m of D+ to do before being on the flat and attacking the final descent. I put Half Moon Run’s Alco back on loop to make the climb go by faster. Despite nearly 7,000 m of D+, we climb like champs.

Once on the flat/descent, the km are long and once again we follow a levada that seems to go on for 10,000 km. Vincent is starting to lose patience; we try to bring him back over to the light with us, only 5 km left, or 7, or 9? At this point, it hardly matters.

My legs keep going, but my head is completely disconnected from my physical sensations. I keep going to the very end, to the end of myself.

I keep going because I have the chance to do it.

I keep going because nothing is going to stop me from continuing to go where I want to go.

I keep going to prove to myself that no limit exists within me. It exists, right up until the moment I shatter it with 7,000 m of D+.

I took several days to reflect on this race. The words didn’t come to me as easily as usual. I try to keep a cool head and stay humble about what I was able to do, but it stays hard not to aim bigger, higher every time you reach a goal that already seemed too big to begin with (too big for whom?).

KM 115: 25h41minutes53seconds, hand in hand with Nico and Vincent. An honour to have covered this 115 km with those two. Let’s remember we did the Gaspésia 100km together too, nearly a year ago already. We’re going to have to grind hard to keep up with Nico on a 160 km. Someone whispers in my ear that the 3 of us will be on the same start line at Bromont in October…!

14h17minutes34seconds for Gab, who massively crushed his initial goal. A very good day, as they say! Master of consistency, it doesn’t come out of nowhere after all.

It’s time for recovery, time for rest, and time to dream about the next crazy challenges waiting for us next.