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El Camino stretches west of Rabé

The four-lane stretches northward toward Hassan II Mosque. I glance at the white surf crashing on the black rocks of the road’s curving flank. At that moment electricity flashes through my legs and they turn to spastic stone. As I pitch forward Albino grabs me in a bear hug. He stands like a gate post holding me upright. The length of a marathon is 42K; we are at 31K…

Wednesday, October 17, Rabé de las Calzadas

Again, I find myself running on el Camino de Santiago, running through Rabé de las Calzadas and onto the chalky dirt single-track that starts at the edge of town, at the little church with the walled cemetery with stone crosses, climbs two miles up a beautifully severe valley of steep cropland and sheep pasture, grand vistas marred by not a single man-made structure – no fences! – finally to an abrupt crest offering an expansive view north where a tiny town sits in all that vastness like a stamp on a giant post card.
I stand looking, thinking no one is around. Then, turning, I see a woman sitting at a pile of rocks on the bank above me. Our eyes meet. I spread my arms over the scene before us, and say,
“Hermosa, hermosa.”
“What?”
Oh. English.
“Beautiful,” I say.
“Yes, it is.”

Read the full story by Dallas Smith by clicking HERE

Here is the finisher’s medal from the Rock ‘n’ Roll Madrid Marathon that took place in Madrid, Spain on April 22, 2012.

Rock ‘n’ Roll is usually hit or miss on their medals. They have had some really good ones and some duds as well (see Country Music 2012).

MORE PHOTOS OF MARATHON/ULTRA MEDALS AND BUCKLES

[Submitted by Bryan Llorente. Follow Bryan on Twitter @bryllo84]

We sit on Madrid’s Plaza Mayor drinking beer and eating blood sausage, Albino and I.

My overnight flight into Madrid arrived this Saturday morning. Albino drove down to meet me from his home in Burgos, a city in the mountains 150 miles north of here. After walking around Madrid a bit, we’ve landed here. It is a little chilly but pleasantly sunny this February afternoon.

We sit at a table outside, the busy plaza spread before us.

Sharing our table are Belen and Yeya, two young women Albino called a few minutes ago. They are his age, which is half my age. I’m too sleepy to care about that, having missed a night’s sleep on the plane. We order another round of beer, another plate of tapas. Belen puffs Marlboros, Ducados for Yeya. The marathoners abstain.

You could argue that Albino and I ought to not be here. We are scheduled to run the Barcelona Marathon. We should be resting, saving our energy for the big show. But then that’s not until next weekend. Meanwhile, we have business here.

Read the full story by Dallas Smith by clicking HERE