Traka 2026

4 hours into her round trip just 5 weeks ago. I couldn’t hold it in any more. I broke down. Sobbed. And through my chattering jaw whimpered how I missed my Mum. Holly pulled the car over to console me.

Absolutely not the day she had in mind when she woke up that morning I am sure. She was focussed on CrossFit quarter finals which she was doing very well at. I knew she was competing that morning. Despite the pain I left her to it as I sat there in the hotel alone 2 and a half hours from home.

We had arrived there the previous evening after riding 180km through some of the most incredible landscapes I have ever seen. I remember getting off the bike and a huge tingle came over me. Was this the best day of my life?

8am we set out for day 2 of our 3 day trip. Just 6km into the ride a stick freakishly got caught in my spokes. Ripping out 80% of the spokes on the spot. It brought my bike to a dead stop sending me over the handle bars and crashing into the gravel path which was a close to granite as you could find.

“Where are we and which direction did we come from?” I had no idea. I also had no clue where we had slept the previous evening. Most things were a blur. Big Fishwana sat with me answering my questions, knowing my state of concussion was far from ideal. I also felt winded but deep down I felt it was something a bit worse.

The lads I was with had stuck one of their wheels onto my bike so I could ride the 6km back to the hotel. The ride back was not one I will remember for comfort. Just past 8am and I’m sat at the hotel, alone. Confused. In pain. Sitting. Thinking.

I didn’t want to disturb Hollys competition but I knew I was in decline. As time went by the pain intensified. My mind was scattered. I sat with it.

“5 weeks till Traka” I thought. A 360km race that I had done last year and was excited about. I often say I don’t need races to wake up in the morning. I don’t. I train with them or without them. Training and human movement is about way more than racing. Racing however gives me a chance. A chance on many levels. To test my mind and my body. I enter races for me. It’s selfish but it’s part of my curiosity.

Monday morning I try to tell myself I am ok. I genuinely think I am and I manage 90 mins on the turbo. Tuesday 3 hours on the turbo. Wednesday I venture out on my bike. 3 hours into the ride I know I’m not ok. My ribs are killing. My head hurts. I’m smashed and I should not be.

Thursday I’m at the Dr. Chest x-ray and brain CT. The pain and discomfort worsens over the Easter weekend as I sit patiently for the results which I only end up getting the following Wednesday. Thankful my brain is fine. “A decent concussion” the Dr says. “Now let’s have a look at the ribs. Ah yes those two. I can feel them. Undisplaced fractures right here.”

Game on, I now know what I’m dealing with. 4 weeks to Traka. There is time.

Slamming the brakes on anything often has an impact. From 20 hours a week riding to zero. Everything changes. Sleep. Food. Feelings. It’s hard. You are forced to recalibrate. One moment you are ok the next not so much. A forced slow down. An early taper. A mind workout that you don’t ask for but you have to welcome, hard though it is.

Progress is slow with ribs. Having had over a dozen breaks to them over the years I had some experience but that counted for little as no breaks seem to be the same. A week out from the race I plan a 5 hour ride to test them. My new wheels are still not ready. I don’t do it but feel good to race in a week.

Last years recipe worked. Arrive Girona Wednesday afternoon. Build the bike. Shake out ride Thursday morning. Relax. Early bed. 1kg of carbs across the day. Ready.

This year we seek to rinse and repeat. Stevie is racing again in the 200km with Mark and Phil is doing the 360km with me. To back these guys up we have support from Phil’s parents, Omar, Anwar and of course my hero Holly. InnerFight Endurance out in full force.

Thursday did not go as planned. Both Phil and I have mechanical issues that take until 4pm to sort out. We sit around in various coffee shops topping up our carb levels and waiting for our ride to stretch the legs. The mechanic tells us two hours at 9am. We are in Spain. It doesn’t materialize. I start off relaxed but as the day goes on it becomes harder to stay in that state.

I am big on energy and signs and as I sit there I ask myself if I am going against the flow here. I think back to my crash 5 weeks ago. I wonder why I felt so much emotion for Mum as Holly drove me home. Was the screw up on my wheels in Dubai and this mechanical issue here in Girona more signs that I was just refusing to pay attention to? I was not sure. I needed time. Time I didn’t have.

There was no way I was not going to ride but I needed to tune in my mindset to how I was going to ride. Just before midnight after a couple of hours broken sleep it clicked. “Ride easy, have a nice day.” That stuck with me. My sleep was not great but when I woke I remembered my thoughts and I was relaxed.

5,4,3,2,1 and all hell breaks loose. It’s only 5:54 and we are supposed to be off at 6:10 but all the riders are moving forward in what’s become a mass start. I rip my jacket off and throw it to Holly. I fumble my bike computer on and load the route. There we were just enjoying the morning and the next moment the race is on. Clearly a cock up from the organizers but I don’t see any reason to turn back. No one else is.

My “ride easy” thought is nowhere near. It’s full gas and I’m not mad about it. The first part of the course through the town leads into the first climbs of the day and it’s on. Heart rate through the roof, pitch black still, people screaming. This is epic. Let’s race.

4 hours, 115km and I’m already at feed station 1. I have had no time to think. The chain has been tight since the get go. HR high, power matching it. I was sat in a good group and have made good time. The course is different to last year. So far I haven’t noticed anything. Gravel racing needs constant focus. If you don’t you are on the deck. Speaking of which I would have seen a dozen people stack it in this first leg of the race. Carnage.

Holly and Stevie are there at feed zone 1 and have the routine nailed after last year. I have done 8 gels and 2 carb bottles as planned so far. They reload me and I am off around 20 seconds after arriving. The group I had in the first section is thinner out of feed zone 1 but there are still a good number of us to work together. I do enough but not much. Guys up the front are arguing. I say nothing. Poker face.

20km into the next section bikes start to squeak. Mine included. We had a number of water crossings early on and the drive trains are dry, very dry. Of course I have lube and WD40 with my support crew, 85km until I get to them. I joke as one of the guys I am with who’s bike is super noisy stops for a pee. I yell out “piss on your chain mate.” He laughs saying “not a bad idea.”

The sun shines down. The course is unreal. We climb up to the ridge of a volcano, descend down into it. Climb out of it. Circle around it. Drop back down into it again before we climb out. Wow. Insane. And a beautiful test for my chain. I pray for a water crossing to ease its pain. I get one but the relief is short. Stevie gives it the biggest dosing at the next feed station. A mix of WD40 and wet lube. It goes back to humming beautifully.

225km into the race and I’m feeling good. For sure I have gone a bit harder than I should have done thus far. It’s a tricky one. If u back off you miss the stronger groups. If you go with them you risk burning too many matches. The next section is the same as it was last year. 13km climb up and 13km down to the final feed station. I find some space. I want to be alone. I know what numbers I can sit on. I also know there is 76km still in the race after the next feed zone. Now it’s time to be smart.

Smart is not only on the climbs but also in the descents. When I have crashed before or broke things in my bike it has often been from pushing hard on the descents. It’s physiological as much  as anything. You think you will make a big difference but this course is risky. Rain damage is evident. The line is fine but in reality I believe it’s best to back off slightly and get to the bottom safely rather than to take too many risks and break something.

As Stevie stuffs another 6 gels into my pockets taking my tally to over 25 for the day I smile. I kiss Holly and tell them I will see them at the end in a few hours. I know what’s coming. I have memories from last year. It’s flat for the most part but wind in all directions. A savage climb and 3km of goat trail in the last 10km. The race is far from done. Although the legs may feel it you still need them to work. This is the race. This is the part you come for. The first 250km sort of feels like a warm up.

Riding out of feed 3, I am alone and actually feel good. Then it hits me. Not fatigue. The same feeling I got in the car on the drive home from my crash 5 weeks ago in Australia. “Hey Mum” and suddenly I can’t see the course as my eyes are filled with tears. I think about suffering and fighting and what she went through. I think about Holly and the way she supports me. It’s a lot but I feel light in a weird way. These moments are cool, hard, easy, special all at once. You are just where you are supposed to be I think. Flow state. Call it what you want. These are the moments these races throw up. If you have read my races reports before you know how it goes. If not, and it seems confusing, I guess it kind of is. But it’s beautiful and unreal. It feels like both Holly and Mum are right there holding me. With that feeling I can see Dad at home checking the tracker. Wild times.

A guy rides up to me and asked if I want to work with him. I agree. We do turns for about 10km. He is way fresher than me. I can’t hold it. We have 60km to go. I make a call and back off signalling for him to go as I find a rhythm on my own. I like the solidarity. Of course riding in a bunch is good but the alone time is important. It’s just you, the bike and your thoughts.

12 hours 30 minutes after the panicked start, I round the corner towards the finish line and hear the screams from Holly, Stevie, Anwar and Omar. My heart is full. Their smiles are huge. I wave to them. I then wave to the sky and thank her. She was there for me when I needed her, just like she has been my whole life. The way she presents these days is different but the feelings are strong.

The bike stops and the floodgates open. The emotion that was built up comes out. Very similar to when I ran sub 3 with her in Milan a few years back.

As I gather myself the guys tell me I have won my age category. It’s weird. I felt nothing initially. Then I said “that’s cool.” But it meant little if anything to me. I quickly thought that there must be an issue with the timing due to the messed up start. There was. I was actually 4th in my age category. Again not much feeling. That was not the goal. The race I had against time to be ready to take there start line, coupled with the ride I had was way more meaningful. For sure it’s nice to be able to place well in such a huge race in Europe where the course was hard and the field was stacked but I think if I got stuck there I would be wasting the gift of what this race really gave me.

Now we recover and get ready to go again in Scotland in a few weeks. Bikes. Races. Thoughts. People. Emotions. Love. Adventure. Flow. Life. It’s all incredible and I am so very grateful.

No weakness,
Marcus