IAN CORLESS

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The Hill That Told the Truth

Posted on August 24, 2026 by talkultra

I am in the 60-69 age category, when did that happen?

My mind rejected the numbers every time someone said it.

You are in the 60-69 age category?

Sixty was someone else. Men in magazines. Men sitting on benches talking about what they used to do. Not me!

Inside, I still have the enthusiasm of a runner. However, my knees, unfortunately, disagree.

Years of running have gradually been negotiated away. First the long races disappeared. Then the hard intervals. Then the weekly mileage declined. The extra kilograms arrived quietly, one at a time, not enough to alarm me, but enough to make every climb a little steeper.

Running has given way to mostly hiking. It wasn’t surrender. At least that’s what I told myself.

I am still out on the mountains, still moving through the forests and across the ridges. I am strong, bloody stubborn Abelone will say, and I can hike for hours. I can still suffer. Importantly, I can still stand on summits that many younger men never reached.

Did I believe there was a plateau ahead. A place where the decline would stop. A place where fitness would maybe even return?

The graph in my mind always flattened out eventually, even if it never quite returned to where it had once been.

Then came Hylja Vertical 600.

Five km’s with six hundred meters of climbing – on paper, a race perfectly suited for me! No downhill to trash the knees, just up and the possibility to get in the red zone, stay there and push all the way to the line.

Short enough to hurt. Long enough to expose the truth.

And the truth not only came but hurts…

As I climbed, younger runners drifted away from me immediately. Some sailed past. Others simply maintained a pace I could no longer reach or dream of. I wasn’t surprised, I would be a fool to have expected otherwise.

My heart worked harder than I remembered. My lungs were in my mouth. It hurt in a way that was no longer reassuring. My legs answered more slowly than they once had despite my poles facilitating forward momentum. What had once been my strength, now felt like stubborn determination.

There was no humiliation in my run externally. No catastrophe. I finished. But inside, there was a quiet revelation that no matter how much I fool myself with positive thoughts, my good times are gone.

Standing there, breathing heavily and staring back down the mountain, I realized that for years I have been misreading the story of aging.

I had thought of my decline as a temporary descent followed by a shelf of stability. Perhaps even a small rise if I worked hard enough.

But the trails behind me in Hylja told a different story.

There will be good days and bad days ahead. Strong adventures and weaker ones, and yes, a few surprises, perhaps.

But the overall direction will never reverse now. The line will continue downward until the end.

These are not new thoughts, my mind has struggled for the last two years with my decline after an injury while running in Spain. I was aware of the lack of running, the increased pain, the gain in weight, but, I could hide the truth somewhere with an illusion of positive outward display – the Hylja finish line changed that and cemented the decline as a fact on a result sheet.

There is no need to keep mourning the man I have been. The older I get, the better I was.

The runner in my thirties has gone.

The runner in my forties has gone.

Even the runner in my fifties is now slipping into memory.

But the hiker standing on the mountain is still here. Still moving. Still climbing. Still capable of wonder.

I looked out across the valley from Hylja, the mountains of Rondane in the distance. The same mountains I had fastpacked through with Abelone just a month ago – covering 208km’s in 5-days – the landscape unchanged and indifferent to my age.

For the first time, I understood that life had quietly shifted from becoming to appreciating. When I was young, every run was an investment in a stronger future, a better and faster me.

Now, is every hike an acknowledgement of a diminishing one?

Does that make each step more valuable?

Am I no longer running toward a better version of myself?

I guess, I am simply grateful to still be on the trail. Loving the landscape. Loving the isolation. Loving the adventure. Where time and distance actually means nothing.

I will never outrun aging, and neither will you! The goal is to keep moving long enough to learn how to live and accept it.

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Twitter – @talkultra

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TRANSVULCANIA 2026 – A RECORD BREAKING EDITION

Posted on May 11, 2026 by talkultra

The days before the 2026 edition of Transvulcania felt eerily familiar. Wet streets in Los Llanos. Low clouds wrapping themselves around the ridgelines above El Paso. Moisture hanging heavy in the pine forest. Conversations in cafés and hotel lobbies kept drifting back to the same thought: please not again.

After the severe weather that disrupted the 2025 race, there was a quiet anxiety around La Palma in the build-up to this year’s event. Transvulcania is already one of the most demanding ultras in the world when conditions are good. When the island turns hostile, it becomes something else entirely.

But sometime during the night before the start, the mountain changed its mind.

Race morning arrived cool, calm, and almost impossibly perfect for running. The clouds remained, softening the exposure and keeping temperatures under control. Light rain fell in sections of the course, enough to settle the dust and compact the volcanic terrain without turning the trails heavy. Then, later in the day, the sun appeared just enough to illuminate the island’s dramatic ridges and descents without ever becoming oppressive.

What followed was extraordinary.

On a course as iconic and historically difficult as Transvulcania, improvements in winning times have been marginal. The 2026 edition changed that. They forced you to stop, rewind the race in your mind, and ask what exactly happened on this mountain.

Part of the answer was written into the terrain itself. The volcanic sand that usually defines sections of Transvulcania can often feel like running through ash, loose, decomposed, energy-draining. This year, after days of moisture, much of it had compacted making for considerably faster progress. Athletes were finding traction where they normally lose it. Climbs became more efficient. Descents became faster and more confident. Across an ultra-distance race, where every micro-adjustment compounds over hours, the effect was enormous and this is without doubt where a percentage the course record pace came from.

But conditions alone do not explain the magnitude of what happened.

Trail running has evolved at breathtaking speed over the last few years, and this edition felt like the clearest demonstration yet of just how professional the sport has become. Today’s elite athletes arrive with race plans built from meticulous course analysis, power data, nutrition precision, altitude blocks, recovery protocols, sleep tracking, and sports science that would have seemed excessive not long ago. Shoes are faster. Fueling is smarter. Preparation is more specific. Nothing is left to chance anymore.

And perhaps most importantly, the depth of talent is exploding.

Before race week, much of the attention was placed on the Kenyan athletes and the possibility of records in the Vertical and Uphill races. They dominated the VK and Half with superb performances of speed, agility and technical prowess. Records in the marathon also fell. Pre-race, while reviewing the Ultra field, one thing became impossible to ignore: the density at the front – twenty men capable of producing what, in previous years, would have been considered a top-ten all-time performance on this course. That changes everything about how a race unfolds.

No one can afford patience anymore.

Running conservatively no longer guarantees a podium, or even relevance. Athletes who, only a few years ago, would have comfortably placed inside the top five are now finishing much further down despite running historically fast times. The level has risen so dramatically that simply surviving the course is no longer enough. To compete at the front now requires relentless pressure from the opening climb.

And that pressure was visible everywhere.

Women’s Race

The women’s race embodied that intensity perfectly. A stacked field featuring Blandine L’Hirondel, Lucy Bartholomew, Ekaterina Mityaeva and returning two-time champion Emelie Forsberg exploded from the opening kilometers. Blandine took control on the climb from the start to Los Canarios and then onward toward Deseadas and beyond. Yet the race never settled. Lucy refused to let the gap grow, eventually catching Blandine at Roque de los Muchachos after 50 kilometers and very briefly taking the lead. The Frenchwoman responded brilliantly on the descent, with what must of been a masterclass performance, reclaiming the lead before Tazacorte and ultimately storming to victory in 7:43:47 — an astonishing 19 minutes faster than the previous course record by Ruth Croft. Lucy also finished well inside the old mark in 7:49:26 after one of the finest races of her career, incredible as she openly admits, she is terrible downhill… Emelie completed one of the stories of the weekend by returning to the Transvulcania podium in third.

Men’s Race

Damien Humbert set a ferocious early pace, but the race soon evolved into an all-out battle between David Sinclair, Petter Engdahl, Ben Dhiman, Andreas Reiterer, and Nadir Maguet across the volcanic spine of La Palma. David and Petter traded control high in the mountains after El Pilar, Petter stronger on the climbs, David faster on the descents. Reaching Roque de los Muchachos almost stride for stride, David unleashed a devastating descent toward Tazacorte that finally broke Petter, no doubt mindful of the final sting in the tail, the climb from Tazacorte Puerto to the finish that almost certainly would suit Petter. David reached Los Llanos in 6:32:24, smashing the long-standing course record by an astonishing 20 minutes in what he later called, ‘the race of his life!’ Behind him, Petter, and Nadir also finished well under the previous record, while an incredible six men broke Luís Alberto Hernando’s legendary mark that had stood for over a decade. Petter went on to say at the finish, ‘He (David) was just so fast on the descent, I couldn’t keep up.’

That is often how records truly fall, not through perfect pacing alone, but through confrontation. Through athletes refusing to let rivals settle into comfort. Through races that demand risk instead of caution. Blandine L’Hirondel was already under record pace, yet Lucy Bartholomew stayed close enough deep into the race to force another level from her. Petter Engdahl tried to stay attached to David Sinclair, pushing the pace high enough that Sinclair himself had to keep squeezing every possible second from the course to finally break away. It created the kind of racing that transforms performances from impressive into historic. Every athlete elevated the others.

And then there was another story woven beautifully into the weekend. Ten years after her victories on this island, two-time champion Emelie Forsberg returned to Transvulcania once again. But this time the story was different. No longer the young athlete who dominated these volcanic trails a decade ago, she arrived as a wife, a mother of three children, and still managed to stand on the podium once more. In a weekend obsessed with speed, records, and the future of the sport, her performance carried something equally powerful – perspective. A reminder that greatness in trail running is not only measured in minutes and records, but also in longevity, resilience, and the ability to return to the same mountain years later and still belong among the very best.

The 2026 Transvulcania was not simply a fast edition blessed by good weather. It felt like a glimpse into the future of trail running, deeper, more professional, more aggressive, and faster than anything we have seen before.

And for those lucky enough to witness it unfold across the volcanic spine of La Palma, it was unforgettable.

Four races, eight records, men and women triumphant on the iconic trails of La Palma, what does the future hold? With the 2027 race date already set for Transvulcania, anticipation is already high.

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MDS LEGENDARY – The Long Stage Dilemma

Posted on May 5, 2026 by talkultra

There is a quiet but important question emerging in the wake of the 40th edition of the MDS Legendary. It is not really about numbers, though numbers have triggered it. It is about identity.

For the first time, the The Legendary introduced a 100-kilometer stage, stretching the total distance to around 270 kilometers. On paper, it feels like a natural evolution. In an era where ultrarunning continues to expand its limits, 100 kilometers carries a certain symbolic weight. It is round, definitive, and globally understood. To say you ran 100 kilometres in a single stage across the Sahara Desert resonates in a way that 82 or 86 kilometres never quite does. The number alone tells a story.

And yet, those who experienced it know that numbers rarely tell the whole story.

This particular 100-kilometer stage was, by design or necessity, more runnable. The terrain was flatter, rockier, less technical. There were fewer dunes to swallow momentum, fewer jagged ridges to force careful foot placement, fewer of those long, grinding climbs. It was a different kind of test. Not easier, necessarily, but different in character. More continuous. More rhythmic. Perhaps, for some, more honest in its simplicity.

The long stage of MDS Legendary has always been the soul of the race. It is where the MDS reveals what it truly is. In previous editions, that revelation came not just from distance, but from terrain. Runners would find themselves deep in dune fields. They would climb djebels. Cross stark, exposed and unforgiving ridges. Landmarks like Djebel El Otfal were not just features on a map; they became physical and mental thresholds.

Previously, the long day has hovered closer to 80 kilometers. Shorter on paper, perhaps, but rarely in experience. Difficulty was layered, not linear. Progress was negotiated, not simply measured.

So what happens when the balance shifts?

A 100-kilometre stage invites a different kind of effort. It rewards efficiency, pacing, and the ability to keep moving. It aligns, in many ways, with the broader evolution of ultrarunning, where speed over long distances has become a defining metric. There is a purity to that. But the desert and stage racing is different, very different.

But the desert has never been about fairness.

The Sahara Desert is indifferent to rhythm. It breaks it. The desert messes with the mind as much as stride. Its difficulty has always been irregular. That unpredictability is not an obstacle to the race; it is the race. Remove too much of it, and something subtle begins to change. The experience becomes more controlled, more measurable.

This is not to suggest that the 100-kilometer stage lacks merit, the opposite. For many runners, it represents a clear and compelling challenge. It simplifies the narrative: one stage, one hundred kilometres, one continuous effort across an immense landscape. From a PR and communication point of view, MDS Legendary 40th edition was defined by a 100km stage.

And yet, one wonders what is remembered more vividly.

Is it the satisfaction of reaching a numerical milestone, or the fragmented, almost surreal memories of moving through varied and hostile terrain? The slow, grinding ascent of a ridge at dusk. The disorientation of a night crossing through dunes that all look the same. The way the body adapts not just to distance, but to constant change.

Perhaps the real question is not whether 100 kilometers is too long, or 80 kilometres too short.

It is whether distance alone should define the hardest day of the race.

There is a compelling argument that the future of MDS Legendary does not need to choose so rigidly. Ideally, the distance of the long stage should or could be defined by the terrain and route – dunes could return, not as a token gesture but as a meaningful section, a djebel could once again stand as a decisive moment within the stage. Should ebb and flow, forcing runners to constantly adapt rather than settle into a single rhythm?

Such an approach would blur the distinction between distance and difficulty, bringing them back into conversation with one another.

Because in the end, the enduring appeal of The Legendary has never been rooted solely in how far it goes. It lies in how it feels while you are out there, somewhere between checkpoints, when the landscape dictates terms and the idea of “running” becomes something much more complex.

The introduction of a 100-kilometer stage has opened a new chapter for the MDS. Whether that chapter continues, or gives way to something less obvious but more nuanced, is not merely a question of logistics. It is a question of philosophy.

Perhaps the answer does not lie in fixing the distance at all. Perhaps the long stage should remain fluid, shaped not by a number, but by intent. Its success measured not in kilometers, but in the quality of the challenge it delivers. A truly great long stage is one that is beautiful, demanding, and just uncertain enough to unsettle even the most prepared runner—one that tests the body, certainly, but leaves its deeper mark on the mind.

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The Price of Trust: Rethinking How We Enter Races

Posted on March 18, 2026 by talkultra

For years, entering a race has felt simple. You find an event, sign up, pay the fee, and start training. The idea that anything might go wrong rarely enters your mind, certainly from a business point of view. Of course, you may have a change of personal circumstances, an injury for example – but, the race not happening, that is rarely a consideration. Advance payments have been part of the fabric of the sport for so long that most people barely register them as a risk.

But when something disrupts that pattern, even once, it has a way of shifting how we think. For the majority, these moments feel less like a crisis and more like a quiet recalibration. A warning sign! It’s not a collapse of trust – but more a subtle change in thinking. However, if you are a runner who has made payments and lost everything – trust will be eroded and this has a huge impact in forward thinking.

In the past, Covid an exception, most runners didn’t question where their money sat after they entered a race. It was understood, implicitly, that the event would take place and that the organiser would manage whatever sat behind the scenes. The mechanics of cash flow, margins, and risk were invisible. What mattered was the start line.

Now, that invisibility has thinned a little.

It’s unlikely that large numbers of runners will suddenly start combing through company filings or attempting to assess balance sheets and viability of a company. That level of scrutiny belongs to a minority. But something more gentle may well take hold:

A hesitation before committing far in advance.
A second glance at unusually heavy discounts.
A quiet preference for organisers with a long, steady track record.
But, as recent events have shown, established and track record is not a guarantee.
Trust will still exist, but it may become more selective.

For runners, there are also a few simple ways to reduce exposure without losing the ability to plan ahead. Insurance is the most obvious, particularly for higher-cost or international events, where cancellation cover can soften the financial hit if something goes wrong. Paying by credit card rather than debit can offer an extra layer of protection too, especially in the UK where consumer protections may allow you to reclaim funds in certain situations. Beyond that, a more risk-aware approach can help.

Hotels, travel and logistics will almost certainly be looked at with more scrutiny and less commitment. For example, using specific websites that allow booking of hotels and/ or travel where cancellations, with no impact, can be made almost days before being needed.

We may well be looking at a substantial shift in thinking, and this will impact on event organizers.

At the same time, the reality for organizers hasn’t changed. If anything, it has become more exposed. Events are expensive to stage, and most of those costs arrive early. Permits, insurance, equipment, staffing, logistics. Long before a runner crosses a start line, much of the financial commitment has already been made.

Advance entry fees are not a convenience – they are, in many cases, the mechanism that makes the event possible at all. So, what is going to happen if the runner changes the approach to booking and commitment.

That creates a delicate balance. Runners want certainty – we love to secure a place, plan ahead and formulate a plan. Organizers need commitment. If one side begins to hesitate, even slightly, the effects ripple outward.

Cash flow tightens.
Planning becomes less predictable.
Decisions get pushed later.

In a system that often works twelve months ahead, even small delays in confidence can create friction.

There is a risk, at least in the short term, of instability. Not dramatic or immediate, but enough to be felt. Smaller events and newer organisers are likely to feel it most.

Yet there is another side to this. This could be turned into a positive.

Moments like this can prompt a more sustainable way of operating. Organisers may become more cautious about expansion, more disciplined in managing costs, and more focused on building financial resilience rather than chasing rapid growth.

Runners, in turn, may make more deliberate choices about where and when they commit their money. A slightly more informed participant base, paired with more transparent and measured organizers, could strengthen the ecosystem over time.

But there is something worth preserving too.

Endurance sport has always run, in part, on goodwill. There is an unspoken agreement between organiser and participant. You trust that the event will be there. They trust that you will commit early enough to help make it happen. Strip that away entirely, and something important is lost.

The likely outcome sits somewhere in between. Not a collapse of confidence, but a tempering of it. People may pause, think, and choose a little more carefully.

Organizers may work harder to earn that early commitment.

Advance payments will still happen.

Races will still fill.

Plans will still be made months, even years, in advance.

But perhaps with a slightly clearer understanding, on both sides, of what sits beneath the surface.

And then, just like that, overnight, A cancellation of Tenerife Bluetrail by UTMB – this brings a different kind of reality into focus. Here, there’s no financial mismanagement or organisational failure to question. It’s simply the fact that some things sit beyond anyone’s control. Safety has to come first. But the impact is still real.

Travel has happened, runner’s are in hotels, months of training has been shaped around a single date, and then, overnight, it’s gone.

Nature hits, this comes under Force Majeure – is a contractual clause freeing parties from liability when extraordinary, uncontrollable events, such as natural disasters, wars, or pandemics, make fulfilling obligations impossible – situations like this may well add another layer to how people think about committing to events in the future.

This is not a loss of trust in organizers but a growing awareness that even well-run races carry external risks that are sometimes beyond everyone’s control.

In that sense, this situation doesn’t contradict the earlier discussion, it deepens it. The question is no longer just “can this event go ahead?” but also “what happens if it can’t, for reasons no one can control?”

Will this nudge runners toward a more flexible approach? Not out of fear, but out of a clearer understanding that certainty, in endurance sport as in nature, has always been a little fragile.

Instagram – @iancorlessphotography

Twitter – @talkultra

Web – www.iancorless.com

The Coastal Challenge Costa Rica 2026 – Stage 1

Posted on February 8, 2026 by talkultra

Stage 1 of the 2026 The Coastal Challenge Costa Rica set the tone in the way it always does. It reminded everyone, very quickly, that Costa Rica plays by its own rules.

The day began long before sunrise. At 02:30, alarms cut through the darkness as runners gathered for a 03:30 departure, quiet conversations, nervous energy. There is something uniquely disorienting about starting a race day in the middle of the night, especially when the real work will not begin for several more hours. The long drive to the coast and Quepos was filled with anticipation and the kind of silence that comes when athletes are saving energy and thoughts for later.

By the time the start line finally came into view, just after 08:00, the sun was already making its presence known. The heat and humidity were not waiting for anyone. They never do. Stage 1 has a reputation, and once again it lived up to it. Starting late in the morning is always a challenge here. Bodies are not yet adapted, pacing plans are optimistic, and the Costa Rican climate is unforgiving if respect is not shown early.

From the beach start, the course wasted no time in revealing its character. Soft sand gave way to gravel roads, then into dense rainforest where the air felt heavier with every step. Climbs were sharp and relentless, descents technical and punishing on tired legs, and water crossings offered brief moments of relief before the heat closed in again. This was not a gentle introduction. This was pure Costa Rica.

In the Expedition race, Ramon Rosello took control early and never let it slip. He dictated the pace with confidence, moving smoothly through the terrain while others struggled to find rhythm. By the latter stages of the course, he had opened a substantial gap, finishing in a commanding 3:57:03. Behind him, Jon Shield fought hard in the conditions, crossing the line in 4:14:02. It was a clear statement from Rosello on a day where patience and experience mattered as much as speed.

Attention had been on Erick Aguirro going into the stage, with many expecting him to lead the day. However, a lingering injury told its own story. Though still competitive, Aguirro was unable to respond when the pace lifted, eventually finishing fourth behind Jesus Cerdas. On a course like this, even the smallest physical issue is magnified. Stage 1 has a way of exposing weaknesses, and there is little room to hide when the heat begins to bite.

In the women’s Expedition race, Denise Zelaya delivered a strong and controlled performance. She handled the conditions well, maintaining focus and discipline as others faded, to cross the line in 4:47:47. Janina Beck followed in 5:19:25, digging deep through the final kilometres as the accumulated fatigue of the day took hold. Both athletes showed the importance of measured pacing on a stage where ambition can quickly turn into survival.

The Adventure race brought its own drama and determination. Toni Clark led the women with a time of 4:29:41, showing resilience and strength across the varied terrain. For the men, Sammy Francis topped the standings in 3:45:28, navigating the course with efficiency and confidence. Across both races, the story was the same. Those who respected the day were rewarded. Those who did not paid for it.

Stage 1 is always tough, but it is especially brutal because the runners are not yet adapted to the environment. The heat punishes fast starts. The humidity steals energy quietly and persistently. Even seasoned athletes find themselves recalibrating expectations within the first hour. This year was no different. Faces at the finish told the story clearly. Relief, exhaustion, and a newfound respect for what lies ahead.

Costa Rica is at the heart of this race, not just as a location, but as a character in its own right. The diversity of the landscape is extraordinary. One moment you are running along the coastline with the Pacific at your side, the next you are climbing through thick jungle where the sounds of wildlife surround you. The beauty is undeniable, but it comes with a cost. Every climb, every descent, every humid kilometre demands something in return.

As runners made their way into Rafiki Lodge, recovery became the immediate focus. Cooling down, rehydrating, and reflecting on lessons learned. Many arrived with sore legs and humbled minds. Stage 1 has a habit of reshaping race strategies, and this year it was no exception. There was a shared understanding among competitors that the race had truly begun.

Tomorrow brings Stage 2, and with it, a much earlier start for the Expedition runners. Those early hours promise more comfortable conditions, at least by Costa Rican standards. The heat will still come, but later. For now, the priority is rest, refuelling, and preparation. The Coastal Challenge is not won on the first day, but it can certainly be lost.

Stage 1 from Quepos to Rafiki Lodge delivered everything it promised. Heat, humidity, challenge, and beauty in equal measure. It reminded everyone why this race is so highly regarded, and why Costa Rica demands respect. The journey has only just begun, and already it has left its mark.

Instagram – @iancorlessphotography

Twitter – @talkultra

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Route Book TCC 2026 – ENG Download

The Coastal Challenge Costa Rica : A 2026 Perspective on One of the World’s Toughest Stage Races

Posted on February 3, 2026 by talkultra

Stage racing has a way of exposing everything. Fitness, patience, preparation, and mindset all get tested, not just by distance, but by what happens between the stages. Terrain is only part of the story. How you recover, rehydrate, eat, sleep, and reset day after day matters just as much.

Back in 2016, comparisons between The Coastal Challenge and Marathon des Sables were unavoidable. A decade on, those comparisons still come up, but the conversation has matured. These races now stand on their own terms.

Marathon des Sables strips runners back to survival basics: self-sufficiency, rationed water, shared bivouacs, and total responsibility for your own race. That’s its identity, and it’s why it remains iconic.

The Coastal Challenge is different. It’s not self-sufficient, but that doesn’t make it easier. In many ways, it’s more demanding. The Costa Rican rainforest, the coastline, the heat, the humidity, and the relentless terrain combine into something that feels far less predictable and far less forgiving.

What The Coastal Challenge Looks Like Today

The race remains a point-to-point journey across Costa Rica’s wild south-west, traditionally running from Quepos to Drake Bay, followed by a final loop stage in and around Corcovado National Park.

The format has remained consistent: six days, six stages, each with its own character. Distances and elevation are substantial, especially when you factor in heat, humidity, and terrain. There are some changes to the route and now, in 2026, I consider the route to be more challenging, especially with a longer stage 6.

Download the 2026 TCC Road Book HERE

Expedition Category

• Stage 1: 33km 1115m+

• Stage 2: 41km 1706m+

• Stage 3: 47.5km 1754m+ Long day

• Stage 4: 37.7km 2613m+ Most vertical

• Stage 5 41km 1685m+

• Stage 6: 35.9km 858m+

Total distance 236.1km’s with 9731m+

Gladly, there is an ADVENTURE category and while stage 1 and stage 2 are almost the same, the distances for stages 2, 3, 4 and 5 are notably shorter:

Stage 2: 16.8km 280m+
Stage 3: 15.2km 200m+
Stage 4: 12.5km 552m+
Stage 5: 23km 1117m+

Total distance 136.4km’s 3901m+

None of these numbers tell the full story. Beach running, river crossings, jungle trails, fire roads, steep climbs, and long descents all feature. Every day feels different. Every day asks something new.

NOTE: It is possible to move from EXPEDITION to ADVENTURE during the race, however, you will not receive a medal.

Is TCC Harder Than Marathon des Sables?

The honest answer is still: yes and no.

Where TCC Is Easier

• You are not self-sufficient. You carry only essentials during the stage.

• Aid stations provide water and basic food.

• Your main kit bag is transported daily.

• You sleep in your own tent.

• Food is provided morning, post-stage, and evening.

• Camps are often in stunning locations, sometimes with cold drinks available.

• You have space to recover properly each night.

• The long day is shorter in distance than MDS.

Where TCC Is Harder

• The terrain is relentlessly varied and often technical.

• Elevation gain and loss are constant and cumulative.

• Fire roads punish tired legs.

• Beach running is deceptively draining, both physically and mentally.

• Heat is relentless.

• Humidity regularly sits above 75%.

• Your feet are wet every single day.

• The long day may be “only” 47 km, but add 1754 m+ of vertical, technical trails, and jungle heat, and it becomes one of the hardest stages you’ll ever run.

This race doesn’t grind you down with deprivation. It wears you down with exposure.

Packing for Success in a Modern TCC

Because your kit is transported daily, you can afford to be comfortable. Waterproof storage remains essential. While the race still recommends Action Packer-style boxes, they’re awkward for international travel. Most experienced runners now opt for a robust waterproof duffel or roll-top bag, with internal dry bags for organisation.

You’re racing in a rainforest. Rain is not hypothetical.

Bring 6–8 full run kits. The system is simple and still works best:

• Run in one kit.

• Finish, shower, change.

• Sleep in the next day’s run kit.

Breathable fabrics are essential. Shoulder coverage matters more than people expect. Sun exposure combined with sweat and salt can destroy skin over six days. Hats are non-negotiable. Neck coverage is smart. Minimal strappy tops often look appealing but lead to brutal sunburn patterns.

Camp life is relaxing and simple, make sure you bring a sleeping mat and ideally a silk liner, a sleeping bag is not needed BUT it can get chilly around 2am to 5am. Additional camp clothing can be a nice break from run kit – for women thi scan be a loose dress, the the men, shorts and T. Flip flops or similar are essential.

Make sure you bring a plate, knife, fork and spoon and also a cup for drinks.

Shoes and Foot Care: The Deciding Factor

If runners fail at TCC, it’s usually due to feet or hydration.

Your feet will be wet every day. Rivers, streams, mud, ocean crossings. Add technical terrain, rocks, roots, and sand, and your feet take a beating.

Bring at least two pairs of trail shoes, ideally three. Some runners include a half-size-up “emergency pair” for swelling later in the race.

Forget blanket advice about sizing up. Shoes that are too big allow movement. Movement causes friction. Friction causes blisters. You need roughly a thumbnail’s space in front of the big toe, no more. Fit matters more than brand.

Your shoes must:

• Drain water efficiently

• Dry quickly

• Handle rock, mud, sand, and wet roots

• Match your gait, cushioning preference, and drop

Trail shoes are mandatory. Breathability is critical.

Socks matter just as much. A fresh pair every day is essential. Toe socks have proven exceptionally effective for many runners in these conditions.

Shoe recommendation is impossible, we are all unique, however, VJ Sport offer the best grip in the harsh terrain of Costa Rica – take a look at the VJ Ultra 3 HERE

What to Carry During the Stage

Compared to many stage races, your on-course kit is minimal.

A lightweight vest-style pack works best. Many runners now carry a bladder plus two bottles. Aid stations can be far apart, and dehydration happens fast.

Carry:

• First aid basics

• Whistle

• Phone (waterproofed)

• Cash

• Sunscreen

• Purification tablets (just in case) or a water filter.

• Personal nutrition

• Poles (optional, but useful)

If you use poles, they must fold, stow quickly, and be second nature to deploy. Practice with them before the race.

Heat, Hydration, and Survival

It’s hot. Always.

You’ll sweat within minutes of starting and continue all day. Hydration is constant, not reactive. Drink regularly, not just when thirsty. Electrolytes are personal. Know what works for you before arriving.

Never pass water without topping up.

Use the environment to your advantage. Rivers, streams, and pools are not obstacles, they are survival tools. Submerge fully whenever possible. Two or three minutes can reset your entire system.

Run in shade. Walk in sun. Cover your head and shoulders. Pour water over yourself often.

Practical Race Wisdom

• Day 1 starts fast and later than other days. Most people go out too hard. Many drop out here.

• From Day 2 onward, you start at sunrise. Use the cooler hours wisely.

• This is a technical race. Train for climbing and descending.

• Everyone walks. Learn to do it efficiently.

• The course is well marked, but fatigue makes mistakes easy. If you haven’t seen a marker in five minutes, stop and check. Use the GPX files on a watch.

• Wildlife surrounds you. You’ll hear far more than you’ll see.

• After each stage: shoes off, feet checked, flip-flops on immediately.

• Eat, hydrate, nap, elevate legs.

• Camps are social, but your tent is your reset space.

A Note for Female Runners

Practical comfort matters.

Light, non-run clothing for evenings makes a big difference. Sundresses or loose cotton work well. Flip-flops are essential, including for showers.

A two-piece swimsuit is useful for river or ocean bathing.

Sleep in run kit.

Don’t economise on sunscreen. Carry anti-chafe cream and reapply regularly. High humidity changes everything.

Avoid skorts. They hold water and add friction. Single-layer shorts or breathable tights work better.

Hair conditioner is not optional. Sachets pack well and don’t leak.

Leave rings at home. Swelling is real.

Waterproof zip-locks for cash and toilet paper are worth their weight.

Phones must be properly waterproofed or left behind for river-heavy sections.

Final Thoughts

The Coastal Challenge doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what it is: a hard, beautiful, immersive journey through one of the most demanding environments you’ll ever race in. It will challenge you. It will frustrate you. It will humble you. And if you arrive prepared, it will reward you in ways few races can.

Look up. Take it in. Accept the discomfort. Prepare well for heat, humidity, technical terrain, and recovery. Get your head right before you arrive. If you do that, the race doesn’t just become manageable. It becomes unforgettable.

Entries for The Coastal Challenge are HERE

Instagram – @iancorlessphotography

Twitter – @talkultra

Web – www.iancorless.com

MDS 120 ATLANTIC COAST 2026 – STAGE 3

Posted on January 31, 2026 by talkultra

Stage 3 of the MDS 120 Atlantic Coast wasn’t about pace. It was about heart. Twenty-seven kilometres stood between every runner and the finish. The final stage. The one that decides how the story ends.

The day opened under a heavy sky. Low cloud hung over the coast, light rain drifting in and out, just enough to cool the skin and sharpen the mood. It felt serious. Proper. A stage that demanded respect.

From the first steps, the terrain made its intentions clear. Soft sand soaked up energy. Feet sank, calves burned, rhythm disappeared. Progress came the hard way, one honest stride at a time.

Then there was the Atlantic – Wild. Loud. Unapologetic. The ocean pushed high up the beach, swallowing the firm running line and forcing everyone into deeper, slower sand. The final ten kilometres became a test of patience and grit. Shoes heavy with water. Legs tight. Eyes fixed forward. The sound of the waves constant, relentless, daring you to stop.

Every runner carried their own journey into those final kilometres. Some had 70 kilometres in their legs. Others 100. Many the full 120. Different distances, same effort. Same doubts. Same determination.

And then, finally, the finish.

Not a sprint. Not fireworks. Just raw, unfiltered emotion.

Tears mixed with rain. Smiles broke through exhaustion. Hugs lasted longer than words. That medal, placed gently around tired necks, meant everything. It wasn’t just metal. It was proof. Of discipline. Of resilience. Of promises kept when quitting would have been easier.

This is what the Atlantic Coast gives you.

It gives you challenge. It gives you atmosphere. It gives you moments where the world narrows down to breath, movement, and will. And in return, it gives you something rare. A finish that feels truly earned.

If you’re looking for a race that stays with you long after the sand is washed from your shoes, this is it. The coast is waiting.

MDS Tour and MDS Clubs for 2026

Join the MDS Clubs on HEYLO HERE.

The MDS Tour starts in January and moves from location to location, Register HERE

Instagram – @iancorlessphotography

Twitter – @talkultra

Web – www.iancorless.com

MDS 120 ATLANTIC COAST 2026 – STAGE 1

Posted on January 26, 2026 by talkultra

Stage 1 of the 2nd edition of the MDS 120 Atlantic Coast marked a powerful and inspiring beginning to the adventure in Morocco, where the desert meets the Atlantic Ocean. A field of 250 participants set out on this opening day, with an impressive 80 percent taking on their very first MDS experience. Just under half of the runners were women, and the age range spoke volumes about the inclusive spirit of the race, from the youngest at 19 years old to the oldest at 78. With 30 nationalities represented and the support of 147 dedicated staff, the event immediately felt global, vibrant, and alive.

This first stage covered 23km, with 343m of elevation gain, following a point-to-point route along the Atlantic coast. Checkpoints were placed at 9.1km and 17km, guiding runners through a constantly changing landscape.

The terrain offered little rhythm. Soft sand drained energy, dry river beds broke momentum, and rocky plateaus demanded focus and careful footwork. While the elevation profile looked modest on paper, the reality underfoot made it a demanding day from start to finish. The sand, in particular, turned every step into a test of patience and strength.

The challenge began long before the start line. A 2am wake-up, followed by a 3am departure and a lengthy transfer, asked a lot of the runners before dawn had even broken. Yet spirits remained high. These athletes were fully self-sufficient, carrying everything they needed on their backs, managing their nutrition, hydration, and equipment as they moved across the course. It was a true test of endurance, organisation, and resilience.

Despite the early start, the travel, and the relentless terrain, the performance across the field was outstanding. Every runner dug deep, and the final participant crossed the finish line well within the cut-off time, greeted with applause and encouragement.

As the sun dipped and the day drew to a close, the runners settled in for their first night under the stars on the Atlantic coast. Tired legs, sandy shoes, and quiet smiles told the story of a hard-earned first stage completed. It was a demanding, memorable opening chapter, and a clear signal that the MDS 120 Atlantic Coast is as much about heart and determination as it is about distance.

MDS Tour and MDS Clubs for 2026

Join the MDS Clubs on HEYLO HERE.

The MDS Tour starts in January and moves from location to location, Register HERE

Instagram – @iancorlessphotography

Twitter – @talkultra

Web – www.iancorless.com