How I Disappointed My American Admirer – My Inca Trail Marathon
Let me tell you a story. It involves my two legs — the right one and the left one — both partners in many crazy adventures. If I had to give this story a title, it would probably be: “How to Disappoint Your American Admirer.”
It was the year 1998. Back then, I was running too, although honestly, I had no real idea what I was doing. I had signed up for the Inca Trail Marathon — the sacred route that people normally complete in four days and three nights… except this time, we had to do it in a single push.
The truth is, I never trained for it. My training was simply my job: guiding groups along the Inca Trail every week. Sometimes six or seven times a month. That alone made me feel more than prepared.
We were taken by train from Cusco to Kilometer 88. They gave us coca leaves, candies, and one of those breakfasts that never really fills you up but somehow convinces you that you ate something.
I wasn’t alone. Joining me was Kim — I’ll call her that for now — my American admirer: blonde hair, blue eyes, a descendant of Vikings, as I liked to joke.
And then we started.
The first three kilometers were flat, and I was flying. When I reached the ruins of Llactapata, one of the runners caught up with me and asked:
“How many runners are ahead?”
“Nobody,” I replied.
Without saying another word, he passed me. Then came another runner. Then another. And another. Before long, I had gone from leading the race to simply trying to survive it.
Most of them were professional long-distance runners — people who lived to run. I was the only tour guide among them.
I imagined Kim’s disappointed face as runner after runner left me behind. But by then, I was no longer running to win.
I was running to finish.
On the downhill sections, I started recovering ground. That was where I felt strongest. And what a battlefield I found along the way: runners collapsed beside the trail with leg cramps, burst blisters, twisted ankles, and pale faces drained from exhaustion. Some stretched in silence. Others simply stared at the sky in defeat.
Meanwhile, with my legs burning, I kept passing them one by one.
Every stream crossing felt like salvation. I soaked my legs in the freezing water because they felt like they were on fire.
Along the way, my friend “Lobo” — one of those friends who never lets you quit — kept encouraging me:
“Come on. I’ll wait for you. Then you wait for me.”
And we kept going, stubborn as stones.
When I reached the third campsite, some of my fellow guides were relaxing with their tourist groups, beer bottles already open.
“Stay here,” they told me. “Don’t be crazy. Have a rum and coke.”
But no.
I wanted to finish.
So I kept going. I crossed the Sun Gate and descended toward Machu Picchu.
I finished in five hours and forty-seven minutes.
Five hours for something that normally takes four days.
And there she was — Kim — sleeping under the sun.
When I woke her up, she looked at me, half confused, and said:
“Oh… that’s it? I thought you were going to win.”
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I didn’t win. But I made it.”
Many years have passed since then, and I still laugh about it.
My legs are not the same anymore, but the memory is still alive. I ran like a madman that day. And even though I disappointed my American admirer…
I ended up winning something much more important: mys
“Adventure begins where comfort ends — and magic begins in the mountains.”
