There are many reasons why trail Running in Morocco is simply unforgettable!
Imagine the joy of running along ancient berber footpaths. An hour ago you left Marrakech on a private taxi. Your friends came with you but they want to drink coffee in Imlil. They think you are a bit crazy.
As you set off along the trail, the Moroccan sun is shining down upon you, warm but not too hot. Underfoot the trail is rocky and solid. An eagle soars above you with a snake clutched in it’s claws. High above loom the Atlas Mountains, covered in snow. They sparkle in the sunlight, beckoning to mountaineers and trekkers alike.
As you run higher, the thin clean air fills your lungs, nature’s free detox from the smog of the city. It’s truly good to be back in wild nature again. The flat plains lie far below, testimony to a briefly forgotten world of civilisation and stress.
You rise over a coll, legs pounding the trail. As you turn a corner, a fox is startled in front of you and flees for cover. She had been sat on a rock, basking in the sun. The trail flattens out and you pick up speed, energised by the beauty all around you.
Your trail takes you down into the next valley, through groves of Aleppo Pine and the ubiquitous Juniper bushes. Dried mule footprints on the track ahead lie testament to the rain which fell a few days ago. Fortunately the ground is dry now making for an easy run.
You round another corner, and find yourself on the edge of a terraced field. Is that wheat that has been sown on this narrow mountain terrace? The walnut trees wave fondly in the wind above you. A child runs out from behind a mud-brick wall. “Bonjour! Donne moi stylo!”
Beyond is a traditional berber village. These people have lived here in this mountain fastness for centuries. Boys play football on the edge of a cliff; old women carry 20kg loads of grass on their heads, food for the cows. Women peek out of their windows at you in yor bright running gear. You wonder if these people have ever seen a car or a city or a paved road before. The only way into this village is the narrow mule path you are running on.
A bearded man in a cloak beckons you to come into his house and drink mint tea. You acquiesce despite the language barrier – a few minutes break from the running will be welcome after the lonesome mountain path. Mint tea leads to an offer of traditional tajine (the berber national dish) followed by fresh apples and walnuts. The generous hospitality of these people cannot e turned down, but you leave a thankyou tip anyway despite their protests.
Fueled by the good food, you hit the trail again. The afternoon’s sun lowers towards the western mountain skyline. To the east, the snowy ridges take on a red tinge so beautiful that no camera can truly capture the magic of it. You finally pass the last coll and begin the descent to the road. Your friends are waiting in a cafe below. They thought you were crazy for wanting to go for a run here, but as you receive their joyous cries of “well done! You did it!”, you grin. You have experienced a world which they can only see on postcards. Yur whole body is singing with the post-run adrenaline rush. But the thrill is greater than that of your normal runs, because you have experienced a beauty in these sun-soaked mountains which you had hardly imagined would await you. You will not forget this run, not for years to come. It wasn’t longer, or harder than other runs you have done. It was simply more magical, uplifting and inspiring in an incredible way. Something about the light, and the thin air, and the taste of tajine still lingering on your lips.
As the sun sets, a dangerous thought lingers on the edge of your consciousness:
Maybe I could cancel my business meetings in Marrakech and go for another run here tomorrow…?
