Ultratraining

This article is an authorised translation of the original published by Geert van Nispen on his website: Ultratraining for one and a half years of extreme and extreme events

It's more than a series of sessions, more than adding up the hours. Here in Andalusia, where the morning light glides softly over the hills and the earth smells of thyme and wet rock, my understanding of ultratraining is beginning to transform. Not just as a preparation for what is to come, but as a way of moving and living. I slip on my shoes, look at the trail in front of me and understand what I'm doing here: my time on feet. The foundation for a year that will be big in ways I don't yet fully understand.

Layer by layer

The days here feel endless. Not because every day is an impressive number of kilometres, but because every step counts. Not just for the body, but for what goes on between the ears. As I climb up into the hills, the trail winds up and down; I feel the rhythm of my breathing and get to know the limits of what I can cope with today. In the silence of this Andalusian winter, as I said before, I lay layer upon layer. Not visible from the outside, but essential on the inside.

Nature is my playground - Andalusia

Halfway through a long morning run, the sun begins to rise and the dust under my feet begins to glow. The pace at which I run doesn't matter, but the experience does. Ultratraining is not about speed here. It's about presence. It's about learning to move without haste, about observing what happens when the landscape changes. When my thoughts change, when my body protests or when, on the contrary, everything flows. Each step adds up to something greater. It adds up to what I want to do this year: tackle FKT's, run fifty ultras and complete my Pyrenean Triple Crown Adventure -A crossing of the Pyrenees that will not only test my physical limits, but also my mental endurance.

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Time on feet

Rereading my blog Time on Feet, where I wrote about the value of movement being measured not in kilometres but in time and attention, I notice how different this is from training for a standard event. Here there is no goal to sprint towards. There are no strict plans or records to beat today. Just the trail, the scenery, my body and my mind. That is the difference. The silence here is not empty; it is a space in which I am learning myself anew. My real limits and also my flexibility within them.

Sometimes there are days when everything falls into place. The breathing is calm, the legs are strong and the head is clear. Other days are more difficult. The first few kilometres are heavy, your legs don't want to go with you and your mind wanders to questions such as: How many days in a row can I run without it being harmful? How much do I need today? Is this still training or is it wear and tear? These are not questions I usually ask myself, but they are important. Because this year demands not only physical strength, but also mental resilience. It requires knowing how to stop when it's time to stop, but also - and sometimes above all - knowing how to keep going when everything in me says: stop.

A deeper trust

Over the months I notice that the way I train changes. I learn to trust my body more. To feel what it needs and when it asks for rest. Not because I'm just tired, but because rest is not the opposite of training. Rest is training. Someone said to me recently, “Dare to rest.” That phrase stuck. Rest is not backing off. It's recovering, it's preparing, it's part of the art of staying strong for the long haul. Especially with a year full of extreme plans just around the corner.

Ultratraining - dare to relax

The hills here have already taught me a lot. About breathing, about focusing on each step, about accepting my body as it is today. Sometimes I smell the warm earth, hear a marten passing by or feel the wind suddenly blowing over the ridge. These are not just physical signs; they are metaphors. The route demands attention, patience, presence. That is exactly what I will need afterwards: eternal days in the mountains, days where the goal is not performance, but the simple fact of being able to keep moving.

An environment that speaks without words

As I finish off the last climb and approach the village Silencio, where I'm staying, I think about the year ahead of me. Ultra running in Europe, FKT's on legendary routes like the Camino Francés and, finally, the Pyrenean Triple Crown (Pyrenean Triple Crown). A crossing in which I will link the three great routes, from sea to sea, of the Pyrenees in a single adventure. Not just one checklist static, but an invitation to understand me in ways that only reveal themselves when you spend long days in an environment that speaks without words.

Ultratraining, as I experience it here in Andalusia, is not about chasing a distance or achieving a time. It is a process of learning what it means to move in a sustainable way, to feel what works and what needs rest, and to grow in the silence of the landscape. Every day here adds to my base. Not only physically, but also - and above all - mentally. And when the sun goes down and the hills take on their warm tones again, I know that what I do here is just what I need to do now: to be present, to move, to feel and trust what my body and mind can hold together.

Because what has already begun - the challenges and adventures of 2026 - doesn't just ask for a strong body. It asks for a foundation built on hundreds of silent hours on my feet, with an open and curious mind. Right there, in the deep silence of Andalusia, is where my next adventure has already begun.