Ultra-Trail Małopolska (67km / 4140m+), Mszana Dolna, 23.5.2026
The criminal returns to the crime scene…
…but only for a smaller act of mischief this time — 64 km / 4100 m+.
This race carries the nickname “Najtrudniejszy bieg w Polsce” — “The hardest race in Poland.” Whether that’s actually true, I don’t know. But one thing is certain: while running the 64 km course this year, I genuinely could not comprehend how I had managed to survive the 177 km version last year. And yet, barely two days after the race, I already found myself thinking it might be a good idea to come back one day… for the full 240 km madness. Whether that happens in this lifetime remains to be seen. I’m curious myself.
I won’t go into detail about the course itself — everything was thoroughly covered in last year’s report. But the weather and conditions this time were exactly my favorite kind: sunshine, warmth, dry trails (although some sections clearly preserve eternal mud…), and that gorgeous green-yellow-blue beauty of May. A change in the start/finish location meant that the section we ran at the beginning last year (around 10 km and 500 vertical meters) was moved to the very end of the course this time. Which created a rather entertaining imbalance in our 64 km race: the first 33.5 km had 1500 meters of climbing, while the second 33.5 km packed 2600 vertical meters. Sharp-eyed readers have probably already noticed that 33.5 × 2 does not equal 64, but 67. But hey — if Rusínska 66 can secretly be 72 km, then apparently race distances can mean absolutely anything these days.
I arrived Friday evening, checked into ZAGÓRZANKA Rehabilitation & Recreation Guesthouse, and rushed into town to the stadium to watch the start of UTM170. I highly recommend ZAGÓRZANKA to any fellow masochists considering this event — it’s about 4 km from the crime scene, set in beautiful peaceful surroundings, with a spacious parking lot, kind and helpful staff, clean cozy rooms, comfortable beds, and a huge terrace. Breakfast is included, and there’s even a tiny little outdoor pool.
Saturday morning at 8 a.m. saw the start of three distances: UTM45, UTM64, and UTM105. I very quickly lost track of my position — not that I ever really knew it in the first place. Since we had neither live tracking nor online interim results, and nobody scanned, registered, or checked us at aid stations, I spent the entire race convinced I was somewhere near the back. It felt like I was moving painfully slowly.
A lot of people passed me in the more runnable first half, then we gradually scattered across the course until I eventually found myself alone. I didn’t monitor my time or pace at all — I only watched the climbs, the navigation, and my own feelings and effort. I tried not to completely slack off, to move as well as I could, to distribute my energy wisely so I wouldn’t completely implode at the end, and also to enjoy it somewhat.
At the first aid station (around km 11), there was almost nothing — just oranges, two lonely pieces of banana, and I barely managed to get some water. Ahead of us was a longish 22 km stretch to the next checkpoint. Good thing I had brought my own supplies: the lovely guesthouse staff had prepared generous breakfast packages for us runners and stored them in the fridge, since we were leaving before breakfast time. Those supplies suddenly became extremely useful. The only problem was water — I didn’t have enough and had to ration it carefully.
What I remember from the following section are long forest trails literally covered with ants, green meadows, picturesque homesteads with adorable modern houses or luxurious haciendas, and a suspiciously high number of photographers. One kilometer before the second aid station, a man and woman save me from dying of drying with a bowl full of perfectly sliced watermelon and cold sparkling water. I happily take both.
The second aid station (around km 33.5 and 1500 m+ climbed) was fully stocked and absolutely buzzing with life. In a forest shelter, potatoes were roasting over a massive fire, music was blasting that sounded like the Polish version of our Senzus or Kandráčovci, and runners swarmed around like the ants back on the trail. I sat down for a moment, ate, drank, and mentally prepared for the next 33.5 km and five long, steep climbs.
The third aid station was 11 km and 1000 vertical meters away. The climb up the first hill — Szczebel — gains more than 600 vertical meters, and last year I climbed it at night. The second climb — Luboń Wielki — adds another 400+, and I also did that one in darkness back then. This time I soaked it all in under daylight and properly admired the scenery.
On the steep climbs I slowly started overtaking people who had flown past me during the runnable sections earlier. Maybe I’ll never become an elite runner, but among elite hikers I might still have a chance 😅. And surprisingly, they didn’t even catch me again on the descents.
At the third aid station in Rabka-Zaryte (km 45), I absolutely did not envy the hundred-milers who still had to tackle that massive loop through Turbacz and Lubomierz… while simultaneously envying the hundred-milers who still had to tackle that massive loop through Turbacz and Lubomierz. In this beautiful summer weather, it must have been stunning up there, with epic views. Hopefully I’ll return to grab them too someday.
As for me, I “only” had 22 km and 1500 vertical meters left to the finish, including three major climbs and two disgustingly steep descents where running was basically impossible. I climbed back up Luboń Wielki via Perć Borkowskiego — an enormous stone sea filled with Magura sandstone boulders where you almost feel like you’re scrambling the Tatras granite. From here there are views of the High Tatras too, though today they were hidden behind distant clouds.
After Luboń came the first horrible descent, and then I had to climb Szczebel again — which honestly wasn’t the real problem. What I truly feared was the second disgusting “descent,” where you lose 600 vertical meters over just 2 km, including one section so steep you literally hug trees to avoid tumbling down the mountain.
With intense tree-hugging and a generous amount of industrial-grade swearing, I somehow rolled myself safely downhill. And weirdly enough, it was slightly better than I remembered from last year.
Then I remembered I wasn’t actually running straight to the finish like last year — there was still one final 570-meter climb waiting for me — and I nearly lost it 😬. Well then. Let’s just get this thing over with.
I started counting down meter by meter, praying to finally reach the top. I was running low on water and my mouth was completely dry. I overtook four men on the climb, didn’t stop at the top, launched myself downhill, and passed another four in the descent. I felt like Rachel from Wish.
The steep forest trail turned into a forest road, then into asphalt. I packed away my poles, checked my watch, and realized I might actually finish under 12 hours. And in daylight 😊.
The sun slowly dipped behind the hills. I ran through some suburban neighborhood while a Family Frost van drove around in circles blasting that iconic melody I hadn’t heard in at least a hundred years. Families stood outside their homes patiently waiting for it to stop at their house too. I tried to run as fast as my legs would allow.
I reached town, passed the church, entered the stadium. There I still had to complete one full lap before finally crossing the finish line.
Time: 11:54.
A beautiful finisher medal — perfectly color-matched with the race bib — was immediately hung around my neck.
“You’re second,” a volunteer lady tells me.
Me, with the expression of a deeply confused field mouse:
“You mean second in my age category, right?”
“No. Second woman overall.”
Me, with an even more confused field mouse expression:
“How is this even possible? I don’t understand.”
Turns out I wasn’t exactly crawling around at the back of the pack after all. Out of 68 runners, I finished 19th overall.
A double dose of endorphins floods my body — not even dampened by the mandatory gear check (I had everything). What did cool my enthusiasm slightly was the organizer announcing that the award ceremony would only take place the next day at 10 a.m. Ah. So instead of leaving at six in the morning and being home by eight like originally planned, I’d actually have to stay and rest until ten. Oh well. At least I wouldn’t miss breakfast and could finally get some proper sleep.
Right next door, in a stylish café, they served an absolutely fantastic finisher’s tomato soup with dill. Delicious.
Back at the guesthouse I collapsed into a sweet coma. In the morning I enjoyed a slow, peaceful start to the day, had breakfast in a sunlit dining room filled with runners moving around like malfunctioning robots, then packed up and headed to the stadium for the awards ceremony, which had a wonderfully intimate and community-like atmosphere.
After that, I finally headed home.
It was a fantastic weekend.
I drove through sunny Orava. Tvrdošín…
…and wondered what the next adventure would be like.
Runnig photos by KatarzynaGoglerFotografia, JoannaDrozdekPhotography, Zwiedzanieprzezbieganie
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