Race Report - Gökçeada UltraTrail 33K

I signed up for the 33K category of the Gökçeada UltraTrail not to chase a podium or clock a fast finish, but to train my mind and body for the bigger challenge ahead: the Spartan Race Berlin. Trail running wasn’t something I trained heavily for. My weekly mileage was mostly on road, and my trail experience limited. But I needed a true test—something raw, something unpredictable. And Gökçeada delivered that in every sense of the word.

The race took place on May 30, 2025. Gökçeada, with its remote terrain and wild charm, set the perfect backdrop for what was about to be nearly five hours of physical effort and mental chess. The course was mostly trail—real trail. Sure, there were brief patches of asphalt, but that was the exception.. The majority of the run led us through wide, dusty fire roads, tight single tracks overgrown with thorny bushes and low-hanging branches, and terrain that shifted from loose dirt to jagged rock with little warning.

The race began on a solid note. The first 10 kilometers had a rhythm to them. I kept a controlled pace, felt in tune with the course, and welcomed the early morning breeze as the sun slowly began to heat up the landscape. Around kilometer 11, I reached the first checkpoint, feeling relatively fresh and steady. That wouldn’t last long.

At kilometer 18.5, the real climb began—Aladağlar Peak. A raw, rugged ascent cut into the earth not by race organizers but by goats. Literally. The trail was more of a suggestion than a path. I found myself power hiking, sometimes scrambling, navigating a slope full of loose rocks, sharp stones, and wild vegetation. It wasn’t just a climb; it was survival with a view.

The top, though? Worth every drop of sweat. The wind hit me hard—so strong it felt like it could knock you off balance—but that ridge had one of the most stunning views I’ve ever seen. A full panorama of the island stretched out below me, the Aegean glinting in the sun, and the world just... paused. Then came the smell—faint but unmistakable—of dry bones somewhere near. A reminder that these mountains belong to nature long before they belong to runners.

The descent was no joke either. My legs were still solid, but the terrain demanded full concentration. I had to keep my mind sharp, and every step felt like part of a puzzle. But things started to shift around kilometer 28. My right ankle and left knee began to bark louder than I’d hoped. I had trained for effort, but not for trail-specific pounding, and now my body was reminding me.

Those final five kilometers were a slow grind. I knew I had the fitness for a sub-4:15 finish, but my joints had other ideas. I had to back off, walk sections, and just keep moving forward. But even in that pain, there was something powerful happening inside.

With about 3 kilometers to go, I passed a ridge crowned with a Turkish flag, fluttering with authority in the strong island wind. To the right, the sea shimmered. The air was warm, my legs were aching, but my heart felt full. That sight—the flag, the view, the moment—was the emotional finish line, even before I crossed the official one.

I crossed the line in 4 hours and 58 minutes, covering 33.26 kilometers with 1,192 meters of climbing. My average heart rate was 160 bpm, peaking at 187. I burned over 3,200 calories and felt every bit of it in my legs, lungs, and soul. I fueled with energy gels, gulped soda at aid stations, and ran the whole race in my Hoka Challenger ATR 7s, Spartan socks, Hoka tee and shorts, and my trusty Salomon hydration vest. The gear did its job. But the real work was done by the mind—especially in those last few kilometers.

This race wasn’t about numbers. It was about mindset. About showing up, knowing you’re underprepared, and doing it anyway. About letting go of ego and tuning into effort. Gökçeada didn’t just test my legs—it sharpened my focus, humbled my expectations, and gifted me a memory I’ll carry into every trail and every Spartan obstacle from here on out.

Would I run it again? In a heartbeat. But next time, I’ll bring more trail miles in my legs—and the same fire in my gut.