Bonum Cursum

There was once an event called the Triada Biegowa in Częstochowa, a unique running experience that turned a regular weekend into a test of endurance, faith, and leg strength. It lasted three days, with a different race each day, and every morning brought a new route, a new challenge, and new ways to wonder why we runners voluntarily do this to ourselves.

Częstochowa was a perfect setting for such an event. It is one of the most famous Christian pilgrimage destinations in Poland, home to the Jasna Góra Monastery and the Black Madonna, a place where people come to find spiritual strength. During the Triada Biegowa, many of us were also searching for strength, though in a slightly more physical way, one hill and blister at a time.

But the city has more than just its religious side. It is also known for Raków Częstochowa, one of Poland’s best football teams, and for its rather imposing prison, which definitely adds some character to the place. Running past the monastery, the stadium, and the prison in one weekend felt like the perfect summary of the human experience: faith, passion, and discipline, or at least trying not to collapse before the finish line.

The Triada Biegowa offered something for everyone, a mix of distances, terrains, and moods. Day one tested our speed, day two our patience, and by day three we were mostly testing our ability to still move forward without crying. It was not about medals or records but about the strange satisfaction of finishing all three runs and realizing you could still walk, more or less.

Sadly, just like many other great local races, the Triada Biegowa no longer exists. It disappeared quietly from the running calendar, leaving behind only memories, a few medals gathering dust, and a group of runners who still talk about that crazy weekend in Częstochowa.

For me, it was more than just a race series. It was a small adventure that connected the city’s spirit with the runner’s determination. Częstochowa reminded me that endurance is not only about muscles or kilometers. Sometimes it is about faith, in yourself, in the finish line, and occasionally in the fact that the next aid station really does have cookies.

P.S. Speaking of faith, I arrived in Częstochowa a day early to visit Jasna Góra, the Holy Mountain for Poles, to follow tradition and say a small prayer for the run. It turned out to be quite a lesson in itself, because on the second day I fell spectacularly on Osson Hill and tore up my knees. The moral of the story is that you do not always receive exactly what you pray for. At least I learned something useful — where to find open and 24-hour pharmacies in Częstochowa on holidays.