There’s something deeply nostalgic about revisiting the past. We often think of time as a line stretching forward, but sometimes, when we look back, it feels like we’re stepping into an old pair of shoes—worn in, familiar, and full of memories that seem to have slipped quietly into the past. Today, I’m starting a new series on my blog that I’m calling „There Was a Race.” It’s a journey into the races and moments from years gone by—some that no longer exist, races that have disappeared from the calendar, or events that were once part of the vibrant rhythm of our running lives. These races may no longer be organized, but their echoes still call me back. Each one has a story that deserves to be told, especially those that live on in the quiet corners of the internet, hidden from the mainstream but cherished by those who remember.
It all started today when I found myself digging through the depths of the internet, trying to reconnect with a race I ran back in 2012. It was the Las Palmas Criterium in Gran Canaria. I had some time to spare, so I started to search for traces of the event—photos, results, anything that might bring that day back to life. I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, somewhere, there would be a small remnant of it still out there. After what felt like hours of scrolling through old pages, sifting through long-forgotten blogs, I finally found something. A blog from a fellow runner in Spain who had been there too, and in it. We will run together for a while.
It was like a time machine—one click, and suddenly I was back on that starting line, feeling the warmth of the Canary Island sun, the excitement in the air, and the steady rhythm of runners pacing themselves through the challenging course. Las Palmas was special, but in the way that only races can be—moments that come and go in a blur of effort, sweat, and personal triumphs, yet leave their mark on you forever. The Las Palmas Criterium was a race that, in hindsight, felt almost like a dream. The course itself was nothing extravagant, just another challenge in a long line of running events (a bit up). But it was the context of the day—the energy, the faces, the camaraderie—that made it memorable (even we have to wait to cooling down in time couple hours). The course wound through the streets of Las Palmas, offering up views of the ocean and the kind of heat that makes you question your sanity for running. But that was part of the beauty. It was a challenge that brought us together, runners from different parts of the world, all united by the same finish line. Yet, when I searched for it today, I found nothing. No official site, no results, no banner ads. It’s as if the race itself had faded into the ether of forgotten things. The year 2012 feels like a lifetime ago, and so many of these races have simply ceased to exist, leaving behind only fragments for those of us who were lucky enough to experience them. As I dug deeper into the search, I stumbled across something else. It wasn’t just the race itself that stood out, but the cars lined up at the finish line, gleaming in the sunlight. Back then, these were the vehicles that greeted the runners—old-school models, vintage cars that have since become relics of a different time. It felt like a snapshot of an era that has long passed. The cars, much like the race, were reminders of a period when things were simpler, when the vehicles were all about style and character rather than pure efficiency or electric innovation. Looking at those images now, I can’t help but feel a sense of wistfulness. The models on display back in 2012 feel so different from the sleek, modern cars we see today. The world moves forward, and with it, technology, design, and the very way we experience events like these. But it also makes me realize that things change, and that’s okay. The past may be gone, but it still holds a unique charm, one that can’t be replicated by the present. The cars at that finish line—those classic designs—are part of what made that race feel so timeless. They represent a part of history, just like the race itself. Now, we may not see those same cars at the finish lines anymore. And some of the events we once ran in have vanished from the calendar. But in their place, we have new experiences, fresh challenges, and new memories. It’s a different world, sure, but it’s still an amazing one. The spirit of racing hasn’t changed, even if the details have. In fact, it’s kind of exhilarating to think that while the cars and the events may fade, the joy of running with others—the shared triumphs, struggles, and sweat—is as alive as ever.
I’m looking forward to revisiting more of these lost events, starting with this one. And I hope, by sharing these stories, I can bring back a little of the magic from those days when we all ran together, even if just for a few miles. Plus, I’ll be sharing some photos of those classic cars at the finish line, just to remind us all of how things once were, and how everything changes, but there’s always something wonderful about it.
P.S. I remember this race for another reason, too—because I was there as an engineer on a contract, spending a good chunk of time in Gran Canaria. I have such a vivid memory of that moment after the race when I was completely spent, barely able to walk. A local offered me a cold drink as I staggered past the stadium. It wasn’t just any drink—it was a can of Aquarius, and that taste, that refreshment, stayed with me. I’ll never forget how revitalizing it was in that moment. It wasn’t just the drink, but the kindness of that stranger, a reminder that sometimes, the smallest gestures are the ones we remember the most.
Bonum Cursum 