Adidas Hyperboost Edge: Soft Power, Loud Intentions

Adidas Hyperboost Edge: Soft Power, Loud Intentions

There was a time when Boost meant rebellion.

Not loud rebellion, the quiet kind. The kind that didn’t need a carbon plate, a geometry lecture, or a YouTube explainer. You laced up, you ran, and the foam did something… different. It lived under your feet.

The Hyperboost Edge is adidas trying to remember that feeling while also trying very hard to move on from it.

And like most identity crises in running shoes, it’s fascinating.

On paper, the Hyperboost Edge reads like a maximalist manifesto. A towering ~45 mm heel stack, ~39 mm forefoot, and a new Hyperboost Pro midsole that promises elite-level energy return without a plate, without gimmicks, just foam doing foam things.

It’s adidas stepping into the modern “super trainer” arena. A territory usually reserved for plated monsters or geometrically aggressive hybrids.

But here’s the twist: this thing is light. Around 247g in testing. That’s not supposed to happen with this much shoe.

The first step is deceptive.

You expect marshmallow. You get something else.

Yes, the Hyperboost Edge is deeply cushioned. Lab tests back that up with shock absorption numbers well above average and a massive slab of foam underfoot.

But the sensation isn’t pure softness. It’s structured. Controlled. Almost… disciplined.

Energy return is objectively excellent (over 70% in lab testing, which is elite territory).

The forefoot rocker engages late. Later than you expect.

This creates a distinct rhythm:

Cruise: stable, slightly muted
Push: suddenly responsive, almost aggressive

For midfoot strikers, this can feel like unlocking a second gear. For heel strikers, the experience can feel… less harmonious, depending on how you load the shoe.

This is not a plug-and-play trainer. It’s a relationship.

The Primeweave upper is luxurious in isolation: structured, comfortable, and undeniably premium.

But breathability? That’s where things unravel.

Testing consistently flags airflow as a weakness, with dense mesh behaving more like a weather-resistant layer than a summer trainer.

Translation:
Great in cool weather. Questionable in Madrid in August.

And depending on who you ask, the fit ranges from dialed-in perfection to overbuilt and restrictive, one of several signs this shoe may divide opinion.

At first glance, you’d call this a recovery-day monster. Big stack, soft foam, no plate…easy miles, right? Not exactly.

Despite the cushioning, the stiffness and geometry push it toward intentional running. Long runs? Yes. Marathon training? Absolutely.

But slow, sloppy shuffle days? It might feel like overkill...or worse, uncooperative.

This isn’t a pillow. Early sentiment is divided.

Some runners praise the cushioning as “some of the best” they’ve felt, highlighting comfort and bounce. But a few others find it a bit stiff and flat

The Hyperboost Edge isn’t here to win everyone over.

It’s here to say something: Adidas still believes in foam innovation. That not every super trainer needs a plate. That cushioning doesn’t have to mean softness, it can mean control, structure, intent.

But it also demands something in return: attention, adaptation, and a willingness to meet it halfway.

If you want interesting? You’re in the right place.

Stay tuned for more Adidas running updates. 

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Endless focus on output, performance, and measurable progression can sometimes strip away the emotional texture that makes the experience meaningful in the first place... Creativity restores that balance. Rather than viewing artistic projects as distractions from competition, Meirow sees them as essential complements. Photography, publishing, film, conversation, and design allow him to document the nuances of a racing season that statistics alone cannot capture. They transform training and travel into a richer narrative. And that desire eventually evolved into So Sick. At first glance, So Sick appears to be a simple title borrowed from a familiar expression. The phrase is universal...a spontaneous reaction to something impressive, beautiful, surprising, or inspiring. For Meirow, however, the phrase became the foundation for an entire creative platform. The project forms part of what he calls the So Sick World Tour, an ongoing initiative that follows his racing season across different countries, events, and communities. What began as an idea for a film quickly expanded into something far more ambitious: a collection of interconnected creative outputs documenting life on the trail through multiple formats. Central to that ecosystem is the So Sick publication itself. Rather than functioning as a traditional race report or athlete diary, the magazine adopts the spirit of an independent zine. It serves as a physical artifact from each chapter of the journey: a tactile record of experiences gathered throughout the season. In an era dominated by fleeting social media content, the decision to produce a printed publication feels intentionally countercultural. Instagram offers immediacy, but often lacks permanence. Stories disappear beneath algorithms and endless scrolling. The magazine format demands something slower and more deliberate. The publication captures the atmosphere surrounding races as much as the competitions themselves. Landscapes, conversations, local culture, travel moments, creative observations, and personal experiences become part of the narrative. The finish line remains important, but it no longer occupies the entire frame. Unlike many mainstream sports, trail running thrives on community, geography, and shared experiences. The mountains are not merely venues; they become active participants in the story. Every destination possesses its own character, and every event introduces a new network of athletes, artists, photographers, organizers, and dreamers. The publication transforms a racing calendar into a travel journal, an art project, and a cultural document all at once. But again, the magazine is only one component of the larger project. Alongside the publication, Meirow has developed what he calls a "trailcast" -a podcast recorded while running. Instead of traditional studio conversations, discussions unfold on trails, during training sessions, and within the environments that shape the athletes themselves. The concept reflects the same philosophy that drives the magazine: context matters. Stories sound different when they emerge from movement rather than a controlled recording booth. Breathing, terrain, weather, and physical effort become part of the conversation. The environment is no longer background scenery, it becomes an active participant. Taken together, the film work, podcast episodes, race experiences, and printed publications form a broader attempt to document what modern trail running actually feels like from the inside. Perhaps the most interesting aspect of Meirow's work is what it suggests about the changing role of professional athletes. Previous generations often existed within clearly defined boundaries: train, compete, recover, repeat. Media teams handled storytelling. Brands controlled narratives. Athletes appeared primarily as subjects rather than creators. With projects like So Sick, Meirow operates simultaneously as athlete, publisher, creative director, filmmaker, interviewer, and storyteller. The race remains central, but it is no longer the sole output. Nike ACG's willingness to support that vision has provided room for experimentation, allowing Meirow to direct the project according to his own instincts rather than forcing it into traditional marketing frameworks. The result feels authentic because it emerges directly from his interests and experiences. And perhaps that authenticity explains why So Sick resonates. The publication is not trying to sell the mythology of perfection. It documents movement, curiosity, friendship, competition, and creative exploration. It captures the spaces between races, the moments that often define a season far more than any finishing position. In So Sick, every race becomes a chapter, every trail a narrative thread, and every journey an opportunity to create something lasting long after the stopwatch has stopped.

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Day 3: The Witching Hour, The Pilgrimage, and the Human Corridor of Sancti Spiritu.

Day 3: The Witching Hour, The Pilgrimage, and t...

This is it. The reason the mud exists. The reason the shoes were designed. The reason thousands converge on this tiny Basque village. Race Day. I don't think the alarm wasn’t necessary. Across the camp our internal clocks, dialed into the nervous tension of the lodge, had us all awake minutes before the crude beep. The air in San Sebastian was cold and completely still. There is a distinct ritual to race morning, even when you aren’t racing. The ACG crew moved with quiet efficiency. Layers were donned. The ACG Zegama shoes, now dry and battle-tested from Day 2, were laced tight, our trust in their grip cemented. By 5:00 AM, we were on the bus heading south. You might think a 5:00 AM bus ride is silent, filled with sleeping bodies. Not today. Not for Zegama. As we rolled toward the Goierri valley, the energy in the vehicle was a tangible, ascending force. The hum of conversation grew louder with every kilometer. The anticipation in the cabin was building its own crescendo. It felt as though the entire Basque Country was inhaling, holding its collective breath. We arrived in Zegama as dawn was just a suggestion of gray against the black peaks of the Aizkorri massif. The town, which we had left as a chaotic street party just hours ago, was now a serious staging ground. First priority: fuel. A quick, powerful coffee at a temporary stand, a hand-grabbed fistful of fruit, and a nutrient-dense snack. That was it. Our mission today wasn't running the marathon; it was surviving the pilgrimage to Sancti Spiritu. And a pilgrimage it is. Leaving the start line gantry behind, we joined the thousands moving out of the village. The early light illuminated a sea of headlamps, a luminous river winding up the steep trails. What makes Zegama unique isn't just the runners; it’s the sheer number of people heading up simply to cheer. We were walking alongside entire families, grandparents with walking sticks, parents with children on their shoulders, all carrying their local pride flags, from the local basque flag (Ikurriña) to other nationalities. We were all moving as one... and using the hum of the distant cowbells as guides up the mountain. This energy is dangerous; it is completely infectious. Our ACG group, initially focused on the technical aspects of the hike, was quickly swept up. We stopped being media, retailers, and staff; we became fans. We found ourselves cheering each other up the steepest pitches, drawn into the shared cultural fervor that defines this race. The goal was the 975-meter mark: Sancti Spiritu. This is the halfway point of the marathon and the legendary emotional epicenter of the entire race. As we ascended, the trees began to thin, revealing the exposed ridge. The sound, a dull roar at the base, became deafening. It is a wall of sound: thousands of voices, hundreds of bells, traditional irrinti screams, and music. We arrived to form part of the Human Corridor. There is barely any path here. Just a narrow channel of rock and mud, flanked on both sides by a dense mass of screaming, singing, frantic humans. It is claustrophobic, intense, and utterly beautiful. Standing in that corridor, the ground beneath our ACG shoes vibrating with the noise, we felt it. The energy shift. The lead athletes were coming. You don't see them first; you see the crowd explode in front of them. It’s like a tsunami of sound rolling up the hill. And then they were there. The elite runners, moving at an impossible pace through a corridor just wide enough for their bodies. We were screaming, sweating, reaching out (but never touching), providing that raw, physical energy that athletes say only exists at Zegama. We saw the masks of pain, the focus, and the sudden look of recognition as they hit the cauldron of support. To see the athletes we studied—the ones wearing the same gear we tested—fighting at this level, in this atmosphere, was a spiritual experience. After the elite field passed through, the energy in the corridor stabilized, though it never truly dropped. We began our descent, moving away from the chaotic peak. This long walk back down provided the space to finally reflect on the landscape. This is the incredible gem Zegama has in its backyard. Leaving the rocky cauldron of Sancti Spiritu, the trail drops into classic rural Basque country. We moved through ancient forests of moss-covered trees and past isolated, historic stone farmsteads (baserriak) where the smell of woodsmoke and sheep hung in the air. The contrast was striking: from the deafening, modern chaos of the peak to this timeless, serene landscape. It was a powerful reminder that while the race is modern, the environment ACG designs for is ancient and unforgiving. Back in Zegama town, the race was reaching its actual crescendo. The big screens were flashing times that defied the brutal mud and technicality of the course. The men’s race was a masterclass in controlled power. Elhousine Elazzaoui came in first, clocking 3:45:09. His second consecutive win was dominant, a proof that his intuitive understanding of how to run this specific, technical, muddy terrain is unmatched. He didn’t just run the course; he tamed it. In the women’s race, we witnessed history. Tove Alexandersson won the female race shattering the previous record. Alexandersson, a true multi-sport warrior, obliterated the course record with a performance that was almost intimidating in its clinical efficiency. She didn’t just win; she reset the expectation of what is possible on the Aizkorri massif. The local heroes ensured the crowd’s energy remained at a peak until the end. The final podium steps were filled with Spanish pride as Malen Osa y Sara Alonso completaron el podio. Their fight on the technical descents provided the narrative that the local fans craved, proving that the future of Catalan and Spanish trail running remains incredibly strong. We ended the day not at a Sidrería, but back in the village square, reflecting on the madness. The ACG Zegama Experience was more than a product launch or a marketing event. It was a raw immersion into the culture that demands this type of gear. We felt the mud, heard the bells, saw the pain, and witnessed the legends. We had taken the gear into its home, and the home had taken us in. Until next time, Zegama.

Read more

Day 3: The Witching Hour, The Pilgrimage, and t...

This is it. The reason the mud exists. The reason the shoes were designed. The reason thousands converge on this tiny Basque village. Race Day. I don't think the alarm wasn’t necessary. Across the camp our internal clocks, dialed into the nervous tension of the lodge, had us all awake minutes before the crude beep. The air in San Sebastian was cold and completely still. There is a distinct ritual to race morning, even when you aren’t racing. The ACG crew moved with quiet efficiency. Layers were donned. The ACG Zegama shoes, now dry and battle-tested from Day 2, were laced tight, our trust in their grip cemented. By 5:00 AM, we were on the bus heading south. You might think a 5:00 AM bus ride is silent, filled with sleeping bodies. Not today. Not for Zegama. As we rolled toward the Goierri valley, the energy in the vehicle was a tangible, ascending force. The hum of conversation grew louder with every kilometer. The anticipation in the cabin was building its own crescendo. It felt as though the entire Basque Country was inhaling, holding its collective breath. We arrived in Zegama as dawn was just a suggestion of gray against the black peaks of the Aizkorri massif. The town, which we had left as a chaotic street party just hours ago, was now a serious staging ground. First priority: fuel. A quick, powerful coffee at a temporary stand, a hand-grabbed fistful of fruit, and a nutrient-dense snack. That was it. Our mission today wasn't running the marathon; it was surviving the pilgrimage to Sancti Spiritu. And a pilgrimage it is. Leaving the start line gantry behind, we joined the thousands moving out of the village. The early light illuminated a sea of headlamps, a luminous river winding up the steep trails. What makes Zegama unique isn't just the runners; it’s the sheer number of people heading up simply to cheer. We were walking alongside entire families, grandparents with walking sticks, parents with children on their shoulders, all carrying their local pride flags, from the local basque flag (Ikurriña) to other nationalities. We were all moving as one... and using the hum of the distant cowbells as guides up the mountain. This energy is dangerous; it is completely infectious. Our ACG group, initially focused on the technical aspects of the hike, was quickly swept up. We stopped being media, retailers, and staff; we became fans. We found ourselves cheering each other up the steepest pitches, drawn into the shared cultural fervor that defines this race. The goal was the 975-meter mark: Sancti Spiritu. This is the halfway point of the marathon and the legendary emotional epicenter of the entire race. As we ascended, the trees began to thin, revealing the exposed ridge. The sound, a dull roar at the base, became deafening. It is a wall of sound: thousands of voices, hundreds of bells, traditional irrinti screams, and music. We arrived to form part of the Human Corridor. There is barely any path here. Just a narrow channel of rock and mud, flanked on both sides by a dense mass of screaming, singing, frantic humans. It is claustrophobic, intense, and utterly beautiful. Standing in that corridor, the ground beneath our ACG shoes vibrating with the noise, we felt it. The energy shift. The lead athletes were coming. You don't see them first; you see the crowd explode in front of them. It’s like a tsunami of sound rolling up the hill. And then they were there. The elite runners, moving at an impossible pace through a corridor just wide enough for their bodies. We were screaming, sweating, reaching out (but never touching), providing that raw, physical energy that athletes say only exists at Zegama. We saw the masks of pain, the focus, and the sudden look of recognition as they hit the cauldron of support. To see the athletes we studied—the ones wearing the same gear we tested—fighting at this level, in this atmosphere, was a spiritual experience. After the elite field passed through, the energy in the corridor stabilized, though it never truly dropped. We began our descent, moving away from the chaotic peak. This long walk back down provided the space to finally reflect on the landscape. This is the incredible gem Zegama has in its backyard. Leaving the rocky cauldron of Sancti Spiritu, the trail drops into classic rural Basque country. We moved through ancient forests of moss-covered trees and past isolated, historic stone farmsteads (baserriak) where the smell of woodsmoke and sheep hung in the air. The contrast was striking: from the deafening, modern chaos of the peak to this timeless, serene landscape. It was a powerful reminder that while the race is modern, the environment ACG designs for is ancient and unforgiving. Back in Zegama town, the race was reaching its actual crescendo. The big screens were flashing times that defied the brutal mud and technicality of the course. The men’s race was a masterclass in controlled power. Elhousine Elazzaoui came in first, clocking 3:45:09. His second consecutive win was dominant, a proof that his intuitive understanding of how to run this specific, technical, muddy terrain is unmatched. He didn’t just run the course; he tamed it. In the women’s race, we witnessed history. Tove Alexandersson won the female race shattering the previous record. Alexandersson, a true multi-sport warrior, obliterated the course record with a performance that was almost intimidating in its clinical efficiency. She didn’t just win; she reset the expectation of what is possible on the Aizkorri massif. The local heroes ensured the crowd’s energy remained at a peak until the end. The final podium steps were filled with Spanish pride as Malen Osa y Sara Alonso completaron el podio. Their fight on the technical descents provided the narrative that the local fans craved, proving that the future of Catalan and Spanish trail running remains incredibly strong. We ended the day not at a Sidrería, but back in the village square, reflecting on the madness. The ACG Zegama Experience was more than a product launch or a marketing event. It was a raw immersion into the culture that demands this type of gear. We felt the mud, heard the bells, saw the pain, and witnessed the legends. We had taken the gear into its home, and the home had taken us in. Until next time, Zegama.

Read more
Day 2: The Shoe, The Slop, and The Crescendo.

Day 2: The Shoe, The Slop, and The Crescendo.

If Day 1 was about immersing ourselves in the culture and the atmosphere of the base of the wall, Day 2 was the technical deep-dive. It was the moment the theoretical became physical. This was the day we got our hands, and more importantly, our feet -on the reason we were all here. We woke up at the lodge in San Sebastian to a distinct quiet, a sharp contrast to the previous night's txotx revelry. The Basque mist was hanging low over the hills, promising the exact conditions ACG thrives in. Breakfast was tactical, but the air was tight with anticipation. We had the opportunity to sit down and talk with some of the athletes, which can be read in other blog posts, but one of our favorite moments was getting the opportunity to speak to Gabriella Lasalle and Liam Mudrow, two star athletes within ACG.  After this, we were given 20 minutes. Change. Gear up. No warm-ups. We were testing the shoe right now. Faster pace.  We didn’t head to a flat park. We headed into the raw hills just outside San Sebastian. ACG doesn’t believe in laboratory testing; they believe in real-world consequence. Our objective: a 9.7KM test run that was just to check out first impressions.  It was glorious chaos. As soon as we headed out, the rain came in. As if the weather knew that we had the task of exploring if ACG really does mean all conditions.  This is where the shoe needed to prove itself.  The ACG Zegama gripped instantly. The aggressive traction pattern dug into the mud, providing lateral stability on the off-camber sections. But the real surprise was the energy return. When we hit the rare sections of hard-packed fire road, the ZoomX foam came alive, giving that responsive pop that allows you to maintain momentum. We pushed hard on a steep, techy ascent, feeling the security of the midfoot lockdown. The descent was even faster, a trusting drop down slick rock and root-infested single track. We finished the 9.7K covered in mud, laughing, and incredibly impressed. The shoe had earned its name.  We scraped the worst of the mud off, kept the new shoes on (a necessary break-in strategy), and hopped into transport. We were heading deeper into the mountains, leaving the relative civility of San Sebastian behind. Lunch was hosted at another local Sidrería, but this one was different. It wasn't the large communal hall of Day 1; it was a more isolated. If the first lunch was a greeting, this lunch was about community. We were deeper into the circle. More cider poured from the barrels, accompanying incredibly flavorful cod omelets and, of course, massive plates of roasted peppers and perfectly grilled steak. The conversation was less polite networking and more raw trail-talk, comparing notes on the shoe’s performance and sharing theories on how to survive the marathon. We couldn't drive away from this Sidrería. Even if there was an offer to take the bus back, we, at Noirfonce imagined there were no roads leading out the back. So we imagined our next objective was a 14.6KM hike back towards the town of Zegama itself. This hike was a critical part of the ACG mindset. After running hard and eating well, we needed to spend time in the environment, moving slower, absorbing the landscape. This wasn't a casual stroll. The route took us through ancient beech forests, where the light was filtered and green, and up onto exposed ridges where the wind whipped the mist around us. The long, steady hike served a purpose. It grounded us. We were walking on parts of the course that would be teeming with life on race day, but now, they were silent, majestic, and intimidating. We were earning our respect for the terrain we would be cheering on tomorrow. As the 14.6KM mark approached, the silence began to break. We dropped off the high ridge, descending a technical trail toward the valley floor. We could hear it before we saw it. The sound of bells, the low hum of thousands of voices. We arrived in Zegama town. If you have never been to Zegama the day before the marathon, you cannot understand it. It is not just a trail race; it is the center of the Basque cultural universe for one weekend. The ambiance was in a absolute crescendo. The small mountain village, usually quiet, was a vibrant, chaotic organism. The streets were choked with people from all over Europe. Flags were hanging from every window. We saw the Joaldunak (the traditional Basque bell-ringers), their massive cowbells creating a rhythmic, almost hypnotic thud that resonated in the chest. The ACG team presence was strong, but we were just one part of the ecosystem. The town square was a wash of activity, as volunteers set up the start/finish gantry and elite athletes (some of whom we’d eaten lunch with just hours ago) were walking around, looking relaxed but focused. The energy was palpable; it was a physical weight of excitement and impending effort. The town was ready to explode. Reluctantly, we left the vibrating center of Zegama and headed back to our lodge in San Sebastian. The juxtaposition was striking. Going from the raw, noisy heart of the race prep to the quiet sophistication of the lodge. Dinner was different tonight. It was quiet. Serious. The revelry was gone, replaced by focus. This was purely about fueling up for The BIG Day. The menu was high-carb, lean protein; focused energy rather than flavor.  We checked our packs one last time. Final checks on the ACG Zegama shoes (we’d cleaned the worst of the mud off to let them dry, knowing they’d be soaked again within minutes tomorrow). Batteries charging. Hydration prepared. The talking was over. The tests were done. The crescendo in the village had settled into a low hum. It was time for the main event. Tomorrow, we would find out why this race is legendary. Tomorrow, we would witness the madness. Tomorrow is Race Day.

Read more

Day 2: The Shoe, The Slop, and The Crescendo.

If Day 1 was about immersing ourselves in the culture and the atmosphere of the base of the wall, Day 2 was the technical deep-dive. It was the moment the theoretical became physical. This was the day we got our hands, and more importantly, our feet -on the reason we were all here. We woke up at the lodge in San Sebastian to a distinct quiet, a sharp contrast to the previous night's txotx revelry. The Basque mist was hanging low over the hills, promising the exact conditions ACG thrives in. Breakfast was tactical, but the air was tight with anticipation. We had the opportunity to sit down and talk with some of the athletes, which can be read in other blog posts, but one of our favorite moments was getting the opportunity to speak to Gabriella Lasalle and Liam Mudrow, two star athletes within ACG.  After this, we were given 20 minutes. Change. Gear up. No warm-ups. We were testing the shoe right now. Faster pace.  We didn’t head to a flat park. We headed into the raw hills just outside San Sebastian. ACG doesn’t believe in laboratory testing; they believe in real-world consequence. Our objective: a 9.7KM test run that was just to check out first impressions.  It was glorious chaos. As soon as we headed out, the rain came in. As if the weather knew that we had the task of exploring if ACG really does mean all conditions.  This is where the shoe needed to prove itself.  The ACG Zegama gripped instantly. The aggressive traction pattern dug into the mud, providing lateral stability on the off-camber sections. But the real surprise was the energy return. When we hit the rare sections of hard-packed fire road, the ZoomX foam came alive, giving that responsive pop that allows you to maintain momentum. We pushed hard on a steep, techy ascent, feeling the security of the midfoot lockdown. The descent was even faster, a trusting drop down slick rock and root-infested single track. We finished the 9.7K covered in mud, laughing, and incredibly impressed. The shoe had earned its name.  We scraped the worst of the mud off, kept the new shoes on (a necessary break-in strategy), and hopped into transport. We were heading deeper into the mountains, leaving the relative civility of San Sebastian behind. Lunch was hosted at another local Sidrería, but this one was different. It wasn't the large communal hall of Day 1; it was a more isolated. If the first lunch was a greeting, this lunch was about community. We were deeper into the circle. More cider poured from the barrels, accompanying incredibly flavorful cod omelets and, of course, massive plates of roasted peppers and perfectly grilled steak. The conversation was less polite networking and more raw trail-talk, comparing notes on the shoe’s performance and sharing theories on how to survive the marathon. We couldn't drive away from this Sidrería. Even if there was an offer to take the bus back, we, at Noirfonce imagined there were no roads leading out the back. So we imagined our next objective was a 14.6KM hike back towards the town of Zegama itself. This hike was a critical part of the ACG mindset. After running hard and eating well, we needed to spend time in the environment, moving slower, absorbing the landscape. This wasn't a casual stroll. The route took us through ancient beech forests, where the light was filtered and green, and up onto exposed ridges where the wind whipped the mist around us. The long, steady hike served a purpose. It grounded us. We were walking on parts of the course that would be teeming with life on race day, but now, they were silent, majestic, and intimidating. We were earning our respect for the terrain we would be cheering on tomorrow. As the 14.6KM mark approached, the silence began to break. We dropped off the high ridge, descending a technical trail toward the valley floor. We could hear it before we saw it. The sound of bells, the low hum of thousands of voices. We arrived in Zegama town. If you have never been to Zegama the day before the marathon, you cannot understand it. It is not just a trail race; it is the center of the Basque cultural universe for one weekend. The ambiance was in a absolute crescendo. The small mountain village, usually quiet, was a vibrant, chaotic organism. The streets were choked with people from all over Europe. Flags were hanging from every window. We saw the Joaldunak (the traditional Basque bell-ringers), their massive cowbells creating a rhythmic, almost hypnotic thud that resonated in the chest. The ACG team presence was strong, but we were just one part of the ecosystem. The town square was a wash of activity, as volunteers set up the start/finish gantry and elite athletes (some of whom we’d eaten lunch with just hours ago) were walking around, looking relaxed but focused. The energy was palpable; it was a physical weight of excitement and impending effort. The town was ready to explode. Reluctantly, we left the vibrating center of Zegama and headed back to our lodge in San Sebastian. The juxtaposition was striking. Going from the raw, noisy heart of the race prep to the quiet sophistication of the lodge. Dinner was different tonight. It was quiet. Serious. The revelry was gone, replaced by focus. This was purely about fueling up for The BIG Day. The menu was high-carb, lean protein; focused energy rather than flavor.  We checked our packs one last time. Final checks on the ACG Zegama shoes (we’d cleaned the worst of the mud off to let them dry, knowing they’d be soaked again within minutes tomorrow). Batteries charging. Hydration prepared. The talking was over. The tests were done. The crescendo in the village had settled into a low hum. It was time for the main event. Tomorrow, we would find out why this race is legendary. Tomorrow, we would witness the madness. Tomorrow is Race Day.

Read more
Day 1: ACG Zegama Experience

Day 1: ACG Zegama Experience

There is a feeling you get when you land in the Basque Country. It's a mixture of damp earth, ancient secrets, and a sudden, primal need to move your legs. Our arrival for the ACG Zegama Experience was less of a check-in and more of an immersion. ACG (All Conditions Gear) doesn't just do events; they do takeovers. Our host lodge in San Sebastian had been completely transformed. Every corner of the rustically elegant central room had that ACG takeover executed with nothing but love, attention to detail and true obsession. From the entrance mat to the specialized gear stations, we were surrounded by an aesthetic that balances raw performance with refined utility. The vibe was instant: we were here to work, to play, and to understand. Arrival was a blur of reunion hugs, new introductions, and an immediate fueling strategy. ACG knows how to welcome a tribe. The spread of initial arrival snacks and the subsequent lunch were a masterclass in Basque hospitality. It wasn't just food; it was fuel designed for the environment; hearty, artisanal, and incredibly satisfying. As we met the mix of other retailers, passionate athletes, and influential publications, the energy began to hum. We were a diverse group, but united by a shared reverence for the mountains and the unique madness that is Zegama. After fueling, the energy shifted. It was time. The pleasantries were over. We needed to change. The mountains were calling. We headed south, the smooth coastal roads giving way to the jagged, impossible greens of the Goierri valley. Our destination: Zegama. Specifically, the notorious KB (Kilómetro Vertical) Challenge. The Zegama Vertical Kilometer is legendary not just for its brutality: climbing 1,015 meters of positive gain in just over 3 kilometers, but for its unique final section. The organizers often shorten the timed portion slightly to finish at the chabola of Itzubiaga when weather demands, but the true myth lies in the final, neutralized scrambles of the "Wall." We weren't competing; we were the support crew. We hiked from the town center towards the base of the wall, ascending through the dense, muddy beech forests that define the first half of the course. The atmosphere here is thick. You can feel the moisture clinging to the trees. As we emerged onto the exposed ridge, the sound of the crowd hits you long before you see them. Our job was to climb higher, positioning ourselves along the final, steepest pitches to scream, cheer, and literally push the athletes forward. It is a primal, beautiful, chaotic symphony of suffering and support. Watching the elite KB field explode up that final slope is a spiritual experience. Two names stood out today, encapsulating both the present and future of the sport. First, Nienke Brinkman. There is something otherworldly about her efficiency. Watching her glide over terrain that had us scrambling on all fours is almost disrespectful to physics. She won, making it look elegant. Nienke’s dominance isn't just about raw speed; it's about a deep, intuitive connection with technical, punishing terrain. Her performance today cemented her special relationship with Zegama, she is a force that seems to thrive on the precise type of suffering this mountain demands. And then, on the other end of the experience spectrum, there is Gabriela Lasalle. She took 6th place today, but that number doesn't tell the full story. Gabriela is a young, promising contender, and watching her fight for every meter in that brutal field was inspiring. She has the kind of grit and raw talent that marks her as a definite future contender for the global trail running crown. Zegama rewards those who can suffer longest, and Gabriela showed today she has that capacity in abundance. Remember this name. As the sun dipped behind the Aizkorri massif, we made our way to a local Sidrería for the official debrief and feast. A true Basque Sidrería Experience is not a quiet affair. It's a communal ritual centered around cider, and enormous quantities of food. This was where the "Experience" part of ACG really unified. We weren't just retailers, media, and athletes anymore; we were a collective that had shared the muddy trails and the deafening wall. I found myself sharing steak with the team from I-Run, shooting some pictures with the team from 25 gramos, and comparing notes on gear durability with the people behind Foot District, and deep in a technical conversation with the editorial force of KisstheMountain... and of course, we cannot mention our good friends from Mental Athletic. You know when they're around, it's real.  We drank cider poured directly from the txotx  (the massive chestnut barrels), shared incredible cuts of txuleta, and toasted to the mountains, the madness, and the fact that Day 1 was only the beginning.  

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Day 1: ACG Zegama Experience

There is a feeling you get when you land in the Basque Country. It's a mixture of damp earth, ancient secrets, and a sudden, primal need to move your legs. Our arrival for the ACG Zegama Experience was less of a check-in and more of an immersion. ACG (All Conditions Gear) doesn't just do events; they do takeovers. Our host lodge in San Sebastian had been completely transformed. Every corner of the rustically elegant central room had that ACG takeover executed with nothing but love, attention to detail and true obsession. From the entrance mat to the specialized gear stations, we were surrounded by an aesthetic that balances raw performance with refined utility. The vibe was instant: we were here to work, to play, and to understand. Arrival was a blur of reunion hugs, new introductions, and an immediate fueling strategy. ACG knows how to welcome a tribe. The spread of initial arrival snacks and the subsequent lunch were a masterclass in Basque hospitality. It wasn't just food; it was fuel designed for the environment; hearty, artisanal, and incredibly satisfying. As we met the mix of other retailers, passionate athletes, and influential publications, the energy began to hum. We were a diverse group, but united by a shared reverence for the mountains and the unique madness that is Zegama. After fueling, the energy shifted. It was time. The pleasantries were over. We needed to change. The mountains were calling. We headed south, the smooth coastal roads giving way to the jagged, impossible greens of the Goierri valley. Our destination: Zegama. Specifically, the notorious KB (Kilómetro Vertical) Challenge. The Zegama Vertical Kilometer is legendary not just for its brutality: climbing 1,015 meters of positive gain in just over 3 kilometers, but for its unique final section. The organizers often shorten the timed portion slightly to finish at the chabola of Itzubiaga when weather demands, but the true myth lies in the final, neutralized scrambles of the "Wall." We weren't competing; we were the support crew. We hiked from the town center towards the base of the wall, ascending through the dense, muddy beech forests that define the first half of the course. The atmosphere here is thick. You can feel the moisture clinging to the trees. As we emerged onto the exposed ridge, the sound of the crowd hits you long before you see them. Our job was to climb higher, positioning ourselves along the final, steepest pitches to scream, cheer, and literally push the athletes forward. It is a primal, beautiful, chaotic symphony of suffering and support. Watching the elite KB field explode up that final slope is a spiritual experience. Two names stood out today, encapsulating both the present and future of the sport. First, Nienke Brinkman. There is something otherworldly about her efficiency. Watching her glide over terrain that had us scrambling on all fours is almost disrespectful to physics. She won, making it look elegant. Nienke’s dominance isn't just about raw speed; it's about a deep, intuitive connection with technical, punishing terrain. Her performance today cemented her special relationship with Zegama, she is a force that seems to thrive on the precise type of suffering this mountain demands. And then, on the other end of the experience spectrum, there is Gabriela Lasalle. She took 6th place today, but that number doesn't tell the full story. Gabriela is a young, promising contender, and watching her fight for every meter in that brutal field was inspiring. She has the kind of grit and raw talent that marks her as a definite future contender for the global trail running crown. Zegama rewards those who can suffer longest, and Gabriela showed today she has that capacity in abundance. Remember this name. As the sun dipped behind the Aizkorri massif, we made our way to a local Sidrería for the official debrief and feast. A true Basque Sidrería Experience is not a quiet affair. It's a communal ritual centered around cider, and enormous quantities of food. This was where the "Experience" part of ACG really unified. We weren't just retailers, media, and athletes anymore; we were a collective that had shared the muddy trails and the deafening wall. I found myself sharing steak with the team from I-Run, shooting some pictures with the team from 25 gramos, and comparing notes on gear durability with the people behind Foot District, and deep in a technical conversation with the editorial force of KisstheMountain... and of course, we cannot mention our good friends from Mental Athletic. You know when they're around, it's real.  We drank cider poured directly from the txotx  (the massive chestnut barrels), shared incredible cuts of txuleta, and toasted to the mountains, the madness, and the fact that Day 1 was only the beginning.  

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