I remember well that late afternoon in mid-March, at the end of a particularly intense session preparing for the season’s goals. I was trying to distract myself a bit mentally, to forget the fatigue accumulated in the first days of hard effort, by searching for a place that could satisfy my unlimited thirst for exploring new remote locations and would add a new culture to my experience.
 
By sheer coincidence, I receive a call from the organizers of a new race in the World Series circuit that will take place in the Kaçkar Mountains in Turkey, with the possibility to test the route in person in late summer. Although I don’t hide my initial skepticism, after a few seconds I’m googling with the eagerness of someone who wants to carefully evaluate an opportunity before turning it down.
 
The first images further fuel my thirst for adventure. These trails would be the reward for the daily training and the racing effort, the discipline and dedication of an entire season. The mix of otherworldly and spectacular landscapes is just what I was looking for!
 
Those alpine-looking mountains, with their slopes dotted with lakes, seemed so similar to the Dolomites of South Tyrol, where I first started trail running, and yet so different, with those very low and mysterious clouds under which the yaylasi — small villages inhabited by local shepherds and surrounded by expanses of çay (Turkish tea) fields — seem to disappear.

I remember well that late afternoon in mid-March, at the end of a particularly intense session preparing for the season’s goals. I was trying to distract myself a bit mentally, to forget the fatigue accumulated in the first days of hard effort, by searching for a place that could satisfy my unlimited thirst for exploring new remote locations and would add a new culture to my experience.
 
By sheer coincidence, I receive a call from the organizers of a new race in the World Series circuit that will take place in the Kaçkar Mountains in Turkey, with the possibility to test the route in person in late summer. Although I don’t hide my initial skepticism, after a few seconds I’m googling with the eagerness of someone who wants to carefully evaluate an opportunity before turning it down.
 
The first images further fuel my thirst for adventure. These trails would be the reward for the daily training and the racing effort, the discipline and dedication of an entire season. The mix of otherworldly and spectacular landscapes is just what I was looking for!
 
Those alpine-looking mountains, with their slopes dotted with lakes, seemed so similar to the Dolomites of South Tyrol, where I first started trail running, and yet so different, with those very low and mysterious clouds under which the yaylasi — small villages inhabited by local shepherds and surrounded by expanses of çay (Turkish tea) fields — seem to disappear.

I remember well that late afternoon in mid-March, at the end of a particularly intense session preparing for the season’s goals. I was trying to distract myself a bit mentally, to forget the fatigue accumulated in the first days of hard effort, by searching for a place that could satisfy my unlimited thirst for exploring new remote locations and would add a new culture to my experience.
 
By sheer coincidence, I receive a call from the organizers of a new race in the World Series circuit that will take place in the Kaçkar Mountains in Turkey, with the possibility to test the route in person in late summer. Although I don’t hide my initial skepticism, after a few seconds I’m googling with the eagerness of someone who wants to carefully evaluate an opportunity before turning it down.
 
The first images further fuel my thirst for adventure. These trails would be the reward for the daily training and the racing effort, the discipline and dedication of an entire season. The mix of otherworldly and spectacular landscapes is just what I was looking for!
 
Those alpine-looking mountains, with their slopes dotted with lakes, seemed so similar to the Dolomites of South Tyrol, where I first started trail running, and yet so different, with those very low and mysterious clouds under which the yaylasi — small villages inhabited by local shepherds and surrounded by expanses of çay (Turkish tea) fields — seem to disappear.