Pain Cave Athlete Rebecca Hormann’s blog on finishing 1st female and 3rd overall at Terra de Gigantes setting a huge female Course Record
Pain Cave athlete Rebecca Hormann delivered an extraordinary performance at Terra de Gigantes, finishing 1st female and 3rd overall while setting a massive new female course record in one of Europe’s toughest ultra races. For competitors in events like this, gear choices such as ultra running headbands can make a difference.
This is Rebecca’s story of fear, resilience, and solving the puzzle of a 200-mile race.
Facing the Unknown at Terra de Gigantes
I’ve always said that if a race doesn’t scare me at least a little, then I’m not sure why I’m running it.
Terra de Gigantes definitely scared me.
Maybe it was the fear of the unknown. Maybe it was the distance — so immense that I couldn’t even visualise my way through it. In the weeks leading up to the race, I could picture the start. I could imagine what the finish might feel like. But everything in between was a blank space.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring any clarity to that middle section.
Terra de Gigantes is advertised as a self-sufficient ultra race, but runners are allowed drop bags at the seven aid stations, and crew can meet you there as well.
The closest experience I had to draw from was the Spine Challenger North in January 2025, where you rarely see your drop bag. Because of that, preparing seven drop bags felt excessive.
A few days before leaving for Portugal, I spoke with my coach. He reminded me that races like this are puzzles to solve.
If we already knew all the answers, where would the challenge be?
That thought gave me a lot of peace while preparing. And realistically, I had Jack crewing for me — so I was never going to be completely stuck if something went wrong.
Arriving in Portugal
We arrived in Covilhã on Monday evening before the race. I wanted a few quiet days to settle nerves rather than arriving exhausted from travel.
Registration was smooth, but the race briefing was surreal. Standing casually around me were some of the sport’s biggest names — Eoin Keith, Luca Papi, Dave Phillips and Robbie Britton, just to name a few.
The next morning, Jack and I followed the runners’ bus up to the start in our rental car.
The higher we climbed, the worse the conditions became. Soon the roads were covered in snow.
Terra de Gigantes starts at the highest point in Portugal, with the first six miles heading downhill on the road.
Right before the start photo, I managed to catch Eoin Keith and asked if he had any final advice.
He simply said:
“Just make sure you have fun.”
Start to Piódão — 31 Miles
The downhill start made the opening miles tricky.
I knew it would be easy to destroy my quads early on, so I kept things controlled and watched plenty of runners fly past me.
Una Miles came through with another runner, both looking relaxed and happy. It was tempting to follow their pace, but I repeated my mantra:
My race. My pace.
The first 31 miles were about settling into the race rhythm — eating early, running steady, and enjoying conversation with other runners.
In a race this long, I knew I’d eventually spend hours alone.
Near the top of the first major climb, I still had no idea where I was in the field. The weather shifted constantly, but for a brief moment the rain stopped and a runner behind me pointed out a rainbow stretching across the valley.
It was stunning.
The first checkpoint sat — predictably — at the top of a brutal climb. I quickly realised this would be a theme.
Every checkpoint required work to reach.
At Piódão, the atmosphere was buzzing. Cameras were suddenly in my face, which confused me because I was sure there were women ahead of me.
I assumed everyone was getting the same treatment.
After pasta, fresh socks, a new shirt, and full waterproofs, I headed back out just as the sun was setting.
I wouldn’t see another runner for nearly twelve hours.
Piódão to Fajão — 19 Miles
The next section was relentless.
Climb. Summit. Descend. Repeat.
Often I’d see the red light of a communications tower high on a ridge — climb toward it, descend the switchbacks, then do it all again.
Rain fell constantly, but I stayed comfortable thanks to the right kit.
Eventually visibility became so poor I couldn’t even see my hand in front of me. My headlamp illuminated only the ground a few feet ahead.
Sometimes the trail was rocky fire road. Sometimes tarmac.
Eventually road signs appeared and civilisation returned. A final steep descent led into a checkpoint glowing with warmth, volunteers and a roaring fire.
Jack and I moved quickly.
An acquaintance of Jon Shield handed me a bowl of hot soup while I joked with volunteers in whatever mix of languages I could manage.
We were already 50 miles into the race, though it hardly felt like it.
Soon I was back out in the rain again, running down a long road descent.
Fajão to Góis — 26 Miles
This was one of the loneliest sections of the race.
The pattern repeated endlessly — climb, summit, descend.
Eventually the descents began dropping into quiet villages. Each time I hoped the warm lights would break the loneliness, but the towns passed quickly and I was alone again.
Then I reached Góis.
The riverside cobblestone streets were calm and beautiful. I walked the final mile into the checkpoint just to take it in.
Here we took a little more time.
I ate as much as possible and checked my feet. After 76 miles, they looked surprisingly good.
I left around 3:30am, still an hour ahead of my “impossible” 52-hour goal.
Góis to Talasnal — 15 Miles
Then came another brutal climb.
Visibility returned to near zero, though it didn’t matter because the summit wasn’t visible anyway.
Trail became road, road became gravel. A few times I drifted off course while focusing on keeping an uphill rhythm.
At the top I found another runner standing still, staring at his watch. Spanish became the obvious language.
He’d been stuck trying to find the descent.
Together we found the route down — a steep, slippery drop that punished our already sore quads.
His name might have been Juan, though I never confirmed it.
We ran together through sunrise and into the next checkpoint.
Talasnal to Ansião — 27 Miles
Sunrise always brings hope, but it’s temporary.
The sun rises, but the miles remain.
At this checkpoint I rushed too much — eating quickly and joking with volunteers while asking about the weather.
They assured me it wouldn’t rain, so I removed my waterproof trousers.
What I didn’t realise until much later was that my heavier waterproof jacket never made it back into my bag.
Soon after climbing out of the checkpoint, the rain returned.
For hours I was freezing and soaked.
This was the only moment in the race where I wondered if it might be over.
I forced myself to eat — always the first solution — and pushed hard enough to generate warmth.
Eventually the mountains gave way to villages, sunshine, and barking dogs. Slowly I warmed up again.
Ansião to Olival — 24 Miles
Ansião felt like a media hub — live streams, interviews and photographers everywhere.
I’d thought about taking a nap, but the energy in the checkpoint made it impossible.
Here I finally asked Jack about my position.
Third overall.
At this stage of a 200-mile race, that information didn’t change much. I was already doing everything I could.
The course flattened slightly along a riverside stretch, and I settled into a run-walk rhythm.
At one point I ran a 9:30 mile, which felt absurdly fast at that stage.
But as night fell again, loneliness returned.
Villages blurred together and I genuinely wondered if I was running in circles.
Eventually I reached Olival, where Jack was waiting.
This time I decided to sleep.
Just 10 minutes.
Olival to Porto de Mós — 29 Miles
Leaving Olival was mentally difficult.
Not because of the distance — but because I didn’t want to return to that feeling of isolation.
My stomach also wasn’t right. I wished I could throw up just to reset things.
Eventually I committed to walking until things improved.
This section became strange.
In Fatima, a man suddenly started running beside me. He said he had been running with Dave and Robbie and had come back down the course to join me.
He talked for miles about his life — about being a pilot, about living in the village.
Later, at the awards ceremony, Dave and Robbie told me they had never seen him.
Fatigue does strange things.
Eventually he disappeared and I continued alone into the darkness.
Porto de Mós to Nazaré — The Final 19 Miles
At Porto de Mós my stomach finally forced a reset — I vomited everything I had tried to eat.
Oddly, that helped.
Some quick maths revealed something incredible.
Even at a relaxed pace, I could still finish under 48 hours.
That hadn’t even seemed possible.
The final miles weren’t flat as promised, but I found a rhythm.
With six miles to go I got briefly lost, forcing me to pull out my phone for the first time in the race.
Soon after, the course dropped through sandy forest toward the ocean.
Then I saw it.
Nazaré.
One last cruel climb. One final staircase.
And then the finish.
The Finish Line
When I turned the final corner and saw the finish line, I ran.
I hadn’t cried during the race. There wasn’t time.
But as soon as I crossed the line, everything arrived at once.
Relief. Exhaustion. Gratitude.
Terra de Gigantes demanded patience, consistency and problem solving.
The volunteers were incredible.
And Jack — who sacrificed sleep, comfort and sanity to crew me — made the entire race possible.
I came here simply to see if I could finish.
Instead, I won the women’s race, finished 3rd overall, and set a new female course record.
If that time encourages more women to stand on the start line believing they belong there, then it means even more.
The fear before a big race may never disappear.
But the feeling after facing it is unbeatable.
Follow Rebecca
You can follow Rebecca’s adventures on Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/rebeccahanna06
Rebecca’s Race Kit
Rebecca wore the Pain Cave Yellow Coolnet UV Wide Headband during the race.
Shop the headband here:
https://www.paincaveheadwear.com/product/yellow-pain-cave-coolnet-uv-wide-headband/
The bright yellow stood out all the way to the finish line.
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