Drejka Team
✍️ Tadej Maligoj
Both of us were once runners, but today most people know us as the sweepers — the two who come after everyone else and collect the last remnants of ego scattered across the hills. When did you realise that the person falling apart ten kilometres before the finish line interests you more than the result itself?
A small correction first — one of us was a runner, while the other was always there supporting her unconditionally through all this madness. Together, we’ve been Drejka Team for over 30 years.
We’ve been part of the trail world since the days when it wasn’t even called trail yet — back when it was the Slovenian Alpine Marathon or the Four Municipalities Mountain Marathon. When the 2014 100 Miles of Istria gave us the chance to write our own story titled The Impossible Became Possible, what we felt above all was gratitude. It seemed right to give something back to the trail world.
First we volunteered at the aid station by the Butoniga, and then it felt right to complete the mosaic of trail stories by becoming sweepers. It’s been quite a few years since that first sweep.
You probably see the most honest versions of people — when the energy, gels, good manners, and Instagram motivational quotes have all run out. What do trail runners really become in the final kilometres?
The longer the course, the less bluffing there is. Out there near the end, the masks come off, along with the motivational quotes and the sports watches. What remains is just the person.
And that’s exactly the charm of being a sweeper. We feel that our own experience as runners helps us coax at least a few more steps out of people in those final kilometres. Every race is its own story, but when you’re the sweeper on the last shift, some of them stay with you forever.
“Support” sounds nice and almost gentle, but the reality is probably quite a bit muddier, wetter, and sometimes psychologically demanding. What does a sweep experience that the crowd at the finish arch never sees?
Someone once wrote on their blog: “You simply can’t resist the enthusiasm of Drejka Team.” And it’s true — we still love being sweepers, even when it’s not always pretty or romantic. In the end, only the beautiful moments remain anyway.
Sometimes it’s quite raw. It’s deeply distressing, for instance, to watch a runner trying every few steps to bring something up from their stomach — and failing. The sounds involved are very similar to a stag bellowing during the rut.
Or those moments when, in heavy rain, you’re walking toward the top of Nanos behind the last runners, knowing you’re soaked to the bone. But because you know that in a few hours it will be dry and warm again, even that becomes part of a story you later tell with a smile.
Your humour has become almost part of your identity. How much dark humour does a person need to get through long days in the rain, cold, and hills — alongside people who are sometimes swearing they’re “about to die any second now”?
Every sweep is its own kind of entertainment. So many moments happen that are almost impossible to describe — you simply have to experience them.
It’s actually easier for us than for the competitors, since we cover a much shorter distance. What’s incredibly interesting, though, is watching people: how they walk, how they rest, how they speak when the energy is gone. Some want conversation; others fight in complete silence.
Once, a runner who realised he wasn’t going to make the cutoff simply sat down by the trail and started telling stories from his hiking adventures. It took a call from the mountain rescue team on Nanos to convince him to get up and keep going.
When sweeping, we try to be as discreet as possible and not breathe down anyone’s neck. We follow at a safe distance.
Slovenian trail is quite a special scene: part sport, part suffering, part village fair, part collective therapy. How do you see it after all these years on the ground?
You’ve described it perfectly — there’s really not much to add.
Participation numbers have grown significantly, and as a result it seems to us that some of the genuine connection and honesty has faded compared to the old days, when we practically all knew each other and cheered each other on. That said, we no longer follow the races as intensively as we did when we were an active part of nearly every trail story.
Do you have a ritual or your own little “Drejka Team protocol” before an event? Something without which a trail weekend simply isn’t officially open?
No special ritual. But we still look forward to every sweep almost like children on a school trip.
Whenever possible, we always watch the race start. That’s the time for hugs, jokes, and short conversations with trail friends we sometimes haven’t seen for months.
After all these kilometres of sweeping, we’ve even earned the title of “VIP sweepers.” And honestly — we’re not going to pretend that doesn’t feel rather nice. 😊
If you ever really did publish a book of all the stories you’ve collected as sweepers on Slovenian trails — would it be a comedy, a psychological thriller, or a survival guide? And what would the opening line be?
Maybe one day we really will publish a book about how we swept the trails, sweeper in hand.
In a very short time, sweeping takes you through an enormous range of feelings. From the initial euphoria when the energy is high and you’re holding a handful of flags and tape, to the moments of exhaustion when the signs on the poles are slipping through your fingers and all you’re waiting for is the spot where you can finally set them down.
Sweeping is actually quite a good metaphor for life.
In the end, you always realise it was worth the effort. Especially when you see the boundless joy in the eyes of the last finisher — who perhaps made it to the line partly because of your support.
The title of the first chapter?
Being a Sweeper — or the Finishing Work in Trail. 😊
And one more thing we have to add: we only sweep at races where we feel a genuine friendship with the organisers. That’s why we have to give a special mention to the UTVV and 100 Miles of Istria teams. They truly understand how important volunteers are — and that’s exactly why we love coming back to Ajdovščina and Istria, time and time again.
Tadej
