Trail running: a clean sport? And for how much longer?

With three or four kilometres left in the 2018 Hochkönigman, I had a comfortable lead and stopped to relieve myself. If only I had saved that urine! As I celebrated victory, representatives of Austria’s anti-doping agency NADA approached and told me to follow them. It was not my first test: I had been tested before the 2017 UTMB.

But that had been a blood test. This was a urine test. Why had I emptied my bladder so close to the finish?

If you do not know the procedure, words such as “degrading” or “disrespectful” may quickly come to mind. Until I provide the required amount, someone shadows me and restricts my freedom. I cannot shower or enter a pool. When I can finally urinate, the official watches my genitals directly. What must this person have seen and smelled? I apologise in advance: after 11.5 hours of rain and heat, I can barely stand my own smell.

In 2017, I could cool down in the pool straight after finishing Hochkönigman. In 2018, doping control prevented it, despite #neverpeeintoapool.

I must divide the urine between two containers, which are sealed. The procedure takes 90 minutes. That feels long after half a day racing, sweaty and tired. I still recall the grotesque scene: shaking hands from low blood sugar, feeling guilty as I poured, and partly spilled, my own urine in front of two strangers.

Has doping arrived in trail running?

I am grateful to ATRA, Austria’s trail and skyrunning association, for investing its own money in testing at major races. Our country regularly makes negative headlines, most recently when two cross-country skiers were caught at the Nordic World Championships in Seefeld.

I will venture the claim that our sport is still 99.9% clean. In a sport where a former workaholic can, after eight years of training, reach the top 10 of its biggest event at 37, with two children and a full-time job, without doping, elite sport and doping have not fully arrived. Doping could certainly offer advantages in recovery and training volume.

But honestly: in eight years, I have won €600 in prize money, €100 at Tour de Tirol, which I donated, and, precisely, €425 less French tax at the UTMB, and never received money from sponsors. Winning feels good. It is hardly worth risking lasting damage to your health with illegal substances, or cheating yourself and others. My own case shows that success without doping is possible.

Risk my health through doping just for my ego? Never. My highest goal is to keep exploring trails with my twins into old age.

Very few can make a living from trail running

Hundreds and thousands of trail runners worldwide share my position: unable to live from their passion. Perhaps a handful can call themselves professionals, starting with Spain’s Kilian Jornet and a few Americans and French runners. Again, my view is that doping plays little role in trail running. I personally know of one case: a Mexican runner disqualified at the 2015 UTMB.

Doping must offer a financial payoff, and trail running remains far from large prize purses and lucrative sponsorships. Some people do not even recognise it as elite or professional sport. Running 80, 100 or 160 kilometres seems unimaginable to many, who view participants as freaks. Public interest is limited too: my ninth place at the 2018 UTMB barely registered in the media.

Why dope if it brings neither financial benefits nor recognition? Is trail running one of the few “clean” sports? How long will that last?

I cannot answer these questions, but welcome discussion in the comments. What is beyond doubt is that staying away from doping is simply smarter!

Above all, the mountains and nature should give us all the boost we need!