Will you marry me?

29 August 2013. For the first time, I am standing in Chamonix beneath Mont Blanc. Looking up. And thinking: unimaginable.

That is exactly the word that went through my mind three years earlier, when I came across the Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc online. A complete circuit of the massif, through France, Italy and Switzerland. 167 kilometres and around 9,600 metres of climbing. To me, this is the European ultra, something like the Olympics of ultrarunning.

Tomorrow I am supposed to start here. Where has my confidence gone?

Three years – and suddenly it all seems insufficient

It is not as though I have skipped the preparation. More than 10,000 kilometres of training. Marathons, an Ironman, ultramarathons. Twice across the Alps at the Transalpine-Run. Twenty days running from Vienna to Copenhagen. Climbs above 6,000 metres in Peru. For three years, I have been preparing for this moment, getting fit and qualifying for the UTMB in the first place.

Three weeks before the start, I pulled out of the Swiss Irontrail. At kilometre 120, in the lead, with blisters on my feet. Giving up was hard. But I did not want to jeopardise the UTMB. So: heal the blisters and look ahead.

Now I am standing here, taking in the scale of the mountains around Chamonix, and wondering whether all of it might still have been too little.

Bib number 4575

At 4:30 pm on 30 August, I am on the start line with more than 2,300 runners. Seven kilos on my back, including the mandatory kit. We will, after all, be on our own for parts of the route in the high mountains.

I am a long way back. Somewhere around position 1867, I would say. The sheer number of people makes me uneasy: how is this going to work?

Then Vangelis starts playing. “Conquest of Paradise”, the anthem of this race. The air is electric. Up front, the superstars sprint away. I walk with the crowd through the narrow streets of Chamonix. Given how far we still have to go, these first few minutes probably do not matter much.

Eventually, though, the urge to run takes over. I work my way forward, towards the thinner parts of the field. After the first half-marathon, I have found my rhythm in 156th place. In small groups, sometimes already on my own, it is much easier to take in everything around me.

Ten metres of light

At night, strings of headlamps stretch across the mountain. Ahead of me, behind me, climbing above 2,500 metres. Indescribable. For a moment, I forget the strain of all the kilometres already in my legs.

For a moment.

Most of the time, all I can see is the ten-metre beam of my headlamp. Uphill, downhill, onwards. Sometimes the monotony feels like a trance. Sometimes it is just monotonous.

Then I am face down on the ground, very clearly back in reality. Fortunately, the only thing that shatters is the glass on my supposedly rugged outdoor phone.

Well, this was never going to be a walk in the park.

The first rays of sunlight bring me back to life. I have run through an entire night, covered roughly 100 kilometres and reached the highest point of the course at 2,527 metres. The sun is rising in front of me. It is one of those moments when a photograph does a better job than a thousand words.

Downhill is not a break

That high does not last long, though. There are 1,500 vertical metres of descent ahead.

When I first started looking at course profiles like these three years ago, the downward lines represented rest in my imagination. Work hard uphill, recover downhill. Something like that.

By now, I know what long descents do to your muscles. Downhill can be harder than uphill. And the course setter shows little mercy here, either. There are perfectly runnable forest roads. We take the direct, rocky singletrack.

After roughly 20 hours and 124 kilometres, I reach Bovine in 46th place. Three marathons behind me. Just ONE more to go. That sounds almost like the finish.

Almost. There are still three mountains of around 2,000 metres in between.

My emotions are now switching by the minute between pure elation and: I am not taking another step. The one-marathon-to-go calculation only helps so much when the next climb is right in front of you.

Two memories

Two moments from the final quarter remain clear in my mind.

The first is on the climb up the second of those mountains. Full sun. I seem to have drifted happily off to sleep while walking. A hiker tries to cheer me on. I get such a fright that I almost fall over a drop. Well meant – but in my condition, it nearly goes badly wrong.

The second moment is the final kilometre into Chamonix.

I am back. Hundreds of spectators are cheering me on. Children want high-fives. Older men shout “Respect!” And suddenly I understand what is happening: I really am going to finish.

Three years of preparation. One complete circuit of Mont Blanc. 167 kilometres, 9,600 metres of climbing. Four marathons, once from sea level to the top of Mount Everest and back down – with a little extra thrown in.

After 26 hours, 37 minutes and 18 seconds, I am back. In 37th place overall, the first Austrian home.

I am so incredibly proud of myself. And at the same time, I know I would not be here without my long-term girlfriend. Julia has been part of the preparation, the highs and the lows. She and my father have also accompanied and supported me on this circuit of Mont Blanc.

Now she is standing in front of me.

I kneel down. Open the little box I have carried over the mountains.

Will you marry me?

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