Running up mountains

A week ago today, I woke up early and decided to go for a jog. We were staying in the Austrian Alps, in a resort at 1500 metres, which always makes sleeping a little tricky for the first few nights, you tend to find yourself in vivid dream mode all night and I'd woken to feel like I'd barely slept. It was cold and, thankfully, snowy outside. I'd never run on snow before, not proper snow anyway, and thought it would be a good way to wake myself up.

It was a few degrees below zero (centigrade), but I figured not to overdo the layers as running though the snow should warm me up. I wore a hat of course, beanie variety, not trilby. Stepping outside was refreshing. It was overcast and I was standing at the bottom of a steep sided valley, and my GPS struggled, but eventually got a fix.



I set off at a very steady pace toward the head of the valley along the recently cleared road. In no time, I was feeling the altitude. My heart was working about 10-15% harder than back home and I'd barely started to climb. Approaching the village at the head of the valley, I darted across to the other side of the road when I realised that an old chap had decided it was an opportune moment to dislodge 2 metre icicles from his hotel roof and that I was heading straight into the strike zone. Reaching a point where the road went no further, I turned onto a snowy path heading up.

5 minutes into the climb, I was peaking at 85% of max heart rate, without really trying. This was hard, but I trudged on. The snow had been trodden into a path, but was still deep enough to cover my shoes, and it felt that for every two steps forward, you're losing half a step in slippage.

A few minutes further along a reach a recently groomed piste. No tracks, no-one around, a blank canvas. I pointed myself uphill and began to scale the piste. It was a red run and significantly steeper than the footpath, as anyone who's been skiing would understand. I wouldn't be able to maintain this for long, so I decided to give it everything for about a hundred yards and then enjoy the descent. The heart rose to 90%+ of max on the climb and I took a deserved 30 second break at the top.

While running up mountains has its place, running back down a freshly groomed piste was one of the best running experiences I've had. I took my first few paces steadily, but gradually allowed my legs to turn over progressively quicker, the freshly compressed snow propelling me even faster. Nearing the bottom, I was at full pelt and precariously just on balance.

It was only a 25 minute run in all, but it's a whole new ball game up in those mountains.