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My First Transalpine Run, 2012
How do you come up with the idea to run such a long race?
On a well-known video platform, I was searching for trailers of extreme sports that had always fascinated me. That’s when I came across the Marathon des Sables and the aforementioned Transalpine Run. Someone (Neil Rhodes) said a quote on camera: “Life is like a coin. We can spend it any way we want. But we can only spend it once.” That’s a great way to live life. (Original by Lillian Dickson: “Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once. That is a great way to spend life.”) I was immediately inspired and told myself: One day, I want to run this race!
Some time passed, and I began looking for a similarly crazy runner like me who would want to do this 8-day race together. You can imagine that back then this was much harder than today, when trail running is known to almost everyone. After many unsuccessful attempts, I finally met Alfred P. at a barbecue, someone who shared my interests. We started talking about mountain runs. He told me that a friend of his had already done this race and that he also wanted to try it. Now that I had finally found someone who wanted to pursue the same dream, doubts and fears crept in. I suddenly wasn’t sure if I could do it – back then it was 320 kilometers with 15,000 meters of elevation gain. That’s when my wife stepped in and said, “You’ve been talking about wanting to do this race for so long, and now that you’ve found someone, you’re backing out? Do the race, or you’ll just talk about it forever!”
That same day, I went to Alfred, who lived nearby in the same town, and told him my decision. We decided to participate in the event and started training individually.
The days flew by, and we also did some long runs together. Unfortunately, I kept twisting my ankle, which prevented me from running downhill. Back then, I thought that for a mountain run you only needed to train uphill because downhill would just come naturally. A big mistake, which I would bitterly regret during the TAR. Day X was approaching. I had the twisting under control with kinesiology tape. The gear was ready, but I couldn’t get along with the poles and kept tripping over them, so in the end I mostly carried them rather than using them. No matter, I thought, I’ll only need them in an emergency – at least that was the plan.
The day had finally come, and I said goodbye to my recently expanded family.
Startlinie in Ruhpolding
No matter what country people come from—you can see that everyone loves being outdoors and just running. It’s not a competition where you run against each other, but rather a collaboration: it feels like one big trail running family. Everyone asks each other how they’re doing and if they need help. People motivate each other, celebrate together, and suffer together. I think that’s one of the reasons why the TAR is so special—a strong sense of togetherness that’s hard to resist and might even become addictive.
Now, you’re probably thinking I’m completely crazy when I say it’s possible to get addicted to crossing the Alps on foot in 8 days—with sore muscles, daily pain in the strangest parts of your body, maybe blisters and other discomforts, rain, and sometimes snow. For someone who’s never done anything like this, it’s simply unimaginable.
But I hadn’t gone that far—at least not entirely.
On the first day, I noticed that despite being in good physical shape, I ran very slowly downhill compared to the others. It literally felt like I had to brake. One by one, they passed me on the descent, which was both very discouraging and incredibly exhausting. Alfred had to wait for me so that the gap between us didn’t get too big. The last stretch was flat toward St. Johann, and I couldn’t keep up with Alfred. I handed him all the unnecessary equipment I was carrying in my backpack to go faster, and after what seemed like an endless straight stretch, I finally saw the finish arch. I have to say, I was pretty exhausted after the first day.
On the second day, it was Alfred’s birthday, and the day began cheerfully with an improvised birthday cake. For a moment, the stiff muscles in my legs were forgotten, and I was looking forward to tackling the new route. The ascent was truly beautiful and showed us the different facets of the Wilder Kaiser mountain range.
However, I kept feeling tingling and numbness in my right foot and kept thinking that maybe I had tied my shoes too tightly. As a result, I kept stopping to retie them, which was incredibly frustrating. Nevertheless, we continued on our way to reach Kitzbühel.
I associate this stage with very positive feelings, as Alfred and I were much more in sync that day. Still, I struggled with myself and my foot. I received advice from other experienced runners who tried to calm me down. Even so, that night I didn’t really find the rest I needed.
On the third day, I was thrilled by the first ascent. It led steeply over the legendary Streif at Hahnenkamm, and I was very impressed that skiers have the courage to go down this slope.
Here I met another very likable runner named Reinhard W. I had noticed him at other points along the route, but I’ll tell more about that later.
It really wasn’t a pleasant sight, seeing myself like that. Somehow, I made it to the finish in Neukirchen. I was so exhausted that Alfred suggested easing the pain in my legs with ice-cold water from the fountain—with limited success. That day we had a wonderful hotel with a pool and every imaginable luxury, but I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy it. For the rest of the day, I lay in bed, thinking about how I would continue.
Even the physiotherapists, with whom I had developed a good friendship because they massaged me every day, had plenty of advice for me. Still, I had a bad feeling, and insomnia added to my struggles. That night, too, I could not find restful sleep.
The next day, I was finally supposed to pass the Krimml Waterfalls and cross the Birnlücke back to South Tyrol. The thought of returning home was a special motivation to get up early that morning. But my foot hurt badly, and it was hard to get into the wet running shoes. Even the first steps felt hard and numb. Yet my will to return to South Tyrol was stronger.
The first kilometers showed that it would be a very long day. With every step, it felt as if someone were hitting my shin with a hammer—a truly unbearable pain that left no room for any other thoughts. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of my family, whom I wanted to see as soon as possible, even though it would probably take a long time.
Even Reinhard, who usually ran behind me with his partner Maria, caught up and saw that things weren’t going well for me. He cheered me on and continued his run. Alfred, who always stayed behind to take care of me, came to my side. He told me that he couldn’t bear seeing me hobble in so much pain any longer. I told him it would get better once it got steeper, even though I knew it wasn’t true. Still, I sent him ahead so he could continue at his own pace and wait for me at the next checkpoint.
I can’t really remember the rest of the ascent, and I think that’s for the best. At the highest point, the Birnlücke at 2,650 meters, I finally reached South Tyrol and felt lighter at least in my heart. On the descent, I met Alfred again at a hut, where he was waiting with a hot tea. I hadn’t even noticed how cold it had become and gratefully accepted the tea.
At the end of the fourth stage, the path led through a beautiful, gently sloping valley covered with alpine meadows. At this point, I told Alfred that it would be better to run all the way to Prettau on the same day. The pain wouldn’t get any better anyway, so we should finish the stretch as quickly as possible.
Somehow, I knew these would be my last meters in this race. But something inside me said that I would still be surprised that day. And so it was. In the end, I was so exhausted and tired, but what did I see? My wife and six-month-old son had made a long journey with my mother-in-law to greet me. I was so moved to see them again and embraced them. My wife immediately noticed that something was wrong, and I confirmed it to her, feeling immense pain.
I went straight to the medical team. The doctor immediately recognized what was wrong and explained that the Transalpine Run had probably come too early for me. Nevertheless, as a precaution, I was advised to go to the hospital for a more detailed examination of my leg. I couldn’t believe that all the training and sacrifices I had endured for so long could be for nothing.
It was incomprehensible to me. I simply wasn’t ready yet. But everyone I spoke to said the same thing: I could participate again next year, but for now, the race was over for me. My family wanted to take me home immediately, so we went straight to the hospital in Bruneck to have my foot thoroughly examined. The diagnosis was shin splints caused by overuse. It was official and final—I had to abandon the race. Yet I still couldn’t understand, grasp, or accept it. It felt like a bad dream.
I shared the bad news with my family. But I couldn’t simply go home with them yet; I first needed to make peace with myself. I had to say goodbye to the people I had met during this intense experience. With a heavy heart, my family let me go with the promise that I would take the train home the next day.
So I took the next bus to the end of the valley in Prettau, to the pasta party where all the other participants had gathered. There, I told Alfred and the others about my misfortune and my decision to withdraw. I was truly sad, but the kind people I had met gave me the courage to try again.
That night, I fell asleep in my room at the guesthouse, exhausted from the pain and all the emotions that had overwhelmed me.
The next morning, the pushed-back bedcovers revealed the harsh reality. My foot was so swollen and fiery red up to my knee that it was impossible to ignore the injury. I couldn’t even put on a shoe and instead slipped into flip-flops. I didn’t care; I went to breakfast, inhaled the last hours of the TAR atmosphere, and said my goodbyes.
I spoke with everyone I had met over these days—even Reinhard and his wonderful family, Gisela and Raphael—who promised we would surely see each other again. It was a fateful meeting whose significance we didn’t yet understand, but I immediately felt that there was something special between us and that they would play an important role in my life.
I hitched a ride with an Icelandic woman who was accompanying a team to the next stage in Sand in Taufers. There, I wanted to get a behind-the-scenes look and say goodbye to the rest of the people, including the outdoor physio team and the organizers from Plan B Event. Afterwards, I took the train and returned home, where my family awaited me lovingly.
This is how I was able to properly say goodbye to the Transalpine Run.
For now 😉.
“Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once.”
“Left side: Neil Rhodes, who spoke the magical words in the video that inspired me to decide to take part in the Transalpine Run.”
Autor: Lord Jens Kramer
Instagram: @lordjenskramer
YouTube: @lordjenskramer6088
Blog: lordjenskramer.com
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