Into the Red Zone: Racing the Mountopolis Vertical
A small race, a big climb, and an honest effort
Finish Line Face
There you go, crossing the line with full war face after 1:21 hours of pure uphill running.
But let’s rewind.
I was passed by an eleven-year-old. Twice. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I was surprised when he suddenly reappeared behind me. I was less surprised when he ran past me for a second time. After all, I had already noticed and accepted his boundless superiority by that point.
A Pre-Race Espresso and Five Minutes To Go
But back to the start. When the lady at the bakery handed me my double espresso—in Austria, it's called a "double short brown"—and asked if I was also starting at Ultraks Mayrhofen that day, I sounded more annoyed than I meant to when I answered: "Yes, in five minutes."
Getting a hot drink five minutes before the start suggests that it must be a laid-back race day. And it was. For four reasons:
A) Second Helping
The race was and is a bonus for me. Off-season, remember? I started because I could. And because I felt like it. Racing is always about nothing anyway, but this time it was even more about nothing. No pressure, no expectations. I lined up relaxed, not nervous.
B) The Few And The Brave
Only around 70 people showed up for the Mountopolis Vertical. Vertical races aren’t for everyone: ninety minutes of lung-burning effort without the satisfaction of a shiny half-marathon PB. The atmosphere reflected that: calm, almost intimate.
I’m convinced there are only two types of people in a vertical race: the naturals (most of the field) and those who ended up here because of some peculiar excuse. Like not being able to run downhill due to injury.
C) Unagitated by Nature
The whole Ultraks Mayrhofen has a charm of its own: relaxed, unpretentious, almost sleepy. A sharp contrast to the charged atmosphere of Chamonix just one week earlier. Maybe it’s the late-season timing, maybe the touristy village vibe. Either way, I always appreciate Mayrhofen’s easygoing air.
D) Accidentally Prepared
I was unintentionally well prepared for this race. After tens of thousands of vertical meters this year, nothing fazes me anymore. Not even 1,300 meters of climbing in one shot, ski slope (spoiler: it was only about 250 meters long) included. With my two comrades-in-arms, Eva and Johannes, our race motto was simple: What could possibly go wrong?
Into the Red Zone
After two flat kilometers through the village, the trail pointed skyward — and stayed there. Zones 4 and 5 on the heart rate scale until the finish. The kind of unpleasant effort our bodies instinctively avoid. The one you never reach in everyday life, no matter how vigorously you take out the trash.
And yet, in that zone lies something raw and real. Stripped of pretenses, you meet yourself as you are, not as you wish to be. It’s rarely pleasant, but it’s always honest. There, I learn a lot about myself and experience everything with full intensity. Honestly, I can't think of any other situation that's as intense and unfiltered. Perhaps sex—but in truth, not really.
Tricks of Survival
To endure that level of strain, I lean on two mental hacks:
Reminder of survival: I’ve never died in Zone 5. Probably won’t start today. I can endure it.
Futility of easing up: Trying “a little less hard” feels just as bad, only slower.
Bonus mantra: This is how it is now. Terrifying and liberating at once. When you surrender to the pain, it sometimes — just sometimes — turns into a strange kind of joy.
Trail, Sun, Shade
The course was gorgeous: alternating dusty sunlit climbs and shady forest stretches, rhythm broken only by indecisive gradients, too steep to run easily, yet not steep enough to hike comfortably. Running poles would have been useful, but I chose freedom and lightness instead.
Getting Lost (and Found)
Unlike most European races, the Mountopolis Vertical course wasn’t well marked. Signs belonged mostly to the 30k, 50k, and sprint distances. Getting lost was easy and many did.
I didn't get lost, but I stood at a fork in the trail for 15 seconds, trying to decide which way to go. In a vertical race, when in doubt, always go uphill.
“You have chosen… wisely.” (Indiana Jones voice)
An eleven-year-old still outran me despite doubling back. Eva also took a wrong turn. One older man, furious after his detour, shouted at a volunteer handing out medals. Emotions ran high. But in the end, for 95% of us, this race was about… you guessed it – nothing.
Crossing the Line
I finished in 1:21:49. Happy, tired, and unsure if that’s considered good in the grander scheme of uphill running. But for me, it was fast, honest, and enough.
Closing Thoughts
The race wasn’t about prestige, crowds, validation of peak fitness, or qualification for another race. I ran up that mountain to honestly confront myself. Like a therapy session after a long break, where you check in on how you're doing and where you stand.
Turns out: I’m in a good place.