Red Bull 400: Team Almauftrieb goes uphill

What could be better than sprinting up the Bergisel ski jump with rain showers on your back and practically no preparation? Team Almauftrieb took on the Red Bull 400 adventure.

When the competitor in front of me slid down half a meter on her first step onto the rough plastic fibres of the outrun, I wondered what the heck I was doing here. Below me there was a roar from the cauldron, above me the hill rose so steeply that the Bergisel ski jump itself disappeared behind the crest. Expecting the worst, I swung myself over the edge. Lo and behold, I found my footing straight away - yay for approach shoes! I quickly scrambled along the rough net to the eastern side of the run-out. The first runner of our relay team was already pawing impatiently in the start area, I only saw my successor as a small dark silhouette a hundred meters further on. The Red Bull 400 could begin.

On my own initiative, I would never have thought of taking part in an event that describes itself as probably the toughest mountain running sprint in the world. The Red Bull 400 really gets the mitochondria going: where ski jumpers usually glide through the air, sports enthusiasts race uphill. There is a 130-metre difference in altitude over a distance of 400 meters, with a gradient of up to 75 percent. A wooden ramp is built between the take-off table and the outrun to spare the participants at least one climb. The entire route is either divided up according to gender or, for those who like to divide up the work, there is a men's, mixed and blue light relay of 100 meters per person.

At fairly short notice, I had the opportunity to run in the mixed relay with three friends as part of a blog post. There was a lot of respect for the sporting challenge, but in the end curiosity won out. The exploratory discussions in the sports-enthusiastic sub-circles of the circle of friends ultimately resulted in three people who were sufficiently keen to succeed: Theresa, Flo and Marc. Under the flag of the bulls, we would conquer the Bergisel ski jump as Team Almauftrieb.

September 28, the day of the competition, came frighteningly quickly. The planned physical preparation fell almost completely flat due to illness and injury, but we were well prepared on a theoretical level: checking videos from previous years, discussing equipment, accepting the predicted rain with a sigh, deciding on the activity for the end of the day. Thanks to an evenly distributed lack of planning, the choice of sections was very straightforward. Flo took on the first, flatter section as a sprinter. In a fit of madness, I chose the second section, which was constantly steep and covered in nets. Theresa took on the unclear crest, Marc the final sprint over the comparatively narrow run-up.

On race day, we met - how could it be otherwise - at the fire bowls that watched over the cauldron as witnesses to the Olympic Games. Moderation and music alternately warmed up the crowd that had gathered to watch the competition. While we talked shop about the best strategy, our starting time was fast approaching. We were due to start at 3:30 pm. A group photo, backpacks safely deposited, and off we went to our respective starting points.

Which brings us back to the moment when I was wriggling around like a fish in a net. They passed the time at the 100-meter mark with small talk, even one station higher, as Theresa told us: "Even just before the start, everyone was still having a good chat, it was really companionable." Down in the finish area of the ski jump, Flo looked for a patch of grass that had not yet been completely ploughed up by the previous runs. His pulse slowly rose. "I even stood a few meters away from the start line to gain more momentum," he said. There were gestures and shouts across the entire distance to fire up the atmosphere, and somewhere from the sidelines I heard someone calling my name. No time to look: The countdown to the start was on.

The siren blared and the starting field set off in a flurry of limbs. Flo dashed across the grass, leaving a considerable number of the starters behind him as the incline towards the net increased. I haven't the faintest idea what I shouted to him on his last few meters - the words were lost in the commotion.

The second my hand closed around the cool baton, tunnel vision set in. I could no longer hear anything except the rhythm of my feet on the slippery mats. The audience and the competition were forgotten, there was only the net under my hands. The gloves Marc had brought for us were worth their weight in gold. I glanced up to check whether I was still on course for Theresa At that moment, I lost my rhythm, cursed briefly and scrambled on at a rapid pace. My heart was pounding in my throat. I would get my section over with, even if I had to crawl on my stomach!

Fortunately, it didn't get that far. It felt like only a few seconds before I heard Theresa's cheers from above and tripped her up with the (metal) baton. While I leaned into the net with a huge grin, she climbed over the crest in no time at all. "I was able to run upright relatively quickly, but my legs were really heavy at the end," she remembers. That and the relief of being able to hand over to Marc, who was now allowed to catch up on our accumulated omissions.

He later described the last part over the hill as follows: "First quarter: full throttle, what the hell. Second quarter: Uiii, it's getting tough. Third quarter: I want to die, my thighs are bursting. Last quarter: It doesn't matter now, bite through for the team!" With this motivation, he swung through the finish line - and saw a panting Flo running up the hill, who hadn't missed the chance to cover the entire race course.
While Marc was still taking his last steps, it had started to drizzle and now it was pouring rain. While the two of them were catching their breath, I climbed back over the barrier. There was a nice surprise waiting for me behind them: two family members had come to watch and cheer us on.

It took a while for Team Almauftrieb to find each other again. Armed with rain ponchos, I met Marc and Flo at the lift station. I immediately received my medal, the sign of successful participation. Grinning, we trudged towards the pasta and drinks and reviewed the event.

Despite the rain and the correspondingly moderate number of visitors, we definitely had fun. Fun and the team experience were clearly in the foreground, with the idea of performance taking a back seat. A cool atmosphere, a pleasant competition, and when do you ever get the chance to see the ski jump area from this perspective? I will always remember sitting on the steep slope, waiting while a rain shower moved along the Nordkette behind the bowl. The ski jumpers aren't exaggerating when they describe the tremendous panorama at Bergisel.

If we had previously given the impression that we were completely unconcerned about things like placement: well, yes. At some point, we found out that we had actually come fourth and had therefore won metal in the mixed relay. The optimization ideas followed on the heels: What if, next year ..

Images, unless otherwise indicated: © Theresa Kirchmair
Header image: Florian Riedl