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Race in the Alps offers scenic payoff for Spokane runner Matt Zuchetto

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Acht … Drei. The race started in the dark, at 10 p. It drew more than runners from 40 countries. To start the race, we all converged in the center of Kaprun, a village in Austria. Hopes were high. The reality was that only half of us would reach the finish line. I thought I had a good chance of finishing because I have run about 40 ultra races, including a mile race in the Swiss Alps. But I had underestimated that Swiss race — by 10 hours — and it was the hardest race I had ever completed. The Austrian race course crossed the Alps twice, along 14 glaciers and over mountain passes as high as 9, feet. Kaprun was the last bit of civilization I would see for the next 20 sleep-deprived hours. Suddenly, uphill turned into downhill. The Alps wasted no time in revealing their true distinction — this course would be a series of long ups and downs. Beautiful, scenic views would reward, over and over, all of the hard work to come. A lunar eclipse lurked over distant peaks with a rusty red tint. I looked up only briefly, to avoid tripping. Runners were still feeling fresh, running in small packs and chatting in German. I fell in with a pack of four runners. The first mountain pass, at over 8, feet, was 13 miles long and climbed 6, feet. The last 4 miles were the steepest. Everyone was hiking now. I looked up several times in hopes of seeing the top. All I could see were dots of light from the headlamps of runners ahead of me. Moonlight reflected off an icy snowfield that we crossed. I used my trekking poles for purchase. My feet started to get cold. I put on my gloves. I was breathing hard and my heart was pumping heavily. It took a little over two hours to reach the pass. Then, like an oasis, an aid station for the runners appeared. Food was spread out on a table, including the usual fare for ultra-runs — bananas, oranges and pretzels — but also cured meats and cheeses. Watermelon dipped in salt tasted delicious. I pitched the rinds in the garbage, grabbed a handful of energy gels and refilled my water bottles. Mars appeared, bright red and orange, below the full moon. Then dawn arrived. The sun rays hit the tips of the surrounding mountain peaks and turned them light brown and gray. The trail dropped steeply through a field of loose scree. Mixed in were fist- to head-sized rocks, one of which whizzed down the hill about 50 feet to my left. A runner behind me had kicked it inadvertently. I sped up a little. Along a ridge line, the sun hit my face for the first time of the day. As the sun rose my jaw dropped as beautiful scenery was revealed — rugged mountains to pastoral fields — like something from a postcard. Cows grazed along a steep hillside meadow dotted with white, purple and yellow wildflowers. A small town with a white church and steeple appeared below. It was the kilometer mark, and the aid station looked a bit like zombie land. Runners by this point had covered over 35 miles and climbed over 12, feet, according to my GPS watch. I sat down next to a young runner who had passed me earlier. He looked tired and defeated as he ate a plate of pasta. Before I left the aid station, I shoved as much food down my gullet as I could. I thought I might throw up from all the food in my stomach — watermelon dipped in salt, Coke, sports drink and pasta marinara — but I knew I had to get calories in to make it to the finish. The road climbed along a raging river of glacial melt at the edge of a deep ravine. Cool breezes flowed down the ravine. The trail skirted big boulders and a blue-green alpine lake. Many of the runners had dropped out of the race at the aid station. For the rest of us who kept going, we were confronted with another mountain pass. The climb was 2 to 3 miles and grew steeper and steeper with each step, until it seemed nearly vertical. I had to stop and catch my breath every couple of hundred meters. My heart was pounding in my chest. A line of racers above me dotted the hillside. The top was nowhere in sight. He tried to talk with me as I tried to keep up. He told me this was the last climb of the day. I had studied the race profile and knew he was wrong. And I could not form full sentences at this point to make this a point of contention. Plus, deep down I wanted him to be right. A long valley with a blue, silty lake came into view — as well as a modern resort. This battle with the mountains was taking a toll. Day hikers were hiking around the resort. Beset on the trail by tourists, I encountered hikers in their 60s or 70s, children, some middle-aged hikers and some overweight hikers, some who looked and smelled freshly showered. Once I passed them, I told myself, no way was I going to slow down my pace because they surely would pass me. At the next aid station, I sat and put my head between my legs to try to catch my breath between sips of oxtail bone broth. My heart was still pounding. We were at about 7, feet in elevation. The strong temptation was to take a long break, maybe even take a little nap. But these little breaks could easily add up to hours over the course of the race if I was not mindful. Out of the aid station, the next climb was a short climb, probably one-quarter mile. I was thinking maybe this was the last climb and the Englishman was right. But at the top, I saw nothing but valleys, glaciers and tall, faraway mountain peaks. Kaprun, where the finish line was located, was nowhere in sight. It must be on the other side of these tall mountains, I thought. Last of the hard stuff? Not bloody likely. Only up, up, up for as far as I could see. That Brit was full of it. A descent through a very steep boulder field involved down-climbing. I fell and banged my knee good enough to make it bleed and slipped and knocked my elbow, drawing some blood too. After hiking 2 long miles back up over 8, feet, I was at maximum heart rate and gasping for air. A narrow, jagged mountain pass finally appeared. It was another scramble, climbing down through large boulders before the path transitioned onto a large snowfield. The incline was steep enough that the snow had two side-by-side tracks where people had skied on their feet down the snow. Some runners had stopped and spread out at the top of the snow and looked panicked. Suddenly, the scenery provided another awe-inspiring treat for the eyes. Waterfalls careened and crashed off the glaciated peaks from all sides, falling hundreds of feet, then came together like connecting spider webs into a large lake. The lake was silty and milky white at one end and gradually transitioned into light blue, emerald green and then a darker forest green. I ran across the top of a large concrete dam, feet tall, above another aquamarine lake fed by the surrounding peaks, with another huge dam at one end. I was almost to the finish. But there were still miles to go. At the final aid station, I sat down in a thin slice of shade. All downhill to the finish, I concurred with a fellow racer. I ran downhill the best I could. I turned my music on for the mile homestretch. Nirvana blared in my earbuds as I tore down the hill. For an hour or so I felt like I was flying. Scores of day hikers, bicycle riders and tourists were at the outskirts of Kaprun. I was back in civilization. The terrain became very flat — and so did my energy level. Nineteen hours, six minutes and 50 seconds after I had started the race, I finally crossed the finish line, tired, worn and happy to be able to sit down and take a proper break. Spokane is one of many cities across the country facing a significant shortage of behavioral health workers. Matt Zuchetto poses for a photo during a ultra-race in the Alps. Over the next 15 to 20 hours, I would be running an ultra race in the Alps. It was the fourth mountain pass of the race, out of five. This is the payoff for these ultra races, I thought. The beauty. The awe. The moment. Matt Zuchetto is a writer, runner and lawyer who lives in Spokane. Sponsored Content.

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